THE PIANO LOUNGE

You probably have figured out by things I have written about that I love music.  I have an appreciation for most music (not so much Brittany Spears, Kesha or a handful of others), even music that maybe I wouldn't download, if the musician is true and pure to whatever form it comes through.  Over the weekend while in the great state of Iowa, we patronized a piano bar in downtown Cedar Rapids (you know the city that was flooded back in 2008).  Ok, first off you wouldn't picture a place like that in Iowa - not exactly where most of us would picture music flowing freely.  More likely you'd think of it in Chicago or New Orleans, maybe Nashville, Memphis, New York City's Greenwich Village, but not the state best known for corn and famous people being born there (I didn't say they stayed there but were born there).  A small baby grand sat in the makeshift front of this basement bar.  It was dark and loud.  Both of which I liked as it allowed you to just get lost in the frenetic noise of the crowd and music.  Conversating was hard, but I don't suppose that is necessarily the purpose of a piano bar now is it:)  A black rather roundish man commandeered the piano bench, piano and microphone.  He appeared to be close to 60 and had in front of him absolutely no music, only slips of paper and pens to write your requests on and a large sniffer glass for tips.  Really, I suppose one would have to say that he was a performer more than just a musician as he wasn't the background music, but rather why you would really go there - to hear and request your favorite songs.  As a music major when I started college, I was amazed at his ability to play pretty much any song that was requested, and especially those to which a $20 bill or higher was attached.  He belted out Billy Joel, Muddy Waters, Bon Jovi, Don McLean, Steppenwolf, Charlie Brown, Elton John, Ray Charles and even recent artists as he played that piano feeling the music with his fingers in a pounding powerful way.  He would occasionally stop and wipe his entire face with a small white towel that he kept slung over the microphone stand.  At one point I leaned into my husband, when the gentleman known as Sidney was holding an ending note vocally that would have caused me to go into an asthma attack, and said, "If that man can hold a note that long, he has some definite lung power.  Looks as if it would serve him well to use it to run a few miles too!"  He had birthday requests and called the various persons up front where he rearranged and altered lyrics of songs to both scream creativity and overt sexual naughtiness.  One couldn't help but laugh at how he put words together to both hide and twist the meaning and lay it clearly out.  I wondered sitting there if a man with all that talent aspired to such a place in life or if he had tried a more traditional route to fame but found only a few make it.  His repertoire was astounding and he engaged the audience to clap, scream, and sing lyrics with him.  As I sat there I thought again about how this didn't really fit in Iowa, and yet maybe it did.  Music is a great equalizer it would seem.  In that room of 200+ people we all sang loudly our portion of "Bye, Bye American Pie" and in that moment it was just pure enjoyment, a great memory in each of our minds of a place and time in our pasts when we heard that song and something to do on a cold Iowa night.  Maybe a piano bar IS fitting in Iowa come to think of it.  If you are ever in Cedar Rapids, Iowa you might want to check it out - if you like loud music, darkness and a drink.  But if you don't like any of those things, well you can always watch the corn grow.

FORTUNE COOKIES AND HOROSCOPES

Breaking open a fortune cookie after lunch yesterday with my daughter, I declared that I was sure whatever was written would somehow magically fit into my life.  Or, at the very least would be the very thing, the vehicle, the prophecy of some deep, dark hidden longing of my heart.  As I pulled the little slip of paper from the cookie, I popped one half of the fortune cookie in my mouth where I commented, "Wow!  This is a really fresh fortune cookie."  Delight oozed from my face as I told my daughter to brace herself for what would surely be words to hang the rest of my life on.  If not, then I would at least learn the Chinese numbers written underneath the wisdom that awaited me.  I smiled as I quickly read through the small sentence of life altering wisdom that had just been delivered inside a small crunchy Asian delicacy - the fortune cookie.  It read, "Good fortune will soon be heaped upon you."   Excited I was, that somehow the universe had reached through the bakery, the distribution center, the restaurant, even the waiter's hands as he picked up the cookie out of the box that lay in front of me.  It was obviously a sign of good things to come and I would most definitely not prepare for life in general and let it just come in the waves of goodness that were soon to be upon me.  My daughter's fortune read, "The star of riches is shining upon you."  We laughed at that one as her car was presently in the shop with a new engine being put in it, and she was deep in the throws and expense of her master's classes.  Laying in bed this week I perused the horoscopes enroute to the classified ads.  I am a Leo - any surprise:)  Again, I felt like the cosmos were gently and magically guiding my existence - that I was being propelled forward.  The words jumped off the page - "Passion will guide your life in the very near future.  Be true to it."   Well, I thought, how did the paper know of my divorce, my remarkable experience of finding a soul connection and the passion that had unleashed itself in all areas?  Why had I not before now known the full effect and power of both the fortune cookie's wisdom and my astrological sign's power?  No worries, I'm sure next week when I finish my order of chicken with pea pods the Fortune Cookie wisdom will seek me out, guiding my life through the cookie once again.

OUT IT CAME

After going through a divorce and not wanting to date for a time (one just isn't quite ready for that right away), I would smile at my friend's comments about needing to date.  Usually I would respond, "Yes, someday I will date.  Just not right now."  I mean the first time I got asked out (by the creepy neighbor man who stalked me for a time) I proceeded to almost hyperventilate as panic rose at the speed of light in me.  Working outside all day he commented that he had watched me the entire day as I worked on my outside projects (totally inappropriate)!  And, why didn't I go in a take a shower and he would take me to dinner!   Like he was doing me some grand favor:)   I had absolutely no plans other than to blog, run and eat oatmeal in the bathtub once again, but I boldly said, "I'm sorry, but I have plans."  I proceeded to go inside the house where I cried for hours totally unprepared to know how to reject someone who asked me for a date or the feelings that were sweeping over me of having to start over, the overwhelming sense of never finding true soul love.  As the months went on in my single state, I got a bit bolder about the "thought" of maybe a date.  One day at a baby shower hosted by a colleague of mine (a male and the only male in attendance) for one of his staff, I decided to mess with his love of matchmaking.  He knew I had recently taken back my maiden name and suggested that he hook me up with this millionaire friend of his.   With a very serious and "Yentl" sort of look on his face, he asked me to be specific with him, "What are you looking for in a man, Lynn?"  I'm not totally sure what came over me at that moment - a crack in my filter, the hilarity of being 44 and having to be set up, a realness of life, the cloak of great sarcasm, but I blurted out, "There are two things I am looking for in a man." I watched, with a bit of humor that plays inside your head when someone doesn't have a clue you are playing them a bit.  A giddy almost I-am-the-messiah look swept across his face as he prepared to meet my wants through his matchmaking skills.  "I boiled it down to two things I want in a man; someone to rake my leaves (literally I have a couple of big trees and fall had been an exercise in raking constantly) and someone to have sex with.", I said with grand confidence.  He didn't know what to say or do at that moment.  I'm convinced that my brazen response caused him to temporarily short circuit.  What man doesn't want to hear that a woman wants sex:)  I thought about that in light of my recent whirlwind 30 days of dating and wedding.  Without even consciously meaning it literally, I did get someone to rake my leaves.  And well, the sex.  What can I say:)   Both of my demands have been met and surpassed.

