Nana, Meredith & Windmills

Recently we logged almost 6000 miles within 8 days time.

My husband's grandmother passed away and we traveled from Helena, MT to Abilene, Texas to White Settlement, Texas, to Denton, Texas, back to Abilene, Texas, back to Helena MT.

That's a lot of miles.

As we were traveling, I find myself searching the horizon for windmills. Not the new kind - the kind used for over 100 years in lands of cattle, ranching, and southern homesteading.  Windmills had a new meaning for me after my grandmother wrote a poem so many moons ago.

When I was gathering her writings after her death for central publication and sharing - her windmill poem really struck me - maybe it was the experience of traveling back and forth from Lovington NM to Abilene and seeing these amazing wooden structures just turning and turning against the red clay and sagebrush.

A few years ago, (maybe two Christmas' ago) my daughter gave me a Christmas gift.  It was a painting that she did of... you guessed it ... windmills.  It made me tear up because I realized she listened every single time we drove and I would point out an old windmill and tell her Nana's story from the poem.

Windmills were life - and for old ranches still operating today - windmills are often life for cattle.

Nana (my grandmother) had a windmill in her garden.  It was a small windmill and had an electric motor to assist in pulling water from the ground and I was completely smitten with it.  I loved that she often used it to water her beautiful flower garden and, looking back, how I wish I had learned more about the whole process.

Simple observations that will last me a lifetime.

I wish for you this: realizations of the importance of history - a smile from old windmills - and loved ones who will create beautiful art that remind you of the important stories.

(See Nana's writing and Meredith's painting below.)

Much love -

Simone

Wiped Clean With (Lots) of Snow - Tabula Rasa

Sunday's morning walk with my trusty Dexter has me thinking.  And, well, those mental wanderings have found their way in and out of thoughts since that walk...

If my many posts and photos on the matter haven't made it abundantly clear - there is a lot of snow in Montana. In fact, the snow that fell on Christmas Eve is still here and - crazy enough - more snow has joined that holiday snow and it stuck around too.

This is a lot of snow for this Texas born and bred gal.  I am still completely enamoured by it - and if the grin on my face is any indication, I don't see myself getting tired of it anytime soon.

The really interesting thing I find on these walks are the tracks.  The people tracks - the dog tracks - the deer tracks - the tracks that I have no idea what they are, but there is indication that something - someone - some animal - has traveled in the direction I am going.

That's comforting.

With that - Saturday night Dexter and I went for a walk around the neighborhood - something he appreciates and I paid attention to the tracks that found their way crossing ours.  Dexter's running to-and-fro leaving lots of Dexter tracks for the next person to observe.

Sunday morning, we ended our longer walk on the same path that we were on Saturday - it was snowing again - and something dawned on me...

Our tracks were gone.

There was a clean slate on the pavement before us.

I actually stopped walking and turned to look behind us - and there were our tracks again.

What dawned on me then - what continues to marvel me today - is the grace that we're given to start anew.

Some days are just hard.  Sometimes those days add up to weeks, months or even longer of hard.  But truth be told, more often than we realize it, it snows again - and our tracks are wiped clean.

That's heady.

Many beliefs have this concept deeply rooted in their history - that our yesterdays are wiped clean for today's opportunity.

We forget that.  A lot.

We have our lists to do, our things never accomplished, our mistakes carried, pasts that are never unloaded - busy looking back and forth at the tracks.

I guess - simply - I marveled at a simple reminder that I get to make new tracks - even in places I've walked before.

My wish - for you - is that opportunity to start anew, even in known places.

Much love on Tuesday - and every other day for that matter.

- Simone

Mustard, Onions and Siblings

I am the third of four children.

I have three brothers - and in the order of things, I'm number three of our four-pack.

You can only imagine the stories being the only girl in a pack of boys.  Minimal advantage - mostly, and often, I felt shorted.  These brothers of mine always got to go and do the coolest things with the best people.

One Christmas, I remember our grandparents came in from New Mexico to Midland, Texas and they had decked out our tree with ones and fives and various green backs.  The four of us walked in wowed... and then it was pointed out to me that the green hanging from the tree was only for the boys... I had the wrapped gift in the corner.

It was a silver vanity set.  I felt robbed. (Though, older now, I still have pieces of this set... so, really, who was robbed...)

Oh sure, there are the stereotypes among us.

We have the oldest - who was punished or responsible for the actions of the rest of us.  The second sibling, who our grandmother favored because she was convinced he was somehow slighted for the spacing of his birth.  The third child, the only girl - and then the baby, another boy - the runt.

We made quite a tribe.

The first three, well, we each have fire-cracker tempers - likely, the youngest of us has the same - but I've always viewed our youngest brother differently.

Lots of stories involved in and out of these ribbons of information - loss, pain and more - there are pieces that are meant for later recount... but as I was working in the kitchen tonight - I was drawn to a story involving my youngest sibling...

All four of us ended up in a children's home - I was separated from my brothers - something that left me a bit screwy... and somewhere in the on and off of the family who were close enough to be involved - my little brother and I ended up living together again with our mother...

There are many stories here - many other stories that trail elsewhere ... but it wasn't until a recent visit from this brother that I found myself aware of recalled truths...

...  It was less than a year ago - maybe the spring of 2014 - that he and his family visited my home in Texas after a long (too long) hiatus on his part...

