Time for Me to Fly

I document our lives a lot.  I don't owe anyone an explanation on why I share my life happenings on social media.  No one really needs to understand why I post some of my most treasured memories on a blog.  There are many schools of thought on this, but for me, I intend to live a life that is wide open.  That's not to say, I don't have privacy.  There are many things that I hold near and dear to my heart that are not for public consumption.  Some are painful.  Some are just sacred.  These things are protected and documented in a more private venue.

I don't share my pictures, places and things because I think I am so interesting and there are people who want to know about me.  It is also not for social acceptance.  Quite simply, in a former day, I was a scrap booker.  I would spend hours cutting, cropping and journaling my life's happenings.  Many things happened to change this practice.  To start, I lost everything I owned in a house fire right after graduating from college.  I didn't have much, but what I did have was treasured.  This type of event quickly shapes how you preserve your memories.  So does having two kids and a demanding full-time job.  Hence, the end of my scrapbook hobby.

Therefore, I do it in a way that makes sense to me (and keeps my mama who lives 800 miles away from her grand babies happy).  My 2014 word is CAPTURE.  I could say this is also a life theme.  I don't want to forget life.  It gets busy.  It gets blurred.  And then there are moments I want to go back and remember.  

Call me historian.  Call me paparazzi.  I call me "one that needs pictures and words to help remember the details of my life."  

I'm addicted to moments.  The moments in your life that don't really feel like moments.  Instead, they feel like a scene from a movie. One of those scenes that you rewind over and over because of the way you felt at that exact time.

I love these times because they most often reflect "game changers".  They are the "2 roads diverged in a forest" events that change your life perspective or purpose.  I write about these moments often.  It is my way of remembering them forever, although I'm quite certain I couldn't forget them if I tried.

There was a lot of drama that surrounded my move to Tennessee when I was 18.  My dad wanted me to go to Lee.  I couldn't imagine living that far away from everything I knew.  I didn't want to leave my family.  I knew I would miss my friends.  And of course, there was a boy.

I think I caught everyone off guard when I abruptly decided to attend Lee.  I can't even tell you why I did it, but I just came home in April and said, "Fine.  I'll go."

The months following my decision were some of the happiest in my life...a successful softball season, memorable marching band trips, high school graduation, concerts, lake time, and summer parties.  Every day felt bittersweet as I tried to celebrate, savor, and say goodbye all at the same time.  I felt time slipping through my hands and I desperately tried to hold on to it.

And then, it was my last day.  My friends and I tried to cram as much in 24 hours as we possibly could...dinner, a concert, a campout.  There were a lot of wonderful moments that day.  

Moments of laughter.  
Moments of tears.  
Moments of regret.  
Moments of hope.

But one moment will always be THAT moment.  The moment I knew everything was changing, but would always remain the same.  There I stood, at a concert, with my neighbors and friends, preparing to move 800 miles from everything I knew.

Bodies Swaying.
Voices Carrying.
Tears Flowing.

We sang an anthem that night and I knew my life would never be the same again.

Time for me to Fly

Oh I've got to set myself free

Time for me to fly

That's just how it's got to be

I know it hurts to say goodbye

but It's time for me to fly

The next morning, I loaded up my parents' car and made the move to Cleveland, TN.  I cried the whole way there.  I cried for the people I was leaving.  I cried for fear of people I hadn't met yet.  I cried because I wasn't sure if all of my "moments" were done.  In my 18 year old mind, I envisioned my movie scenes ending.  I couldn't imagine loving my life any more than I did the night before.

I, of course, have had a lifetime of beautiful moments and wonderful people.  My life has moved far from that 18 year old girl and yet, I still crave those moments that make me scared and hopeful all at the same time.

The beauty of true friends is that time and distance can't separate you from those moments that connect you.  The other night a few of my high school friends decided to have a Girls Night Out while I was in town visiting.  We laughed and reminisced like teenagers, even though each of us will celebrate our 40th this year.  These ladies helped define me. 

We froze our bras at sleepovers.  
We broke our first rules.  
We snuck out of the house (shhh don't tell our parents).  
We swore we'd be friends forever.