WHAT DO PEOPLE SEE

I love to observe people.  It is amazing to me how much you can see in people's mannerisms, facial expressions, body language, interactions with others, eye contact - even their spirit that can be felt and seen though not in a tangible sort of way.  Recently my husband and I were walking through an outdoor courtyard in Hilton Head, South Carolina.  Strolling quickly with our hands entwined with each other, we walked past a man who was no doubt trying to sell something.  He commented, "Happy or married?"  We both smiled and replied at the same time, "BOTH!".  Last week we were sitting in the business office of a car dealership finishing up the purchase of a vehicle.  The business manager said, "I have been watching you all day.  Never have I seen two people who so love each other.  You have something that is rare.  You have the real deal."  We told him how we met and that yes, we felt that same sensation - that this is a remarkable and magical love.  Our friends, family and even random strangers comment that we look made for each other. (Actually I have said that to my husband many times - that I truly believe God made Him specifically for me!)  I have wondered what do these people see - what intangible spirit or presence flows between us that others sense and remark about.  Oh, obviously you can see the love - the touching, the tenderness, the attention to the other - but there is more, unseen yet noticeable to those around.  What I hope they see is a woman in her middle years who has been given the gift of soul connection and love which leaves an indelible mark outwardly.  I hope they see something magical that reminds them love can come no matter how long the road takes to bring it.  No one yet has said, "Will you two get a room!", at least out loud:)

BIG BOOBS AND BLING

I have a theory.  Really I have many.  This one makes a direct connection to large breasts, low tops and big blingy jewelry.  Even though maybe there are no documented studies at Boston University or the National Institute for Health regarding my theory, there is a strong indication of the tie between cleavage displays and large necklaces.  If you know me, or read what I write, then you know I possess neither large breasts that can produce mountains of cleavage, nor do I own large flashy bevies of jewelery.  Two cases in point; my best friend, Big D, and a waitress at one of my favorite restaurants who calls me Jodie Foster constantly.  Both are beautiful woman. Both dress well and always have hair, clothes and makeup that is styling.  They are put together well (unlike me who might just prefer a ball cap and a pair of jeans to being dressed up!)  Sitting in my favorite restaurant over the weekend with my love and a group of friends, the waitress (who calls me Jodie) pulls up a chair to visit.  She is charismatic and endearing.  And, she is wearing a very low top with mountains of fleshy boobs mounding out.  I'm not sure you could have flossed between her breasts:)  Highlighting her "ode to the rocky mountains" chest was a very large (did I say VERY LARGE!) silver medallion.  Now I'm not here to say it was an ugly necklace.  Quite the contrary - it was actually quite beautiful.  But it was hard to really focus on it for long as I felt more like it was a "GIRLS BELOW" flashing neon sign highlighting the path for my eyes to travel to see the abundant mountain range.  Of course I looked - how could you not!!  In order to not look one would have had to actually turn to the left or right of her which would have been, well rude and obvious:)   I'm not sure how jewelry companies market certain lines of jewelry, but I think I have a brilliant idea.  Since it appears that cleavage bearing woman who love to showcase what they have also love big bling that highlights the path below, why not market to that group of people - a sort of "Mountain Marker" line of cleavage pointing necklaces.   Ok, wait I'm going to trademark that!

I'M NOT FINE UNTIL I'M FINE

I don't know who technically should be credited with originally creating the phrase, "I'm not fine until I'm fine", but I'm going to go ahead and take credit for it.  Not too long ago I was conversing with a dear friend of mine.  We were talking about processing things in our lives - both in coming to terms with things we don't like that seem to be staying in our lives longer than we would chose to have them, and giving yourself permission to fully feel the emotion attached to circumstances for a season.  I said to her, in describing that emotional processing, "I'm not fine until I'm fine."  Thinking about that phrase I smiled at how I (and all of us probably) quantify being ok or being fine.  Usually for myself, unless I am overly deliberate and conscious, being fine or ok is what I think and/or feel when the waters I am in are relatively calm - the hardship level is low - the desires I crave are being met.  In conversation with someone today they mentioned that they knew things were going to be ok in the long term in regards to business.  I listened intently to their statement and then commented, "Well, of course you think that now - business has turned positive and your hope now showed up as a real seeable tangible.  The circumstances have changed.  But, what if business had not improved would you still be fine?  What if hope had not materialized yet?"   I lived many, many years in the "not fine" state.  It always takes a season to get accustomed to it too.  It's sort of like walking indoors from a brilliantly sunny day - everything appears darker till you adjust to the light change.  How do I retain that edge that comes with living in a not fine state even after I am fine?  How do I keep that dependence on God when things are good and fine?  I want to be fine whether I really am fine or not.

30 DAYS TO THE ALTAR

If you read my blog dated December 26, 2010 you can tell that I was struggling through Christmas and life in general on that particular post.  It was a low point.  Late that night I fumbled onto eharmony.com really quite by accident as I didn't have a master plan of enlisting, enrolling, subscribing or whatever you call it in the world of on-line matchmaking.  No clue did I have of how to really maneuver the site nor did I fully read it at all - not Lynn.  I just started clicking on various things and one took me to this really extensive questionnaire.  I started answering questions which took about an hour to plow through. It was indepth and made me really think about who I was, what I was about, what made me passionate, what I loved, what I wanted in life, what I valued.  When I answered all the questions it said I was enrolled - WHAT!!!  I was clueless.  Then it said I was 35% done with the profile and that I should post pictures.  What the hell I thought, I'll put some pics up and finish it Monday night after work after I thought about whether I really wanted to do this.   About 11:00 p.m. on December 27th, 2010 I logged onto my email to find 17 matches from e-harmony in my in-box.  I FREAKED OUT!   I really didn't know I had signed up as I hadn't finished my profile.  I began to read through 17 profiles of men from all over the US (again I am an idiot and obviously hadn't set geographic parameters).  It took quite a bit of time to read through them all.  Some were alarming in their inability to be original or too right or left winged or too religiously fanatical and I knew right away there was no way, no interest based on what they written.  There were 3 that were more local to my geographic area.  I read those too.  Of all 17 there was only one that jumped off the screen and screamed that he was it.  The ironic thing was he lived in my town.  I didn't respond to any of them that night.  The next day at work I got an eharmony invite from the one that I wanted to find out more about - the one that lived in my town.  Over the next 5 hours we went through all the phases of eharmony.  I could not see any pictures as evidently I was on during a free enrollment period of time between Christmas and New Years.  I had no clue what he looked like only that I loved his humor, his candidness about his relationship with God, his love of things I loved, the way he wrote and articulated himself.  We got to the end of the written steps where I suggested since we were local we just meet and see if there was anything between us instead of going through it with eharmony.  The next step was his email.  I couldn't get to it without paying to join eharmony - a stipulation during the free trial enrollment period.  I was screaming in panic at how to get to his email - I had no way to contact him without it or to go backwards in the eharmony steps to send a message.  I called my girlfriend laughing hysterically telling her I was joining as I knew he was asking me out.  I paid $200 to join - yes you heard it $200.  His email came through at that moment along with his profile pictures.  His email was this, "So, when do you want to meet?"   I had just paid nearly $30 a word to get asked out:)  His pictures were beautiful.  There was playfulness in them.  He was sexy, athletic with beautiful silver hair.  I responded immediately with, "How about 7:00 p.m. tonight?"  We actually met at 8:00 p.m. that night.  It was an immediate connection.  We closed the restaurant down at 11:15 p.m. and he walked me to my car where he gently kissed my cheek and asked if I wanted to see him again the next night.  That was it.  We were together every day for the next 35 days till we stood before the city clerk and got married.  Yes, we got married at 44 and 52 years old after knowing each other for 35 days!!  January 28th, 2011 was the day.  I wore black, no pantyhose (ugh), a simple necklace and he had on a suit as he walked to clerk's office from his downtown office.  The pictures show two middle aged people totally enraptured with each other - love pouring out of their eyes, their body language - joy surrounding them both.  It was simple, serene and meaningful.  It was 30 days to the altar, but a lifetime of my path leading to this man.  Our paths had crossed several times in the months leading up to eharmony but we didn't know it or each other.  One click of the mouse changed everything.  And I mean everything:)

