Embracing the OCD

True confessions:

I sometimes watch shows about OCD.
I sometimes shake my head a little when someone has to check to make sure the oven is turned off...
Fifteen times. And then again on their lunch break.
I sometimes would like to think I don't have these kinds of issues.
Because they are completely irrational. Right?

But then I rearrange the eggs in my egg cartons so they are perfectly balanced.
And I make my bed before getting into it at night. Because I cannot sleep in an unmade bed.
(True story.)
Sadly, there is no denying that even though I don't wash my hands till they are raw, I sometimes do have these kinds of issues.

And now I have a new one.

It has to do with a key. To my car. And little running shorts. With little pockets. Because all shorts for hot weather running are little. With little pockets.

And the story goes like this:

I recently moved and am no longer just a hop, skip and jump away from running trails that go for miles. So now when I wish to run them I have to drive to them.

This is usually okay.
Unless I'm in a rush to get in a long run before the sun goes down.
And it is hot, so I am wearing little running shorts. With little pockets.
And my brain is a little tired.
Yes, this combo only means only one thing.
Trouble.

So...imagine me.
In a hurry.
Fumbling with an apartment key and a car key.
Thinking I'm all clever and will run with just one key.
In my little pocket.

Imagine me.
Still in a hurry.
Quickly putting said key in said little pocket.

And now imagine me.
Closing the car door.
SLAM!

That's right.

Now imagine me at the sound of SLAM!
Realizing that said key in said little pocket is not car key.
It is apartment key.

AAAAACK!!

And imagine me.
Not swearing. I promise. Not even close.
(But I may have stamped my foot once or twice. Like a two-year old.)

And this is how my brain processed this event:

"Dang!! I just locked my car key in the car!! I don't have a car key on me!! I only have an apartment key!!

*thinks*

"Who can I call? NO ONE!! No one has another car key but me!! And my other car key is in my apartment!! With my other apartment key!! And no one has another apartment key!!

*thinks*

"OH, wait!!! I have an apartment key in my little shorts. In my little pocket. Well, at least I can get into my apartment to get my car key.

*thinks*

"But wait!! I DROVE here!! And I can't get into my car!! I am going to have to RUN to my apartment!! AND BACK!!! Grrr...!!"

And I made about this much sense in my head. With about that many exclamation points.

I had not planned a route for this run. I had instead roughly figured 55 minutes out, 55 minutes back and I'd be close enough to the mileage I needed. But now I had to change my plan. And recalculate.

This really should not have been hard.
Except for me.
Because for starters, I honestly had no idea how far away my apartment was from where I parked.
And my apartment was in the opposite direction of where I wanted to run.
And the sun was setting quickly so I had to be sure and finish the woodsy part of my run first.

So what did I do?
Looked at the sun and panicked, of course.
And just started running, trying to recalculate as I went.

Now is a good time for you to know that when I run I experience a complete brain purge.
And I can no longer complete a sentence.
Or do simple math.

Which means one thing...

Recalculation = Miscalculation.

Long story short, that is exactly what happened.
Gross miscalculation.

Way more than 55 minutes out and 55 minutes back I finally reached my apartment.
And my car key.
Then I ran back to my car.
And drove home exhausted.
With jello legs.

Enter the new OCD habit:

Carefully check to make sure car key, not apartment key, is in hand.
Carefully check this again.
Carefully put car key, not apartment key, in little pocket.
Carefully check that it is indeed car key, not apartment key, in little pocket.
Carefully check this again.
And again.
And again.
Then one more time just for good measure.
Sheepishly close car door.
Check key again.
And again.
And again.
At every mile of the run.
Breathe a sigh of relief when run is over and key in little pocket is indeed car key.

*Breath in. Breathe out. Sigh. With a smile.*

So there you have it.
The new habit and the reason behind it.

Trust me. It is completely necessary.
And totally rational.

And make no mistake...I am embracing the OCD!!

Remembering

Memorial Day.

A federal holiday set aside to remember and honor those who died while serving in the Armed Forces.

In commemoration of this day there is one particularly stunning display near where I live.
American flags, 2,000 strong, waving in the breeze, beautifully visible from the highway.
Colorful, proud, and in every way brave.
A majestic memorial to those who died that we might live free.
And in every way I am grateful.

Over the years this holiday has come to mean more than just remembering those who have served in the Armed Forces.
Now we also honor loved ones.
Those who simply served.

So today I am remembering my mom.
And thinking of the times I have wished for her over the past many months.
The conversations I have needed, the advice I would seek for, the tears I would share with.
She carefully taught those who surrounded her...how to surround others.
For that, I have not been alone.