After dinner, as I pulled out of the parking lot, a familiar song came over the radio and I was quickly transported to that night when NY became a place I visit and no longer my home. I turned to my friend, Amy, and we both knew what to do.  Within minutes and several driveways later, all of us were together again.  

Their husbands thought we were nuts taking a convertible ride at 11:00 at night.  There we were, creating a moment, four 40 year old women cruising down Route 5 & 20 scream-singing an all-too-familiar song.

Time for me to Fly

Oh I've got to set myself free

Time for me to fly

That's just how it's got to be

I know it hurts to say goodbye

but It's time for me to fly

Twenty-two years ago, it was my time to fly.  But as we know, having roots is as important as having wings.  Over the years, I am so thankful to have both.  Thirty year old friendships don't happen over night.  They happen over long distance phone calls, letters in campus mailboxes, random text messages, and late night convertible rides.

~ao

Silk PJs with a White Out Stain

It was August of 1992 and my first day in my new hometown.  I was excited and slightly nervous as I realized I had completely failed in the outfit selection process.  I can assure you there was never a lesson in the good ole 14561 that taught girls like me what to wear to college registration.  On top of that, I got to the end of the registration line and the man asked me how I was going to pay my bill.  Again, I was stumped.  I quickly came to terms with the fact that I was totally unprepared for this college gig.

I came into the laundry room at my dorm to see this girl with the most beautiful white hair I had ever seen.  It was curled up in ringlets like Nellie Olson.  I thought they were fantastic.  Her makeup was flawless, her shoes were spotless, and she had a gleam in her eye.  I couldn't tell if the gleam was friendly or cruel, but either way, I was intrigued.

My nervous energy went on full throttle as I rambled on and on about my day...the guy that hit on me in line, my new work-study job, and the comfort level of my new shoes.  All while her eyes looked me up and down.  She couldn't get out of that laundry room fast enough.  She later told me she couldn't tolerate one more word...I simply talked too much that day.

It didn't take long before we met up again and eventually became college roommates.  For ten semesters, we shared a room; me on the bottom bunk and her on the top.  She had a matching ensemble for her room.  She had Precious Moments dolls that were probably worth quite a bit, even though I found them rather scary.  She had a white stereo.

She was messy and liked to sleep in.  She survived on Cracker Barrel and Velveeta Shells and Cheese.  She listened to Color Me Badd.  She sang in the choir. She had a necklace with her name in cursive letters.  She matched her shower gel color to her outfit for the day.  She was from South Florida.

Twenty-two years later, and there is still absolutely no reason we should be friends.  I could tell you story after story that would leave you in tears.  She is one hilarious chick who finds herself in the oddest predicaments.  We had one fight.  It was over her erratic behavior after a break-up with her boyfriend.  She slammed a dozen roses in the parking lot and I thought that was just not kind.

The thing is, she was bold and didn't take crap from anyone.  I think that may have been why I was drawn to her.  My courage was on the short end at the time and she was not afraid to tell anyone what she thought.  One time, her favorite pajamas came up missing from the laundry room.  She came back to the room in a rage, "I'm going to find those pajamas.  You know they'll be easy to track down.  There's a white out stain near the collar."  Sure enough, ole girl searched the dorm, tracked down the pjs and had a great night's sleep that night.

One late morning in college, we were all sitting on the couch watching tv, when we heard this commotion rolling down the stairs.  We looked up to find Michelle, in her pjs, sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs from her tumble.  She shook her head, smiled and said, "And good morning to you!"

It is one of those friendships you see in the movies.  We have both grown so much because of and in spite of each other.  There are times I push and she stands still.  There are times she pulls and I turn the opposite direction.  The best friendships are made, not on what you expect or want from a person, but from what they are to you, at any given moment.  For me, Michelle was my biggest fan who always made me feel that I could conquer the world.

A few weekends ago, we both found ourselves in unfamiliar territory.  She, Mrs. Career Driven, was not working over the summer, and me, Mrs. Overplanned, had nothing on the calendar.

One of my dear friends, Leslie, quickly offered to host a brief get-away for me, Lily, Michelle and her daughter Anabelle at one of my favorite places, Howe Creek.

