The Optimist v. The Pessimist

I found myself slipping into 'woe is me' mode this weekend. We had the wonderful gift of sharing dinner with dear friends on Saturday night. Cam & Trish's neighbors, from San Angelo, came down to see their granddaughter in a recital on Saturday in Kingsville. They are as close to family as it comes, and came to eat dinner with us and visit. It was such a refreshing time, as it always is. It's hard to explain the joy it brings to see any of 'our people' making the turn down our caliche driveway. The flip side being that it feels like a yo-yo extending in your heart when they pull back out of the driveway, abruptly springing back up and reverberating there, leaving a feeling of abandon in its wake. Such is the case when anyone leaves our humble abode. I literally fight off the urge of what I know I felt as a child when my grandparents left. I wanted to test the confidence in my Saucony's and grab hold of the bumper. That was only in my mind, of course. Sunday, at church, as often times happens, the sermon seemed to be addressing me. He talked about hope through the book of Jeremiah and reminded us that He has a plan. Even though it's currently written in invisible ink that noone but He can see, it's the power of believing that gets us there. To reinforce, our pastor provided this example of an analogy comparing the pessimist and the optimist: Two children anxiously awaited Christmas morning, their minds in endless imagination of what the shiny, perfectly wrapped packages underneath the tree contained. One child, an eternal optimist, the other a persistent pessimist. The pessimistic child opened his gifts first. He unveiled a brand new top-of-the-line CD player. He replied, 'I don't have any CD's to play in it.' With every gift that followed, his rebuttal showed equal pessimism. The optimistic child tore into his gift with delight only to find a steaming pile of horse manure wrapped up in a box. He excitedly leaped up in joy leaving his parents in a state of confusion. When asked how he could possibly be so excited over a pile of poop, he simply stated- 'With all this manure, there's bound to be a pony somewhere!'. This certainly helped me find balance and remember to look for the silver lining, rather than the cloud covering it up...of course, the Sunday pot-luck lunch never fails to boost the spirits as well...

That said, today did not produce the best of days either. Meeting to set up the new school I am moving to left me feeling unsettled and less confident about the upcoming year. Also, I have an improper habit of pushing my gas tank to the limit at times. Despite Wade on my other shoulder saying I should stop for gas before I leave town, I lay the hammer down and head for home. Maybe it's a ludicrous personal game to see just how far I can go on fumes- not sure. I managed to make it back to Premont and coast into the Valero parking lot, only to find that of all days, they are out of gas. Yes, I know, the paradox of that statement spreads miles, but luckily there's another gas establishment in Premont, USA. Because of the shortage, the line for gas spanned about eight cars back. The gauge on my car read zero miles until empty about ten miles before. I waited it out until I sat next in line, then went inside to pay as pay-at-the-pump isn't an option. As I was paying, a little car zipped in front of me. I have never had high blood pressure in my life, but if I had a machine to check it, I reckon it measured at a concerning level. She waved her cash in the air, handed it to the cashier, and went on outside just a pumpin' in the wind. I do not like conflict. In fact, I am a fan of resolving all situations amicably and with a smile. The least amount of feathers ruffled the better, but this just got my goat. I strolled out there and said kindly, 'Excuse me, but do you see this line?' (No reply- just blank staring). I continued, 'We have all been waiting here twenty minutes for gas, and this is the line.' I added a Vanna White wave toward the line for effect. Still nothing. Just a blank stare in my direction as if I were some invisible orb. At that point, what could I do short of putting my Ranch Hand to good use and pushing her little car to the curb? I sat in my car, waiting, until I finally got gas and headed home. I will admit to throwing a small adult fit upon entering my safe place. As Wade stood in the doorway, I jumped up and down doing a grand rendition of what break-dancing might look like in the air. Then I put my purse down and proceeded to cook vittles for our dining pleasure this evening.

I needed to remember the eternal optimist and the fact that the lady that whizzed in front of me at the pump was just the proverbial steaming pile of dung- my pony must be waiting somewhere! I vow to heartily keep the faith in finding it.