She loved God, family, and country, and helped me understand that freedom isn't free.
And in every way, I am grateful.

Remember.

Happy Memorial Day and welcome to summer.

The Dream

It has been exactly two months and two days since I last blogged. My longest blogging dry spell ever.

There are reasons for this, not the least of which includes a wedding.
And a separation.
In the same month.
It's been a little overwhelming.
And so the blog has suffered, too.

But several nights ago I had a dream.
A very vivid dream.
In it I was wearing braided pigtails.
And cute yellow galoshes.
It involved a trip to a farm for a Large Family Gathering.
(Not my family. Or my farm.)
It also involved tractors, and trucks, and horses, and barns, and cows, and hogs, and...corn on the cob.
There was a large garden full of squash, and peas, and potatoes, and tomatoes, and peppers, and cucumbers, and strawberries, and...corn on the cob.
It was intensely colorful and nothing short of a visual smorgasbord.

But best of all was The Sky.
There was a spectacular storm rolling in, streaking the heavens with brilliant greys, blues and purples.
All streaks swept in one direction, beckoning the eye deep into the horizon.
And then deeper still.

The Large Family Gathering was wanting to talk to me and trying to pull me away from the earthy wonders.
To feed me...corn on the cob.
But all I wanted to do was take pictures of the tractors, the trucks, the barns, the cows, the hogs, the squash, the peas, the potatoes, the tomatoes, the peppers, the cucumbers, the strawberries...
And more than anything, The Sky.

And then blog.

So in my dream I did just that.
And I composed a really good blog post.
Complete with really good pictures.
And I felt happy.
Even though I was up to my knees in rich, muddy, farm soil.

I'm pretty sure that a dream interpreter could tell me all kinds of things about what this dream meant. Especially the knee deep mud.
Or the stormy skies.
But to me it mostly meant just one thing.
That my soul was yearning to get back to some of the activities I love.
Like photographing and blogging.

So after two months, two days, two wedding receptions, two trips, two alternate living spaces, and some really strange dreams away, this is my awkward return to the blog.

Sans photos.

Surely there can be nowhere to go but...
Better.

The Hunger Games

Okay. If you are out there anywhere you've probably heard of it.


The Hunger Games.

A wildly popular young adult novel by Suzanne Collins, about to be released in film around the world. If you know nothing more than this one thing, know that the premise of the book is a televised fight to the death between 24 youth aged 12-18. And only one can survive.

Disturbing. On every level.

I absolutely hate this idea. Kind of like The Titanic. I don't even know why I saw that movie. I mean, honestly. Everybody knew there was no good way for it to end. Including me. And it was not happy. This is not okay with me.

So two years ago it was with great reluctance and much prodding from very Hunger Games enthusiastic friends that I reserved a copy of the book at my local library. I knew reading this was going to be painful for me. In many ways. I have a very soft heart. I hate kids in danger. And I hate to cry. (I realize this part about me is not so evident in my most recent posts.) But after about fourteen weeks of waiting, and just in time to be on a trip where no one would know me, I put on all my emotional protective gear, and opened it up.

And thus began my experience with The Hunger Games.

To say it was a difficult read would be downplaying it. More than a little. And to say that I cried about it would be an understatement. A lot. But this was not at all for the reasons I expected. It was not because of the battles; it was not because of the conflicts; it was not because of the cruelties or the injustices. Nope. It was because of...

Compassion.

And this is how it went.

Me.
And the book.
By the pool.
In full protective gear.
Reading along trying NOT to be disturbed by all the disturbing things I listed above.
And then BAM! Out of nowhere.
An act of compassion.

Then Me.
And the book.
By the pool.
Protective gear completely disarmed.
Tears streaming down my face.
Pathetic.

Gladly, I was wearing sunglasses when the poolside server came to ask if I was doing alright.

And a few minutes later I went back to my room where it was quiet and I could be alone.
I cried.
The Ugly Cry. Which is really a Visceral Sob.
Until I was all cried out.

This cycle happened again and again as I worked my way through the book. It was compelling.  It was stunning. And it completely unraveled me.

I honestly don't remember much more about this book, besides how it felt. And I am pretty sure there are plenty of Hunger Games fanatics reading this and wondering, "What the fudgesicle is she talking about?!?!"

But this is what the book brought to me.
Learning. About compassion.
How I need it. How you need it. And how we all get too little of it.