We had never been on a beach trip before this.  I cherished every moment of sun kissed splendor filled with convertible rides, wildly inappropriate stories, great music, and late night tears.  Each night we forced ourselves to bed, well past midnight, as we knew the young ones would awaken early.

We talked about the books we wanted to write.  Hers is dark and twisted.  Mine is hopeful and encouraging. She said, "You probably wouldn't read my book."  I said, "You're probably right, but I'd throw you one heck of a book-signing party."

Before falling asleep each night, she would say, "I love you Auts.  Thank you for a great day."  She knew just what this girl needed.  Loved and thankful.  That I am.

~ao

E. A. T.

I was not one of those people.  You know, those girls that have their children's names picked out.  The truth is, I never really imagined raising kids.  Just last week, Tate was asking me questions about our lives before he arrived.  Most of his questions would fall in the "typical" category.  That is, until he asked, "Did you and daddy plan for me?"  I'm still not sure what the appropriate answer to the question is, but I'm sure "Hey kid, you were a complete accident," is wildly out of appropriateness.  So, I pulled something out of Paulette's playbook and mumbled about the Lord always having a plan before quickly changing the subject.

Now, before you call the Department of Children's Services on me, you should know that I 100% love being a mother.  However, I would be lying to you (and to my 10 year old son), if  I pretended it was something I orchestrated.  Looking back now, I'm certain I felt inadequate to do the job.  I felt like there were more promising potential parents out there with far more skills than I.  I envisioned completely wrecking someone's life and hearing about it for the rest of mine.

One would think I was prepared.  After all, I had Monster #1 and Monster #2 dragging me through their childhood.  Those boys exposed me, their untrained caregiver, to any gross object or inappropriate action known to man.  It was almost a hazing (or birth control) of sorts for anyone that imagined being a mother of boys.  Within ten minutes, you not only knew how unprepared you were, but you also questioned your desire for kids EVER!!!

That being said, I have certainly embraced my parenting years.  Each twist and turn is exciting and exhausting all at the same time.  Most recently, raising a 10 year old boy has been interesting, to say the least.

The one thing I learned from babysitting my brothers, is that boys are wildly unpredictable and non-communicative.  Earlier this month, my son left us for two weeks to stay with my brother and his wife for basketball camp.  This has become a yearly tradition, and while, its an awful way for this mama to start the summer, it is something my brother and son absolutely cherish.

I love a lot of things about kids ages 7-12.  In fact, my preferred grade to teach was 5th or 6th grade.  They are awkward and interesting and extremely inquisitive.  It is the perfect formative age.  There is one item that baffles me.  Hygiene.  I can say this without embarrassing either of my children.   I have never met a child at this age that smells better than they think they do.  Yes, read that again.  Its as if their noses stop working.

You can imagine my anxiety, as I prepared to send my son to camp, knowing that he would probably not entertain an idea to change clothing or wash regularly.  As he climbed into my brother's car, I reminded him of our acronym.  "Don't forget to EAT!!" I said.  My son giggled knowing I was talking about cleaning his Ears, Armpits, and Teeth.

He had a great time at camp.   I beamed with pride the afternoon Rusty called me to tell me that Tate had just come in from shooting free throws as a result of missing the last one at camp that day.

It was a quick reminder that I didn't need to be there to tell him what to do.  He was built with good stuff and no longer needed his mama to guide his every decision.

I remember when my kids were younger, a friend of mine asked me, "Doesn't it bother you that your kids don't miss you when they're away from you?"  It didn't take me long to answer.  My view of parenting is to prepare my kids so they are absolutely ok without me.  I want them to be confident and secure in themselves.  The act of being missed is not the measure of their love for me.  My life was enriched by relationships with my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.  I love that my kids are experiencing that same kind of love.

We would FaceTime each night.  The words were few but the smile was great.  He was absolutely having the time of his life. I had snuck a care package in his bag with a note for each day and some snacks.