DIRTY SNOW

Most of the winter snow is gone.  Most of it.  Ok, all except the large mounds created as a result of snowplowing along roads, edges of driveways and parking lots.  The winter soaked grass has made its appearance - a sort of moldy, strange, muted and washed out puke green of sorts.   I both love and hate this tail end of winter.  I love the hope that seeing grass again brings, longer hours of daylight and birds singing more than in the preceding months.   But, I hate it too as there is this awkward, almost pre-teenish stage the earth moves through until it gets to full spring.  Ugliness.  Dirtiness.  It seems that warm bright green will never sweep away the filthiness of winter's mark.  The book of the prophets prophecy of God's newness after destruction, after misery, after waywardness, after oppression, after captivity, after dirtiness.  My own life follows suit to spring and to what the writers of the book of the prophets talk about - God making new things from old, dirty, in bondage, ugly stages of my life.  I've had quite a few tail end of winter stretches where the longness drug on and on.  I thought about my life since June 2010.  There have been some big piles of dirty snow that I thought would never melt back to Spring.  But, they have.  God brought His goodness to the drab, the puke green.  He restored joy, brought laughter to sorrow, gave me a deep desire and longing of my heart.  Spring came to me.

CHOCOLATE COVERED PRETZELS, I THINK

Today a client came in - an older lady with drawn on reddish colored eyebrows that matched her thin, wispy reddish clown-like colored hair.  Her hair cast against her translucently ghostly white skin, made her appear almost like a caricature drawn by a street artist - features distorted and magnified for dramatic purposes.  She was a sweet lady who brings in bags of documents and binders, afraid to throw things away, yet wanting to be organized.  I sifted through stacks of papers, determining what to shred for her and what to organize.  I'm not sure why her family doesn't help her with this, but instead she brings it in for us to take care of.  It's so easy to want to help her despite whether it's my job or not, as she is so thankful and grateful.  In tow today was a Walmart bag with two previously used bakery carry out containers (like the kind you would buy muffins in).  She had brought goodies for us to show her appreciation.  Now, I have a bit of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder - self diagnosed!) and have struggled all my life to eat things made by people who I don't really know or know anything about their cleanliness level.  I took one look at the recycled store bought muffin container that housed her various and assorted white and chocolate dipped pretzels and knew without tasting them what they would taste like.  The first thought in my head, this the last day of February was, "Well, most people don't make chocolate covered pretzels except at Christmas time.  This is not good - these are probably from December."  My bravery kicked in and I smiled as I opened up the old muffin container and laid back the plastic wrap that loosely draped the pretzels.  Which to try - white or chocolate?  I chose chocolate.  As I raised it to my mouth to take a bite I smelled an old smell.  A stale smell.  A, "I have outlived my shelf life" smell and look.  Did that stop me totally?  NO!  I took a bite.  WOW!!  The taste sensation was well, YUCKY   I could smell it as I chewed the bite willing myself to swallow, yet fearing if I did food poisoning would ensue at the speed of light.  I spit out the bite and threw the remaining pretzel from my hand into the trash.  Note to self, "Yet another reason not to get old - you start not realizing there is an expired state of homemade Christmas goodies and February 28th is past that date!!  AND, if I regift using egg cartons or old cereal boxes, muffins containers or the likes thereof when I am old, I want my daughter to immediately place me in a nursing home."

PLASTIC, CARDBOARD, GLASS

I loved kindergarten.  There were so many cool things to do - the sand box table (elevated sand at waist level - wow!), the mini library, this really cool low mushy chair, oodles of construction paper, napping mats, carpet squares for story time, big huge letters hung around the room with pictures of things signifying that letter.  One of the best parts of kindergarten was snack time.  A member of the cafeteria staff would wheel in a cart with three milk choices - chocolate, white (whole milk in that era) and strawberry.  I never picked white.  Usually it was chocolate, but once in awhile I would mix it up and choose strawberry.  In the 60's and 70's in schools milk came in small pint or half-pint cardboard containers.  In fact, most milk even outside of the kindergarten classroom, was sold in cardboard half gallons - usually a twin pack.  Plastic did not reign the world as we know it now.  I loved cardboard milk containers, mostly because when you poured them into a glass there were no plastic particles floating toxically in your glass.  I have a plastic pint container of 2% milk I use in my coffee.  Every morning when I unscrew the lid to pour some in my coffee there are small plastic flakes that make their way into my cup.  I hate that!  I tried this week to remember when they quit making milk in cardboard containers - 2 half gallons joined together.  Though they still use cardboardish containers for soy milk, cream and lactose free milk.  Why do I really care about the whole milk container thing, I don't know.  I really don't drink milk ever, except a bit in my coffee (it's my attempt to use less half & half).  Pop (northerners version ) or soda (the southern way) or coke (an eastern generic grouping of all carbonated beverages) also has taken on a metamorphosis in the container it is housed in.  When I was growing up pop was typically bought (though there were aluminum or metal cans of some type) in carrying cases of 8 glass bottles.  The bottles were returnable.  They were taken back by each soft drink company, sterilized and refilled.  There is nothing like the taste of a cold pop drank straight out of a glass bottle.  In fact, there used to be pop machines that dispensed small glass bottles of pop.  My grandparents had such a machine at their country store.  I'm not a beer drinker (not morally opposed, just don't like the taste), but those that are tell me beer is better served ice cold out of a glass bottle.  My favorite beverage is a carbonated juice called IZZE.  Now I have tried IZZE out of the aluminum can and out of the glass bottle.  There is no comparison.  Glass makes it taste clearer and colder.  I'm not sure why they ever stopped selling pop in glass bottles.  I would think better for the environment would be reusable glass bottles which don't leach a metal taste into the beverage.  It was a bit of a pain in the ass to take back the returnable glass bottles, but I wish they'd bring them back, along with cardboard milk containers.  Metal tasting pop and plastic droppings just don't seem too healthy!

