Thoughts on Happiness

I am happy.

Okay, those who know me know that I tend to find myself with a happy disposition.  I come from the school of "fake it til' you make it" and it's just easier to be happy - who does it hurt?

Wait.  Hang out with me for a minute.  Who does it hurt?

Tonight I found myself in a conversation with my husband about our move to Montana.

Our move was a huge decision and it was a fast one - "hey, I think I'm going to apply for a job in Montana..."  "okay" - That's the sum and total of our consideration.   If we weren't meant to be in Montana, it would not have happened.

We miss you - everyone.  We miss our best and closest friends.  We miss our adult children.  We miss our other dogs. JT misses Taco Bueno.  I miss a good Texas steak.    I really miss the people I worked with in Texas.  We both miss the sense of humor of the South - ... uhm... it's different up here...

But - (ready?)  We are happy.  Montana is not perfect, but right now, it's perfect for us.

If you have been involved in our lives, you know the past three years have been hell.  Stresses that no marriage, family, or parent should have to experience.  Distancing ourselves from the chaos has allowed us perspective.

The scenery here blows our minds.  It's just - wow - amazing.  We can't wait for you to visit and see it for yourself.

Be excited for us - be who we have tried to be for you - celebrate our happiness.  Please.  If you have/had the opportunity to experience a new adventure - we'll celebrate you.

Texas is our base.  Imagine what strong roots we have - but growth is never bad.  It's hard - it's not popular - but celebrate our willingness to explore and our excitement in sharing it with you.

There are those who are near and dearest to our hearts - distance doesn't change that.  And, for us, it never will.

I wish you happiness.  Happiness that blooms, and grows, and reaches, and dreams.

Wishing you great joy.

- Simone

Enough. Memories & Snow.

It's snowing.

It's snowing, again, in Helena, Montana.  Though this is my fourth or fifth snow since I've lived here, I can't help but stare out the window this Saturday morning and watch it fall.

Fall, accumulate, fall some more.

It's great to watch the snow fall; first, as little specs of frozen water, and  - soon -  these large flakes start falling.  It's still magical to me - in my 38th year of continued wonder - snow is still magical.

It dawned on me, as I sat by the window, that I did the very same thing - watched the snow fall - 18 years, ten months, and twenty-nine days ago.  I also watched the two loves of my life play in the snow, build a snowman, and have a snowball fight.

Memory is a funny thing.  I've mentioned this before, and consider it true, that our memories are a kaleidoscope of broken remembered, recalled, and real.  Sometimes we color recollection with undue bitterness - other times imaginary happiness -  but this morning's memory was an equal balance, a moment when I was just simply content.

I'll come back to that word in a bit - content.

January 1, 1996 - it snowed in Abilene, Texas.  I was close to seven months pregnant, sitting on the couch in the living room, watching my husband and daughter playing in the unexpected New Year's Day snow.  Hearing both of their laughter, her squeels of joy, his patient teaching - I held my hand on my tummy and let the moment consume me.   Meeting and knowing that now - without entry of future or past... I was truly content.

It has taken me a long time to learn that contentment is truly of the Divine.  We are often a society of more, of want, of continued desire.  Contentment is enough.  It's the cup just warm, a soup just seasoned, a touch just right.

Enough is living in the now.   No expectations - only the recognition of enough.

I found myself smiling this morning - wrapped in my memory and thankful for that opportunity.

Life has changed.  My goodness - a son born and grown, a daughter realizing her own wonder and life - letting go of a first love - to allow for the opportunity of the right love.

I am - today - amazingly content.  The snow is still falling, my coffee is wonderful - this now is just enough.

Much love -

Simone

Learning to Live in a Zero World

Tomorrow morning I will walk to work, just like I have since I moved to Montana.  Yet, tomorrow morning it will be zero degrees.  Zero.

This made me reflect on a few things that this Texas Transplant has learned living in this arctic paradise I now call home.

The closet by the front door is truly meant for coats, boots, and drawers filled with gloves, mittens, tuques, hats, and ear muffs.

Down vests did not go out of style with Marty McFly.  They are alive and well in Big Sky Country.  In fact, they're down-right toasty.

Radiators.  I questioned them, fiddled with the knobs, ... they are amazing.  Heats the house and warms mittens, tuques, and socks.