In typical 10-year-old boy fashion, he seemed less than impressed.  Every night I would ask him if he liked his note.  I got the same response.  A shrug followed by "Yeah."  That all changed one night, during our FaceTime, when he leaned forward, kissed the screen, and whispered, "I miss your guts too."  I felt like that giddy girl that was just asked out on her first date.

I'm not sure that anything could prepare me for a love like this.  I'm just thankful the Lord took a chance on me with my pitiful parenting potential and gave us this precious boy to raise - smelly armpits and all.

~ao

A Coach Named Brady

I have a confession.  I was cut from the 7th grade softball team for twirling my bat.  I remember it quite vividly.  I was on deck.  It was a cold day.  The batter in front of me was taking a lot of pitches. I dazed off for a few minutes.  Before long, I started twirling the bat to pass the time.  Seems harmless enough, right?

I cried myself to sleep that night of the cuts.  I'm sure it was a combination of embarrassment and the idea that I had disappointed my dad, even though he was quite understanding about it.  I remember wondering why twirling was such a big deal.

The days and weeks following were torture.  I dreaded going to school to hear my friends talk about practice the day before.  I was ashamed.  I felt like things would never go my way.  At the time, I didn't realize I was experiencing typical feelings swelled by junior high hormones.

As an adult, I reflect on my teenage years often.  I guess my job affords my brain opportunities to see similar scenarios on a daily basis.  Even now, I struggle with focus when the pressure is on.  You see, I work from both sides of my brain.  It seems, at times, my logical side and artistic side battle it out.  I do my best work when I have the music blaring in my office and a chart on my computer screen.  It's my way of finding balance.

Intensity and competitiveness don't come naturally to me.  What does come naturally is a desire to do my best.  Not to be the best.  But to be MY best.  There was a day when I saw things differently.

I was 15.

I felt average.

I seemed to blend in with the crowd.

My confidence was not at its best.

I was a member of the Marcus Whitman Junior Varsity Softball Team.  I would watch the older players everyday and wonder if I could ever be as good as they were.  They seemed to ooze perfection.  The more I watched them, the more nervous I became.  To be honest, I didn't ever think I could be one of those players that made the big play.  It consumed my thoughts.

One day, the varsity squad finished early.  Our team was taking infield practice and I was playing first base.  It was a normal day.

After taking grounders, we headed off the field to pack up.  The varsity coach was sitting on the bench talking with my friend, Brandi.  Brandi was in the same grade as me, but she was one of those players that made the big plays.  She was a dynamic pitcher and athlete.  I'm sure the coach and Brandi were talking about some really important pitching stuff when he turned to me, almost as a side thought, and said, "You have great hands."

To all my non-softball peeps, this may seem like an odd statement.  To the 15 year old version of me, it was the best thing someone could say.  I had worked hard on those hands.  I had spent countless hours with my dad, Aunt Becky and Grandpa Ike throwing hard grounders at my glove.  They would say, "Soften it up.  Don't stab at it."

I decided that day to prove that varsity coach RIGHT.  For the next three years, I worked hard to have "great hands".  I wasn't a natural athlete and it didn't always come easily.  There were a lot of failures and some really exciting successes.

Coach Brady was tough on me.

He worked me hard.

He never let me give up.

He never let me make excuses.

He never let me get in my head.

He believed in me.

Sometimes he would yell.

Sometimes he would kick dirt.

Sometimes he would make me run.

Its funny how those moments are blurred from my high school playing memories.  What I do remember is a coach that saw something in me that I didn't see in myself.  He saw a girl looking for something to be good at and a desire to have value.

He toted me around the State of New York on summer travel teams.  He paid for my food and uniforms on more than one occasion.  He even recruited me to play soccer my junior and senior year, giving me one piece of advice.  "See that ball.  Run as fast as you can and kick it to Brandi."  I was fast and it seemed easy enough.  Fortunately, Brandi knew what to do with the ball once I passed it off.  The rest is history.

This parenting thing is tough.  Robbie and I have been super careful with our kids and our approach to sports.  Philosophically, we both believe kids have to love the sport and build relationships before they can master skill.  For this reason, we have taken what seems to be an unconventional path in parenting from two former college athletes and college coaches.  We were anxious, but we waited.  We waited for the moment when they showed an interest in something.  Once that moment occurred, we encouraged them to do their best and be a good teammate.  