URGENT VS IMPORTANT

Which do you think should get first place in life -  urgent things or important things?  By definition urgent means - pressing, immediate, screaming for attention.  That gives the connotation of a police car, lights flashing, siren roaring, speeding through an intersection.  Something is happening NOW and it needs immediate attention.  Important says - of value, enduring, deep, lasting, of significance, prominence, priceless.  It gives the image of my grandmother's one hundred year old rocking chair that sits in my living room.   Something of value that needs prominence.   I have battled urgent over important all my life.  It's been an on-going battle to not succumb to the screams of the urgent things (which have wanted my attention), to the exclusion of the important things (which need significance & value from me).  Writing this blog has been a study in urgent vs. important.  For five months I chose, with single mindedness, to make writing important.  It has deep value to me.  In spite of the events of my life (and there have been a lot, just read earlier posts), I cradled the importance of writing.  I guarded it and nurtured it.  Recent events have screamed for my attention - dating, marriage, combining households, changing jobs, an endless supply of business decisions, new family relationships, trips, etc...  I folded to the urgent over the important.  My craft that I love, the thoughts that I let out, the expression of words on a page got crowded out.  I found myself saying, "After we complete this.  Next week will slow down.  After I get my office more organized after combining household belongings."  The list went on and on.  One day I woke up and the gnawing sensation in my soul that had been quietly speaking the importance and value of writing was now wanting its place of significance it once had.  I had once again in life said "uncle" to the urgent!!  Time to reorganize my determination to live this half of my life differently than the first - time to stay to what is vitally important to me.  It was time to not veer from what my soul knew was important - my design, what was valuable.  I pulled my vehicle back on the road, so to speak, and started again to build, protect and give prominence to those things that are of great and lasting value, which bring significance, which deserve prominence and dedication daily.  A compass correction has occurred.

HYBRID CARS AND HOLIER THAN THOU'S

I live in a state where it is still legal to talk on your cell phone while driving.  Maybe it won't always be that way, but presently there is no law against it.  Is it smart, wise or road savvy - questionable.   It is also very subjective to say that some people are better equipped personality and driving skill wise to handle adding another task to the driving mix.  Now who then would like to become the judge of that:) Is self nomination too pretenuous on my part to nominate myself for that position?   Seriously there are tests to determine personality types, IQ, educational placement markers, and Vogue even has a test to find out whether you really love the person you're with.  Shouldn't there be another test given through the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to decide competency of driving and talking on the cell phone?  Today on my way home from work I was talking to my friend.  Glancing (really looking good I might add) behind me there is a car about 3 car lengths back.  His lane and my lane merged coming up to the stoplight.  I pulled ahead with considerable space between us.  As he came closer to me I could see him over exaggerating the motion of talking on a cell phone with his hand to his ear and then taking it down and shaking his fist at me.  He repeated this thespian act following me to the entrance ramp to the highway I was entering.  I waved to him at one point as he continued his gesturing with his hand the universal sign for a phone - thumb to ear and pinkie to mouth.  I continued to shake my head in laughter and tell my girlfriend what the guy behind me was doing.  Upon closer investigation I surmissed that it really was not my driving, as I had not pulled in front of him dangerously or recklessly, but rather based on the small hybrid car he drove and how he physically looked, he was just morally opposed to talking on the cell phone while driving.  My initial reaction was laughter but as I pen these words I am compelled to hope that his deep seated anger of cell phone talking drivers stems from more than a hybrid car-earth loving-hemp wearing position he seemed to hold.  But, maybe he or someone he loved dearly had an accident or even a death due to cell phone usage while driving.  I'm not sure - it's just a theory I came up with to give him grace for his ridiculous behaviour.  My next thought was I wished I had a bull horn attached to my car as I would have said the following to him, "Please Mister, I not only talk on the phone while I drive, but have actually changed my clothes while driving.  On top of that I used aeresol hairspray this morning too - widing the hole in the ozone and possibly contributing to global warming. Oh, and last night....I was too tired to clean out the three cans of tomato products I used to make lasagna and place them in the recyclables.  Instead I threw them in the trash.  What exactly do you think of me now Mr. Hybrid?" 

DATES TO REMEMBER

For those of you blogites out there who have quit logging onto this blog because you kept checking it daily and realized I had become firstly, a slacker breaking my 130 day run.  And secondly, I became totally absent from expressing mind boggling, earth moving and soul changing thoughts.  My daughter informed me tonight that I needed to dedicate a post to confessions of an errant blog poster and beg for your forgiveness.  I asked who "your" encompassed and she responded with, "the faithful one, Maude".  There are things in my life that I can remember in generalities.  I can remember the time frame, but maybe not the exact date or day of the week or sometimes the exact year.  Is that a sign of aging or that certain events don't warrant those types of minute mental postings?  There are other things in my life that I can remember with the utmost clarity - the date, the day of the week, the weather conditions, what I thought at that moment, and can clearly feel it all over again when I recall it.  Five dates stand in extreme bold yellow highlighting in my heart and mind.  First, the birth of my daughter, my only child, on July 24, 1987.  It was a hot day with high humidity and I panicked in labor stating, "It's ok!  I'll just stay fat forever.  I don't want to give birth!"   July 24th in 1987 was a Friday and it was then my beautiful and sparky daughter entered my world.  Next, I can remember Tuesday, November 2nd, 2000.  You might think I readily remember that date because of the greatly contested presidential election between George W. Bush and Al Gore.  No, for me it's the night that started an eight year journey of cancer for my ex-husband.  It's the day I heard a surgeon call me into a small room from a waiting room of people to tell me he had removed what he could but there remained still a considerable amount of cancer.  Vividly I recall March 12, 1999 as the day my family doctor called with the results of some tests and let me know I had full blown Type I diabetes from a virus that had attacked my pancreas.  Most recently I remember Tuesday, December 28th, 2010 as my first date post-divorce from an E-harmony.com matching.  It was a day that changed my life from that day forward.  From that December 28th date it led to the most remarkable day of my life - Friday, January 28th, 2011.  The day I stood in the city clerk's office next to this man I passionately loved and said "I Do" to a life of love, passion, laughter, playfulness, soul connection, shared interests, intellectual stimulation and magical physical attraction.    And thus, those last and most recent dates directly correspond to my absence from blogging - though just a bit of a sabbatical.  I'm back - just mark the date:)

SHOULD I?

