Max and the Adventure of Losing Everything

I've been thinking about a story. A Bible story, actually, and a very short, relatively boring one at that. It's just a few lines about a wealthy, important man who came to the Teacher Jesus and said he wanted to join his posse. Jesus said, "Sure. But first go sell all your stuff and give the proceeds to the needy."
The man was taken aback, and left sad and confused because, hello, he really liked all his stuff. He'd worked hard for it. Took good care of it. And its not like he didn't give anything at all to the poor, but all of it?
That's where the glimpse into this life ends, but I don't think its the end of the story.  I think Max (that's what we're calling him now) went home to his beautiful house and looked around at his cool Maserati, his fine art collection, and his ginormous-screen TV and shook his head. No, he didn't have to give it up, he was generous already. In fact, he was kind of miffed. The gall of that guy to tell him to sell everything. Sure, easy to say when you're a nomad with almost nothing.
No, he popped a beer, invited his friends over, and cheered the home soccer team against the Galilean Olive Crushers.
But the next day, when he woke, he had that heavy sense that lands somewhere between loss and dread, that he'd missed out on something vital. An opportunity more incredible and precious than traveling the world, or eating at the finest restaurants, or being named among the hot 30 under 30 in Time magazine.
And as the days passed the ache grew instead of fading. Every time Matt Lauer mentioned anther slew of miracles by Jesus tears burned the backs of Max's eyes. And though he did all the same things he used to, grilling out with the guys, bidding on new sculptures, and vegging out over gourmet food in front of his massive TV, none of it felt as exciting as it once had. None of it was enough. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it any more, all those leisures were just as fun. But he'd found something more precious, more thrilling, in the gentle, warm gaze of a man not much older than him who seemed to care about him even before he knew Max's importance, and then turned and cared about a beggar just as much.
It didn't happen all at once, no. At first he just gave away some things. The old paintings stored in the attic, last season's robes, leftovers from the restaurant to a homeless man on the way out.
And even those things felt....revitalizing. Max tasted a freedom-tinted joy that was entirely new. He felt like a boy again. Light, happy, and connected to a world he hadn't intentionally drawn away from.
After that it was the motorcycle, then his second car, and then one day, when Matt Lauer started talking about Jesus' latest dust up with the religious people, it struck all at once.
Max called Christie's Auction house, and floored the poor receptionist when he said he wanted to sell....everything.  Even after she finally quit hanging up on him for crank-calling and put him through, it took a while to get the appraiser to agree to come out and look at an entire mansion of stuff, and even moreso when he told her he wouldn't be there to collect the check. No, he didn't want to wait that long, so he instead gave her a list of orphanages, widows' aid programs, and the homeless guy who sat outside his favorite restaurant, and told her to divide the proceeds accordingly.
And without a single glance back or a twinge of doubt, Max walked away, thumbed a ride, and joined the mass of people following Jesus. And if he were going to have any second thoughts which, less face it, was highly likely, they vanished when he saw the joy and welcome and pride in the face of this Teacher whose very words burned in his chest and ignited life.

Bloom When

It is mid-May, which in Colorado this year means flowers, sunshine...and snow. Yesterday, we had about four inches coating the landscape.

I looked into my backyard when it hit to at least enjoy the flora for a moment before it froze. Only one brave blossom had opened. It was a beautiful dark purple, with large leaves laced out wide. The others sat curled into buds, unwilling to risk opening.

The open flower fell to the ground when the snow came. But every single one of the other plants turned yellow without ever showing their faces.

It made me think about life. So often we want to wait until its safe to risk pursuing what we really want. When I get married....when the kids are older....when I've saved more...when I'm retired...when the economy turns around...when I can talk someone into going with me...when I lose weight...when I get better at it...

And in the meantime, we wait. Just, wait.

The problem is, we only get to live each day once, and not one person really knows what the next day will bring. When I think bravely, I'd rather bloom blue and early and leave a trace of color in the world than fade to yellow without ever having seen the sun. Because the snow will come for all of us, whether we open ourselves to this life or not.

I'm thankful for this one small reminder to live, and for
all the opportunities I've had to experience wonderful moments in this life. Blossom moments. For playing with kids in Cambodia, for eating amazing pizza in Vatican City, for sleeping late on a rainy Saturday, for snuggling kittens in my lap. I'm thankful for the wonder of watching whales leap from the ocean, waterfalls sail off cliffs, Christmas trees hovering over piles of bright presents. For the chance to be totally and utterly honest with friends over coffee, to laugh like a crazy person over old memories, to pursue dreams I can't make happen on my own, and to pursue those I can. For moments of success, yes. But also for moments of failure, because it means at least I tried. For roller coasters, for songs that make my heart expand beyond my chest, for painting classes, and for a delicious bite of chocolate. For all the moments that remind me to be open, to embrace the warmth of the sun, and to bloom not just where I'm planted, but when.

