Eye Can See YOU!

"That's crazy!" I said as I gawked at the beautiful book cover in a Santa Fe storefront window. Mom and I were strolling down a narrow, ancient street last week when I saw a turquoise-colored eyeball plastered on the front of a white paperback book cover. The eyeball was surrounded by gorgeous teal, gold and green face paint and shaped like the Americas. "That's crazy too!" I said as I laughed and pointed at the author's explanation of the book; "Vibrational Healing."

I was thinking how "artsy fartsy" Santa Feans are while I leaned in closer to get a better look. That's when something moved behind the book.

Another eye! No, two eyes!

A blonde-headed lady was on the other side of the glass sitting at a desk. Had she heard my outbursts?

I had hoped that she didn't, but she motioned for us to come inside the opened shop door not two feet away.

Yup, I was busted!

My eyes could hardly look away from her honest, clear ones as she sincerely explained her theories of vibrational and light healing. Our visit was brief, but I took the time to apologize for calling her book crazy. I told her I loved the jacket design and then we were off again. 

As we walked away I couldn't help but think of all the ways I manage to embarrass myself. Maybe I should have asked if her vibrational healing methods cure foot-in-the-mouth diseases.

I don't get it!

Consider this....

One of these days...that irritating kid of yours isn't going to be around to irritate you. That man that loves you, but occasionally ignores you...won't be here to half-listen to what you're complaining about.

A friend of mine lost her husband recently, less than a year since she lost her oldest son...when I say, "lost" I mean, they died.

This past week, I stood staring, unbelieving at the headstone of the youngest of my friend's sons. I closed my eyes as tears stung my eyes. My friend has lost two sons and now a husband in the last few years. I tried to imagine the pain she must feel, but I can't. When I asked her if she was angry at God, she said, "How can I be? He took what was already His."

I'm not going to lie, I'd probably be shaking a fist toward the sky and cursing...a lot! But my friend, she isn't and I guess I'm not a good enough Christian to understand her "Job-like" attitude. But then again, when I stop to consider it...I've never really suffered at all. I've had it pretty easy. My life has been picture perfect if there ever was such a thing.

I've stopped to consider why........

There isn't an answer. Why do some people have it so hard and other so easy? I don't know. I guess I never will.

In all things I will praise my God, in sparing me the immense pain that my sweet friend is going through even tonight and in the blessings that He has showered on me...a wretched, undeserving sinner that fails Him on a daily basis...

Yup, it blows!

With my trusty Corona pruners in hand, I headed out doors this evening to do a little work in the gardens. Turns out the pruners weren't needed. There was less to prune and more to just, "pull" and pull I did. I pulled weeds, dead flower heads and I'm pretty sure, a hamstring. Why is it that our bodies have to get old and fall apart?

Makes me so mad and sad and frustrated.

I look around and realize that everything gets old. I've decided that everything that gets old also gets wider. Take the dogs for example, they are about three times wider than when I brought them home in January. Then there is my favorite blue Atlas cedar, it's quadrupled in height and girth.

This brings me to another interesting point, I'm tired of struggling with getting wider. So I've decided to embrace my wideness...

Maybe "embrace" isn't accurate. I think it's more like I'm just tired of fighting...that's another irritating thing that blows about getting old...you get tired easier and quicker...and stay tired longer.

I'm not discouraged or disgruntled about getting older and wider, I'm just......................................
what were we talking about?

Mean Old Trooper Lady...

Call me a, "weenie" but I despise the cold weather. My old arthritic fingers move slower, my body tends to shrivel in on itself and I resemble the hunchback of Notre Dame as I shuffle my frozen-toed feet from one warm spot to another, trying to escape the hideousness of winter. It kinda makes me sad as I reminisce frigid episodes of the cold, callused person I use to be...

When working as a road trooper during the wintertime, I remember not being as merciful or gracious as I had been in the fall or even the spring. Often, when the weather was unconducive to being outside for long, I would (and sometimes still do), find myself having less patience for ignorance or non-compliance to the law.

