I got another camera speeding ticket from Crapids.  This one was taken the weekend I went back to scan photos and write thank you notes at my dad's house.  The other two were gotten when he was still alive.  The first in the winter when he was still at St. Lukes and was so terribly sick that we didn't know.  The second when he was at the nursing home and again, terribly sick, and we knew.  And now I think there may be no more.  My trips to my home town will be spread out even further than they were in the past.  My need to be there quickly will be over.  I don't care to give another $75 to the city of my birth that I now just think of as somewhere I am from. 

This Saturday marks the sixth week that my dad has been dead, five since I last saw his face.  Today marks the sixth week since I was last almost bit by my dad, I won that one, he didn't bite me, but maybe I should have let him.  Of course I knew it was that last time he'd bite me, the last ornery thing he would do on this earth.  The last in the longest line of many bites and whisker rubs and cuffs and knee pinches.  

And I am not at peace with he's in a better place or he was ready or any of the other words that people string together to offer some comfort.  I know that heaven is far better than earth, but I will never appreciate the Lord's timing.  My dad still had people to see and a party to go to the following weekend.  He wasn't ready and the Lord knew his plans.  Sometimes I think the Lord is a jerk for taking people too soon as most people are.  I will be angry for a long time at His timing.  His very shitty timing.

Internet memes say that cardinals and dragonflies are those that you love visiting you.  My yard has always been a haven for dragonflies so to see one now doesn't seem any more special.  I find my dad in the things we shared.  Like Ashlyn and her OKLAHOMA album, my tears come when Dean Martin sings with Ricky Nelson in the jail in RIO BRAVO.  Or when I wake up far too early and stand at the front door watching those paper carrier moments when the sun is neither down nor up and am radio plays in my mind.

I miss all that I missed out on because of miles and life choices and being too dumb to ask the questions that I will never know the answers to now.  I miss my dad's laugh and the way he said dumb ass (and he said it a lot).  I miss  

I am grateful that my dad lived such the life that he did!  I am glad that he was ornery.  I am glad that he knows what his grandchildren are doing with their lives.  I am glad that he is home with Mom and his brothers and sister and mom.   I hope that he comes to us in the songs we hear and the people we spend time with.  I pray that he knows how fiercely we loved him and were (are) proud to be his kids.  

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day!
Obviously (bo, bissly) I wish my own mom a happy day, but she is in Heaven so her days can be no happier.  I assume that she is very happy with the way her charges turned out and even more so, the next generation.  My mom was a good mom.  I can't speak for my older siblings, but I know I gave my mom plenty of trouble and she continued to love me through it.  She looked to others to help her mother me when things got tough and at the time, I resented that because truth be told, I only wanted her attention.  I wanted her to love me in the way I thought she loved Sheila.  And she very well may have loved Sheila more though she claimed to love us all equally, as I mom, I know that it is pretty tough to quantify love.  There have been days in my own mom career that I loved my own kids solely out of obligation.  Those days when they knew it all but could only express it in ugly grunts and big toothed snarls.  Those days when I had to go to the bathroom a lot only to sit on a pile of towels and read a book with out the painful interruptions of she said/he did.  Those days when I passively aggressively cleaned the house and no one jumped in to help because they already knew the passive aggressive game and didn't want to play.
But I digress, this post is not about me as a mom, but as a wish of happiness to all the mom figures that mom'd me and mine through out the years.  
So Happy Mother's Day to my mom, as I mentioned.  As time has passed, I get what you were trying to do.  I'm trying to do that too.  There are a lot of wishes and regrets in my relationship with my mom, time is healing those and time is giving me an opportunity to use her mom ideals in my own life, in my own way.  Momming is like that.
This Happy Mother's Day wish is for you, the grandmas, aunts, great aunts, friend's moms and complete strangers that helped me raise these kids.  Whether you are a mom or not, you have mom'd.  You have fed and fixed my kid, you have offered advice, solicited or not, you have validated them and loved them and scolded them.  As Velma Kelly so eloquently said in the musical, Chicago " But I Simply Cannot Do It Alone".
And none of us can.  It a social media world that seems to be so hell bent on shaming moms specifically and women in general, I say fuck off.  We are truly all in this together and it would be so much easier if we felt like we were allies instead of enemies.  The goal should be to raise decent humans that are productive members of society that know how to wipe their own butts and will get off their phones when they are at the cash register.  Let's get over the open letter philosophy of you're doing it wrong because you're not doing it like me.  Let's also accept that fact that sometimes we screw up and raise little assholes.  In those cases, let's apply a little tough love, remove the labels that validate the behavior (on kid and parent alike) and get them back to being decent. 
And to my own kids, well, thanks.  I am happy to have one more holiday that gets me presents.  And no, if there wasn't such a holiday, I would not have been nearly as interested in being a mom.  Except that the three of you are truly gifts that keep on giving.  And I can confidently say that I have raised decent humans that are productive members of society.  You each have your own gifts and talents that make the world a little better.  I assume you can all take care of your own hygiene needs and I know that you all treat the cashier with courtesy and kindness.  That just might be what I am most proud of, you speak to store clerks, you push the carts back, you scratch kitties behind the ears. 

