LOVE MACHINE!

We are on this earth to love people. We are meant to learn, know, and practice this simple gift. It should emanate from us like rays of sunshine, bursting forth with determination.

I awoke with this obvious revelation coursing through me. I looked over at my husband, sleeping peacefully, and I wanted to hug him awake. I have known him for almost twenty years and I have loved the crap out of him. I mean it. You might not've known it, when we were hollering at each other over stupid things, like buying dirt bikes or paying the mortgage, but it's true. In all of that love-disguised-as-fighting we were getting to know each other.

Love isn't just being nice and compliant. It's telling the truth when you don't want to. It's saying how you feel about something that's been bothering you all day, whether it's stupid or not. It's fighting for the right to be yourself when bonding has seared you too close together. It's reminding each other why you got together in the first place. It's laughter till you pee. It's crying till you laugh. It's making babies, and breakfast, and chopping the wood. It's looking past morning breath and seeing an angel.

Love is incognito most all of the time. That is why boys hit you in the seventh grade. Hitting has nothing to do with love, but touch does. So immature people hit. Negative attention is better than no attention at all, right?

How can selfishness not be love, when we must love ourselves before we can love anyone else? How is it loving, to comply, when inside your spirit is telling you to do the opposite? Why is it seemingly easier to do the wrong thing, than it is to do right? Truth is love. You can't love what you do not know or understand. And getting to know people is a messy business, because half of the time, you don't really want to know what's inside. It means dealing with it. It means having to move out of your comfort zone into the unknown. Ugh...work! Love is work.

We search to know what meaning there is in our work. Why do I have this job? Why is it ME that has to do the dishes? Why am I the only one that cares about a clean floor? It's love. I LOVE organized space. We LOVE to pay the bills on time and buy the kids new jeans for Autumn. I LOVE to eat fresh Swiss Chard in the spring. Therefore we will keep on working and loving until we give up the ghost. We will put up tipi poles and dig in. We won't shirk the work, so the harvest of love is plenty.

The sages of old were right. Love is patient, Love is kind, and Love is long-suffering. I would add to that: Love is determined, and will-full, and meets the enemy at a RUN! We don't just wait if we want something. Not every time. We fight for what we can't live without. We love the crap out of it! When I swat the three year old, I love her! When I tell my husband my mind, I love him. When my kids say, “But, Mom...,” they love me. She listens. He listens. I listen. And in that moment, we fall into a deep, passionate, bonded love. We forge together and we don't give up on trying to understand each other.

Every night we pray before we go to bed. It sounds something like this, in our tipi:

• Thank You for this beautiful day. Thank you for my girls and my wife and my life. Thank You for the strength to go to work. Thank You for keeping us safe and healthy all of our days.
• Thank You for my family and for my home. Thank you for the sun and the rain. Thank you for health and please help us to be patient and kind to one another every day.
• Thank you for my sisters and my Mom and Dad. Thank you for our friends and dinner at Jeri's. Please help our baby to grow straight and strong. Thank you for keeping Mom healthy and help her have a good birth.
• Thank you for a wonderful life and good dreams....and help our baby to be really cute.
• Thank you for candy, and my sisters, and my swing, and...um...amen.

And so we know each other. And our hearts are glad because we are a family unit. And we will love, and strive to communicate, and work through each day together. These things make life worth the living.

WHAT IS AND WHAT COULD NEVER BE

I was never one of those girls that planned a big white wedding in a church. I didn't dream of having kids and a husband to care for. It was my big sister that always pretended to nurse her dollies on her belly button. I played with stuffed animals and made them talk. I tried to sneak back in the room and catch them at it...and this was long before “Toy Story” ever came out. I did pretend that Don Jonson wanted to date me, but I never took the vows with him. His occupation was far too dangerous.

I always said I wanted to be a “starving artist” and live in an apartment in the city with a lot of cats. I think I said that because it's actually the opposite of my country personality. I wanted to be grown up and live a life different than everyone around me, which at the time meant out of the dirt and trailer houses. Maybe this idea came from the movies. The little bistros and cobblestone corners on the Lady and the Tramp. The parks and skippy streets of Mary Poppins. Nothing seemed to happen in the country.

Now, I can't imagine what my life would have been in the cat ridden apartment. Lonely, I guess. Empty the litter box and order take out again. Call up an artist buddy to go bar hopping with and wonder why all of the good guys are taken. Dye my hair punk white and work on another painting to sell. Sounds like a story book romance to me.

Instead I got married and had children. I became a wife and a mother and moved out of my small town into another small town. I didn't have a big wedding in a church. I had a little hippie wedding on a beach. I didn't have the 2.3 kids; one boy and one girl. I have three girls with unmatching outfits that sing made up songs about lightning and thunder while they help me cut veggies for dinner. And I have one on the way. It's already being inundated with kisses and stories through the belly.

