"Don't chew gum, you'll just look like a cow"
"A true lady sits with one leg planted and the other leg neatly tucked behind at the ankle - knees together"
"start on the outside, work your way in"
"Darling, don't whistle.  Its masculine and ruins your lipstick"
"Never clap at the end of our National Anthem - I don't care WHO is going to be on the field."
"We break bread, we cut steak, do not put a knife to that dinner roll."

Oh dear, the list really does go on and on. 

We could title it:  RULES FOR LIVING - (in 1940)

Or we could go with:  ARCHAIC STANDARDS for YOUNG LADIES (circa 1940)

Possibly:  STUFF NO ONE CARES ABOUT - (from 1940)

These were the MANTRAS of my youth.  How old am I?  Im only 40.  I grew up in the 80's, big hair and 'ice ice baby' - playing at my Sr. Prom.  So, no, I'm not a bobbie soxer!  Yet, these were the standards. 

I obeyed.  Just out of respect.  My grandmother was a gem.  Hard as nails, classy as Jackie O herself and as poor as a church mouse.  My grandmother was from a different world.  Yet she was one of the most practical and inspiring women I ever knew.  I certainly obeyed - don't forget....she was hard as nails. 

Grandma never had a drivers licence.  Never drove.  ALWAYS depended on Grandpa to take her to the market 15 miles up the highway to get anything she needed.  She was never demanding, and she would most definately make do with whatever she had.  But, the fact remained, if my grandmother needed anything, she was at the mercy of her husband or her children for a ride. 

Naturally, I, growing up a "material girl", thought this odd.  I wanted her liberated!  I wanted her in Pants, casting a vote, driving a car and having a job with EQUAL PAY for EQUAL WORK! 

I remember one day picking her up to visit her favorite mall.  I sprayed my hair until I felt close to Jesus.  I put on more bangles than the BANGLES themselves could have worn and I piled on 3 sets of socks to match my outfit.  I then drove to the country to pick up my grandmother.  I smiled when I saw her with black wristlet gloves on holding a box purse.  She was wearing pearls and her favorite "walking sandals with the slightest little kitten heal - no man wants to look at fat ankles!!!"  (by the way, they were also 'perfect for dancing in' - which she ALWAYS brought up - evidently it was quite important to her to be able to bust out into a random POLKA at any time and place.)  

Grandma squished into my little 2-door contraption and we headed to the big city.  My bangles ended up in the glove box because she said I sounded "like a billy goat trying to get loose - a lady should make an entrance with her smile and confidence not sounding like a heard of jerseys ready to be milked!!!!"   ***I simply complied, and removed the bracelets.  My satellite sized earings did get a compliment - she said, "you look like Cleopatra - I like them, are they clip ons?" 
     "no ma'am, they are the stud kind"
     "oh thats disgusting!" - in a very "Driving Mrs Daisy" manner.

     We arrived at the mall and worked our way to the entrance.  Pill-box hat perfectly stationed on her head, gloves pristine, small clutch purse stationed perfectly at her hip.  Strong, she was.  Not petite, but considering she had 10 children, she was by no means LARGE.  Yet, she walked perfectly upright, "leading with the hips, one foot in front of the other, like a movie star - not a moose!"  She still had a lovely sway when she walked.  I could certainly see how she caught my grandfathers attention and held it for so many years.  Her lipstick was a pungent pink, and her cheeks were perfectly PINCHED in the passenger side mirror before we got out of my car, I had been warned when to have her visit the ladies room lest the pink fade too much. 

     Upon reaching the entrance, a striking young man arrived at the door NEARLY when we did.  Maybe two seconds behind us.  Grandmother straightend and stood in a perfect Miss America style 2nd position pose and said and smiled and nodded at the young man.  The young man stretched out his hand and said, "You go right ahead ma'am - I believe in the womens liberation movement."  with a huge JUSTIFIED grin on his face. 
     "WELL, I CERTAINLY DO NOT!  OPEN THAT DOOR RIGHT NOW YOUNG MAN!"
      ***Tough as nails, remember?
     He obeyed,  He apologized. 
     He apologized again.

     I giggled.  He just didn't know what he was up against.  I liked her spunk.