Recently I went to Savannah, Georgia to meet my new husband's father and his significant other for the first time.  I usually pack fairly lightly when I travel.  Checking bags slows me down getting here to there and I hate waiting in the baggage claim watching circling luggage, silently praying that mine will show up and not have my underwear hanging from the sides after the airport security does their random bag checks.  And, since I am a person of minimalism anyway, how much stuff do I really need!  Even my toiletry bag is rather sparse with only; deodorant, toothbrush, wrinkle cream (a must if you are over forty but unfortunately the airlines have this 3 ounce liquid rule which keeps me from bringing my 50 gallon drum I slather myself up with daily) toothpaste (Tom's if you must know), a comb, hairspray, perfume, eyeliner, mascara, brow pencil , lipliner and lipstick.  That's it.  Ok, maybe Q-tips too:)  In my purse you will find another lip liner and three or four tubes of lipstick.  I am a frequent reapplier of lip liner and lipstick throughout the day.  The second night we were visiting we went to a fairly famous and well-known restaurant in Savannah called, The Pirate's House.  It has a deep history in its building, and the food was quite good as well.  Having eaten a great meal (and way too much I might add), I excused myself to the bathroom.  The bathrooms were actually quite amazing with two hammered copper sinks and beautiful tiled floors and walls.  Amazingly enough I found myself alone in this magnificent bathroom.  The hammered copper sinks were surrounded by a beautiful granite counter top with a center hole for disposal of your trash.  I placed my purse on the counter and proceeded to dig around its general messiness for my lipliner and my favorite tube of lipstick.  After securing both, I laid them on the counter for a brief moment.  As soon as my hand removed itself from them I watched in horror as my lipliner quickly rolled into the granite cutout for the trash.  I tried to catch it quickly but I was too slow as I heard it hit the trash below.  Now, I had a dilemma.  I did not have another lipliner in my purse.   And, I am fully and completely addicted to lipliner and lipstick.  If there were support groups for people with my addiction, I would have to stand in the group's circle and say, "Hi, my name is Lynn and I am addicted to lipliner and all things lip related."  For me not to wear lipliner I feel like some do if they were to go out in public without their bra on - NAKED!!!  What was I going to do?  I looked around toward the door exiting the bathroom.  No one had entered since I had been in the bathroom.  Was I going to try to reach my hand down through the trash to find my lipliner?  If I did and someone walked in, would I explain and would they react with horror that I was shoulder high in a public trashcan just to find a $7 lipliner pencil?  I quickly figured out that I could not reach my hand down through the hole where the trash was and get any further than 6 inches into the trash.  My deduction was that the the weight of the lipliner had caused it to fall to the bottom of the trash.  Still no one entered the bathroom.  I finagled how to remove the trash container from underneath the hole in the granite counter top.  I started laughing at the absurdity of it all - me riffling through the trash openly in front of the sinks.  My OCD was starting to kick in at full speed as my hand touched something wet in the trash.  UGH!!!  This was not working as I had still not encountered the lipliner yet in my bobbing for makeup attempt.  I stopped and looked around again.  No one still.  Wow!  I am desperate now and feeling that I may be caught at any given moment, and yet my addiction drives me deeper still.  In a wild move to find the lip liner fast, I dumped the entire contents of the trash across the tiled bathroom floor and got down on my hands and knees and began sifting through it.  With a bit of paranoia, I glanced toward the door and then back to the mess I had created on this beautiful bathroom floor.  I was getting a bit grossed out as I thought about what may be on these pieces of paper towel.  That was it. I could not find it.  I stood and perused the strewn mayhem from a standing position.  Where in the hell was that lip liner?!  I had gone through every piece of trash but could not find it.  My heart rate increased a bit thinking if someone walked in at that moment and saw what I had done no amount of explaining would have worked to convince them I was a normal person!!  I quickly picked up the contents of the quite large trash container and threw them back into the trash can and then slide the container neatly back underneath the granite opening.  All that work, all those germs, all that mess and still no lip liner.  I again laughed wondering now what my family back at the table must be thinking I was doing in the bathroom taking this long.  Thoroughly convinced that I had encountered ecoli or Asian flu germs in the trash I washed my hands 3 separate times in the hottest water I could stand and used several swipes under the auto soap dispenser for each hand washing round.  Still alone in the bathroom I laughed out loud again at what it was to be Lynn and the depths I would go for an addiction. 

TIME PASSAGES

I turned around today.  Not literally in a physical sense, but an ethereal sort of way to see where I have traveled from the past year and half.  So many changes in my life that when I paused to take stock of them I shook my head and marveled at how change flew at me like a car on a video game screen.  How had I maneuvered this massive amount of outward and inward change?  What had I determined to do different in these days post-divorce?  How was I living out my desires, my passions, my hunger to live totally different than the first half of my life?  What had I done to face realities post-divorce, live free of baggage, celebrate who I really was, to let go of the past and walk forward, to truly trust God for what I lacked, what my soul longed for and be deliberate in each day?   For the first time in my life I felt like myself, like the Lynn I was inside.  It was a soul settling feeling and completely freeing to make choices based on me and not others or what I thought I needed to do to not rock the boat or put the universe into full orbital spin.  I have always loved myself, who I was and moved through life with a sense of confidence but this was beyond that.  I felt true to who I was without reservations.  It was exhilarating, invigorating and energizing to live this way.  Even in my dark periods post-divorce, I had a sense of coming into who I was and it created passion in my life.  There is part of you when you get a divorce, even one that is needed, that wonders how you will find your way again.  How you will let go of familiar and same and safe even if it was hard and painful to live that way.  I wondered what my life would evolve into over time.  I wanted time to move a bit faster and about the time I quit caring if it moved fast or slow or at all, it moved:)

SWEATPANTS

Let's be clear on one thing, my opinions are not necessarily endorsed by those of blogspot.com.  In fact, my views and opinions probably aren't endorsed, backed or supported by the majority period.  And in this case, not by the majority of sweatpant loving wearing people who roam the earth.  I take a bit of an issue with sweatpants.  I don't really like them:)  Oh, don't get me wrong, I wear them to run in and the occasional lounge wear inside my home when comfort trumps fashion or I am hiding, relaxing or frigidly cold.  Some years ago a phenomena took place in the world of sweatpants.  No, no it wasn't the breakaway sweatpants for professional basketball players.  No, it wasn't the onslaught of yoga pants that could double as palooza pants and were typically donned by middle aged gray haired mother earth women.  It was the word emblazoned across the butt sweat pant hysteria that swept the nation.  Now I realize I am a middle aged woman, and my goal is not necessarily to advertise my posterior (I'm merely trying to keep mine from falling into the ocean depths) to the known world.  I do not want  bright yellow or pink words such as "HOTTIE", "IN MOTION", "SEXY", or my all time favorite, "YOU COULD ADVERTISE HERE" anywhere near my hiney.  This trend of butt printing was single handedly the greatest marketing ploy ever created to increase sweatpant sales and revive a dying screen printing industry in the continental US (I heard that in a game show once).  There are several more reasons why I hate sweatpants.  They scream a loud message (much like a dog whistle to dogs) that says, "I am either too fat to fit into regular pants or wearing pull up pants saves time that I can more fully contribute to society as a whole.":)  When I was young there was not a lot of choices in style or color within the sweatpant family.  It seems there was gym issued gray, a strange sort of navy blue and basic black.  Color and fashion have collided with sweatpants these days.  I especially like (sarcastic if you can't tell) those sweat suit outfits that women in their 70's wear - a bit of velour, glitter, and embroidery of a butterfly showcased against a bright Florida flamingo color.   Yet another frightening display of sweatpants comes from men whose better body days are behind them.  And, so is their crack which shows slightly as the gray "Hanes" sweats hang precariously low below their bellies.  While in Hawaii a few years back we were driving through the center of the Big Island to Kona.  We stopped at a park and sitting at a picnic bench were park workers taking a break.  Facing the car was the rear end of a large Samoan man with sweatpants on.  Ok, well they were partly on anyways!   I couldn't stop laughing and actually snapped a picture after I zoomed in on the crack and flesh that poured out of the sweatpants.   I haven't scrap booked that picture yet!   So for all you sweat pant wearing folk out there, I salute you for your contribution and desire for a zipperless world where elastic rules.

HOW DO YOU KNOW?