Warm socks are heavenly.

Really, really heavenly.

Boots - Good boots - are not alway the prettiest - but man, oh, man - no water, snow, or puddle will breach these babies.

And you can actually take out the felt liners to wash.

Wonderful.

Say it with me...

"YakTraks."

You read that right.  YakTraks.

All of you wonderful people fearful of a broken leg, ankle, arm, ... or any other part of my body (Diane, Athena, Kim, Bob... everyone...) ... These amazing things strap on to the bottom of my shoes - and ... well, I don't fall.

Where have these been all my life?

Homemade soups and stews have never tasted so good.

In fact, chicken and dumplings are officially my new favorite.

Texts from people I love!  

Especially texts keeping me plugged in to my local weather...

... and your local weather.

(Rebbeca is Rebecca - I'm just too tickled with it this way to change it...)

My daily glance of your weather.

And my weather.

But mostly what I've learned living in this frozen wonderland is this...

I am living my brand new adventure - it's beautiful and it makes me smile so often because I am joy-filled.  In awe of this windswept snow magic, the mountains, the people - so much to learn, to see, to do.  Best give it my honest effort and embrace it fully.

I miss you.  All of you.

Love - lots of it.

(Returning to my book and hot cider)

- Simone

A Little Grass - A Big Problem

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge - you might not know the name of the author, but likely you've heard this line, "Water, water every where, nor any drop to drink..."

Growing up in West Texas, I appreciated early on the importance of rain.  Now living in Montana, having streams, lakes, rivers and rain in what seems to be abundance, I appreciate more and more the value of water.

This got me to thinking - about a conversation with my friend Rebecca.  Simply - it's a pet-peeve of mine that borders on being judgmental.  I apologize in advance for the tone this writing will take.

Lawns.  Lawns bother me.  A lot.

Let's start with some history from the National Wildlife Federation:

"The history of the lawn in America has its roots, so to speak, in the English country estate, where lawns provided sweeping vistas enjoyed by the aristocracy and were mowed and fertilized by flocks of sheep. Beginning in the 19th century, however, suburban Americans took to lawns like fish to water—and both fish and water have been adversely impacted ever since."

Let me give you some statistics to mull over:

• The average homeowner will spend 50 to 100 hours a year maintaining their lawn (but only 35 hours a year having sex!)
• 10 times more herbicides per acre are dumped on lawns than on fields of agribusiness
• Per acre, it costs more to maintain a lawn than it does to grow corn, rice, or sugarcane. More than 40 billion dollars (!!!) are spent on lawns in North America - more than we spend on text books for school classrooms.
• 7,500 Americans are injured every year using lawn mowers, about the same number as firearms.  Most of those accidents involve children.  More than 30% of these injuries resulted in an amputation of some sort - limbs and digits gone in the pursuit of green!
• 50-70 percent of residential water is used for landscaping - most to water lawns - which total approximately 20-30 million acres in the United States.
• A gas powered lawnmower emits 11 times the air pollution of a new car.

Any minimal amount of research shows how lawns (and our continued pursuit of a perfect lawn) is damaging our rivers, lakes, streams - and equally damaging needed birds, bees, and other local wildlife.

But we continue to do this - we continue to pay and toil away at unnatural grasses in areas that were never meant to support such water consuming ground cover.

Gardens.  What happened to gardens?  Vegetation that proved magical in growth and amazing in their ability to support our physical needs - gardens were instrumental in teaching children and provided families with a most cost effective means of nutrition.  

Maybe one day, we'll stop trying to match the Jones' and get back to the land as it was meant to be - unmanicured in most instances - and real.  Local grasses, wild flowers, a utopia for the local wildlife and insects that carried our lands through hundreds of years.  

Quite possibly, people who are consumed with "healthy living" will realize that it's not just your body or your food that you need to consider while in this pursuit of "health"... it's also the world you're creating.  Consider xeriscaping, maybe box gardens - enjoy the outdoors as it wants (and was meant) to be.

And that - my dear ones - is my rant on lawns.  

Good day and much love.

- Simone

(P.S. - Might I recommend: http://www.sunset.com/garden/earth-friendly/lose-the-lawn-low-water-landscaping ... or... http://www.wildflowers-and-weeds.com/ ...)