#7 had a rough start to the 2014 Softball Season.  She tried out for a summer travel team and didn't make it.  She cried herself to sleep that night.  She decided she wanted to take pitching lessons.  She found out a week later that her finger had been broken for some time.  She would have to take some time out from sports.  This kept her from her lessons and playing in the Recreation League in our town.  She was devastated.

Despite the adversity, something happened this spring.  Right after spring break, I found her in the yard, tossing the ball up to herself.  She asked me if I would work with her and help her get better.  Believe it or not, it was the first time she acknowledged I might be a source of help in the softball arena.  Up to this point, I was just Mom, not former player and coach.

She was asked in April to play for a summer team.  The team is short on talent and big on heart.  They are undersized and often outmatched.  None of this is important to Lily.  She has willingly and eagerly given up summer playdates and activities to play on her TEAM. As a parent, it thrills me to see her desire to work hard and belong in a sport that I love.  She is having fun and has a skip in her step that is irreplaceable.

Coach Brady came to watch Brandi and me play in college.  Again, his words after the game stuck with me.  "You've come a long way, girl."

Not such a long way.  I still twirl when I'm nervous.

To Brady - Thank you for never giving up on that scrawny lost girl.  You helped her find herself and a sport she still loves today.

~ao

Falling Slowly

It's summer.  I think.

The temperatures are hot - mostly.
We cook dinners on the grill - some.
We spend time as a family - kind of.
Things slow down - not really.

I am a lake person.  Yes, I appreciate a good beach trip now and then, but my heart's desire lies on a raft somewhere in the middle of a lake.  

The water is still.  There are no frisbees flying overhead.  Your skin is not frying from the scorching sun.  You can float and gaze and dream.  Pure relaxation station.

The ocean is a different story.  Make no mistake.  I enjoy a good trip to the beach.  I find it relaxing in its own way, but there are times when I'm there I feel I'm in an episode of Man vs. Nature, taking on each wave as if its a new battle.  

There are no tidal waves in the middle of a lake.  All the more reason I love a day on the lake.  You see, there is no floating in a tidal wave.  There's no gazing or dreaming either.  All that tidal waves bring are fear, panic and the need to survive.  You know where the tidal waves are?  Life. 

As our family gets older, it seems there is little time to catch your breath.  There are plenty of games, clinics, and camps for the kids, all of which I enjoy.  But nothing, absolutely nothing, can fill my tank more than good, ole-fashioned quality time with the people I love. 

Fridays mean summer.  At least, for me. In the four-day work week, kid-shuttling, life catching-up days of Summer 2014, there is one day that I hold dear.  FRIDAY.

The plan was Lake Winnie.  Last night I packed the bags and put the kids to bed early.  I told them we had a surprise in the morning.  Unbeknownst to me, Friday, June 6th is the ONLY Friday this summer that Lake Winnie is closed.  

I heard their footsteps about 8:30.  They both came barreling down the stairs with anticipation.  We snuggled in the bed for a few minutes before I broke the news - No Lake Winnie.  This is the part where I have to brag.  I don't know how other kids react, but man - MY KIDS ROCK!  They not only shrugged it off, but started brainstorming different ways we could enjoy our Friday.

The first item of business when we start our adventures is the music.  Lily quickly claimed the title of "Music Nazi" and decided on the M&A Wedding mix (ironically its their one year anniversary today).  Within a few songs, her favorite came on.  She squealed with delight.   I've heard the song many times, especially since Lily always wants to replay it.

Maybe it was the fresh air.  Maybe it was knowing it was Friday.  Maybe it was Lily's loud singing.

For whatever reason, today the words stuck.

"Take this sinking boat and point it home.

We've still got time.  Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice."

I'm sure the muse for the song, was a lovely lady that had won his heart.  My muses were sitting in the car with me.  At some point in Lily's third play of the song, Tate reached up and grabbed my hand with both of his.  Man, I had a moment.

A moment of floating.

A moment of gazing.

A moment of dreaming.

The Score?