How do we come to know certain things in life?  I mean really, there is not enough classroom or instructional time to learn everything we need to know - to navigate with knowledge all of life.  Sitting in my boss's office today we touched on this subject matter in relation to the information we both need to know to do what we do.  There is though, no possible human way to know it all.  There is just way too much stuff to possibly keep it all contained in the front of the mind filing cabinet.  I've somewhat always adhered to a more laid back and free-spirited way of approaching situations of the unknown or those in the lacking knowledge category.  It's simple for me - I learn something when I need to know how to do.  Especially do I adopt that system of discovery when there is just too much to understand all at once.  My boss and I agreed that we both utilize that attainment of knowledge system readily and it keeps us from being overwhelmed.  I then thought about how we ultimately come to hold and know what we know.  How do I know what I know?   Who taught me all of it?  How much was taught and how much was just caught by observing, being thrown in situations or by doing it wrong?  Go further even than that.  How do I know certain things clear through to my soul and spirit?  How do I know I love someone?  How do I know that God, even though at times silent, knows every square inch of my mind, heart, soul, spirit and body?  How do I know that tomorrow the sun will come up?  How do I know what direction to take in life?  How do I know when something or someone is right for me - that it's my path specifically?  How do I know how to navigate directions with little effort?  How do I know how to engage other people and get them to open up to me?  How do I know how to put up a light or fix a toilet?  How do I know that there is a new season in my life?  How do I know when it's time to leave a job, follow a dream, push myself, let go, grieve, trust my heart?  There is a lot to know in life.  There is a lot that comes through our lives that we have no reference point to, no directions we can follow, no manual or how-to.  How do I know what I know?  How do you know what you know?  I love the line in the movie Rudy where Rudy goes to see Father Hesberg and asks him the tough questions of life.  I love the Father's response, "I know one thing.  There is a God and I am not him."  I love that line.  It's true.  There is no way to know everything.  And, there is no way to know how we collectively come to know knowledge or how to do things or how we sense things or how to navigate through life.  I like that I don't have to know it all at once.  I subscribe totally to situational how to knowedness.   It allows me to travel lightly and constantly cycle in new information and knowledge as I need to know it.  How did I know how to set a blog?  I didn't, but learned it as it became important and necessary for me to do so.  When I needed and wanted to know I researched and fiddled and figured it out.  I asked my mom when I was a kid,  "Mom, how will I know who to marry?"  She replied, "You'll just know."  I hated that response to my question at the time.   All these years later I have come to know in learning, in knowledge, in careers, in relationships I do just know. Hunger, curiosity, desperation and desire are all reasons that drive me to know something. Then, what to do with what I know:) 

INDEPENDENCE DAYS

If you've ever watched the show, "Malcolm In The Middle" you might know the theme song, "Boss of Me" by They Might Be Giants.  I can identify with the words of the chorus....You're Not The Boss Of Me Now!   Someone mentioned to me recently about my strong independent ways and whether they are a result of the life I had to live or my personality.  Immediately my mind went to kindergarten.  Unfortunately I would like to say that because of circumstances in my adult life, I became that way.  It's not true or even remotely accurate though.  What my life circumstances created was the ability to survive, even live and move forward, despite what was placed on my shoulders because of my strong and independent personality.  I'm thankful looking back that God gave me that personality because without it, I don't know if I would have survived or been as relatively whole as I am (that might be subjective too!).  There is no documentation to prove it, but I might have exited my mother's womb without a cry, possibly wide awake and wanting to do it myself:)  When I got to kindergarten I had a clear sense of what should be and set to making it that way.  There was a play kitchen in the classroom and during play time I commanded its space.  I also commanded everyone who wanted to play in it:)  I could read at age 4 so when I went to kindergarten and they passed out our first report card, I opened mine up and read all the teacher comments on conduct, etc.  Reading the comments I noted that my teacher, Mrs. Holloway (a very proper, orderly and cool handed teacher), had written that I was sometimes bossy.  What!   Me?  I can remember feeling a bit hurt by that at 5 years old and wondering why she would have said that.  How was orchestrating a whole kitchen and the activities that occurred in it with such efficiency and excellence being bossy?  Giving the report card to my parents I saw a smile cross both of their faces.  There wasn't any scolding, or really conversation regarding what she wrote.  I am thoroughly convinced that my parents, clearly seeing my personality bent, knew it would do no good.  They merely smiled in acknowledgement and understanding of what Mrs. Holloway had said.  On the day my parents dropped me off at college, my dad unsure of his emotions of losing his last daughter, on his exit from my dorm room stated, "Lynn, don't boss your roommate around.":)  I have taken personality tests through the years, while a teenager and in my adult life either in a church setting or through corporate trainings.  There is a similar thread in all the tests I have taken - independent and strong - choleric.  There is a thread of strong, decisive, independently free spiritedness that propels most things that I do and who I am.  It is what has allowed me to move forward when others would not have been able to.  It is what allows me to live without fear totally crippling me despite circumstances that have been daunting at times.  It is also what allows me to truly believe anything can be done - even if I don't know how to do it presently there is a way.  BTW, on the kitchen thing - if you came to my house I would most definitely let you play with me in the kitchen and wouldn't even boss you around - now that's progress!!

I PRESENT TO YOU THE CLASS OF 1984

I graduated high school in 1984.  It was the era of the big hair, music like "The Cars" and "Huey Lewis & The News", styles that ranged from punk to alligatored logo preppy.  I was 17 years old when I graduated from high school.  The world is wide open to you at 17.  I was full of myself, my perceived vat of knowledge and a boat load of dreams.  What do you really know at 17?  What vast experiences of life have you really weathered?  What view of the world have you garnered from living life both in joy and in deep times of sorrow?  What do you really have to say to others that has been forged in real life experiences?  Some time ago I was rifling through my filing cabinet, you know supposedly cleaning it out but getting side tracked with each treasure I uncovered that I didn't know I had.  In a file folder was a large stack of things I had written in my youth - poems, thoughts, etc... some were assignments for school and some were just things I felt and thought.  There it was - double spaced typewritten on a Selectric typewriter with water marked paper turning a bit yellow.  The corrections using white out still showing clearly.  I laughed out loud as I started to read it - the speech I wrote and delivered at my high school commencement.  As I read it I tried to remember what I might have been thinking 27 years ago as I wrote "Successful Failures".  Why, I thought to myself, did I write on how to fail in a positive way?  What massive failures had I really had up to that point in my life - I didn't get grand champion on the swim suit I had made and modeled for 4-H, the young man that I loved had married another, I got a D in computer programming, I had to wear braces for 4 years.  What volume of failings had I racked up to that day in May, 1984 as I stood before my 200 classmates to deliver a speech written by a green horn in life?  There were references to the era - Ronald Reagan, etc...  I smiled of an era long gone.  But, as I read the words penned by me without wisdom of life behind me, I realized I had failed many times from that day to where I stood now at age 44.  Maybe that speech was like the movie, "Back To The Future" and I was actually coming back from the future to 1984 to tell my young self how to handle failing at experiences that would come my way through the years.  The line that jumped off the double-spaced pages was, "We can be marked not by how we fail, but by what we do when we fail."  I liked the comma in that sentence as it showed me and King David from the Bible, and the Apostle Paul and my Uncle John and maybe you, that there is a choice to be made after missing the mark. That I am measured by earth and ultimately, by God, not by what I failed at, but how I lived after the comma, after the failure, the mistake, the wrong decision, the sin.   Ladies and gentleman, I now present to you the 2011 Class of Comma Living.