My Autumn - This Autumn

Never have I seen an Autumn made just for me,
breathtaking, feral, and completely present...
This Autumn, my autumn
is the cinnamon stick balanced on a chipped mug of steaming cider
wrapped in the soft indulgence of a rich red velvet wrap
and the crisp sound of the first bite of an autumn apple
My Autumn, this autumn
is the tight dry burst of a dark malbec with a taste of the soil of Bordeaux
the show of dry wood burning and taking sparks to the heavens
and a lover's soft warm whisper on my ear
This Autumn, my autumn
takes the pastel buds of spring, the green of summer, and sets both to flame with color
completely vane - it applauds itself each time the wind passes through
and should your feet find the leaves, colored, ready - you are told - I Am Autumn
My Autumn, this autumn
is the four legged romp through morning dew and piles of color collected
a technicolor cornucopia of smells and sounds
tail wagging, nose pointing, ears up and ready to find - more and more...
This Autumn, my autumn
knows the breathy sound of Nina Simone piped to my ears as I wander
rightly placing my steps forward
crooning to the land, to my heart, to my knowing - keep going
My Autumn, this autumn -
is the worn smell of a good book - the sound of a page turning
and the next chance for a new beginning - the world sleeping and waking again
How lovely you are - my autumn.

Happiness Is...

• Warm tea ... Hot coffee
• Autumn leaves in the wind - they rattle like applause at their own beauty - perfect vanity
• Solving problems at work or computer issues that will help others
• Cooking for people
• Cooking for just myself
• Real Foods on Helena Ave. in Helena Montana (it makes me so happy - no packaging)
• Dexter's tail - he has a nub and it is so wonderful when it wags
• Thoughts of my friends - I can't wait until they get here
• Diane Taylor
• Friends who have known me for almost 15 years and still love me - like Athena
• A cold, perfectly presented, sugar rimmed cosmopolitan 
• Reconnecting with the many branches of my family tree
• Limes - they're just good all the time
• A good book
• A good song
• Dancing - anytime - often 
• Workmates who laugh with me - and get my odd sense of humor
• You
• The right song at the right time
• A husband who puts up with his wife moving to Montana - and thinks it's a good idea.
• A short double espresso, topped with steamed soy and half a shot of honey
• My Germans - Karin, Wolfgang and Melanie - I love them so much
• My four children ...  I miss them.
• ....
• and knowing what makes you happy...

So ....

Care to share?  Happiness is....

The Journey - Accepting My Own

This morning my alarm went off at 5:15 a.m. - that's awfully early for a Sunday - and my head was smarting from the weather change that Montana has subjected me to...

At 5:30 a.m. I tossed my feet to the side of the bed, found shirt, pants, jacket, warm socks and shoes and made my way to the door of my neighbor.  She and I had a date to meet the sun - and so we went on our way.

We talked while we traveled - discussed her upcoming surgery, enjoyed our warm beverages (my coffee, her green tea) and I drove in the dark Montana morning to Hauser Dam - she had never been.

When we pulled up to the dam, she said to me, "Wait - I need to read you something - it reminds me of you..."

So I listened  -  and she read:

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

...

I was taken aback and felt blessed at the same time.

Moving 1400+ miles from the home I've known has been liberating, scary, hard - and frankly, the most rewarding thing I've ever done for myself in my entire life.  As she and I hiked around the dam this morning we talked about "home" and what that means... I reflected on my mindset made anew by my choices: home is truly where my heart is - and right now - my heart is here in Montana.

Oh, sure, I proudly say I'm a Texan - through and through - but my travels to Germany a few years ago - and then my move to Montana made me realize that a place or destination does not define me - it's my ability to accept the amazing opportunities that have opened for me - and not feel as if my life is pre-designed to be someone for so many other people...

In this move - I've learned to be someone for myself.

I'm often asked by individuals I work with, "But you're children..."   I miss them - I miss them all - but I respect their own voice, their own role in their future.  My children will need to fail, and they will need to know the feeling of trusting their own voices and decisions - I have faith in all of them.  (And I'm proud that they have found their voices... so proud...)

Much love to you in your own journey.

- Simone

Something About Sarah

In 2011 a beautiful friend of mine suffered a loss that I never want to experience - a loss that most people will (hopefully) never understand.