     On another similar outing, a few of my uncles, my mother and myself all decided it was time to take Grandmother to a professional sporting event.  The San Antonio Spurs were playing at thier new venue and we were going to the game!  Grandma was a huge sports fan - she WAS the mother of NINE rambunctious boys (and my poor, poor mother).  Sporting events were just common to her.  She could make calls, keep stats, and run the concession stand.  And do it all in her "nice walking sandals with the little kitten heel"  (perfect for dancing).

    We parked in the huge parking garage, strolled thru the beautiful city streets.  Found our way to the immense venue, marveled at its size, retrieved our tickets and began the daunting task of finding our seats. 
     Grandma may have been an older country woman NOW, but back in the 40's she worked in this bustling city.  She knew streets, little family owned resturants, the USO where she and her friends would DANCE with the boys that had just 'come home'.  She knew how to be a downtowner!  She still loved taking the bus, riding on a trolly car and visiting a 5 and 10 that she would go to when she was young.  This BiG city and all its commotion did not phase her.  NO SIR, it invigorated her!
     I remember standing there trying to figure out which way our tickets were leading us and her eyes locked in on something.  We all ignored it....the sights were so many, there was just no telling what she saw.  Finally we are sure of what direction we needed to go and as we begin to amble that way, she says:  'Wait one minute while I take care of something.'

     Naturally we were confused.  I followed for fear of the group getting seperated.  Ticket in my hand, I am on her heels.....ten feet behind.  I see her digging in her clutch, she pulls out a handkerchief.  She is quickly approaching one of the young ladies that works in the venue.  Then I hear:  "YOUNG LADY, excuse me.  You are such a beautiful girl, in fact, I noticed you from all the way over there.  However, when I was looking at how pretty you are, all I was able to notice was you chewing gum like a COW chewing its cud.  Now, I have a handkerchief and you just spit it right here and I will throw it away for you so you won't look so RIDICULOUS!  NoW SPIT!!"

     ***Tough as nails remember
     she obeyed
     she smiled embarrassingly
     she thanked my grandmother
     I sighed.  Poor thing, she just didn't know who she was up against.

My grandmother was one of a kind (just like yours). 

Despite her "tough as nails" side, she was full of love and care. This was shown to me one day when I had stayed home from school with a terrible sore throat.  I wanted to eat but had no strength or will to make food for myself.  I called my grandmother.  "grandma, if i take some eggs and stuff over there will you make breakfast for me, I dont feel good." I scratched out in my froggy voice.
     "why yes baby, you come right over, Ill take care of you.....just do one favor for me"
     "yes ma'am?"
     "tell me who you are, so that I know who I'm going to take care of."

She was a jewel. 

     Some days I tired of being told all the afore mentioned RULES.  The list of do's and don'ts was miles long it seemed.  Naturally as a young teenager, I would complain.  I felt like I was in a time warp at times. 

     Oh to be able to go back in time.  To have more time with her.  To gleen more from that treasure of a woman.  I think of her often. 

     Three nights ago my husband suprised us with tickets to the ballett at the Majestic Theater in San Antonio.  Grandma worked there in the 1940's.  I got my daughter ready.  I jumped into my favorite black 6' heels with the gel insert (it makes them perfect for walking.....and dancing, no man wants to see a woman with fat ankles!).   I wore a slimming black dress cut just above the knee....I had a set of bracelets on, but they were "too much".  I stuck with the STUNING rhinestone necklace and my wedding set.  I reminded my daughter as we strolled thru the parking garage.  "Sweetheart, your clomping!  Lead with your hips and walk a line, not on rail road tracks - its much prettier".  We enjoyed the ballett and were led out by our gentlemen. 

     In the ladies room, my daughter said, "Mommy, I'm going to tell Daddy to take us to eat somehwere!"  I smiled and said, "No sweetheart, we will be ladies.  If we are invited to dinner, we will certainly accept the invitation, however, your date for the evening has spent quite a bit of money already."  - Naturally, dinner was an option. She chose seafood.

     After requesting a table, we were led to a seating area.  My daughter sat down like Antione Carr waiting on the bench to be played.  I planted my right foot, tucked my left foot neatly behind and sat back strait on the bench (knees together).  She looked at me thoughtfully and said, "Mommy, your always so pretty." 
     *I took this time to teach her to 'sit like a lady'.  She smiled

     We were finally seated at our table, my little girl in her kitten heels and kimono style black dress executed sitting perfectly.  She positioned her linnen napkin on her lap and said, "Daddy, we break bread and we CUT steak, DON'T use that butter knife on that bread!"