Take for example a frosty wintertime interaction which took place on the snow-covered shoulder of Interstate 35 a few years back. A petite little lady in black high heels, dressed in beautiful designer clothes and reeking of high-dollar perfume had the audacity to ask me if she could roll the window up because she was "cold" as the freezing rain and sleet slapped at my face and slid down my neck. This, while I stood and waited outside her car door as she searched everywhere for her insurance card. She was the one who had violated the state law by choosing to drive twenty (20) miles over the posted speed limit sign.

"No," I growled, "You can't, as a matter of fact, why don't you join me here on the shoulder for a moment and let's talk about your driving," I hissed. She handed me her expired insurance verification form with delicately manicured fingers that shook as she stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed at my request.

"But it's cold out there," she stammered. I glared at her beneath the rim of my "Smokey Bear" brown hat, my lips in a straight, nearly-blue, tight line. "Yes, ma'am, it most certainly is," I replied.

I waited, growing even more impatient and aggravated as I watched her dig around in her back seat for her long, fully-lined coat and slip her tiny arms inside. She made a production of putting on her black leather gloves on her chilly little fingers.

"Let's go, ma'am," I said as she twisted in her seat to look over her left shoulder waiting for traffic to clear before she dared open her car door. As if I hadn't been in danger when I exited my car or stood in the freezing rain, "visiting" with her for several long, miserable minutes.

"If you are too afraid to get out on that side, crawl over and exit the passenger door," I said, growing angrier by the second while she obviously stalled inside her warm car. The wind whipped at my face as a semi passed us and the force of it tried to take my hat off. The gust ripped at my hat wrenching a clump of my hair where the leather and buckle rested against the back of my head. It caused my anger to flash red hot as I reset my hat on my head and watched this woman, who was about my age, slowly get out of her car to meet me on the shoulder.

Without saying a word, I held a single finger up and left her standing on the shoulder for a moment and retrieved my citation book. When I returned, I did something that I usually don't do. I stood, right there on the shoulder of the interstate, with her beside me and wrote her a big fat ticket while both of us got splattered with sleeting rain that stung like tiny wasp stingers. The original citation that I turned into the court clerk was tattered and wrinkly from wetness, but it was legible.

I bring up the story in hopes of making a point...and here it is...IF, you choose to drive like a maniac when the weather is bad, you MAY have to endure said weather WHILE you receive a citation. So, consider not breaking the law ANYTIME, but most importantly when it's cold, wet and absolutely miserable out. Food for thought.

Retreating to my solace

You have them too...Days, where nothing in this world makes any sense and you just want to lose yourself in desperately needed quietness.

 

On those days, I head outside and search for inner peace in the tranquility of a my little gardens. I feel the calm seep into my troubled veins as I run my fingers across the purple venation of an angel trumpet leaf or the smooth, five-lobed leaflet of a chocolate flower vine.

My eyes wander to the icy blueness of the Arizona cypress or the soft gray-blue sedum and I sense my angry blue mood easing just a little...I breathe in the sweet-spicy scent of a Pinyon fire and fan the gray smoke closer toward my face. Washing my mind of everything else, but the crackle of the resin as it burns away all the things that hurt me.

 

Sure, I'm a tough girl. Things don't hurt me often, but when they do...they are usually substantial...and lasting.

The hateful things that hurt me most, are the things I'm powerless to change...like babies dying without cause, people killing each other over shifting sand or diseases that ravage the mind and body. The list could go on and on...maybe you're thinking of your own list right now.

Sit with me, let's close our tired eyes and stop searching for what we'll never see or understand. There is no explaining the hurts of life.

We began in the garden and naturally we are drawn to it when we're in need. Our solace is in the garden, feel Him.

September 11, 2012

I didn't smell a single rose today, I didn't hold any one's hand for comfort or strength and I didn't help a single person on their life's path like I'm sworn to do. Today, I simply remembered.

All day, memories of 9/11 were close to my heart and I allowed just a little bit of animosity and hate to bubble up within me. Although it didn't help me to feel any better, I did it anyway.

Tomorrow there may be forgiveness, but eleven years later, I'm still mad as hell.

"Luckiest Girl Ever!"