Sometimes I hate it when God is Right

If you've read anything I've written or ever listened to me talk, you should know that this relationship I have with God does not always go my way.   With His all knowing talents, it is fair to say that He is right.  And I think He is just as well, I guess, but He isn't always fair and He certainly isn't much for letting me have my own way.  He is pretty used to me by now and knows the best way to get me to listen is to either have a dog tell me or whisper it quietly to me as a mull over what ever it is that I think needs mulling.
So, since the only dog at my disposal is Hattie and she doesn't tell me anything beyond "Treat please" and "Throw this please" God does not generally use her as a viable mode of conversation.  Now when I had Barron, those two were often one in the same for me.   But that is another story that I've already told.
I am angry, and hurt and I am really interested in holding on to a grudge.  There are words I'd like to share that will not improve any situation and probably won't make me feel better but I would like to spew them forth just the same.  Too many people have told me in this life that there is nothing to be gained from holding a grudge and as I've gotten older, I have gotten better at letting them go.  But sometimes, just sometimes when I am so full of anger and sadness and hurt that the big, heaping sobs come forward, I want to
I don't really know what I want to, other than not forgive and forget.  I don't want to forgive. 
So anyway, back to God and His mysterious ways.  He caught me today in mass during the homily.  Father was talking about giving up meat, soda, candy or watching tv for lent.  He was talking about how those giving ups can lead to taking on new things or changing your ways.  He talked about giving up soda and putting that change in a rice bowl or giving up TV and using that time to volunteer. I listened with half an ear as one, I have not given anything up for lent as of yet (its been a long week) and two, I was still mulling.  Somewhere in my half listening I heard words like forgiving, kindness, heartfelt, charity and I knew it was God ever so gently tapping my shoulder, getting that chip off of there.  He is really good at that when I open up to it.  So, I forgive.  I don't want to be the me that holds that grudge.  I forgive.  I don't want to be the me that I don't like.  I forgive because I believe in the me that is kind.  I forgive because I know the difference between being right and doing right and I want to do the right thing by my heart.

Now, what shall I do for lent?