His oldest son made a comment about not having some type of technology device and my little brother looked at him and said, "Oh, really - you're worried about a phone?  How about this?  How about you go hungry and live on Bisquick, onions and mustard for awhile?  How about you worry about stuff like that?"

I sat there - in my home, chilled and awed - and I simply asked, "You remember that?"

...

Ever see then movie Sling Blade?

Billy Bob Thornton - odd movie - but I'll tell you that when he showed a penchant for mustard, onion and biscuit sandwiches - that made the hairs on my neck stand up - it was a weird memory that wasn't painful - merely wanting.

There was a period of time where my youngest brother and I went hungry.  We were way too young and living with our mother.  I often reflect that I became a resourceful cook because I experienced this time period - but for a very long period of time... all we had was mustard, onions, and Bisquick in abundance.

We could possibly win a contest for creative cooking of these three items.

Over the years I have wondered if I exaggerated this time period, Lord knows I have a crazy imagination and memory - and I thought maybe I had made this food memory bigger than it was...

Until, John, my little brother, made it real again.

There were a few months where we didn't have milk so miracle whip and water were mixed for boxed mac and cheese.  This might be why I dislike miracle whip...

But when John said aloud what I held as a silent truth I felt the air thicken and lessen.

This is not who we are.  This is not our mark or manner - but in a very real way - our humanity is made more fragile and aware of what is around us... so...

.. so...

...

What do I draw from this?

Well, first off - I became much closer to John's children - and I was aware that he and I experienced life paths that no one else knew of...

I am fiercely proud of my baby brother, his wife and his two children.  Fiercely.

Also, I realize that we can all be greater than any past that attempts to define us.  We can get knocked up at 14, run into all kinds of difficulty, only eat Mexican food (Kelly) and still turn out - on the other side - good, well, and functioning people.

...

I still love onions and mustard.

And I am completely proud of these paths that four children took - four children who became amazing adults, parents, and friends.

We kinda' rock.

...

Much love - after another story....

- Simone

Why Post?

After my last post, I had a friend who has known me for quite some time ask me, "Why are you sharing this online so publicly?"

Writing is a salve for me.  Sharing is a reminder that we are intertwined.

Frankly, we all spend a lot of time trying to take the best photo, or compose the right line, or do the right thing for some appearance or another.

To be a Paulie-Anna storey of myself is to, in some way, wrong myself of every hard part, every trial, and every large truth that taught me a big lesson.

The best part - and this is what I have learned - we all have more in common than our bylines or random public descriptions.

We have been through hell.  Back again.  Bought the t-shirt.

And we made it.  We're still going.  Still wandering.  Still being true.

Bless you and your path - past and present.  May it strengthen you to know that there are so many options of hope and wonder.

- Simone

2015 Challenge. Shame in Truth. Homelessness.

It is no secret that I was very young when I became pregnant.  (14 for those who didn't know...)

To preface the next part of this story let me remind everyone that with hard work, much prayer, and the love of her great-grandparents, grandparents, teachers, friends, and family - the little girl born in 1992 has turned into an amazing woman in college figuring her own world out.

Blessed. But for this story - I digress.

I moved to Midland, Texas with my mother when I was pregnant.  This was with assistance from my grandparents - her parents. (who are quite possibly the closest souls to saints I've ever known...)

There is a lot to this part of the story - one day I'll write it all - but in that time frame - from the move to Midland, to the birth of my beautiful daughter there were many lows ... one being this: for almost 3 weeks - my mom and I lived in her car.

We were homeless.

A few people know this - it's not a banner I wave, nor a feeling I care to ponder for long periods of time, but truth be told, living in a car humbled me and I am thankful for the humility and foresight this time gave me. This sad experience was quite possibly the point in my life where I realized that I held a greater part in my own destiny.  I could be one who acts - or I could react to the life handed to me by others.  Acting and making my own choice(s) in life seemed rather preferable.

We survived those few weeks on leftovers from my mother's hostess job at Western Sizzlin, kindness from friends who knew her from there, and from my PDAP group in Midland, Texas.  PDAP also had a large hand in saving me - but again, that's another writing.

All of this disclosure and public writing is more to bring light to my experience and opinion of those homeless who you see and then pass by with a side glance  -  don't look too close.  It might become too personal.

It's personal.  For many.

Without a doubt, there are many able people who take advantage of others.  I know this.  (I do.)

What I will tell you, from personal experience, is this:  there is a larger group of people who feel utter pain asking you for money, help, or assistance.  Those who sleep in cold, wet places at no cause of their own - just a bad flip of the coin.

There are few things that make me more angry than the indifference to those who suffer and are in need... don't let the haves tell you that the have nots are less than - they are not.  Don't become blind to compassion and the works of every ascended Master before this time - Christ included.  Christ didn't walk beautiful ballrooms, with assistance to raise money, looking in a sterile way to help those in need.

Poverty is dirty.  Homelessness is dirty.  It is not pretty.  It's not a simple check signed, an auction item won - it's heartbreaking.

For 2015 I challenge you.  Anyone who happens upon this writing: take stock in what is real - lives are real.  There are souls who can be lifted by close touch and realization of value of their humanity and life.

Be aware.  Be real.

Blessings.  Always.

- Simone