     I smiled, poor guy just didn't know what he was up against.

Thank you grandma. 
Thank you for your tough as nails exterior and your full of love interrior.
Thank you for your lessons on manners and etiquite, they just make us prettier.
And thank you for letting me know: 
I DON'T have to be a womens libber!  I can just enjoy being a WOMAN!
    


    

Seeing Is(n't) Believing

Never believe what you see with your eyes, 
For, more often than not, what you behold are lies.
Painted on smiles, with heads held high,
All of it is just a mask, a grand disguise -
In this pitiful, moment we call LIFE.


OK, I'm no poet.  It just popped into my head as I was brushing my teeth.  It rhymed, so it stuck.  I saw myself tonight.  No, I did not look at myself in the mirror and see my reflection.  I looked in the mirror and I saw 'me'.  The me I try to hide.  The me that all of us try to hide.  Within the past few days I've had the opportunity to catch up with a few old friends...chat with friends that are facing their own giants...and hold the hand of a scared friend.  For those moments, their guard was down.  The mask was removed and I was able to see THEM.  It was a short amount of time, with each.  Sometimes just enough to get out one sentance that said..."Im scared" "Im hurting" or "I messed up". 

Sometimes I walk thru the grocery store or see people on the streets and I wonder about their "story".  We all have one.  Is yours fiction?  I will not even try to lie, MINE IS!  In this technology driven world, things like twitter and Facebook  keep us all 'attached' and yet, I do not feel any closer to anyone.  We are all connected, but the other night, in the middle of a FIT, I had no one to call.  So, where is the connection?

Now, please don't stop posting pictures of your BLOOMIN' ONION from the OUBACK.  Don't hold back on announcing your undying love for your spouse on account of me being snippy.  I actually do have a point here.  This is all foundational, I'm building on this concept.  Stay with me.

Our eyes take in so much that we know better than to believe.  Just think of the last three action movies you saw.  Believe any of it?  Of course not.  Think of the last 'big name' magazine you looked at, do you really buy into what you see?  We KNOW better!  Models actually do have cellulite, they do have wrinkles that can be airbrushed...zits that can disappear instantly and dark circles vanish into thin air with the right graphics man at the mouse!   But we see a friend with a smile and a nod and we say..."she's doing GREAT!"  (after all, we SAW her smile). 

The old saying goes, 'seeing is believing'.  When was that quote coined?  I looked it up.  It was something that started almost 2,000 years ago.  Yes, it was in reference to the resurrection.  So, can we really use that phrase anymore?  I seriously doubt the kind Jew that doubted the resurrection of The Christ had ever seen SPIDERMAN swing from webs that had shot out of his wrists through a city's downtown buildings?  Yeah, I THINK the phrase is outdated.  It really has no part in our society anymore.  SEEING means we SAW a great preformance of graphics engineers, special effects guys, stunt doubles, film editors....oh the list goes on and on.  But, SEEING is definately NOT BELIEVING anymore.

My grandfather, born in 1919 had a particularly difficult time with television.  My grandmother on the other hand, was quite the cinematic efficianado.  She worked at a theater in the 1940's and was abreast on all the ins and outs of HOLLYWOOD.  After 10 *yes, TEN* children, and too many to mention grandchildren....grandpa was slowing down.  Grandmother would occasionaly talk him into watching a movie with her.  I recall sitting on the couch in their home and my grandmother instructing me to put a movie in the new Video Tape Machine.  I did.  The movie began much like any other from the 40's.  And my grandfather looked at his wife and said..."I thought he died."  She said..."who?" 
~"That guy. Right there.  He's the cowboy...don't you remember, he got shot."
~"That was a different movie honey"
~"What do you mean?"
~"I mean it was a different movie."
~"What does that matter, I saw him die!"

How serious he was, I don't know.  My grandfather was notorious for teasing his bride.  However, it makes my point.

Seeing is sometimes NOT at all what is actually going on.
Life, anymore, has become an optical illusion to many of us.
We are all so busy making sure that others DON'T see what is going on behind the scenes so that the illusion can be executed perfectly that we fail to SEE our audience. 
Maybe the audience does not WANT a show.  Maybe they are looking for the one person that will let them know, 'you are not alone in this.'
Quite possibly, they are wanting the opportunity to read a GRAND biography, not a work of fictious CRAP!
Would you believe me if I said, I would rather know the terribly hateful, angry, hurting, sad, complaining, full of sin person you REALLY are, rather than the mask you introduce me to. 