Just wrapping up my thoughts

I haven't written in months.  I have plenty of opinions, as everybody does, it just didn't seem worth it to put them to paper.  Well, not paper exactly.  But you know what I mean.  But with this very decisive year coming to an end, I would like to collect all my thoughts on 2015 and then graciously move forward.
Publicly, 2015 seemed to be awfully ugly.  The media did a bang up job of twisting truths and then Facebook and its sheep propelled the half truths and no truths out and about for all the world to share.  Many times I thought about getting off Facebook because of the shit that flies, but then I came across a page dedicated to rescued flying foxes in Australia and my faith in humanity was gently restored.  I think it would be great if people understood a few truths about Facebook.  Not all memes are true and no one is required to fact check them.  That is true about posts as well.  One can say just about anything one would like on Facebook and well, as Abraham Lincoln said "don't believe everything you read on Facebook."  Typing "AMEN" or sharing a status, particularly one that shows a neglected dog, a battle worn soldier or a child with cancer, will do little to cure the ails of the world.  Oddly, giving time and money to animal rescue societies, Wounded Warrior Foundation and Curesearch will do much to cure the ails of the world.  I don't understand what a spam is or how a spammer makes money, but I do understand that many of the above posts are run by spammers and only does them good in a bad sort of way.
We all heard that "Black Lives Matter" and conversely, "all Lives Matter" and "Police Lives Matter".  It appeared that one could not understand the meaning behind one movement and believe that the other movements were also important.  I believe all lives matter.  I also believe that it is a lot easier to be a middle class white person in America than not.  Unless I was an upper class white person.  That is not to say that many problems that people face regardless of color are brought on by their own actions.  But it is fair to say that a white kid is not as quick to be judged as a back kid.  Prejudices run deep folks, with reason and with fear.  Lives matter, absolutely, but that matter has to start at home, in the eyes of the beholder.  I am only responsible for my actions.  It is not reasonable to put the actions of white people before me or next to me as my blame. 
Police lives matter.  Yes, they do.  I have written about this already.  The media did an excellent job of creating an image of a comic book Gotham type world of law enforcement.  And the media is sorely misguided.  I have great respect for those in the media, usually local stations, that did ride alongs and participated in training exercises so that they could have a better understanding of what an officer is up against on any given call.  These lives matter because they are the only ones willing to run in when the rest of us run out.  Dirty cops?  Sure, there are dirty cops.  Power hungry thugs in uniform?  I bet there is.  Should they be in law enforcement?  Of course not, but should all the upstanding, hard working be lumped in with them?  Absolutely not, just like every person of color is not a gang member, or every middle easterner an Islamic terrorist.
Which leads me to that hot button.  Refugees or migrants or whatever one would like to call them.  I like the term people fleeing a world at war.  This issue tore at my heart in such a way that I had a hard time looking at myself.  I completely understand the fear that people have.  These terrorists do a really good job of fucking shit up.  And I don't want any of that here.  But it is here.  It is here in the form of men like Timothy McVeigh,  an all American boy that drove a truck into a child care center.  Sure it was a federal building, but 19 of the 168 people killed that day were children.  It is here in the form of mad men that shoot up schools and movie theaters.  It is here in the form of Islamic terrorists that fly planes into buildings and shoot up Christmas parties.  There is no denying that the terror that lives in this country is home grown and foreign.  Pointing the finger at a Syrian refugee gives one three more fingers to point at someone with issues with the government, someone with a point to prove to a high school, or one with some type of mental issue that creates an elaborate plan at a movie theater.  I know people that escaped Iraq.  I listened to their stories and was in awe.  I was also so embarrassed by how little I knew of what was happening in Iraq at that time and what is happening in Syria now.  I also think of the other middle eastern Muslims that I know, specifically Dr. Alzein and Dr. Rahdi.  Both were Ashlyn's doctors here and in Iowa City.  Intelligent, educated, kind and fully invested in saving my child's life.  Not the Islamic terrorist that one fears.
I cannot call my self a child of God and believe that people do not deserve a life free from the hell that they have endured.   It is as simple as that. 
America is great enough to take care of those that are already here and suffering and those that need a respite from their suffering.  We, as a nation, are better than we appear.  I know that.  We are better than those who speak for us on television and on the campaign trail.  Maybe it's time to show ourselves and the world that we are better than that. 

The beauty of people is that we all have different points of view.  Unfortunately we express those points of view too frequently through misinformation and ugliness.  I hope, I pray that 2016 can bring out the better in us.  I encourage us to find that which unites us instead of focusing on what divides us.  What if 2016 was the year we stopped bitching that someone should do something and realize that we are all someone. 

Thin Blue Line

Another cop has died.  A traffic stop.  This is the eighth officer in less than two weeks.  There is a sector of the population that is celebrating.  There is a sector of the population that shrugs its shoulders and continues with its day.  Another sector is angry.  There is another sector of the population that takes a deep breath and prays to Saint Michael.  And then there is the thin blue line. 

I don't know very much about what it takes to be a police officer.  I know that I couldn't do it.  Physically, mentally, emotionally, I don't have what it takes.  Shit, being a wife of is hard enough.  Maybe sometimes being the wife is worse.  No, it isn't because though I may worry, I am never doing what an officer does.  I can list all that they do, all that they give up, all that they risk.  We all know those things and many will say that they chose that job.  And it is true.  They chose it. 

They chose to put on the uniform and fight crime.  I suppose they even chose to be hated by an ever growing sector(s) of the population but this?  They did not choose this. 

There will always be bad cops, dirty cops, inept cops.  Let this hunt continue and that will  be all there will be.  The decent, the honorable, the admirable will find other jobs, will follow other dreams, will not be interested in being spit on, and hated and targeted for the uniform that they wear.

There is currently a cry out for the president to speak on these killings.  He hasn't.  I know he is busy.  But he had the time to talk about the shootings of criminals.  He has had time to talk about how these boys could have been his sons.  Sir, these officers could have been your brothers or sister.  They could have been your college roommates, golf buddies, friends.  In an official capacity, they could have picked up extra shifts to stop traffic for your motorcade.  They could have been called in on their day off to limit access to the stairwell of the hotel that you are speaking in.  They may have been the heavily armed thin blue line that kept anyone else from getting too close.  It is because of law enforcement, sir, that you arrive home each night able to kiss your girls and wife.  It is because of law enforcement and all that they do that you owe it to them to speak about these killings. 