Tidal Wave = 0

Mom = 1

Enjoy some still water this summer, my friends.

~ao

*Photo credits to Lily and Tate.

**Lyrics from Glen Hansard's, Falling Slowly.

Thou Shalt Not

We all know them.  We've seen them embroidered on pillow cases, etched in stone, and laminated on our bible bookmarks.  The 10 commandments were some of the first words in the Old Testament that people could relate to.  I mean, how hard is it to not murder or covet your neighbor's ox?  To avoid sounding blasphemous, let me explain.  We are a rules based society.  We crave guidance and restriction on all of the things in our life.

I find rules quite primitive.  I understand their purpose as they keep us from creating chaos where free-will lies.  Without rules, we are left to our own devices, many of which cause harm to ourselves or others.  For this reason, rules and I have a mutual agreement.  I value them for the important stuff and they value my ability to challenge a rigid life by following every rule ever written.  In case you were wondering, it is IMPOSSIBLE to follow them all.

I often watch in wonder as friends, family and colleagues spin themselves in a mess by their constant efforts to get everything right.  Its just not possible folks.  I am often asked, "How do you get it all done?"  The fact of the matter is...I don't.  And I'm ok with that.  I understand there are ramifications from rule-breaking, but when the ole scale of pros vs. cons comes out, the free spirit in me wins out every time.  I simply don't desire the stress and predictability that come with a procedural life.

I was raised in a very conservative home in a super liberal area.  One thing I learned very quickly was that all people didn't see things the way I did.  A harder lesson in that was to grow to a point where I saw value in people that were not like me.  I'm sure I was the source of lengthy prayer vigils by my parents and loved ones, but I was more intrigued by the human spirit and the lessons I could learn about the Lord from them.

One of my favorite examples of this is from a story when I was around 12 years old.  We lived in a large, brick farmhouse.  My parents often rented the upstairs to tenants to help supplement the household expenses.  I can remember vividly memories of going to the top of the stairs and laying by our tenant's door so I could smell the smoke from his pipe.  I realize now how strange this seems, but in my life, I never knew a man who smoked a pipe and I found it fascinating.  Upon further investigation, I found him to be an extremely intelligent man with a lifetime of experiences all over the world.  I loved to see him sit in his "smoking chair" while he read or wrote.  I imagined that he might be the smartest man on earth.

I have since met many folks that would classify as smarter, but what I learned from him was the art of learning.  He modeled for a 12 year old girl that the need for learning never ended.  It sparked something in me that still resonates today.  I often sense the need for a quiet moment to frame my knowledge, reflect on it, and then express my views on what I learned with no real purpose or restriction.

As I sit on the eve of my 40th birthday, a swirl of expressions seem quite fitting.  I reflect on the past and how it has framed the person I am today.  I marinate in the present, knowing that life will never be quite like it is today.  I dream about the future and what it holds for me and my family.  In classic AO style, I find myself goal setting for the next 40 years.

A Quite Unorthodoxed List of "Thou Shalt Nots" for the next 40 years

(Not to be mistaken for a list of rules to follow)

Thou Shalt Not Wear Doc Martens

I admit it.  In my youthful life, I had a pair of Doc Marten Mary Jane brown leather shoes.  They were the most comfortable shoes that travelled some pretty weary roads.  The year before I became an administrator, the strap broke on my beloved Docs.  It was probably perfect timing as I quickly transitioned to high heels and belted dresses.  As the old saying goes, "You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl."  I'm not much of a country girl, but I am a girl who longs to wear Doc Martens and jam out at a concert with some awesome music.  Even in a high-profile job, I find myself expressing that Doc Marten side often.  What I have found is that I don't need a pair of shoes anymore.  That music-loving, free spirit still makes an appearance frequently even while wearing her black patten leather heels and matching jewelry.  I love that part of me and hope I can always see glimpses of her regardless of what shoes I'm wearing.

