Kinda Sexy

On Saturday, after I'd gotten home from my yoga class, Michael and I climbed back into bed and buried ourselves under the blankets. 

(Warning! Parents will do this when child is at a sleep-over.) 


At some point, the yard was calling to us, come, my pretties, there's much work to be done! Or, it might've been Chewy whining to go out. We got our butts out of bed and smooshed around the muddy yard with our gardening tools and wheelbarrow. We raked up fallen sticks, pruned a bush, swept off the back porch, stacked wood, and tossed the tennis ball to Chewy eighty-seven times. At least.


All this together-ness had me feeling that warm fuzzy love thing which is like when a really good friend calls. You know, the one you don't touch base with often enough? I found myself gazing at Michael, jeans rolled up over his green boots, rake in hand, thinking God, I love a guy who rakes!
"You know something, Michael?"
"What, honey?"
"I almost like being outside in the yard with you as much as I like being in bed together."
Pause.
"Are you saying, you prefer my skills in the yard to my..."
He is grinning. "Gosh, honey, you really know how to make a guy feel..."
"No, no! See, I didn't say that right. I didn't mean it like that."
I slid my arms around his waist and leaned my head into his back. My husband is so much taller than me this backwards hug always feel like I'm hugging a tree? I love trees so...
"It's just that it's another way for us to spend time together."
"That's true," he said, "I'm having a very nice time, honey."
"I am too. Yes! And see how good the porch looks, all swept up, not so chaotic looking. It's kinda sexy."

More Rain

Simple Sunday.


rain rain rain


1:15 matinee of The King's Speech. 


(see it.) 


rain rain rain...


bed
book


more rain.

Come Alive

Don't ask what the world needs.
Ask what makes you come alive and
go do it. Because what the world needs
are people who have come alive.


~ Howard Thurman, theologian, educator, civil rights leader

It Won't Be Fatal

Three days ago, I was singing a joyful song, celebrating the one year anniversary of This Being Alive, feeling kicky in my red dress, all smiles, arms wide open. 


Remember her?


Then came yesterday.


"What's the point?" I said to Michael.


This is not a great place to land, but it happens. I wake up and the world feels skewed. I find myself saying I don't know what to do, as if there's some formula for this life, if you just follow these steps, isn't there a pill?


I rarely do this, the guilt alone, but I lay down on the couch in the afternoon and sank into my droopiness. Earlier, I'd had a full-blown weep while Michael listened quietly. He is a very good husband this way. He tunes in, especially when I am walking around the kitchen, sponging the counters, sitting at the kitchen table, head in hands, questioning myself, crying. He pays attention. 


"May I make an observation," he said. "A suggestion? Stop waiting to do what you really want. This whole thing is a risk, honey. Going to law school was a huge risk for me. Moving across the country to be here with you and Jesse. A huge risk. If I had failed, I would've done something else. Without risking, you'll never know. Whatever it is, you have to take the risk. If you fail, it won't be fatal."

Empty Yourself

...see what happens.

Everything I Need

Everything I need shall be provided today. 


Everything.


When I read this, my shoulders dropped. 


Oh, how those shoulders love to cozy up to my ears! 


It felt so good, I read it again. Out loud.


Everything I need shall be provided today. 


Everything.


Yes, I thought. Okay.
Then a voice, Are you kidding me? 
And another, That's absurd!
And, you don't really believe that, do you?


In an effort to avoid an argument with the committee, I chose not to respond. Wandering with camera in hand, I repeated this mantra quietly to myself, settling my eyes (and lens) on the kitchen table:


tulips, books, Claire's book bag, tea, sunlight.


*Everything I need shall be provided today. 


 Everything.


* from The Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie

Because Of You!

Today marks the first anniversary of 


~ This Being Alive. 


At this very moment, I'm channeling Stephen, my second grader who wrote in his journal... Today I feel happy. I don't know why.


Best journal entry ever.


But I do know why. 


Thanks to an angel from Arkansas, I began This Being Alive one year ago today. He said, For goodness sakes, any idiot can do it, Bets! No, that's wrong; angels from Arkansas would never say such a thing. Nope. They'd send simple directions for a techno-challenged writer on how to start your own blog. A gentle nudge.


Other angels nudged too, but mostly it was my own inner nudging, or thrashing around in a paper bag that pushed me...


off the riverbank and into the river!


If a group of behavioral scientists (or readers) made a line graph of the past 365 posts, they would likely observe dangerous dips of serotonin levels, manic moments of magical thinking, sentimental sinkholes, sadness holding hands with supreme joy and love...


Mix in babies and wild turkeys, Elizabeth and Bean, Mr. Rogers, bumper stickers, balls hanging from bumpers, Jesse, Jesus, Plato, play dough, marriage, Michael, miracles, Claire, prayer, Dad, something called busy mind, mother love, army boots, Owen the orange cat, wrinkles, family, friends, fear, a dog named Chewy, road trips, and a river...and you've got a few things to write about.


Michael insists I'm being a tad dramatic, but I live by this:


Writing can save your life.


It's because of you that This Being Alive is my happy place, even when I'm weeping uncontrollably. 


trust unflinching, I wrote in the very first post.


I'm sticking around. I hope you will too. 


My arms are wide open with gratitude and love!


xo b