This weekend I will go see the movie. As will millions of others. Screen adaptations rarely, if ever, offer the full story or character development that a book brings to the table. Especially when it comes to important underlying nuances.

But I will be watching carefully. For compassion.

After all, isn't that what each of us are really hungry for, anyway?

For the Boys - Muscle Cars

The other night, while away on my brief-hiatus-from-life-as-I-know-it, I was invited to tour a private collection of classic cars. I thought this would be fun. I like cars and I like fun. So I went. With absolutely no expectations whatsoever. You should know that this is the best way to do something fun. Because then there are no disappointments from having unreasonably high expectations. If you've ever been really excited to see a movie that you thought would be so good and it wasn't, you know what I'm saying here.

But I am pretty sure that there is not any high expectation that could have left me disappointed from this tour! Because this was not just your average collection of cars. Nope. This was more than 200 of the most incredible classic cars I have ever beheld spread out into 3 separate warehouses. And by spread out I mean squished in, because there was barely room to walk between them.

I took a few pics. A few hundred pics. Today I will share some. On another day I will share more. And maybe on another day some more. As long as you photographers out there don't judge. Really.

So here is a shot looking down the aisle of one of the storage warehouses. It was shaped like an "L". So this is only part of it.

I know. Cars. Lots of cars. And since that lovely Shelby GT is right there in front, I just can't help myself.
I have to share my story. It's short.

I don't know why, but since the time I was old enough to say, "car", I have loved Muscle Cars.

That's all.

Except for this guy had an impressive collection.

First there was this one.

Then this one.

And this one.

And this one, and this one, and this one!

There were even more.

But of all them this was my favorite.

Seriously. I broke out in a sweat when I saw it. And drooled just a little bit. There is no logical explanation for this. It just happened. But apparently I have good taste. Because this car has won awards all over the place.

Dear Most Spectacular 1969 Mustang Super Muscle Car,
Please come home with me.
The End.

There were a lot more classic cars. Of all kinds. And I will definitely have to share more. But for today only one. Because just carrying my camera around and looking like I knew what I was doing (I didn't) landed me a spot in this:

The 1998 Indy 500 Number 9 Official Pace Car.

Now, to figure out a way to test drive these babies.

 : )

The U-Turn

A year and a little bit ago I began feverishly training for an April half marathon. Following a very strict schedule that outlined times and distances with exactness, I spent the icy winter on the treadmill, painstakingly logging and recording every mile to the second. I worked hard, sweat hard, and pushed hard. And with every single run I exceeded my training goal.

I was motivated. 

I was determined. 

I was strong.

This year I am training for the same April half marathon. And today I completed a run. A Completely Awful run.

This has not been my first Completely Awful run of the training season. In fact, Not-Awful runs have become the exception rather than the rule. My strong and determined runs of a year ago have given way to tearful runs, angry runs, frustrated runs, shouting runs (I swore once...out loud), and walking more than running runs. And although I am lighter than I was when I began running five years ago, most of this year's runs have felt heavier than ever.

With the race just a little more than four weeks out I have had to accept the reality that my finish times will not be what they have been. No matter what I do. 

So I'm left with no choice but to recalculate.

(Recalculating...Recalculating... Recalculating...)

I've thought about this a lot. Mostly about how it often seems that the annoying GPS lady is really sending a message about my life. But more importantly, what it means if she is.

I have come to this conclusion: It's all about the U-Turn.

For the run this means changing my direction, not just to the perpendicular right or left, but all the way around. Back to where I began. 

It means starting slow if I have to.

It means listening to how I feel. 

It means pushing, but not too hard.

It means fighting through the pain.

It means slowly gathering strength.

It means running when I can, and walking when I have to.

It does not mean stopping.

Above all, it means getting back to the core of why I run.

Freedom. Clarity. Balance. Strength. Power. Joy. 

All things that have less to do with the body, and more to do with the soul.

All things I can gain without a time goal.

It's pretty much the same for living. Sometimes you have to recalculate. You have to suspend the goal, make the U-Turn, and go back to where you began.

The place where you...

Start slow if you have to.
Listen to how you feel.
Push, but not too hard.
Fight through the pain.
Slowly gather strength.
Run when you can, and walk when you have to.
But do not stop.
Above all, get back to the core of why you live.

And here you can fill in your own answers.

For the next few weeks I will be taking a brief hiatus from life as I know it. And I will train in the altitude. 

This will be hard.

This will be slow.

This will be painful.

But it needn't be discouraging if I can just remember...

Freedom. Clarity. Balance. Strength. Power. Joy. 

And not just for my run. For my life.