Thou Shalt Not Refuse Turkey and Dressing

My dad ruined Thanksgiving for my entire life.  Its true.  One night, I sat at my kitchen table until very late refusing to eat the turkey and dressing that was for dinner.  My dad was pacing around the house telling me how people in Ethiopia were starving.  You can imagine my response to this - I calculated how much it would cost to mail my cold turkey and dressing to those hungry people.  My mom, on the other hand, was playing the peace maker role and trying to love me enough to make me WANT to eat all of the food on my plate.  I finally gave in and ate several bites before I threw up the entire meal all over the kitchen.  I have never liked Thanksgiving dinner since.  While I will probably never get over my distain for tryptophan or corn bread shredded up with nasty stuff, there is a part of me that recognizes the need for flexibility.  Yes, I admit it.  I'm stubborn.  Over the years, I have found myself choosing battles.  Sometimes I choose the right ones and other times, I choose ones I have no business hunkering down at the table on.  It usually leaves me with a cold plate of food and an upset stomach.  While the fighter in me will never die, I hope my years lived will guide my perseverance to fight with purpose and not with tired emotion.

Thou Shalt Not Stand in Line

I read a text last week that irritated me.  I quickly realized the reason I was bothered was because it came from someone that didn't really know me, but had given his advice regardless.  It is all too easy to listen to the advice of others and change your compass frequently.  As I have outlined in this lengthy post, I am not a "Stand in Line" kinda gal.  I thrive on the relationships in my life that help me grow to be a better person.  I try, with all my might, to be the best wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, family member and employee that I can be.  I fail.  Everyday.  The constant falling from mis-trys has skinned my knees.  Oftentimes, it has left scars.  The thing is, I am perfectly ok with it.  It is most important to me that I act in kindness and love in all that I do without compromising my core.  Its a constant balancing act that I don't take lightly.  There are times when I speak harshly to my husband or over-correct my kids.   There are also times when I express my unconditional love when its not due or display patience when my rope is thin.  I challenge myself in this life, to do the best I can, learn from my mistakes, and never stand behind someone just for the sake of standing.

Thou Shalt Not Sit on the First Pew

Growing up as a pastor's daughter is tough.  You are constantly under the microscope and understand fully the ramifications of every decision you make.  I spent many Sundays on the first pew at my dad's church, Flint Creek Church of God.  Each week, a movie reel of mistakes would flood my mind reminding me of every single sin I had witnessed that week.  I am thankful for this time as it provided me a strong spiritual foundation.  Simply stated, I learned to pray through my inadequacies to the only person that could forgive me of them.  Those prayers continued through my journey at a small Christian college where everyone knew you, but many misunderstood you.  It was in the balcony at Lee College that I realized the most important factor in salvation.  While many focus on the "Thou Shalt Nots" all he asks of us is to focus on the "Thou Shalts."  My craving with a personal, REAL relationship with my savior surrounds my core being.  I am thankful that he loves me and that he gave his life for me.  I'm not sure I could do the same.

I would be remiss if I didn't close with a few thank yous.

*Thank you to my husband for taking every step with me.  Its not easy.  Its not a fairy tale.  Its real life.  You will always be my missing piece.
*Thank you to my parents for falling in love 42 years ago.  You have given me space while molding me at the same time.  I'm sorry I didn't always see it that way.
*Thank you to Lily and Tate for showing me that the best things in life come from God's way.  I couldn't imagine my life with you and now I can't imagine breathing without you.
*Thank you to all of you, family and lifetime friends.  To say that you change my life daily, would be an understatement.  I thrive on knowing you.
*Most importantly, thank you to a savior who forgives and models love.  I hope I make you proud.

And with that, I bid farewell to my 30s.  Looking forward to rocking another 40!

~ao

AO's Simple Guide to Great Things in Life

I looked in every small shop on every side street all over the city. It had to be just right. And then, there it was, sitting on a shelf in a small shop down an alley from a much bigger shop. I knew it from the moment I saw it. It was a "thing" I would treasure for a lifetime. 

I am not a things person. I am a people person. There are few "things" in this life that really matter to me. Exceptions to this are those things that invoke a memory of someone or somewhere I love. These items transform a chaotic day into something tolerable simply by serving as a reminder of a different time. It is these very "things" that sustain me to the next treasured time with those I love. 