Loving someone that is REAL, is easy.  Being someone that is REAL is the challenge.

Don't believe what you see with your eyes.....

Try to really look beyond what we see.....

Try to BE more than what you've let us see.....I'm certain, fact is much better than fiction.
 

RR ;)

I have had the wonderful privelege of spending a few growing up years in the country, Deep in the Heart of Texas.  Fresh out of the Shenendoah Valley, my parents brought me to this dry land of brown grass, thorned trees, giant cactus, and no rain.  It was a whole new world for my ten year old mind.   I went from being an only child in a home located in a lovely cul-de-sac, to being one of 20 cousins that would run rampant through our grandmothers home on the old family farm.

Smells of chorizo sausage and fresh tortillas would capture my attention first thing in the mornings. Roosters crowing right outside my bedroom screen were my wake up calls those first few months in my new world.  There was never a dull moment.  Shooting BB guns, chasing cows, hanging out laundry on the line with grandma, chasing cows,  feeding the chickens, chasing cows, catching bugs, chasing cows.  (OK, we really liked to chase cows!)  But, number one on the list of extreemly cool things about living at grandma's farm was: GRANDMA LIVED BY THE RAILROAD TRACKS.  

A set of rails went right through her back yard.  Oh sure, it was a small journey to get to them, but they were there! 

1) Pass the garage, play King of the Mountain on that cool pile of wood Grandpa keeps (the one where my cousin and I found a scorpion)
2) Pretend to ride the old rusty tractor that is half-way stuck in the ground - get bored
3) Go pick cactus flowers - get pricked
4) See who can reach the old trash burnin' pile first - loose the race
5) Wrestle with my cousin - win the wresting match 
6) Hold the barbed wire fence open for him to climb thru (resist the temptation to snag him with a barb)
7) Wait for him to hold the fence for me - get barbed! 

And, there they were. 

The RAILROAD TRACKS. 

OH, we were terrible! 

We always played the "tie you to the tracks/damsel in distress" game.  We threw rocks, We ran down the center of the tracks screaming "Watch out IMA TRAIIIINNNN!!!"  We looked for cool stuff that had been squashed by the train and then...we would hear a faint pinching sound.  Immediatly, we would drop to our stomachs and our breathing would become shallow.  Ears to the rail.  (from there, I could smell the iron track) It is warm against my cheek. YES!  It's coming!  It's still far, (my hands are barely vibrating).  Wait.  See who stays the longest.  Now my hands are getting warm, the screeching is getting louder and louder, (it hurts to have my ear on the track).  "I see it!", I yell.  I want to run, but I love to feel the tracks heat rising.  The sting on my hands from the vibration becomes too intense and I stand, foot on each rail.  The whistle is blaring, I know the engineer sees us.  I stare at him heading my direction for just a second more and DIVE for the fenceline, cousin close behind.  Now, we stand and wave frantically.  The engineer knows us by now.  The wind from the train pushes us to the ground silly with excitement.  We count each car.  The wind dies down.  It's over for the day.  Not another train will come until 10 pm.

We did not stay in the country.  We eventually moved south.  South, to "town".  I now live across the street from those same rails.  The same two o'clock train still passes.  I still get a little giddy at the thought of being able to feel the wind pressing against me.  Smelling the rails, feeling the coming danger and staring it in the eye.  Feeling brave, invinceable, and in control.

Now you see it.  Do you not?  It's all there. 

Life sometimes gives us NO warning signs.  The faint rumbling of coming dangers sometimes cannot be detected with all the goings on of life.  There we are, looking for cool things.  Pretending to be something we are not, all the while yelling at the top of our lungs.  Tying each other up in relationships, jobs, addictions....life.  Then it comes.  We don't expect it.  There is just nothing to give the alarm that something terrible is headed our way.  How do you feel brave in the middle of a storm.  How can you feel invinceable when your pride is dashed, and you don't know how to face the next day?  How can you be in control when life has knocked you down so hard that you cannot find your feet? 

I have had more of those days than I care to count.  The day I ran over my child.  The day I lost that dear cousin to a senseless addiction.  The day I found out about the other woman.  The day the pink slip was handed over. The day she said, "your father is dead".  Make no mistake, the ground DID NOT shake.  Piercing sounds? -no.  Not so much as a faint whistle in the distance to let me know what was about to occur.   When I looked around, life was happening, and yet a train was slamming into my brain. 