Okay, so maybe I am extremely fortunate...I run into famous people and somehow squeeze into photos with them. But before you get to feeling jealous about my good-fortune, let me explain that there is a sad side to this photo op. It is my belief that this TRUE STORY will pull at your heart strings, who knows...you may actually think I'm an unfortunate soul. 

 

 

You see, when I ran into Vince Gill in the Nashville airport this past week, he was trying to give a lady back a pair of eye glasses that he had seen her drop. Star-struck, the woman stood staring at Vince not trusting her voice to speak. She neither took the glasses nor responded with anything but bug-eyes and an open mouth as the country music superstar stood holding her glasses out to her.

 

I chuckled under my breath while watching her obvious discomfort. She realized who was trying to return her eye glasses to her, but she was at a complete loss for words. She recognized his voice about the same time I did. We both had turned when he said, "Excuse me, Ma'am," in his beautiful, tenor voice.  After the woman's husband began to coach her to take the glasses that Vince Gill offered, she finally took them.

 

I outright laughed as her shaky voice asked for his identity by simply asking, "You aren't...?" To which Vince just smiled his sweetest smile and cast his humble, sea-green eyes downward, "Yes, Ma'am...I am.

 

Introductions were made then with nervous laughter and many "Thank you's" said. Finally, the Grammy Award winner walked away to disappear into the crowd of people waiting to board a plane. It was obvious that he wished to quietly and anonymously sit in the gate area unnoticed. I was still silently judging the awe-struck woman and her bumbling acceptance of her glasses she had dropped. I would never be such a dork! I thought with a smirk of arrogance.

 

I quickly called a buddy of mine that I know is a childhood friend of Vince Gill's. When I got Rick on the phone I quickly gave him the low-down and asked if he would text or call Vince and ask if I could get a picture made with him. Rick insisted that I simply approach the country music legend and ask myself, but at my insistence, offered to stay on the phone and assist me with my introductions. I wasn't a bit nervous as I approached the now sitting Vince Gill. I stood in front of him and did as Rick suggested.

 

"Excuse me, sir," I began. My heart was beating fast, maybe I was more nervous than I thought. "Do you know Rick Buchanan?"

 

Vince laughed at my question and started shaking his head up and down while he said, "Yes, we are life-long friends."

 

I told him that Rick was on the phone and did he want to speak to him, I asked. He held his hand out for my phone and I placed it in his hand. My good pal, Rick, introduced me before Vince gave me back the phone. I thanked Rick and hung up so that I could spend a moment speaking with Vince before we had our photo made together as promised. I continued to stand as we exchanged pleasantries and stories about Rick Buchanan and how we both knew him. Vince, being the consummate gentlemen, asked for me to sit next to him and cleared off a seat for me to sit down. I grabbed my bags from a few chairs away and nestled into the seat beside him as we continued to talk.

 

A lady that sat opposite us asked if I wanted her to take our photo so I took my Blackberry out of its holster and held it in front of me as I looked down at it, getting the camera portion of the phone ready. That's when I noticed IT...the zipper on my pants. It was completely unzipped!

 

I had been walking around the airport for 20 minutes, standing in front of and then sitting next to Vince Gill all with on open fly. Everyone close to gate 2, terminal D in the Nashville airport that day knew what color of undergarments I was wearing, especially the guy sitting to my right...Country Music Hall of Fame inductee-Vince Gill.

 

The amount of instant blood loss to my brain from embarrassment had me nearly passing out. If it were possible to (poof) disappear...this would be the appropriate time and I most certainly would have done it. Being without magical powers, I simply slugged Vince on the arm. I did the only thing a girl can do in a situation like that...blame the guy! It had to be ALL his fault.

 

"What kind of a friend are you anyway to let me walk around the airport with my fly undone!" I demanded.

 

He laughed and laughed as I zipped up my zipper and tried to restore the normal color to my cheeks. The heat of my embarrassment still surging through my face could be felt all over my body.

 

With the now infamous photo taken, we casually visited between other photo ops with our fellow travelers who, by now, knew who I sat next to. 

 

I don't know, maybe Vince will remember the goof ball woman who flashed him in the Nashville airport. I'll certainly never forget our first meeting. It was extremely memorable for me...and to think, you called me, "lucky!"