It is no secret how I feel about law enforcement.  I am married to a police officer.  My brother is a deputy.  My children's grandfather is a retired officer.  As I research my husband's family tree, I find other officers in his past.  A long line of the thin blue line.  That line encompasses most of my friends as well.  When I listen to the media dissect the actions and decisions of officers, I take it personally.  When I read the comments made on Facebook and news chatrooms I get very frustrated.  I have to remember that it is very easy to be a Monday morning quarterback.  It is very easy to explain that, as a young liberal with all the answers, you would have shot the poor misunderstood in the leg or hand.  If you would have shot them at all.  No,  you would have reached out to the oppressed and tried to create a meaningful dialogue to find the answer.  Ride along, oh enlightened one, and really understand what it is like to find answers when no one speaks.  Understand what it is like to approach a darkened windowed car and know that this could go one thousand ways and you have to be prepared for a thousand and one ways.    Spend a shift knowing that everything wrong is your fault and anything right is in spite of you. 

The thin blue line is what you need.  You need it to get home from the fireworks in a timely manner.  You need it to report the shoplifter.  You need it when you are driving down the interstate and some asshole is weaving in and out of traffic.  You need them when there's a car parked across the street and things don't feel quite right.  You need them when you've been t-boned by a truck and the Goddamned heroes haven't arrived yet.  You need them when the dog is barking and the garage door is open and no one else is home.  You need them when no one else will come to your rescue. 

I am not the president, a member of the media or anyone else that can make my voice heard.  I cannot change the minds of the population that think police brutality runs rampant.  I cannot describe the officers that stop traffic for paper airplanes or baby ducks and make you believe that is the normal mindset of the normal officer.  I cannot make you understand that days, months and years of training won't make it any easier to make the decision to stop a threat, to take a life.  I am only the wife of an officer that day in and day out, does what he can, through training and heart, to keep you safe. 

Finished Reading

So I haven't blogged in a long time.  I mostly don't have anything to say that I haven't already said.  I had a great one written about the shitstorm that was Jenner but couldn't get my blog address to work and by the time I did, shitstorm had passed.  Other than that, I haven't had much of an opinion to express.  Until now.
So Ashlyn and I had cleaned my dad's bedroom for him last year and in that cleaning found three books that my mom had started and never finished.   My mom was great at starting a book, magazine, movie and a life and never getting around to finishing it.  The books were The Godfather, The Thornbirds and The Robe.  I had already read the first book and had seen the movie so I knew what I was getting into with that one.  I had never read The Thornbirds but watched it with my grandma during Holy Week many years ago.  I was down with the scandal of a handsome priest and a big sheep farm especially during Holy Week.  I had never heard of The Robe so I put that one for last.
Back to my mom.  Each of these books had a mark in them, ironically, the address labels from magazines that she probably never read.  My mom was always going to finish the magazines she subscribed to, but they just piled up on the coffee table.  I think her high stress job and a full family life left her too tired to concentrate on Mary Ann Mobly or Farrah Faucet Majors articles.  She dogearred the recipes that she would never find the time to make.  Every few years Dr Ziavago would air on television and Mom would call the TV for the evening.  I think she was usually asleep before the haunting theme song had finished playing.  Any attempt to turn the channel was answered with "I am just resting my eyes." But she wasn't resting, she was sleeping.   I don't know if she ever saw the movie in its entirety.  And then there is the cruelest unfinished of all, her memory cut short, way too short.  It no longer mattered that she didn't read or watch any of them to the end.  She wouldn't have remembered anyway. 
So The Godfather and The Thornbirds were quickly read and thoroughly enjoyed for what they were but The Robe turned out to be something entirely different.  It was not a quick read, published in 1942, the print was small and the pages yellowed. It was a small gift from my mom some nine and a half years after her death.
If you haven't read the book, I am going to ruin it for you so you've been warned.

The story of The Robe follows the Roman Tribune that was ordered to crucify Jesus.  This Tribune gambles for the robe of Jesus and what happens to him from there.  It was a fascinating story without the spiritual ramifications.  The author did an excellent job of describing Rome and Palestine in the first century.  I never gave any thought to the rest of the people there that day and certainly never thought about His robe, though I always thought it was an interesting detail to include that it was gambled for.  But it is the story of the Tribune and his journey to believing that is the gift that my mom left me.  She just keeps reminding me that faith is not something proven it just is.  I am still muddling through this faith business, but I know this book was there for me.  It was from my mom, Mrs. Robert Snow, as the bookmark said. She wants me to get there. 
So I finished it.  I read it for my mom who just ran out of time.  And it makes me think about all that I am putting on hold for when I have time and all that I have wasted my time on.  I don't even know where I am going with this post today.  Just have my mom and my faith and my to do list on my mind. 
The point, if there is one, is read a good book, put your faith in something and leave gifts for the future to find.