Friday Photos - Puppy Love

I love my dog. I do, I do. 

But what I really love is a little tiny fluffy puppy. So when Kid Two called to see if I would drive with her and her Kid One to pick up a new furry friend I was all over it. Not to mention Kid Middle was in town. Can you see the bonuses here? Car time with Kid Two, her Kid One, Kid Middle, and New Puppy all in one day. It doesn't get much sweeter than that! Unless you're on a cruise that day. Like Little Man was. 

Anyway, this happened to be one of the two February days that my camera worked its way out of its case.

And so I will share. 

This is Kid Two's first meeting with this sweet little pup. 

The pup is black. The sky is white. Not the best mix for good photos. But look how tiny she is!!!

This is New Puppy and Kid Two's Kid One. 

I will now call Kid Two's Kid One, Grandkid One. It's just easier that way. 

This is just Grandkid One. 

And I might even like him better than New Puppy. I'm just sayin'. 

He's introducing New Puppy to the instinctive obvious. 

Fire Hydrant.

This is "The Miracle Picture: Boy and Dog". 

I have no idea how this even happened. 

Have you ever seen a 14-month old boy and an 8-week old pup stay in one place that long? Me either. 

Like I said. Miracle.

And this is New Puppy all by herself. 

She can fit in my sleeve. 

She is friendly, and fluffy and everything you could ever want in a puppy. 

And she has a name. 

It is Kaiya. 

The best part? I don't have to potty train her!

Happy Friday!

High Expectations

It's March. This is good.

I did not write even one post during February. This is bad.

I only picked up my camera twice between January 17 and February 23. This is also bad.

But I am going to do better. This is good again.

The End.

Not really the end. But honestly, that's about all I've had to say. For days. Maybe even months. Is your life ever like that? I mean, I've wanted to blog really, really bad, but I've had a hard time coming up with stuff worth blogging about.

And it's been exactly one year and three days since I wrote my first blog post. I remember the expectation I set for myself to blog every day. For 13 days. Which reminds a little of the time decided I was going to teach my kids to tell me 'thank you' when I changed their diapers. It didn't work. In either case. But after a completely dry February I am ready to try again.

So here is my Blog Proclamation to The World.
Well, to My World. Of six.

This March I will blog more than twice.
I will try to include one clever post and one thoughtful post.
I will also post at least one picture.

That's all.

And how's that for high expectations?
I think I have finally figured out the key to my blogging success.
Lower my standards.

January Things

It's the last day of January. 

And with any luck I will actually get this posted before the end of the last day of January.

_______________________________________

You should know that I don't make New Year's resolutions. Because a) They make me crazy for the first two weeks that I try them all, and b) They make me crazy for the next eleven and a half months that I wonder why I tried them all.

So instead, every January One, I just pat myself on the back for staying alive another year and say, "Let's try for one more", then call it good.

But today I was running. In a running skirt. And I realized that in spite of no resolutions I have done some things this January that I never thought I would. So I decided to share.

January Things I Thought I Would Never Do

#1 - Run in a running skirt.

Okay. I have looked at running skirts before. And I've even thought about trying one on. But when push comes to shove I have thought they just aren't me. Enter a visit to my brother a couple of weeks ago when his wife gave me one of her running skirts. Today I tried it. I have to admit that at first I didn't really feel like I should be going out for a run. I really felt like I should be going out for lunch. At the tennis club.

But guess what? Love, Love, LOVE!!

It was the perfect blend of cool and warm for today's weather. I felt feminine and pretty, and breezy and young. Bonus: No visible sweaty crotch marks when I finished. What more could a girl want?

Really. I just might be getting another one of these. In pink.

Just kidding. Not really in pink.

#2 - Run with my hair loose.

Rule number one of running with long hair: Tie it back. If you don't, it gets in your eyes, in your nose, and in your mouth. Not to mention winding up horribly tangled.

But while running in my running skirt today I felt so girly that I just couldn't help it! And I took out the ponytail.

Umm...let me just say...it was liberating. Not just because I broke my own rule, but because for some reason it just felt so good! I WILL be doing this again.

#3 - Buy skinny jeans.

Yes, it's true. You may pick your jaw up from the floor now.

I've talked about my "No Skinny Jeans" rule several times before. And I've been completely committed to this. But in November I bought this really, really cute pair of boots. And for nearly two months they screamed subliminal messages from my closet. "Skinny jeans! Skinny jeans! Must have skinny jeans!" So I relented, and got not just one, but TWO pair of skinny jeans.