She lost her teenage daughter.  

Does it matter if I told you it was to cancer, an automobile accident, drugs, a doctor's mistake, or to juvenile diabetes?  (Truth be told - Sarah died of the latter of this list.  She was too young, too amazing, with too much potential...)

I do not often attend funerals.  I celebrate the life of the one you lost and I also weep for your heavy heart - but in my few years I have experienced many funerals and areas of mourning.  Frankly,  I have learned that it's best for me to just seldom visit the mass of mourning often found in funerals.  Mourning is very personal for me...

And yet - yet - I found myself standing in the auditorium of a local high-school.  I was the first one there... (this happens a lot) and there was Sarah - ensconced in her final resting bed.  Her coffin was a macabre of signatures, small sketches and Sharpe notes.   

I met Sarah through her mother.  The background is a long twist of strange and online wonder - but Sarah continued to be this amazing light of "wow" for me.  Her mom invited me to birthday parties, and I found these beautiful children on my steps at Halloween.  (Bella before she was famous? HELLO!  I remember when she happened upon my porch as Bella - apple in hand.  Man, she was cool.)

Frankly - and I still believe this - Sarah was cooler than the rest of us.  Tuned into the culture of her generation, she knew music, and topics far beyond our understanding. 

That day in September, I found myself sitting with a very still Sarah for almost half an hour.  Just she and I in an auditorium.    

Make this not real.  Sarah get up.  Hey, kid, stop it.  

I thought it all - Please God.  Please.

Finally, I got the courage to walk to her coffin and wrote on the top.  Nothing amazing.  Nothing important - but I wished once again that I could breathe into her the life she lived so amazingly. 

Soon others filed in - soon I saw her mother, her father, family - her uncle (who I adored) file in and the songs, stories, began... we said goodbye.  We enjoyed Sarah's joy - we praised the life lived... we cherished her.

I had not planned to walk past he open coffin.  Frankly, I've spent years (and years) avoiding any more open coffins - but I was there, in the first row asked to stand and start the walk past the open bed showing the Sarah that was not Sarah and I couldn't escape - so I walked.  Round back, around the side, near her family I stole a glance at her mom and dad - at her uncle and I ached for them. 

Three years later - I ache for all of them.

Sarah was/is amazing.  Hey - I attribute her awesomeness to the people that paved her path - there are a lot of you.

Reminders from Sarah:

Don't mistake another day for another chore. 

People love you.  Lots.  Open your arms to the possibility of this love.

Care for you.  You have one chance to do this.

Listen to music loudly.  There's a reason for this.

Sing.

Sing often.

And hey - if you have the opportunity to cross the path of Sarah's family - you'd better take notice.  Her soul is hers because of the divine people in her path.  Take note: learn something.

Remember Sarah.

Love you all.  Really, really, really.

- Simone

Joe - Writings About a Great Man

Let me tell you about Joe.

It's amazing how stories fold and unfold and take on light and color as we recall - years pass - our memories may press the past into broken images that are a kaleidoscope of real, recalled and remembered and it is among these colored pieces that I find myself today - September 15, 2014 - when this wonderful man took his last human breath - and journeyed on.

Joe - Uncle Joe - was my great uncle.  The youngest of a pack of children - the Byers kids from Lovington, New Mexico.  This family - this was an amazing family with Big Dad and Meme in the Big House - think the early 1900s in the windswept, dusty world of Lea County, New Mexico.  Uncle Joe was the youngest brother of my dear Nana.

As far as I can remember - and even after - he was our hero.  No need to brush on the cobwebs of the story of the Simpson kids - what a mess we were... but Joe - he saw amazing potential, really, he lived a potential that he projected out to everyone he met.

The stories - gosh - as I write I remember more and more....

I can't tell you Joe's story.  I can tell you snippets of my life weaving in with his.  I can tell you about his taking my three brothers camping - or popcorn parties with carbonated flavored water and a classic movie in his living-room.  Hours, and hours, and hours combing through his warehouse of treasures - and his key jar... I thought it was amazingly magical.