A LATE BLOOMER

Someone told me recently, "You must have had guys chasing you in high school as you are beautiful."  I laughed and stated, "No!  My sister Diane, yes.  Me, no.  I was a very late bloomer."   In fact, to be honest, I bloomed probably around age 29-30.  You know of my late physical development from my blog of my bust size in 7th grade at 27 inches.  I really wasn't beautiful in high school, didn't have a full sense of who I was (although I doubt any teenager really does) and did not fully come into my own style until I was an adult.  It took me some years to get my stride down.  Age does not bother me in many ways.  I love the fact that as I have aged I have gotten somewhat better looking (ok that is subjective but compared to 10th grade - YES!), more confident in who I am and what I bring to the world I am in-to those I love-to what I put my hand to, at how I view life and others, how I see God differently from a view of grace and love.  I was not the girl who was ever nominated for homecoming queen (that would again be my sister Diane and possibly Jeanne too).  I was not the girl who had a date every weekend (that would most definitely have been my sister Diane).  I was a tomboy growing up and, in some regards, even though I am all woman, still am simple and unadorned without many accessories or much make-up.  I am more comfortable in a pair of jeans than a dress and, too much time in front of a mirror gets on my nerves:)  I thought about that this week in light of what that person commented to me about my appearance.  It may have been a good thing I blossomed late in life.  It caused me to concentrate on thinking and developing the inner Lynn which contributed to making me strong, free spirited and confident.  I also lived in a marriage where rarely in twenty-five years did I hear the affirmation of "you're beautiful".  Once again for those years I had to foster other things in my life.  I've heard those words "you're beautiful" in recent years from different people in my life and, at times, total strangers.  But, most recently I have been hearing it a great deal.  It at first seemed foreign to my ears.  Unbelievable that someone would really see me in that way.  That they would see with their eyes what is beautiful to them and then express it.  I suppose in large ways I see my physical appearance second to how I see my mind and spirit and, combined with being a late bloomer and not hearing physical affirmations for so many years, it totally amazes me to hear such words of "you're absolutely stunningly beautiful".  That person who said that to me also said they wanted to keep saying it till I believed them.  There is still some lingering unbelief:)

LIVING BLESSINGS

I just got done lifting weights for about 40 minutes.  My philosophy probably differs from that of a trainer or weight lifter.  I lift and do reps until I cannot raise my arm in that pattern one more time.  Then usually I repeat the whole circuit at least 2 times.  I'm just trying to exhaust the muscle (and myself!) and keep perpetual aging gravity at bay:)  Today was no different as I lifted.  My mind wandered purposefully to my overflowing heart of thankfulness that I could lift weights - that my body would allow me the energy and stamina to do it - that I could enjoy one of my loves . . . exercise.  There was a time in my life where getting off the floor or getting dressed was all the mental and physical energy my body could maneuver.  Yesterday I ran 4 miles.  I am not overly fast.  My goal is not to break records, but just to have the privilege of breathing the air, moving my legs and feeling the results of nature and exercise combined.  There was a time in my life where I could not run.  Never is there a day when I do any form of exercise that I do not thank God profusely for the ability and gift of it in my life.  I am very cognizant each and every time I hold a weight, pedal a bike, run the miles, do crunches and push ups, or just walk without having to talk myself through it, of the blessing of movement and joy that it brings me.  During those years that took away my ability to move freely, to push myself, to experience nature, or the exhaustion of physical exercise that leaves you with a feeling of unbridled joy & accomplishment, I struggled over the loss of that love in my life.  This morning as I finished exhausting a muscle group, I had pure joy and contentment coursing through me.  I also paused to thank God for the gift of movement and that I get to experience and participate in something that I love.  I purposefully do not forget what it was like to not have the ability to participate in running, biking, lifting weights, walking, moving freely.  Not forgetting makes having it all the more sweeter.  I love when my legs or arms or abs burn and hurt - it's a reminder that I can and do!

TALL MAN IN SHORT ROBE

One of my girlfriends and I decided to go to a day spa (courtesy of our bosses) for a massage.  We were both looking forward to the massage experience together while enjoying each other's company and a rousing round of laughter woven in the day.  I love massages and the body and mental relaxation that occurs.   Deciding to meet each other at the spa, I arrived first.  Sitting in the lobby waiting on my friend, they called my name.  I expressed to them that I was waiting on my friend. The spa employee assured me that they would bring her back as soon as she got there.  Not having ever been to this particular spa for a massage, I follow the employee down the very dark candlelit hallway where she hands me a robe and tells me to go into the dressing room and remove all my clothing (some of you non-massage people are already squirming to think of being buck naked on a table with a stranger rubbing oil on your skin and plying your muscles into soft puddles of goo!).  I oblige her, as me and nudity (see post on ironing in the nude) co-exist quite easily together.  She then leads me to a small room.  Inside the room are two small love seats, subdued lighting and more candles with soft "Yanni" music playing in the background.  "This," she says, "is the relaxation room where you can let your mind slow down and soak your feet in a warm basin of water."  I'm feeling slightly uncomfortable at this point.  Sitting across from me in this room is a man.  To me it seems odd to be sitting in a room in darkness with a man I don't know, both us naked underneath the robes we are wearing.  As I sit down on the loveseat I notice that this man is extremely tall.  He had to be well over 6' tall.  I, on the other hand, am 5'5".  My eyes now fully adjusted to the dimly lit room, realize that the robes they have given us are no doubt a one size fits all type of deal (much like hospital gowns!).  The robe on me literally wraps around me twice and comes down to mid-calf.  This is not the case for the gentleman.  His robe (seated) barely hits the middle of his thighs.  I am now privy to seeing completely up his robe as his ginormous legs and angle in which he has to sit to get his feet into the basin, create a sort of telescope for me to clearly view his man parts. It is now all I can do to not start laughing out loud at the hilarity of the whole situation.  Inside I am wondering where my friend is, why I am in this room with this man, why he cannot notice that his robe is too short or feel air on his nether regions.  Ten more minutes pass and an employee finally returns to take "tall man in short robe" (the Indian name I have silently given him in my head while whimsically entertaining myself over the view) from the room.  As he stands to leave he puts on the spa issued flip flops to follow her.  I clasp my hand over my mouth as I note how short that robe is on him, but also that the spa issued flip flops must be one size for men and one size for women.  His feet are also huge and his entire portion of his heel is not on the flip flop, but hanging strangely off the back.  There was something rising from the depths of me that was going to burst forth in laughter at the sight of "tall man in short robe" exiting the room, robe barely covering his ass, flip flops that appear to be about 5 sizes to small and him carrying his glass of wine with him to the next room.  As soon as the door shut behind them I broke out into laughter - the image of what I saw burned onto my retinas. I got way more than just a massage  - WAY MORE!

HOW ARE YOU?