Dirty Javelina

I had my woman's bible study group on Monday night. I always look forward to these, as I never fail to leave feeling refreshed and spiritually rejuvenated. It's like going to a spa, only for the soul. The focus on Monday night centered around prayer, and how prayer changes passions. One thought you need to know in order to connect its applicability to this situation is this: sometimes we pray, but we hold some things we don't want to let go of behind our backs- as if God doesn't know what we are up to. As I made my way home, I pondered on that thought, and realized that doing that is not such an uncommon problem for me. At times, I tend to not want to let things out of my control. Even though I know it is not my place to worry, but to lay my worry at His feet, I lay it at His feet but keep a crumb to hold on to for whatever convoluted reason. When I arrived home, I walked into a situation that would test this very topic. Wade sat on the floor holding Boudreaux, dabbing ointment on her shoulder wound. The menacing cause of this site was none other than a dirty, filthy javelina bite to the shoulder. Up to that day, I had no beef with the creatures. They'd never bothered us, just shaded up in the trees in the background, or pilfered the grounds for a morsel of delight. You may rest assured that should one be brave enough to set foot in our yard again, remorse might describe their plight.I felt completely overwhelmed and angry. Of late, Boudini the Great has lost her hearing, learned she has a large foreign tumor growing in her spleen, and now attacked on the shoulder by a rancid oversized member of the rat family. It struck me that there's no reason to fret and worry about the things that are beyond us. I strife to really let my worries go, and allow prayer to change the passions of my heart. Our hearts won't change overnight. But with consistent prayer, God continues to dab away the dirt and grime that attach themselves to our hearts, until we are left only with one that is ready to serve Him.

Tuesday I had a workshop in Corpus. I love workshop days on account of the extended lunch period. No cramming food down in 28 minutes flat, a leisurely lunch is much more suited to my taste. The service center is right behind Ocean Drive, and a nifty little art museum with a lunch cafe sits cozily across the street. For lunch, a group of us walked over to enjoy the fare. As I sat there, taking in the splendor of the nearby marina, slowly relishing in my White Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake, a phone call snapped me back to present time. Turns out, the sub couldn't finish the day because he became quite frustrated with the kids. Again, I couldn't help but connect this to our spiritual lives. I wonder how many times God has gotten so frustrated with our decision making and ill aligned priorities, but He never gives up on us. We are always welcomed with open arms no matter the infraction.

I am thankful for the ever present strength of faith and the all enduring forgiveness of our Father- even when we push it to the limit.

Drumsticks, Comas, and Boots

I know it's a rather strange title, but the explanation will lend itself shortly. Last Sunday, Wade and I traveled back to the clinic for a second time, only to find out that the antibiotic they first gave me was incorrect. A new antibiotic, a nose spray, and a daily allergy pill later, we jetted out of the clinic in hopes that our immune systems were high enough to wield off whatever it was the clinic full of ill subject's bodies were tainted with. After picking up the prescriptions, we went to grab some lunch. The last time we ate at the Sirloin Stockade was right after we moved here, and we didn't go back. However, we passed by, the place was packed, and the nine foot stucco cow in front had detached itself from the flatbed trailer in front and literally laid 'tits up' in the parking lot. The laughter induced by this sight was enough of a nudge for us to give it a second try. We got our trays and made our way through the buffet line. Wade, being the steak and potato man that he is, waited in line at the grill for his slab-o-beef. An African American lady swaggered right on up there to the counter and said, "How you ain't gonna have no drumsticks?" Sidebar- her asking where the drumsticks are is a lot like me saying the phrase, "Oh my stars" when something surprises me and having the person stare up at the sky as if I am referring to the stars themselves... It just doesn't equate. The person behind the counter stared at her in a state of confusion, and she frustratedly added this, "You know, chicken legs! The ones with the handle for the kids!" I am glad I had a clear route to our table because I could not suppress the laughter. Wade managed to keep it together to receive his meat snack. I guess nothing comes between a man and his meat...