Uncle Joe ate lunch with Nana and Papaw as long as I can remember.  I remember one time Nana asked me to dial up Joe for lunch.  I dialed - in my 12 year old sophistication - and a woman answered.   ...   I looked at Nana.  Nana looked at me.  She walked over to the speaker phone on the bar in the kitchen and spoke into the phone... "Is Joe there??"  The woman responded, "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number..."  Nana and I were bent over with hysterical laughter.

You see...  Joe was a single man all of his life.  Married to his family, his work, his belief in God - I never knew the story - only stories that my Nana perceived... we joked with my uncle when he finally came for lunch that day...

I remember visiting my grandparents and Uncle Joe dancing with me on his shoes - and he'd humm and sing... "La, la, dah dah dum... la, la lah dum...."  I would giggle - 8 years old and amazed at how wonderful he was.  Years and years later - my daughter was 4 or 5 and my great uncle danced with Meredith's feet on his own.    Typing that now makes me pause - my throat heavy with remembering...

The last years of my marriage to my children's father - separated and just feeling alone and judged by so many - I was struck  one Valentine's Day to send my uncle a Valentine's Day gift... it was a stuffed animal with a card...

A few weeks later I got a card that read, "Dear Niece - I haven't received a Valentine's Greeting in years...  Thank you..."

*smile...

Years later - and this is the story that I tie so clearly to my Uncle Joe... our threads clearly tied to each other in an exchange through letters...

I read the book "The Greatest Generation" by Tom Brokaw. It moved me - every piece of me and it reminded me of a conversation with my grandmother...

"We never talk about the war with Joe," Nana warned me carefully.  "Why," I asked.  "Because many years ago something awful happened to him, and he told us to never talk about it again."

To that Simone in me - and we all know ... (how did my family put up with me?!!) ... I needed to know.  After learning more about this time period and the stories... I needed to know.

So I pulled out my word processor (yeah, sure - laugh!!) and I wrote a very important letter...

Dear Uncle Joe... [words, words, words, words] ... Tell me your story.  Love your niece, ... Me.

A few weeks later I received a very thin envelope with the following theme:

"Why?"

I sat on that question a few days.  Why.  I won't go into what I wrote him - but I poured out my real heart - my real reasons - ... and I didn't hear a thing - frankly, I was worried my Nana would find out I asked and it was never good to upset the world of Nana.

Then... a few months later I got a padded envelope in the mail.

The cover page has a hand-written note - simply:  "You asked for it."

His story was one of the most touching and real accounts of World War II I have ever read.  Likely it touched me closely because he was my uncle - but I read it with tears, laughter and found myself nodding ... yes.

This - this amazing man - this was my uncle.

Joe died today.  My oldest brother Jimi got to visit with him before he passed - and Jimi called me as I walked through a park here in Montana to tell me that Joe cracked a few jokes a few hours before he took his last breath...

I don't claim to know the minds of any life lived - I think my uncle would be proud of my spreading my wings and just trying - and believing ... and even my constant need to ask why.

I'm better for his living - and I'm living better because he was here on this earth.

I truly pray I can live one-tenth of his fantastic-ness.

Love to all of you.  (really - and really)

- Simone

Fresh Flowers - A lesson in happiness.

Years back - but not that many years - I was blessed to work for a lovely school in Abilene, Texas.  St. John's Episcopal School taught me lessons in bravery, right and wrong, and introduced me to teachers and parents who branded their own light and love into my heart.  Forever blessed for such an amazing experience - I can only look back and smile.

One of my favorite memories was with our P.E. teacher, Rebekah - I'm reserving mentioning her last name - but she is one of those souls who you can't help but feel your cheeks rise when she's around.  She always made me smile.

One day, Rebekah came into my office and there were flowers on my desk.  At the time I was unmarried and she said... "Awwwww! Simone - who are the flowers from!?"

In my simple Simone-style, I responded:  "Me."    She grinned, pulling her head back to the side, "You got yourself flowers?"

"I sure did!"

I gave her my speech - something I will share with you today.

Flowers.  I love them.  I LOVE Flowers.  I love plants.  For years during my first marriage (yeah, yeah, I know) I would pine after those elusive flowers.  I wanted some.  Why wouldn't anyone buy me flowers?  How come they didn't know?   I love flowers.  They make my heart happy - why - oh why - didn't I get flowers.

::knock:: ::knock::  Hello, Captain Obvious.  You want flowers?  Buy them yourself.