And I love them! I really do. Because I got them in a little boutique in a little town. With Kid Four. And they are the first skinny jeans I have ever tried that fit over my calves.

My boots are very, very happy about this. So I am.

#4 - Buy jeans with bling on the bum.

Do we see a recurring break-my-own-rules theme here?

I blame this one on the skinny jeans. They only came with blingy bums. But only a little bling. So I'm calling it okay. Until I'm 50.

#5 - Run in 60+ degree weather. Three times.

I know. I had nothing to do with this beyond getting myself out the front door. And it's not that I thought I wouldn't ever run in 60+ degrees. I mean, I have. But 60 degrees and more is weird for January in the Midwest. And I still have nightmares about last January spent on the treadmill. So I never really thought this would happen in January. But it did!

And if this were a "January Things I Thought I Would Do And Didn't Do" list I could include running on the treadmill. I haven't. Even once. It's glorious. The end.

#6 - Enjoy Utah

And by enjoy, I mean, want to stay in.

Before you Utah people cry foul, you should know that I actually do enjoy Utah when I visit. But I am also usually very happy to leave.

But not this January visit. This visit was different. This visit I felt safety. And peace. And sanctuary.
I have amazing friends and family to attribute this to, and most importantly a God who is good.
So when I left, I cried.
I never thought I would feel that way leaving Utah. But I did.
And I'll keep it at that.

#7 - Only blog twice.

Seriously. I have got to do better with this. 'Nuff said.

#8 - Take my first yoga class. Ever.

I can't really include this as something I thought I would never do because I've been wanting to for awhile. But  a January evening in Boulder afforded the opportunity.

Mostly, my first yoga class ever was a lot like I expected my first yoga class ever to be. Relaxing and therapeutic. And a little embarrassing.

But what I didn't expect was...wait for it....wait for it... CRYING! Seriously. In yoga class! This happened in the first two minutes, about the same time the instructor said, "Appreciate yourself..."  And I spent the next hour fighting the tears. By the end I gave up. Completely.

I never expected yoga to be emotional, but apparently it can be. Next time I will take tissues. Or maybe a punching bag. Just in case a different emotion accidentally pops out.

________________________________________

So there you have it. Eight January Things I Thought I Would Never Do. Impressive, I know. But most impressive is that I didn't have to make one resolution to do any of this. Could a January be any better? I think not!

And so now we move on to February, and hopefully to a whole 2012 full of unexpected things.
Things I thought I'd never do.
And maybe I few things I thought I would do. And won't.

The Christmas Letter

I know, it's been forever. Because Christmas happens. And so does other stuff.

Like a house full of company for 12 days. Followed by a few days away to evaluate my life.
And by a few, I mean 15.

After that, I came home to Christmas cards still taped to my front door and a stack of Christmas letters on the counter. I like the Christmas cards on the front door. They are cheery and remind me of what beautiful friends and family I have.

But the stack of Christmas letters reminds me that I skipped reading through some of them and need to catch up. And that this is the second year in a row that I have not managed to get my own Christmas letter written.

Please understand this was never my intention. I always intend to read the letters. All the letters. Every last word of every last letter.
And I always intend to write my own letter.
I even spend a fair amount of every September writing them in my head.

They usually take on three forms.

Number 1: The Completely Unrealistic Christmas Letter

This letter is full of all of the wonderful things our kids have accomplished this year.

Like perfect scores on the ACT and SAT.
And essays that won them a flight on Air Force One.
And winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

It's also full of all the amazing places we have traveled.
Like Prague.
And Easter Island.
And the moon.

It makes everyone want to be us.
And is completely made up.

Number 2: The Completely Unrealistic Opposite Christmas Letter

This letter is full of all the things we hope never happen in our lives.

Like our kids being sent to rehab.
Or being paroled.
Or holding the Walmart hostage.

It includes vacations to Wichita.
Or Topeka.
Or jail.

It makes nobody want to be us.
And is completely made up.

Number 3: The Short, Sweet and to the Point Letter

It's pretty simple and goes like this...

Our kids are better than your kids!
Merry Christmas!

It's my personal favorite. And completely true.

But since this is really a little rude and I was fresh out of writing inspiration, I decided to turn the letter over to Little Man.

And this is what he came up with.

(Please remember he is 15. And that should about cover the disclaimer.)

Here we go...
__________________________________________________________________________________

This year for our Christmas card, we have decided to take a step back from ourselves and instead take a look at our spectacular dog named, Cosmo!