This past weekend we trekked up to San Antonio. I have experienced my share of food comas from overindulging in some of life's finer cuisine, however, I have never experienced a fashion coma quite like I did on Saturday at La Cantera. Whoever designed the layout of this 'plaza' knew what they were doing. The huge Bass Pro sits gallantly in front for the men to peruse, but behind Bass Pro is a little strip of gold. Usually, I go in with him and cruise around the women's clothing section until I can't take it anymore. Then I end up over in the guns where Wade is. While he is talking shop with whomever is at the counter, I act as though I am a knowledgeable citizen of arms. What I am really doing is imagining what it might have been like to go blazing saddles across the wild open west with my chaps and pearl snap, hunting down bank robbers with my double barrel coach gun. In my fascinating western, Boudreaux of course somehow rides with me. Nonetheless, Saturday, I decided to hang up my spurs and go over to the Nordstrom and Saks outlets. I could be in the most heinous of moods, and setting foot in those stores would instantly realign my chi. I spent about an hour in the Nordstrom store ogling over it all, then went down to Saks for the grand finale. As I entered the threshold, the smell of buttery soft leather rushed through my nose- thank goodness I can finally smell again or I would have missed that little added bonus. I immediately found my breathing picked up and I had to start in sections, one at a time, so as to not become overwhelmed. I fell in love when I got to the shoes. I collect these tiny shoes called, Just the Right Shoe. It is a collection of all different kinds of shoes. A designer, Beverly Feldman, took a few of these tiny shoes and made them in to human shoes. You can imagine my splendor when I saw that one particular shoe that I love lay in front of me in a true 7 1/2 just waiting to don my foot. I put them on and walked all around the store. I did not mind the side ways glances or sly stares. For all intensive purposes, that stroll around the store in those fabulous shoes was a much needed therapy session. Next to the shoes sat the bags. Shoes and handbags will always be dear to my heart. Probably parallel to the way that guns and knives will always be near to Wade's. I found myself drunk with the smell in the air and giddy with delight just to look...then I went to try on snake boots. That's right, reality snaps in pretty quick sometimes, wouldn't you say?

We wheeled on over to a boot shop to find me a pair of work boots. The ones I have are hand-me-downs from my nephew, and I have had them for years. I love these boots though, for they are worn in with character and sass. I went to put them on the other day and low and behold, an organism of some kind had taken them over. Hopefully, Wade can remove said problem so I can at least wear them. But they are rather worn and bear no support anymore. We go in and the sales lady says, "Oh I don't think we have anything for you", right off the bat. A little background: on the way to San Antonio, Wade and I talked about how selling cars (anything really), is tricky because if you rub the person the wrong way, they are going to go somewhere else. That's exactly what I wanted to do. Instead, we went through the boot section and actually came across the pair we were looking for. I tried them on, they seemed to fit, so Wade asked how much they cost. She said, "Oh, they are verrry expensive?" What am I caught in a weird version of Pretty Woman when she walks in as a common person and they turn their noses up at her? I yanked those boots off, tipped an imaginary hat, and rolled out. We squealed into another store to try our luck there. Much the same, except this time his first response was, "We can look, but I don't really think I have anything"...Long story short, I wanted to hop up onto the glass case housing all their little gems of glory and yell, "Where's Walter?!" Walter at Mr. Boots in San Angelo, of course. He always helps us with anything we need. If it's not there, he'll get it there, and he'll do it with a smile. What happened to that can do attitude? Maybe that's just one more thing that's being pushed aside and forgotten right along with the values and morals we hold so precious and dear.

When you put it all together, it's a varied vast world we experience. Cultures run the gammot of differences, risen spirits can hide within the confines of a Feldman shoe, and it pays to add a little kindness to someone's day- your job could depend on it.

Not a creature was stirring except for the mouse

Last night I had to sleep on the couch. Allow me to explain. I slept on the couch because I could not use my earplugs and Wade sometimes snores. I couldn't use my plugs because I have a lot of fluid in my ears. Fluid resides in my ears because I am sick yet again which makes the fifth time in about five months that I have been sick with this awful writhing cough and congestion. I took Nyquil before bed to attempt to sleep. Nyquil for me is a double edged sword. It puts me right to sleep for the first few hours, then I am wide awake in the middle of the night. Last night, a slight bit of help awoke me from my slumber. I woke to what I thought to be someone raffling with the back door. I thought to myself, this is it. I went to get Wade wondering to myself which firearm from the bedside arsenal he would choose. He got his flashlight and weaved into the dining room in a sleep filled haze. I expected to see a clan of misfits at the back door...what I saw was a mouse scrambling across the floor with its leg stuck in a trap. He took one look at it and said, 'there's your culprit', and went directly back to bed. He thought it rested in peace in its trap. Great. No bad guys came knockin, but this mouse put up a valiant fight. For the next two hours it scurried across the floor. I lay torn between wanting to flick it outside, wake up Wade to alert him to the fact that the creature previously played possum and was very much coherent,or drifting into restful sleep. I dozed in and out, intermittently awoken by the scurrying. I aspire to have a real dose of Grandpa's Cough Syrup tonight and enjoy a fair amount of uninterrupted sleep.