(So here's the question for you fellow pining flower lovers - do you want flowers?  Or do you want attention? .... Things that make you go hmmmmmn....)

Somewhere in my thinking I realized, if you want flowers - well, get flowers!  Obvious.  Simple.

And yet, how this vexed me for years!!

Simple enough.  You see chocolate.  You want chocolate.  You buy chocolate.  You see a shirt you love.  You want this shirt you're loving.  You buy this shirt you're loving.  ... Flowers?  SAME THING!

Ever notice how fresh flowers or plants make you feel better?  Okay - maybe that's not true for everyone ... but it's true for a lot of us... Don't you love looking up at your desk, table, dresser, cabinet top - whatever - and seeing fresh lovely flowers?  It's healing.  It's living.  It's lovely.

So - I'm challenging you - my beautiful wonderful friends and readers -

Buy flowers.  For yourself.

Or - even better - don't wait for others to figure out what you need to be happy.  Make yourself happy.

Love and light - and happy Friday.  HAPPY FRIDAY!

- §

When The Levee Breaks - Hanging by a Thread....

In times past, when something weighs heavy on my soul, I write.  I find myself writing tonight.

So many opportunities have found their way in my path - I feel shamed that I am so ready to write at a time of sorrow, but haven't posted the beautiful moments in my life that have come-to-pass recently.  The truth is, often we forget to celebrate our most wonderful moments - and this is something I will work on in the future.

But alas, I find myself pondering, unable to sleep, and aching to share my heart's weight.  ...
Here I am.

Here he is.  Here she is.

Many moons ago, a December night that I will never forget, I answered the phone.  My dearest friend (one who I still credit with saving my life) was frantic saying "He finally did it... he did it!!" 

"What?  Who?" 

It seemed that my dear friend's father had finally given in to his demons and committed suicide.  He hanged himself from a friend's basketball goal. 

"DAD!  He said he would do it - he did it - I'm right outside of Baird, and headed to Austin..."

I told her, "Turn around, come back and get me, I'll find someone to keep the kids..."   And I did, and she did- she turned around, picked me up and we drove all night to Austin to stay with her grandparents and later identify her father's body. 

He had indeed hanged himself.  The details and reasons are not important - but I remember standing in the office of the local mortician - viewing his body from the "glass on the other side" and thinking so many things that I will not share here - but will stay with me for the rest of my life.  When you have lost someone tragically and unexpectedly, like I had with my own mother - and now with my friend's father - viewing a body before it was "prepared" is like carving a scar within your soul.  It won't be erased.  It won't be understood.  It just is.  It hurts.  It's never softened.

Trying to sort through - I will not pretend that there is solace or respite from this questioning and pain.  I wanted to rip it out of her - I wanted to breathe life back into him.  There are so many other parts of this time - but I can only say that, to this day, I live these moments with her.  I love her more because she trusted me enough to turn around and let me support her through the hardest days...

Robin Williams death has shaken me.  I was not surprised and yet I was still shaken.  Genius will always come with a certain insanity - darkness - pain.   I couldn't help but hear about this brilliant entertainers death and draw a line to my friend, our pasts - our now.

It doesn't go away.  It doesn't.  The edges are worn away - they are not so harsh - they cut less sharply - but you never forget.  Somewhere in the soul's ability to rebound - we remember.  We always remember.

I feel almost silly that a man's death has affected me - a man that I have never met - but his pain - his drive to end his suffering - found me thinking of my friend, her father, my mother... the past... the pain... and I haven't slept.

Depression is a distorted view of the possible.  All that is (possible) becomes clearly impossible.  Hopelessness seeps into a level that most will not understand.

And I wish for you - I pray for you - stillness of spirit - awareness of opportunity - and understanding... complete and absolute understanding... that tomorrow is possible, that you are loved, and that I love you - brilliantly, completely and with unabashed Simone-ness.

(And I promise, my next writing won't be so heavy.)

Yours.  & Loving You.

§

Toastmasers 11/2011 Speech - Resurrection Inspired by a Friend

In November of 2011, I joined my company's Toastmasters' group.  Toastmasters encourages public speaking and assists members in polishing their public speaking skills.