Green Houses and Bad Dreams

So the other day on our way to the tax man, my husband of twenty fives years asks a very innocent question.  "Would you be totally against painting the house green?"  I sat in the passenger's seat of our big new truck and felt my blood boil.  How dare he?  The audacity! 
"YES!  I would be totally against painting the house green!"  I screamed inside my head. 
Danny's reasoning was that the brown of the gutters could look better against green than blue.  Green would certainly look sharp against the reds in the brick.  I counter countered with the blue looks much better against the grey of the deck and that when all the green that grows starts to pop up, the blue may not bother him so much.
But honestly, none of this is about the color of the house, it is about not wanting one more thing to change in the whirlwind of change that is taking place in my life.  None of the change is bad really.  It is just a lot in a short amount of time and I am obviously not dealing with it if I am freaking out about painting a house.
The last of my big dogs died nine months ago and I still mourn her.  I will mourn her forever as I do Barron.  There is no replacing them because we aren't in the big dog business anymore.  We have Hattie.  She is little and adorable and completely different.  Hattie's personality is huge and make no mistake, I absolutely love her.  200 pounds to eight pounds is still quite a change.  I will continue to adapt throughout the spring and summer.  Harlow was a different kind of presence in the yard.   I don't know how Hattie will be.  I imagine she will be everywhere, sniffing everything.  I imagine she will spring in to say HI!  and then sprint to the far corners to explore, eat leaves and find bunnies.  Harlow was done with all that most days.  The energy will be so different.  Different.
Ashlyn is moving to Portland, Oregon.  I knew it.  I knew that she would go for a very long time.  But I got so used to having her around that I am not quite sure how I will fill my time.  Hayley is moving to Omaha.  I didn't know it and was expecting her to move home, at least for a little while.  So not only do I have to get used to not having Ashlyn here, I have to get used to not getting to have Hayley here.  Don't get me wrong.  I am glad.  I am glad that Ashlyn is moving to Portland and that Hayley is moving to Omaha.  It is right and it is where they are both supposed to be going.  One does not get excepted to law school or get the great job if it wasn't the plan, but it doesn't mean that it is easy for the mom. 
Jacob is moving home this summer and I hope that he indulges me on occasion and hangs out with me.  I know that he is getting his own life going and all that, but...  He promised to paint the garage this summer, blue.
And then there is work.  I have no idea what is happening there.  No one really does but the guys from Great Britain that were bought out by us with stock.  So they own us now and they are bringing in new ideas and that means change.
Change that I have to roll with because we have a new truck payment that is slightly larger than the Fiesta payment and I can't change jobs.
I think my little brain just didn't know how to process any more change and it manifested itself in a completely irrational response to a pretty innocent question.  God bless Danny White for just taking my long drawn out response with a sense of humor as I can't promise how quickly I will adapt to all these changes.  Oh, and did I mention I have glasses now?  So I am adapting to them as well.  And there is the thyroid medication that we may tweak a bit to see if that doesn't improve my skin and sleep and energy which will all help me better handle questions about house colors and what's for dinners and what ever else life my throw at me. 
In all that transpired in these past few weeks, I know that what concerned me the most was not the truck payment or house color or even where my daughters will live, but what I dreamt.  I dreamt that I was cutting again, on the bottoms of my feet so that Danny wouldn't know.  Is that how I want to respond to the stresses that I am experiencing (WTF none of this seems like it should be stressful)?  Am I still carrying around the cutting bullshit deep in my soul?  More than anything, I would like to know why cutting has reappeared in my life. 
Danny came home for lunch today and he listened, again, while I recited all my hopes and fears.  He is so patient with me.  I told him about the last conversation I had had with my doctor and that she brought up anti depressants.  I don't want them, am not interested in them, won't take them because for as low as my lows rarely feel, my highs are so fantastic that I would never want to diminish that feeling.  I don't want to take the edge off of anything because that was what cutting was. I just want to be whatever it is I am going to be in that moment and know that change will come, it is inevitable.  But also know that in the changes I will still have constants of a man that loves me, a dog that is excited to see me and kinder, that no matter where they are, are still my kinder. 
I know that cutting is not in my future.  And I know that neither of us really want to paint the house and we probably can't afford to hire it done so for the time being, the house is blue!