Here's to a solid eight hour date with your bed tonight. May you sleep tight in a pest free environment.

Cryin' and Laughin'

May the record be stricken that there are times that I am a bit of a crier. The circumstances vary that inevitably cause the flood gate of tears to fall free. On the contrary, I have also been known to cackle out a belly laugh when hilarity takes over. It's the balance of life I suppose, the good and the bad. As the saying goes it's all over but the cryin', so we will start there...

A couple of weeks ago, we headed on down south to McAllen to visit the Hulings'. On our journey, we followed behind a big heavy- hauler scooting down the highway with half a house. It was half of a fairly nice Palm Harbor Home. Wade and I talked away when a sudden interruption of "Whoosh" resonated through our car. I didn't know what transpired until I looked right in front of me. That trucker had a blow-out of mammoth proportions. Tires just came off one after the other out from underneath the trailer until coming to a jerky stop on the side of the road. Right as he began to come to a stop, the whole house slid off and dragged the ground. Yes, I began to cry. I have no idea why other than the fact that I wondered: How is he going to manage getting where he needs to go? How will he tell his boss? Will his family be waiting on him for dinner tonight? Is he going to have to pay for this out of his own pocket? After Wade laughingly talked me down from my stupor, I realized how parallel this is to our lives. We can be blowing down the highway at full throttle without a care in the world and have a proverbial blow-out. The answer is always right in front of us, the comfort of His scripture and the peace of prayer. It sometimes takes a moment to realize that with all the questions posed in the process of thought.

As you well know, TAKS testing finally wrapped up a few weeks ago. It's two days of stress and wonder about whether or not those kids are going to take the test seriously or if they will play music chairs or connect-the-dots with their scantron. On the second day of testing, I couldn't take it anymore. I literally felt something boiling up inside of me. I had to reach inside my little folder and pull out the red 'teacher needs a break' sign. I handed it to the lady outside, and once relieved, booked it to the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror, and the tears just started a'bubbling. It was one of those, get a hold of yourself moments, that you can't seem to quite muster the inner strength to find your center. About a minute passed before I got my ridiculous outburst under control. It's not as though I could do anything about the situation, except sit there and continue to pray specifically that each one of them would do their absolute best. It was out of my hands. I wonder how many times God feels that way about us. He can only do so much for us, then it's us that must realize that He is in control and will lead if we allow. After about a five minute hiatus, I scurried back to class only to sit and wonder what the heck was wrong with me that I had to go have a bawl session in the bathroom over a test taken by a room full of ten year olds...Definitely needed big girl pants.

Needless to say, when that week of TAKS finally ended after what seemed like a syrupy molasses moving few days, I needed a break. I headed to Michelle's in Dallas. We had a relaxing weekend of delectable pedicures and did a little shopping, grilled on the patio, and watched the Derby. Usually, I never get sick on the plane. I just sit at a window seat in the front, stare out as it moves along, and drift off to sleep shortly after take-off. Not so much on this day. The flight from Dallas to Corpus makes a quick stop in Houston for about thirty minutes. The plane wasn't full, so I took my pick of seats a few rows from the front, got out my I-pod and book, prepared for an enjoyable few hours of reading. I should have seen it as an omen when I saw the flag standing straight out at attention on account of the gale force winds. I honestly think we took of on two wheels. Suddenly that sense of weightlessness and tumultuous quivering in my stomach set in. I knew this would not be good. I began to feel quite ill. The rest of the flight continued as such and did not stop until we rolled into the gate in Houston. By this time I must have been green. Misty eyed, I asked the flight attendant for some water to take a Dramamine. After the few minutes of ground time, I started to feel myself again. The other passengers began to load and a what I assume to be Indian couple sat in the two seats behind me. I thought nothing of it. My spirits sank when the turbulence ensued yet again and my sickness doubled. I turned the air on full blast. Sometimes, cool air can combat such illnesses, right? Well my fingernails were purple from my trying this remedy. At my weakest thread, that man put down the two tray tables behind me and started playing them like bongos all the while singing a tune I can only liken to the tune of a snake charmer. Though this shouldn't be the case, I wanted to turn around and say, Hey, can I get you some incense to burn along with this insanity? I no more than threw my bag in the car and closed the door before the dam blew. I was a blubbering idiot. God love Wade for putting up with me. I called him in my state, and he's a bit of a fixer. Of course there's nothing he could do, I just had to get it out and get home. When I got home, he had lunch ready...that fixed the situation just fine.