 

For members, Toastmasters' first speech is your icebreaker - it's when you introduce yourself to everyone and tells everyone a little about yourself.  A conversation with a friend today reminded me of my first Toastmasters speech.   I thought I'd share it here (and I hope you enjoy):
 

“In Italy, wine, bread and olive oil are called the Santa Trinita Mediterranea – the Mediterranean Holy Trinity.  The Texas Holy Trinity is only slightly different: wine, cattle and oil… just not olive oil.”  I have a book that I’ve read that comparison out of – in fact, I’ve given that book as a gift on more than a few occasions. The name of the book is “The Wine Bible” by Karen MacNeil.  Obviously we’re talking about the W-I-N-E variety grown from the ground and not the W-H-I-N-E that more than a few of us succumb to every once in a while.

I love this book because it’s such a fantastic resource on the making, growing, history and just a cornucopia of knowledge about wine.  One of my favorite lines in the book is about page ... 752 ... and if you took anything from the name of this book think of the “bible” reference – it’s a big book on wine…

Page 752 continues the story of Ed Auler a Texas cattle rancher and attorney who in 1973, went to France with his wife Susan to further his knowledge of different cattle breeds.  I must admit, I had no concept that studying cattle in France was an option - BUT – as you can imagine, besides the history and cheeses and foods and WINE and VINEYARDS… the Aulers looked around parts of France and Europe they noticed how much the topography and granite limestone reminded them of the Hill Country in Texas – and the author (Karen MacNeil) says the following – and this is my favorite – “The Aulers thought the Texas thought: ‘We can do that.’  Their successful vineyard was realized 10 years later – Fall Creek Vineyards… which produces a pretty fantastic bottle of wine.

“We Can Do That” – that’s a pretty positive statement.  It’s almost a little cocky – a bit of Texas – rather sure of themselves.  I have never forgotten that story because it makes me chuckle every time.  I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve looked at situations in my life and thought, “I can do that.”

I was born in Odessa Texas – one of four children – the only girl.  I have two older brothers and a younger brother and in the late 70’s & early 80’s we ran a little wild and I was a serious Tomboy.  My brothers would jump over streams, I would think, “I can do that” I’d jump too.  They would climb trees and jump from roofs– I would follow along thinking, “I can do that.”  Obviously boys are equipped in the area of standing and… well, you know… and I went right along thinking, “I can do that”… I must admit I have never successfully stood and… “well you know…”

My home life was less than ideal and in the early 80’s my brothers and I were put in a children’s home – in fact – I lived at Hendrick Home for Children for 5 years – the hardest part was being separated from my brothers.  I would wake up every day missing them wildly – and wishing with all my heart that I could see them and my parents. Few years following I left the home – I had just turned 13 – in a year I was pregnant.  

That’s right.  I was pregnant at 14. Woah – that took “I can do that…” a little too far.  I weighed my options – met with a family that would adopt my child.  Then one day I went for a sonogram – still in high school – trying to continue with my life and I heard that sound.  It sounds like a horse running.  This baby’s heart beat inside of me and I thought… Wow… WOW… this is my baby… “I can do this….”

I was married at 15 to her father, lost my mother when I was 17 and my father when I was 19, had a son when I was 19.  I will not pretend or even begin to say that it was easy.  It was hard.  I had choices to make and they were not always easy.  Stretching $20 a week for meals for a family of three, taking a bus to school so I could say that I graduated, trying to be a mom and a wife as a teenager happened because I gave myself a lot of talks saying, “I can do this.”

So far in my professional carrier, I have made cookies, fried chicken, arranged flowers, attended vocational school, attended law school, prepared taxes, was a paralegal for almost 12 years, worked on a few judicial campaigns, served as the Director of Communications & Community Relations and Interim Head of School at a local private school – all the while pushing myself from my less than humble beginnings with the thought, “I can do this.”

I have four children now.  A son, 15 who goes to school at Clyde High School, a daughter, 19 who attends West Texas A&M in Canyon, a step-daughter, 16 and step-son 18 – who live with my husband and I in Clyde, Texas.  We just have the 3 teens at home since my daughter is off at college – you can imagine that I often have to step back, take a deep breath and convince myself “WE CAN DO THIS” – having 4 teenagers is truly an adventure.

I read, I camp, I cook, and I write.  I see things in the store and I think “I can make this.”  So I try to do exactly that.  I am constantly learning.