I married my 19 year old boyfriend that I couldn't stop kissing in public. We lived in our van with our mutt dog and went on long hikes. Then we bought property and planted trees and pushed little girls on swings. We still kiss in public but no longer make out on people's couches at parties, which is a sign of maturity.

What would a glimpse at the life I might have had, show me? What would I learn about myself? Would my sweet Travis have found me in my city apartment? Would I have sold many paintings? Would I still have punk rock hair?

I suppose I would have ended up looking for a version of what I have now. I think we all eventually do. We all want to be held and loved and accepted and needed. And there is no better way to be needed than being a wife and mother.

“Where are my socks?”

“In the drawer where they always are.”

“I looked and they are not there!”

“Well, that's why I tell you to put your stuff away, so you can find it later. Borrow your sister's... and for God's sake, PUT YOUR SOCKS AWAY NEXT TIME!!”

No one can make it without a mother. Even Peter Pan wanted one. You can only play “kid” for so long and soon you are wanting a bed time story and some home made doughnuts. Even Mommies want a Mommy.

Or better yet, a nanny. She would have to be old with fat ankles, or I might get jealous of the attention Travis would spend bragging on her doughnuts. She could be on the clock after dinner while I snuggle on the couch and listen to her clanking dishes in a tub of soapy water. She could wash the bedding and mop.

But really, it's all of the little mundane chores that make this job so sweet and special. If I gave them all away then what would be left? Just the hugging and playing. And you can't appreciate the good stuff without the hand chaffing stuff. It's the reward at the end of the day.

Chopping kindling and washing and wiping and frying and sweeping are the ties that bind. The little conversations had over the cracking of the walnuts bonds us together. Then all of the hugging and kissing and snuggling are my treat.

If I could trade it all for a career, I wouldn't. I don't know what I was thinking. It's kind of like having a tattoo. It used to be so “rebel,” but now it's as common as an earring. You have to be pretty brave to stay at home with your kids. Being a mother is the most underrated job in the Universe. “I'm just a housewife...” No! I am the SUPER housewife. I have magic in my fingers and power in my words. I change seasons and heal wounds. I make it all happen with a snap of my fingers and a wave of my wooden spoon! I am unstoppable!!

And I wouldn't give it up for cats. Or punk rock hair.

Luck Schmuck!

“I find the harder I work, the luckier I am.” Ben Franklin said that.

I agree wholeheartedly.

I don't like the word “lucky.” It's annoying.

The only things that have to do with luck are the weather, the radio, and poker games.

I am not “lucky” with potty training. Not one of my kids just magically took off their diaper and decided to never poop their pants again. It was my stubborn decision to stop buying, changing, and throwing away diapers. I worked at it like a job. It meant always being interrupted in adult conversation and getting up off my seat every time I got comfortable. It meant missing the first hot bites of a meal and trying not to lose my appetite for the meatloaf, while I was being the bathroom monitor...for the millionth time. But it was worth it!

Yes, I have good kids. There is no denying that. They are intelligent and capable girls. But, humans are naturally lazy. Who wouldn't mind sitting in their dirty little Huggies, when there are still toys to play with and raisins to nibble? Why move? Life is good, even if it is a little smelly.

They all told me I was “lucky” when my first daughter was diaper-less at fifteen months old. I was told, repeatedly, that it wasn't “good” to start potty training until after their second birthday. (Hm.) After my second one was going potty like a big girl at one year old...the “lucky” comments slowed down. When the third child was being taken to the bathroom as an infant, I endured the rolling of the eyes and the, “You've got to be kidding!”

I guess I made people mad. I didn't care because it meant one less pressed mess. After that the only comment was, “Just wait until you have boys.”

Grandma told me a story once and I just love it.

There was an old farm that hadn't been lived in for a decade. The fence was falling down, the barn roof was leaking, and the porch was all caved in. A man bought the place and began to work diligently on repairing all of the neglected damages. After a time, a friend came to visit him and see the progress on the property. As they sat on the newly stained deck, drinking a cup of coffee, the owner surveyed the place with a feeling of pride and awe. His friend was impressed.

“Wow,” he commented to the land owner, “what a beautiful farm the Lord has given you!”

The man was quiet for a moment as he thought about this.

“Yes, it is.” He replied. “But you should have seen the place when the Lord had it.”

That's how luck is. The Divine gift is the land, the weather, and the life energy that we are blessed to have and be a part of. The work that we have to do, to make it shine and radiate with glory, is the frosting of it all. It's our life's calling to make things shine and create beauty around us, with what we are given. A man can be gifted with wealth and squander it away in his excitement of being so “lucky.” But it takes meditation, thought, and determination to keep that treasure and to make it last and truly enrich his life.