Cosmo, quite simply, is a boss. He eats twice a day (morning and night), along with whatever human munchies he can snag! He doesn’t really like to play fetch, but he makes up for that by being super cuddly. He’s basically the coolest and the cutest dog ever, especially when he has a nice haircut! And ohh man, you should see this little stud (muffin?) in a puppy sweater vest! We have had him for a little over 7 years, and the only times we’ve regretted having him is when he eats all our flip flops o_O. 

Anyway, Cosmo is a beast little dog. And the rest of the family is doing pretty good… I guess…

Merry Christmas!

-The Gille’s

(Conceptualized and composed by Landon Gille... in 3 minutes... or less)

PS. If you really want to know what's going on, check out my mom's blog: (Insert Blog Website Here)

__________________________________________________________________________________

Okay. Did any of you find that as amusing as I did?

I am not kidding when I say that I laughed and laughed when I read it.
My favorite part? His great description of how the family is doing.
And the time he took to conceptualize and write this lovely letter? Thank you, Little Man, for stating the obvious.
And I'm pretty sure the shameless blog plug exists because he had just read about how to make money writing a blog.
(Please note: I don't make any money from writing this blog!)

If you are on my Christmas card list you will know that this letter never made it out. Even though I wanted it to. But you should also know that I will treasure it forever and it will always make me giggle just a little bit.

Not to mention...

Our dog is better than your dog!

Happy New Year!

A Summer Heart

Today I wanted to write a really brilliant post.
Something inspiring. Or clever and smart. Or wildly funny and entertaining.

But I'm not gonna lie. This week has been cold...

...wear-your-scarf-and-puffy-coat-inside cold,
...hot-chocolate-doesn't-make-it-any-better cold,
...brain-freeze cold.

And since my brain is frozen, all I can think about is summer.

Mmm, summer...

...step-outside-and-sweat summer,
...humidity-you-can-practically-eat summer,
...throw-and-go-hair-days summer.

Summer.

For as long as I can remember, my heart has belonged to summer.

I love the heat, the sun, and the carefree days at the pool.
I love late, sultry walks with fireflies, and midnight drives with the top laid back.
I love the strong, incessant buzz of the cicada, and the throaty growl of the frog.
I love sweaty runs, and cool, crisp watermelon. In that order.

I just love all that summer has to offer! 

But the transition between seasons always leaves me contemplative.
Watching the leaves gradually turn, shake loose, and wistfully settle to the ground,
Feeling the winds change and the earth freeze beneath my feet,
I can't help but wonder...

Just which season of life I am in? 

The hair is graying, the skin is wrinkling, and the body is realizing limitations the mind refuses to accept.
The kids are leaving, the once impossible schedule is relenting, and the balance of life is shifting.

Everything tells me my summer is winding down.

Everything except for my heart.

I have a heart that fights and fights for summer.
For a summer where the mind is clear and the body is strong;
For long, warm days that linger deep into the late years of my life.
For an "Indian Summer" of my own.

But buried within I know my summer will one day give way to autumn, then ultimately to winter.
And when it does I hope to have gained an appreciation for the wonders of those seasons;
A recognition of the peace and wisdom that comes from knowledge of seasons past,
And a profound understanding of the glorious spring that will follow.

But mostly I hope to find a place where all the seasons of my life can fit seamlessly with my 

Forever Summer Heart.

Under The Christmas Tree

Today is December 1st.

I used to have all of my Christmas stuff up by the weekend following Thanksgiving.
Then I used to have it up by the Monday after Thanksgiving.
And then I used to have it up by November 29. Or 30th.

Today is December 1st. And I still have unpacked boxes of Christmas decor scattered everywhere.

This was not my intention, but important things got in the way.
You know, like "Angry Birds" and "Words With Friends".
(Don't judge. We made it into a family holiday event.)

But you should know that in spite of the boxes littering my living room, the Christmas tree is up.
With two ornaments on it.

And nothing underneath.

I don't know what is typically found under your tree by now. But mine usually sees a tree skirt.
And then presents. Which I usually shoot to have under the tree by midnight on December 24th.

However, this year I found an early unexpected something under my Christmas tree.

I found it when I climbed under the tree to wiggle it around a bit in its tight corner...
     ...then rolled onto my back to breathe out a deep sigh after some long, hard days (months).
I found it as I laid there, quiet and still, and opened my eyes to view my tree from the underside.

It only took a second to realize why my dog loves to hang out there.
It's cozy and all safe feeling.
And I said so out loud.
So Kid Middle crawled under and joined me.

Lying there, we felt like campers in dense forest, looking up into twinkling skies.
In a climate-controlled environment.
We talked about camping, and forests, and stars.
And microwave ready S'mores in climate-controlled environments.