Some of my most treasured things include glass eggs from Grandma Dee, a pew in my living room from dad's church, and a painting from an artist I met in Florence, Italy. 

The history of the New Orleans Water Meter cover dates back to the 1920s. They can be found all over the city. Their popularity grew after Hurricane Katrina as a symbol of pride that represented the history and uniqueness of the city. 

What better way to remember this lovely trip than with a pendant featuring this unique piece of NOLA history!  It's kind of funny that I bought a pendant with the word "sewerage" on it to conjur up fond memories. That's the way life works. It has a way of changing your perspective with one simple thing. This four day birthday getaway mirrored my life views in so many ways.  I will cherish the memories for ever. 

So I give you...

"AO's Simple Guide to Great Things in Life" 

(A part of my everyday, but especially essential for trips such as this)

1 - Avoid Prostitutes and Voodoo

I know what you are thinking. This first one is a bit PG Rated. I have a firm rule of thumb on this very thing. If The Rev says it, then I can say it.  Since this very jewel came out of my dad's mouth, I am certain it bears repeating. I have heard advice like this my whole life. My dad learned early on that he best give the bulleted version of the "Thou Shalt Nots" (stay tuned for my 40th bday post - a feature on this very subject) to his free spirited girl rather than a 3 point sermon. When I called him Friday night before I left, he said, "Babydoll, avoid the prostitutes and the voodoo. Oh and make sure you eat at Irene's". Thankfully, I heeded his advice on all three. 

2 - Eat Good Food.

It sounds simple but there's something to be said about the girl that plans the food venues of the trip long before any of the activities have been decided. Simply stated, I love food. Good, local food makes me feel at home and welcome - like I am a regular to the town. And I clearly define a city based on its food options. The less homegrown, local options, the less apt I am to visit. I guess I'm a "food snob" in that way. We enjoyed all of the local flavor of New Orleans - beignets, poboys, jambalaya, red beans and rice. With every bite, my affection for the city grew fonder.  Irene's won the "best meal" category by a landslide. It was the kind of place where the servers felt like family and made you want to stay all night. We almost did!

3 - Music That Moves You

My mom gave me a birthday card once that told the story about a 90 year old woman tapping her foot and shaking her hips as she walked in every room. Inside she wrote, "Always keep dancing. Love, mom".  I can't help it. Music is the generator to my soul. I love all kinds - the bigger the brass, the better. From the piano player at Irene's (in backdrop of picture above) to the fiddler playing for coins on the sidewalk, New Orleans oozes with great music. It's the first thing you hear when you wake up in the morning and the last thing you hear before you lay your head down to rest at night. 

4 - Love the One You're With

I fail at this one the most often. Life leads. I follow. Before long, I don't recognize anyone around me. Marriage is tough and building a genuine, authentic relationship is even tougher. Quite simply, sometimes time is the only healer of things. We found that out early in our marriage, but knowing and doing are two different things. Last summer, we committed to carve out time for each other.  This trip was no exception. We needed time for just the two of us.  Each night, we ended our day by the pool listening to jazz music. We would talk about our past, cherish our present and build on our future. There is not a cookie cutter for making the most of your marriage, but I'm convinced that the greatest ones are built on times like these. 

5 - Look Up

We've all heard it - NOLA is a city of sin. You can see it around every corner. I can assure you there is plenty of sin in the ole 504. One thing you don't hear much about is God's beauty that can also be seen around every corner.  

The delightful artist that sold us a new piece for Lilys room. 

The beautiful shutters that adorn every window. 

The store owner who was thrilled to see his pendant as a perfect fit for my favorite chain.

The street performers - there were hundreds - everyone with extreme talent.  

The wonderful server at Cafe du Munde that delivered an amazing cup of hot chocolate. 

The well crafted balconies that give each building a unique European style. 

"It has been said that a Scotchman has not seen the world until he has seen Edinburgh; and I think that I may say that an American has not seen the United States until he has seen Mardi-Gras in New Orleans." ~ Mark Twain

Although we weren't there for Mardi Gras, NOLA has moved to one of my favorite cities. I fell in love somewhere between a "Streetcar Named Desire" and a bag of beignets. 

~ao