(Sniff, Sniff)...Do You Smell That?

I'm not all about ragging on oneself, particularly publicly. But the truth is, I don't have a perfect body.

No, this is not my nose. While it probably works better
I can't say I'd trade.

I've come to accept this.

One particularly im
perfect part is...my nose. It just doesn't work that well. This can be a good thing, like when I'm working with children and those around me start making the grotesque "I'm smelling a loaded diaper" face, because the person who smells it first has to take care of it. So, I change very few diapers.

But it also means I can miss out on some wonderful scents, or at least it takes them a long time to get to me. So when coffee is brewing, cookies are baking, or a Christmas tree is freshly cut, everyone around gets this blissful "I'm smelling my childhood" face, and I have to pretend until my lazy nose finally decides to perk up and sniff already.

If anything, this makes me appreciate those wonderful scents more. And one of my favorites: fresh bedsheets. I enjoy sleeping, although its another thing I'm not particularly good at, but still. There's something so great about lying down in cool sheets and poking your feet into the corners of the bed, then balling up a pillow and closing your eyes.

And then, you inhale, and you get that unique aroma of soap and Spring Breeze, or whatever scent your detergent is. It makes me anticipate dreaming of meadows, (I never actually have, but it's a nice thought as you drift off) and it makes something that is pleasant anyways feel special.

I've read a few historical of late and always amid the romance and fancy dress balls I'm thinking about how they didn't have Degree or Mitchum, didn't bathe all that often, and didn't have spearmint gum. I'd probably do better than most in that environment giving my lack of olfactory acuity, but I'm glad I will never find out. I don't even want to imagine the days before they had soaps with artificial meadow smells. I would miss that.

So, today I'm thankful for good smells, all of them, and particularly the aroma of fresh sheets. I'm thankful for the chemists in some lab who mixed ingredients until they came up with Meadow, and for my own washer and dryer, so I can enjoy that scent as often as I'm willing to do laundry. And yeah, I'm thankful for my mediocre nose because even I do get those whiffs of wonderful now and then.

Raise Your Glass!

There's only one thing to do when it's April and your tulips are wearing little caps of snow:

Drink a margarita.

Why, you ask?  Well, aside from the obvious primary reason--because it's a margarita--there is another more subtle goal.

Winter is a cold, unfeeling despot. When it sees those under its power start to smile, or venture out of doors without down-feather armor, it figures it has gotten too lenient and cracks down. Hard.

And you end up with snow hats on your tulips in the middle of April.

 Like all despots, it reigns unfeelingly and uncompromisingly. So if you dare to pack up your mittens and scarves, you get crushed by a cold (I'm on number three this year. Clearly, I'm a rebel.)

So what are we to do? We protest. We say, "Suck it, winter. I may be stuck inside. I may be paying a heating bill during a month that should mean open windows. I may even have to keep my winter duds at the ready year-round. You can take my papasan chair, but you can't take my margarita!" We raise our glasses and our spirits in the face of the frigid out-of-doors, because no matter the temperature, "It's eighty degrees somewhere!" And the spirit of Spring cannot be overcome!

And you know what? Winter sees, raises it's fists to the heavens, and realizes it's beaten. Then, ever so slowly, slinks away until...well, until later.

The fire may burn in the fireplace, but Spring burns in our hearts. Raise your glass!

The Most Interesting Man In The World. (And he doesn't drink Dos Equis....probably PBR)

I love writing stories set in the South because some of the most interesting people I've ever met hale from below the Mason-Dixon. Here is the story of one such man, who is to this day the most interesting person I've encountered. I met him during a visit for work, and wonderful craziness ensued.

Aren't little towns the cutest?!?!

His name, while fascinating in its own right, has been changed to protect the innocent.

I went to review the properties of a county and got an immediate flavor of the town when I passed two sheriffs having a Little Debbie Snack Cake Break in the middle lane of the road, with their lights flashing.

I'd made the appointment with a woman but when I arrived at the county annex, which was roughly the size of a teaspoon, she said I'd be meeting with the judge. My mind goes to black robes, silver comb-over, and a deep voice. 

I was right about the deep voice. Judge Bubba Butterstone stood up, dusted some hay off his hunting fleece, and led me back to his computerless office. We talked square footage, year built and maintenance routines, then toured the annex. I wanted to see the courthouse so he said he'd drive me over if he could smoke in the truck. 

Fine by me.

Judge Bubba warns me there may be stuff in the passengers' seat and sure enough, a hunting rifle and a hunting vest are taking up space. He moved the vest, and invited me to share the seat with his rifle.