And then we began to giggle.
     And laugh.
     And laugh some more.
Until tears were rolling down our cheeks and our abs began to ache.
It felt so good that we just laughed for as long as we could, for no reason at all.
Except to laugh.

And in those few moments under the Christmas tree I found Laughter.
And little slivers of Joy and Peace.

Sometimes I forget about these things.
I don't mean to. It's just happens.
I get busy with life, and caught up in the distractions, conflicts, and challenges that get in the way of what matters most.
And before I know it, I've forgotten what Laughter, and Joy, and Peace feel like.
And sometimes when I have forgotten I don't even know it till something comes along to remind me.

The fact that this reminder came with the Christmas tree is not completely surprising.
I have always loved putting the ornaments on the tree.
Each one carries a special memory that I get a chance to revisit as I unwrap and carefully place it.
I planned it this way from the beginning. And have loved it ever since.

But it takes an empty and bare tree to hold ornaments.
I don't usually like empty and bare.
Because it feels just like it sounds.
So it was surprising that the reminder came from time spent there.

But now I have fallen in love with the unadorned Christmas tree.
It is simple.
It is beautiful.
And I will forevermore see it as hopeful.
Because this year under the Christmas tree I didn't just find Laughter, and Joy, and Peace.

I created a memory.
And found a little bit of me.

Sometimes discoveries like this come in unexpected ways.
And sometimes they come by seeing things from under instead of out.
But if we pay attention they can remind us of the forgotten things that matter most.

May your Holiday Season be happy and full,

replete with discovery and memories.

And Laughter, and Joy, and Peace.

Challenge Over! And Things I Like - Branson Edition

Victory!!

I did in fact fit in my smallest jeans on the last day of my Branson trip. And I wore them for the long car ride home. Instead of the Just-In-Case-Yoga-Pants I packed for Day 6.

I did not take a pic of the Day 6 jeans. It was far too early in the morning for pics. But I do have this one to share...

Day 5 - The New "Because I Don't Have Six Pairs of Jeans" Jeans. Again

Confession: I paid attention to angles when taking all these jeans pics. 

My legs are not that thin. Or that long. 

I like this kind of magic.

And hopefully you will not have to see a pic of me and my jeans till next year. When I do the Branson thing all over again.

Now I'll wrap it all up with this.

Things I Like - Branson, Missouri Edition
In no order at all.

1. A week with my dad. And my sister. And my other sister. This could only be made better by having my other other sister there. We miss her when she's not.

2. Hills. You can't go anywhere in Branson without experiencing a hill. And these are the kinds of hills that make your bum and quads buuurrrrrn when you run them. They make the hills around my house feel like...not hills at all. I love them! Not to mention they are breathtaking. To look at. And to run.

3. The talent! I have never seen so much talent in one week. At least since the last time I spent a week in Branson. The performers are exceptional instrumentalists, vocalists, and entertainers. And it's clear they love what they do. I love what they do, too.

4. The work ethic. *Sings* "They work ha-ard for the money, duh, dun, duh, dun. So ha-ard for the money, duh, dun, duh, dun. They work ha-ard for the money so you better treat them right. Duh, dun, duh, dun."

From the restaurants to the merchants, to the ticket booths, to the stages, to the backstages, and everywhere in between, the people of Branson are hard, hard workers. And don't think for a minute that those performers live glamorous lives. Most of them work us under the table. I am not making this up. They don't look so seamless on stage "just because". And they can't go anywhere without getting attention. No ugly days at the grocery store for them!

5. Loyalty to God, Family, Country. In that order. Mentioned in nearly every show. On a scale of one to ten it is a ten refreshing.

6. The Amish store. Yes, this is my sad, sad weakness while I am there. Especially the freshly ground Honey Roasted Peanut Butter. And the licorice. And the jams. And the spices. And Bertha's Cashew Crunch. And the...and the...and the...  The list is lengthy!

7. Knowing the shortcuts around town. This isn't really so much about Branson as it is about me. ; )

8. Veterans. We always make this trip during Veteran's Week. I love this part. Every show takes a moment or two to recognize those who have valiantly fought for our freedoms. It is humbling and brings tears to my eyes every time. I feel honored to be in their presence. Now if our Government would just stop taking away the rights they have fought to preserve.