So what do you do when that occurs? 

I am reminded of the Prophet Elijah.  He was done, spent, completely expended and he sat down in the desert under a tree and said "take my life."  Facing one more moment seemed like too much to ask.   Soon, a terrible wind came, an earthquake, and even FIRE.  He expected God to do something, to make some miracle occur. He wanted God to CHANGE things, as only He can.  Yet, God was silent in all of it. God was quiet as NATURE roared around him only adding to his dismay.  After the storms had passed, a gentle breeze was blowing.  It was then, God spoke.

AFTER?  WHY AFTER?  WHY is God so silent when things go crazy? 

Why not change the course of the storms?  WHY does he speak after?

Why not just STOP THE TRAIN?  WHY DOES HE wait to speak AFTER?

When the train has passed, and the pressing wind has stopped, the gentled breeze is the indicator that its over.  The funeral home has locked its doors,  divorce papers were signed weeks ago, new resumes sent out.  And God is there.  He whispers. Go back to the tracks.  That is, after all what he told Elijah to do.  He sent him BACK into the wilderness. 

Why does he want us to visit the place that seemingly destroyed us?

Because those rails make us who we are.  They define us.

You see, the tracks were more than just a wild distraction every day, those weathered rails were majestic to us. They connected us to everything. We would face south and say: "That's the way to town! The train is going to TOWN!!!" Then, I would face north. There, my heart would swell. Those tracks went north. NORTH!  North, to the Shenendoah Valley, where trees have names like HICKORY, MAPLE, and most importantly DOGWOOD. North, where creeks are named after Indian tribes that my family hailed from. North where hills are impressive enough to be named, and the word "holler" is a noun and not a verb. Those tracks kept me connected. Connected to everything I had once known.

The trains of life pass us, sometimes knocking us to the ground, breathless and shaking.  Sometimes stretching out in front of us, giving us a glimpse of who we are and who we can be.

Visit your tracks, feel brave, invinceable and in control.  Know that those rails made you the amazing person you are today.  Follow them to who you're going to be in your tomorrows.

 

I am forcing myself to be uncomfortable.  Putting my thoughts down so that others may be able to see them is daunting to say the least.  If this were some sort of an assignment, where I had a topic and was being judged purely on the basis of my writing skills and/or research skills, I would be at ease.  But it is more than that.  It is a window into my thoughts.  It allows you, the reader to know what I really think about.  You might be able to see things through my eyes for a moment.

So, what DO I think about.  I think about God.  Often.  Oh, does that sound vain?  It is not ment to.  But God, is part of my life.  The question comes to mind:  Who am I, that God, the creator of this universe, the One that spoke the stars into existance, is mindful of me?  I am His child.  Not by bloodline, but by adoption.  By all standards that puts me in the catergory of being a "Christian". 

"I would have become a Christian, had I never met one" - Ghandi

This quote haunts me.  I'm THAT Christian sometimes. 

Anyone that knows me, knows that I am quite the cynic.  Ever the realist, I once responded to the question:
"What are you?" (in reference to my faith)
"oh me?  I'm just a sinner."  (accompanied by an eye roll and a snicker)
"No, but what do you believe?"
"Well, frankly, I believe I am a flawed person that is in desperate need of forgiveness over and over and over again - luckily I know the guy that can take care of that." (wink and a nod) 
"Ohhh, so you're a Christian?!"
"Sure, we can go with that......" (knowing smile)

Now, why do I NOT care for the moniker Christian?  Excuse me....have you MET ONE?  I feel certain you have.  Do I REALLY want to be thrown into that lot?  Oh, but do I DESERVE to be thrown into that lot?

There is the dilema.  Ages old.  That which I HATE, I do.  That which I want to do, I fail to do.  THAT is Christianity in a nutshell.  The human struggle with self, with sin, with life.

So, yes, I think about God.  Why?  Not because I am HOLY.  Not because I am perfect.  Not even because I am a GREAT WOMAN OF FAITH.  I think about God because I desperately need Him.  I am unholy and flawed, I am just a woman with faith in a GREAT GOD.

That was it, I just cracked the window open.  As I prepare to press the PUBLISH button my heart races.  I wonder will I be met with frigid winds or warm breezes?  This is not easy, but it will let my soul breathe.