"Don't worry, it's not loaded. Oh, wait a minute. What do you know, it sure is." 

So, I'm making sure my toes are out of the way, and then he says, "Why don't I just move that? You'll probably be more comfortable." 

Um, yeah. 

So he lifts it over my head and into the back while I shamelessly scrunch low in my seat, just in case.

As we head to the courthouse, he says, "The traffic was bad this morning."

"Oh, because of construction?"

"No, because of that convict that escaped."

WHAT!?

"Yeah, a kid just got convicted of murder and escaped from the detention center last night."

This explains the cops and their Little Debbies. Apparently, they'd been stopping traffic to look for the murderer, and then found out that somebody's car had been stolen so they figured they should just look for that car instead of searching all the rest of them.

So we go to the courthouse, a stone building that volunteers are coating in Christmas lights. It was like a scene from a movie set in the South that you watch and think, "Maybe fifty years ago in a Thomas Kinkade painting," only it was real.  It warmed the cockles of my heart.

Then, I ask about the jail. 

So Judge Bubba says we'll just go look at it, and heads to the jail. 

At first I wasn't sure this was a good idea, but then I figured the last place an escaped murderer wants to hang out is near the prison. Plus, Bubba rolled up the windows, so if there was a convict passing by, he couldn't reach in and grab the loaded rifle out of the back seat. 

As we pass the news vans, the judge tells me not to let anyone know who he is and we won't get mobbed…by the two news crews. 

I agree to this condition.

We go inside, and all these sheriffs are walking around looking pretty P.O.'d that somebody got out. When Judge Bubba tells them I want to see the sprinkler riser they all gave us that "I'm trying to track down a killer and you want to look at pipes?" look. 

Hey, I would have done the same thing. (And I later found out that the criminal escaped via the sprinkler room, so it was a sensitive topic to begin with.)

So I just smile and get a phone number I can call after all the convicts are rounded up, and head out of dodge.

Just another day in Arkansas, y'all.

Pocket Pack!

Ew, right? 

So, I thought I'd dealt with my annual cold in November-December. It was a long bugger this year and sticky. I won't go into more detail than that. At any rate, I spent my time in the trenches and figured I was good for the rest of the season.

Au contraire. This year, I managed to obtain a second cold in March. Yay. I do not like to be sick. I don't like it when my nose gets red and I sound like a ten year-old, and I have to sleep with my mouth open, which then makes my throat dry...I don't like it. So, I stock up on meds, and make sure I have Kleenex within reach at all times.

The problem with carting a box of tissue around with you is that people stop seeing you, and just picture a giant germ headed their way. Gives a body a little sympathy for Typhoid Mary. Same goes if you pull a bunch of Kleenex free and stuff them in your pockets/purse/laptop bag.  People see you riffling through a bunch of wrinkled tissues and assume you've got mucus on everything you own, which is usually only about 30% true.

Enter, the nifty little pocket pack. It fits relatively easily in a pocket or purse, and keeps all your tissues nice and orderly until you need them. I no longer need to walk around with the equivalent of a WARNING sign tucked under an arm, nor do I have to sift through wrinkly tissues
while people lean as far away as possible without falling off their chairs.

It sounds like a small thing, and it is. Until you get a cold. So, I'm grateful for Kleenex and the person who thought up putting aloe in them so my nose won't chafe. I'm grateful for the portable packaging some marketing guy thought up mid-sneeze, and I'm grateful that my spring cold was much shorter than my fall one.

Open Windows

This is not the view from my window, unfortunately, but it was
too pretty to pass up. It definitely beats my deadish yard and the
angry squirrel who regularly runs the fence.

I've been a proud homeowner for 1.33 years now, and I must say, I like it. There have been elements of adjustment, sure. Like the fact that owning a lawn means one must mow a lawn, there is no super to call when things stop working, and it costs a lot more to regulate the temperature of a house than an apartment of middling size.

We're at that quirky time of year where the typically moody weather of Colorado becomes downright manic depressive.  It snowed on Wednesday, and today it was pushing eighty.  It does keep things interesting. I don't want to flip flop between running the heat and running the A/C but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, even if her pocketbook winces when she does it.

So, I'm always very pleased on days like today. It was upper '70's, perfect sit-outside-to-read weather, but at night it will cool down. So although the house got a little to cozy for comfort today (still had the system set to heat from Wednesday) it's no matter. I can sleep with the upstairs windows open and it'll cool right back down. For free!

It makes me grateful for lovely weather days, for the fact that I have A/C at all, even if it can get a little pricey, for a fabulous down comforter in case it gets cooler than expected overnight, and for two stories in my house. I would not leave windows open if I slept on the ground floor.