9. The Porter's!! Honestly. I fell in love with this family! They came at their mother's request. On her dime. A chance for all the kids and their spouses to get together and reconnect. Most of them were not too far from my own age and came with a bit of skepticism. They left with a bit of love. It was a privilege to spend the week with them and watch the Matriarch beam endlessly, no matter how tired she was. Every family should consider this for their reunion. And when you do, contact me. My dad plans a better Branson trip than anyone!

10. Me. That sounds self-centered, I know. But let me explain. I always come home from this trip a better person, enriched by those who I have met, inspired and moved by their life stories, and grateful for their quiet contributions to my soul. And the creative energy that exists in that town is remarkable. In short, I love what Branson does for me.

So, there you have it. The reasons why I leave my home and family to eat too much, sleep too little, and stimulate my senses to the point of being numb, knowing the entire time it will be worth every second of it.

I can't wait for next year! Especially now that I know my "Anti-Expansion Plan" actually works! : )

And one last parting shot.

The Porter Family + 2

(Because by the end of the week we felt like family. This trip just does that to you.)

The Food, The Jeans, The Challenge - Day 4

Here is what you should know about my annual Branson trip:

1. It's not all fun and games. But it is mostly fun.

2. I spend the week driving a van load of people from motel to show, to food, to show, to food, to show, to food before bed. At the motel. Our entire group varies anywhere from 23-60 people, depending on the year.

3. Sometimes I am expected to know the answers to unexpected questions like, "How much does a piece of land go for per acre around here?" Or, "What are all the Osmond kids up to?" I just politely remind people that I am not from "around here". Nor am I personally acquainted with the Osmonds.

4. A normal bus tour packs a whopping 7 shows into 5 days. The passengers are exhausted and feel like the tour people "keep them hopping".

5. My dad is not a normal bus tour. Because we see 12  shows in 4 days. And travel in vans.

6. The Brett Family Singers do a daily morning show in Branson. It is the BEST! Literally. They win awards and stuff. Like "2011 Best Morning Show" and "2011 Male Entertainer of the Year". And "2011 Female Vocalist of the Year". And "Best Patriotic Salute to Veterans".

7. I am closely related to The Brett Family Singers. One of them is my sister. Another one is my brother-in-law. The "Male Entertainer of the Year" is my nephew. And the "Female Vocalist of the Year" is my niece. Someday I will write an entire post just about them. Complete with pictures. Then you will want to go to Branson and see them. If you don't already.

Today we went to "The Wig Show". It's not really called "The Wig Show". My other sister and I just like to call it that.

Because...

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig 

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Wig

Not a wig.

Also not a wig.

Forgot a wig? 

All this in two fast-paced, high energy hours!

Hence, "The Wig Show." At least as distracting as the jackets with sparkles and fringe. 

Oh, how I love Branson! : )

Now on to the jeans report...

Day 4 - Newer Jeans

This morning they fit! So I ate popcorn. And fudge.

Only two days to go.

The Food, The Jeans, The Challenge - Day 3

I have a love/hate relationship with "theatrical haze".
I love it because it sounds cool.
I hate it because it makes my contacts feel gritty.
Or maybe that's sleep deprivation. I'm not really sure.

Today I...
Did not eat popcorn.
Did not go back for a third dessert.
Stopped by the Amish store to buy an unreasonable amount of freshly ground Honey Roasted Peanut Butter. Because I like it. A lot. And I like to share it. A lot. It's especially good with Pink Lady apples. Mmm.

Day 3 - New Jeans
And a new white blouse.

The jeans still fit. The blouse is high-maintenance.

(You have no idea how ridiculous I feel posting a pic of me in my jeans everyday. Seriously. My apologies for dragging you into my "Anti-Expansion Plan".)

Check this guy out. His name is George Dyer. If you're ever in Branson you should go see him.
He has an incredible voice!

Only narrowly surpassing the incredible hair.

The Food, The Jeans, The Challenge - Day 2

Today it rained. And rained. And rained, and rained, and rained. So my camera camped out in the car till the last show of the day. Where I learned that I am very easily distracted by costumes. Especially costumes that are sparkly.

And fringe-y.

Check out this collection of jackets. They are masterpieces.

Sparkly...

Fringe-y...

Sparkly and  Fringe-y!!

And the big finish...

So. Much. Sparkle!

And you should know that these costumes are always my favorite part of this show. Blame it on the Texas in me.

You should also know that I am really good at dieting. Until 11am.
And that there are some things I try once and then can never get enough of. Like sugar.
And that when your jeans get rained and rained on, they stre-e-e-etch. This is valuable information!

Day 2 - The Old Jeans
This was before the end of today's diet. And the sugar. And the rain.

Tomorrow I will run.