Last on the list of sob stories came Friday. On my way home from work, Michelle told me she had watched "Steel Magnolias". As if on cue, it was on TV Friday night. I got myself a glass of wine and settled in to watch it. I am not proud to say this, but the wine disappeared, and not just the glass of it, and I just boo-hooed by the end of it. I couldn't help but think about how precious life is in my haze of tears. The past few weeks have seemed like such a blur with everything going on. I am guilty of loosing focus at times. For example, today on my way home, I heard the train coming. This didn't set well because I had left the school at 3:44:59 in an attempt to get home early. Luckily, I saw the light up ahead was green. I squealed through it just in time to see the little barrier dinging down and the locomotive thumping down the tracks. My idiotic rationale was that at least I was the first in line. I watched and waited as one by one the cars shimmied past. Wait. I must be hallucinating, is it slowing down? Yep. Came to a complete stop right in front of me as if to spitefully remind me an important lesson. It's not always about how fast we can get through or get ahead, the joy is often in the slow motion views of life that only lend themselves to us when we slow down long enough to see them.

Now for the laughter portion of today's feature. Allow me to begin with one simple thought- eat dessert first. This has become ever apparent to me as I have an ongoing love affair with sweets. Once at a church potluck, I stood in the buffet line holding my Styrofoam plate of my favorite sweet picks. If there's anything I've learned from twenty some odd years of Baptist buffet lines- be cordial, but fend for yourself. I honestly think someone will start talking to you asking how you've been and how's your kin, while sneaking the last piece of chocolate pie right out from under you. I'm on to this trick, you see. I stood there with my goodies, eating a piece of brownie. A lady said, honey you're not supposed to eat dessert first. I quickly pondered that statement all the while the creamy chocolate and sugar concoction coating my taste buds in a moment of sheer bliss. My response was this- I already sinned by lusting over it in the first place, so why not just eat it first? I put this theory into action. Today, I had my cookie before my Lean Pocket at lunch. If you're not quite convinced, think about your favorite dessert on the planet. Take mine for example, White Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake at Olive Garden. Every time we go there, I muddle through my Chicken Fettuccine, then find myself full by the time I have the opportunity to relish in the delight of dessert. Well, forget it, from now on, I am eating it first. I can take the rest of the regular food in a to-go bag. Rationality at it's finest. Life's too short to have to hold out for the good stuff on account of a simple formality.

Speaking of formalities, a couple of weeks ago at church we had the privilege of going to lunch with an older couple there in the church. They have lived in this area for over fifty years, and talked about the way things were back when this place was hopping. I thought how sad it must be just to watch things die out around you, left only with the memories of what used to be. As we finished eating, Wade told them that if they ever needed anything, or needed anything moved, to give him a call. In his best grin, the old man said, "If I need something moved, I'm going to set it on fire and call the fire department. They'll move it." When you think about it, what a way to think about life. How would it be to live with such vigor that we are willing to comparatively set things on fire in our own lives that we need moved, and let the Lord move them.

Bringing up the rear is a little episode from this weekend. Wade and I went fishing down at Corpus hoping to reel in a Red or at least something to fight our line. We didn't get a fish, but we did see something worth our while. As I reeled in my line to recast, I turned as I heard a truck struggling with getting bogged down in the sand. I thought for a minute maybe it wasn't four wheel drive, then I realized they were hauling something...a hot tub on a trailer. That's right, there in all its glory Rodney Redneck hauled a flat bed trailer tricked out with a hot tub right on down the beach. I totally rubber-necked to catch the full grandeur of this comedy. He had welded a tin canopy above the hot tub. At the end of the trailer he had enough space to haul two jet skies, complete with a generator at the front. I can't imagine the fury of mess that lingered at the bottom of that hot tub, however, it was nothing compared to the fury of laughter that erupted from Wade and I as we watched him throw sand up into the sunset. Life truly is amazing with the hilarious tidbits thrown our way. They say laughter adds years to your life. Looks like we got a good stock in reserve.

The moral is that you win some you loose some. Sometimes we walk in the dredges only to find our favorite dessert on the other side. May we strive for laughter to outweigh the tears, and comedy to overlie our fears.