I'm not a fan of the phrase, "How are you?".  It is one of the many over used and under meant sentences we use in our culture.  Think of the times you are in the bank, the gas station, a store in the mall, a restaurant, work, even at church and someone asks you, "How are you?".  In Americanese it's paramount to saying "Hi".  Flippantly it can roll off our tongues without a thought of really wanting to know how someone is.  Have you ever tried to be gut wrenching honest when asked that question just to see how the questioner will respond (knowing they are really only expecting a good, great or ok response)?   I've tried that a time or two to those who want to pose that question with what appears to be a great deal of non-caring insincerity.  It has taken a few back:)   It could just be my way of thinking, my desire to be purposeful in living life that causes me to NOT ask that question casually, but expectedly, wanting to know truly how the person is.  My comeback to a response of "good or ok" is, "Really?  What's making it good or what's making it merely ok?"  That causes some to stop and realize that the question was asked in sincerity and that I do care.  I've heard some amazing responses from that second question - confessions of truth, relief that they can be honest of how they are really feeling, comfort that someone took time to look a little further into their words and their world.  There have been times I too have been asked that "how are you" question and I have responded, "Well, are you sure you really want to know?" :)   I love questions.  I'm sure it is directly linked to my questing mind and spirit, my love of people and my desire to leave someone better than I found them.  There are big things in life that create huge tsunami's, but mostly I believe life is small waves - small touches that slowly over time impact others.  Those small things like a sincere "how are you" give people value and make them feel that someone truly cares.  Today as you move about your world and bump into others around you, why not try saying, "How are you?" with sincerity.  It's actually quite an ice breaker which can open up a world of conversation and a way to touch the life of someone.  BTW:  How are you today?

PIANO PALSY

I have played piano since I was about 7 years old.  Being the third child of three girls I was expected to do what they did - take piano lessons.  It was an era of raising kids where "finding your child's real self and fostering it" wasn't the theme of parenting.  The theme of parenting was actually "teach discipline and responsibility through any and all avenues of pain, practice, responsibility and discipline".  Piano lessons was that avenue for the Cherry girls.  Actually I didn't mind taking piano lessons for 10 years (you'd think with that many years of lessons I would be like a concert pianist!) except for my piano teacher, Mrs. Hess.  She would sometimes sing along with the music I was playing in this disturbing warbly old lady voice.  Other times, she would grab my hands in frustration as invariably I did not follow the music exactly like it was written much of the time - I improvised a bit here and there:)  I greatly hated much of the music she taught.  But, the worst part of piano lessons was when it came time for either her recitals or the local piano contest.  Both forums required memorization of the piece performed.  I was horrible at that.  I could play easily from music in front of me, but struggled to memorize an entire piece from Bach or Beethoven.  I hated, and that is really not a strong enough word to describe what I felt, playing a piano solo from memory.  At piano contest you were judged by a panel of judges on how well you played both in memorizing the piece perfectly and interpretation of dynamics, etc...  Even as I type I can feel the dread that would come over me as they called my name from the judge's table.  All eyes in the room tuned in on me as I walked across the room to hand the judges a copy of the music I was performing.  Sitting down on the piano bench after slightly adjusting it to the right distance to fit my arm and upper body height, I started my "memorized" piece.  Don't get me wrong, I played piano at church and school for choirs, vocal groups, etc, but HATED playing piano solos.  I was an accompanist not a solo performer and knew it.  I was operating outside of my giftedness and comfort level.  My mind went blank sitting there.  There was not one note that flashed upon my big screened Lynn mind.  Panic ensued at a rate that caused the pumping of blood through my heart to make it feel as though it would burst from my non-existent chest.  "Breathe, breathe, think Lynn, think!".  I started in as the first measure unfolded on the screen in my mind but the measures were not coming on the screen fast enough.  Oh no, between the conversation I was having, the inability to remember fully one measure to the next, all eyes staring at me, the judges furiously writing comments at the judge's table, my heart beating so loud and fast that those on the first row no doubt heard it.  My legs, now independent from the rest of my body, began to take on this other earthly swaying all on their own.  Oh, I don't mean they were moving in sync with the music I was playing - you know a sort of expression of feeling music and living in the moment.  No, they were spasmodically swinging wildly from side to side as terror coursed through every vein in my body.  It was as if all nervous thoughts, fears and energy collided into the muscles of my legs and like an alien, took over.  I could instantly feel the stares intensify not only from my horrible job of reciting this piece from memory, but now from this out of body alien take-over of my legs.  My only hope was just to get to the last measure and be put out of my misery as soon as possible.  The last measure came up on my mind's screen and I, without much interpretation left in me, played the final note.  I stood from the piano to a room of pity clapping and waited for the judge's final score (much like an Olympic skater who fell during their triple toe jump during their long program).  Honestly I didn't care what I scored or if I even scored.  I was relieved and horrified all at the same time.  As the scores were posted on the wall outside of the room a few minutes later I didn't rush to check them.  To this day I don't know what I scored on that piano palsy number I bumbled through.  I can't imagine it was good though.  It would be years and years later, during my then father-in-law's ordination service, when having to play a solo version of "The Lord's Prayer", the piano palsy legs returned.  You would think while playing "The Lord's Prayer" that the Lord would deliver me from piano leg palsy, wouldn't you?   

IN FLIGHT

For those of you who tune into this blog you may have noticed it’s been silent for over a week.  I took some well needed time off from regular life for a season.  In doing so, I also took some time off from writing.  I have gotten several emails stating that you all were wondering where I was and were missing reading what I think and write daily.  Why, I don’t know!  Right now I am on a plane flying home from Las Vegas.  Oh yes, the city that never sleeps.  I have been there before but it was under totally different circumstances.   I played the slot machines a time or two and won $35.00.  Big winner indeed:)  Gambling just doesn’t really do much for me.  I don’t quite see the point.  I walked the strip, went to the malls, watched the droves of people, fought off street promoters, laughed hysterically, ate more food than I ever eat, enjoyed the company of friends, saw a show “Chriss Angel”-the magician (2 thumbs down on that show!), messed myself up with a three hour time difference, got very little sleep every day, relaxed my mind and my body, did something that has not been a part of my past, and I did it all spur of the moment.   I laughed as my friend drove me to the airport after work, dropped me off and I headed off on an adventure of a lifetime.  Once in flight I smiled again at how deliberate my thinking has been about wanting the second half of my life to be totally different than the first half.  Well, I thought to myself, this is most definitely different- out of the ordinary.  Actually I don’t really care for Las Vegas.  I don’t love crowds or mindless activity.  But, much like the “Seinfeld” episode where George Costanza decides to do everything opposite of what he normally does and finds success, so did I.  For those of you who read this and know me, you are smiling and saying, “Lynn, only you would go to Vegas on a whim!”   I feel in flight to this new life that I want.  It’s an amazing feeling in my soul and spirit to just let loose - to quit trying to please everyone or live in the pattern that I have lived.  This week has been such a spectacular experience in setting a new course, living richly, feeling passionate, seizing the moments.  I am in extreme gratefulness to God for hearing my heart’s cry and delivering it in a way I would have never, ever imagined.  I feel humbled and undeserving and yet awed at His generosity toward making my spirit be in flight.  I was in Vegas baby!  Vegas:)