So my “icebreaker” is more of a challenge – or even a continuation of the spirit of the Auler’s point of view, “We can do that” – that’s why we’re here at Toastmasters.  To learn from each other – to encourage professional and personnel growth in communications and to remind each other that communication is vastly differently than speaking – and frankly – We Can Do That.

Bullies - and why I react so passionately as an adult...

Today, at work, I happened upon a bully experience on a public website.  Someone was posting personal emails  from another employee and calling that employee a coward.

The mob mentality immediately ensued and I couldn't help but feel myself react.

This is not okay.  This is never okay.

Many moons ago - in the Winter of 1991 I was pregnant.  I was alone and I was scared.  More so, and most people never knew this, my mother blew the rent money on drugs and she I and lived in her car.  It was during this time - me, 15 and pregnant, her 40ish and strung out, that I was attending high school in Midland, Texas.

High School is hard.  It's rough.  There is no wiggle room for kindness and understanding - and it was during this time - when I lived in our car, bathing in service stations and attending class - that a "Christian" girl walked up to my teenage pregnant self and said, "your child is going to be a bastard and should be hung when it's born".... I stood there.  Mouth agape.  Heart pounding.

I didn't know if I should have reacted in any particular way.  I didn't.  I stood there and took it.  I was lucky they didn't know I bathed in the sink at the local Friendze - much less calling this child a bastard.

Bullying takes many forms.  It is rooted, typically, in fear.  But as a strong adult today, there is something about this public  mob mentality that makes my heart race, my back arch, and my Simone-ness ready to strike.

Life is hard folks.  Even in this First World country where we are so blessed and gifted - we make life so hard on each other.  Cruelty is never okay.  Never.   We have the opportunity to be kind and forgiving - it's not a hard road to take.

I task you - each of you - with kindness.  Stand up to bullying.  Even when you're an adult.  Believe in yourself.  Know that you have the opportunity to make the difference in another person's life in such a positive manner - why would you choose any other way?

Much love and blessings.  From an old soul - and a new soul.

- Simone

Look it up - cause it's true... and Colorful (Rocco DeLuca)

Oh yeah, and....


You swim like you're on fire
live like your last day
drink like its water
there's no tomorrow
And you think no one can hear you
Raise your hands to be called on
you know all the answers
You're the most colorful thing that I've seen
You're the most colorful thing that I've seen
You're the most colorful thing that I've seen
You dance like no-one's watching
Sing 'til the song ends
then you sing some more
And we can hardly believe it
words that flow from your mouth,
Drink like its water
You're the most colorful thing that I've seen
You're the most beautiful thing that I've seen
You're the most colorful thing that I've seen
You are an enigma walking
make no excuses for the way that you carry on
and we can hardly believe it
words that flow from your mouth
Drink like its water girl
Drink like its water girl
Your the most colorful thing that I've seen
Your the most beautiful thing that I've seen
Your the most colorful thing that I've seen
No no no no no no
You are so colorful
and you are so beautiful
and you are the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen.

Return of the Writing....

It's been awhile... yeah, I know.  Life happens.

Things are good.  I've moved.  In a new house back "in town" and not in far away Clyde, America.  I'm glad to be close to everything again.

Good things going on - going back to school January 13th, received some great recognition from work, oldest is a Junior in college, second child has a great job and has really stepped it up in the responsibility area, third child is a Senior in high school this year and has already been accepted to her college of choice, fourth child has overcome a lot this year - 3 hospitalizations and just lots of stuff - and he's on target to get a GED and just start junior college. 

Dogs are good.  Actually, right now I'm sitting on the porch in my rocking chair and they're staring at me with those "please let us come outside with you, mom" eyes...

Married.  Still.  Frankly, I constantly remind myself how blessed I am to have a husband who puts up with my quirks and eccentricities.

Today I learned how to replace window screens.  My enthusiasm about the project was a bit much - but any person  who can increase their skillz is always a better person.

I'm content.  I haven't been able to say that for some time.  My life, not easy with the medical issues for my youngest, seems more on track than it has ever been.  I'm blessed for that.

So here's to you blogworld.  You freaks, geeks, storied and unstoried.  Here's to your cups half-full. 

Much love.

- Simone