I wish there was a potty training Leprechaun. I also wish there was a fairy that would come and do my dirty dishes at night. But, the truth of why I'm so lucky to have a clean house in the morning is because, instead of sitting down and watching a movie, I am scrubbing pans. And instead of letting the little girls watch another movie, I am training them to scrape their plates and grab up a broom after they each haul in the firewood.

I am blessed beyond measure with health and a beautiful place to live. I am lucky to have such beautiful people in my life to share it with. I breathe a sigh of thanks, constantly, to have children with ears that hear, eyes that see, and minds that thrive on learning. I am not ignorant of the Grace that this Loving Life has bestowed upon me. So don't get me wrong. I don't take a bit of it for granted.

But, I will not sit down on the ground and wish for more money or wish for a garden or wish for my bed to be made. I will pray for the strength, and the drive, and the weather to make it all happen. I will get up early in the morning and survey the list of chores. I will wipe counters and faces until the cows come home. And at night, when all good little girls are in bed, I will do a little Leprechaun jig and smile. One more day down. What a LUCKY woman I am!!

Just Keep Smiling

Grocery shopping, without kids in tow, is like a spa day. I never saw this coming. Before I had three beautiful girls, I never valued my “alone” time. In fact, I remember cruising the Riggins strip, bored, and wasting gas for the millionth time.

“We could go up River again.”

“We could cruise and think about it.”

Life is funny this way. What I used to think of as challenging doesn't compare to what I now consider easy. Calling the DMV was a hard task at 19. Scheduling, bills, and new responsibilities made my mind ache. Cleaning my van was also a difficult task. I would put it off until I couldn't find my shoes and then when I actually made heads or tails of something I would feel oh so proud of myself.

Then I had kids.

To get up the nerve to drive to town and do all of the errands, with a two year old and a newborn was scary. I would put it off until I was out of milk and toilet paper. Then I'd get up my nerve, pack my diaper bag, my back pack, and my fire hydrant and get ready for the town trip.

“What if the baby cries.....what if she poops?! What if the two year old throws a fit and runs away from me and I have to chase her with the baby in the front pack?! Okay, calm down. It will be over soon.”

Honestly, once I got out of that stage I wondered why it was so hard. I wondered why I had turned down all of those invitations to go to uncomfortable places where I couldn't pull out my “nursing facilities” and had no where to sit down to corral the two little squealing kids on my lap and pretend to smile. The stress that comes with the care giving of little humans is intense but short lived. As soon as I would get used to one “stage” it would be over and we'd be onto a new one that I knew nothing about.

I quickly learned tricks that come second nature these days:

• Make breakfast right away. If you feed them, they stay quiet.
• Always take snacks and water bottles wherever you go.
• Always take books, crayons, paper, toys, and a trash bag wherever you go.
• Always take extra baby clothes wherever you go.
• Always take an extra Mom shirt wherever you go....baby spit up stinks.
• Never underestimate the power of a tub of wet wipes....for all ages.
• If you leave the Canyon in February, don't forget to change your flip-flops...it's not spring anywhere else!!
• Whenever anyone asks you what you've been up to do not answer, “Oh, nothing...” Look at that list above!!! It took you an hour just to load everyone in the car!

So, when I get a chance, at 35, to leave the Littles behind and venture off to town by myself, I take it. And, I also give the disclaimer, before I leave, “Don't wonder where I am, and what took me so long. This is my salon day.” That way, when I run into a friend I haven't seen in a while or when I get to visiting over the price of avocados with the produce lady, there are no worries. Mommy needs to talk to adults that aren't asking where the stapler is or telling me what sissy did wrong. Sanity lies in the fringes.

It's a little bit different now. It truly does get easier. Instead of trying to smile through the stress of the screaming three year old and pretending it's okay, I turn to the nine year old and ask her calmly to unload the grocery cart while the seven year old holds my purse. Then I grab up the tyrant and off we trundle to the bathroom where all things meaningful are sorted out. When we emerge shining and triumphant, I can hope and trust that the older of my girls have been responsible and polite and all I need to do is pay the nice lady and get on my way to the next stop, which is hopefully my house.

With older kids as examples, it's so much easier to say, “Is anyone else yelling and throwing a fit?” The three year old wipes her eyes, sniffs, and looks around. They smile down at her. Peer pressure at it's finest!

But, don't quote me just yet. I know I will freak out again before it's all over with...maybe today. I know that right when I think I have it all together it will fall apart...just sometimes. I will juggle, not three, but four kids soon. I will learn things I didn't know I knew.

There will be those certain days when I should have just stayed home and said, “Screw the 8-hr-only produce sale and the three green peppers for a dollar. Let's watch another movie and brush each others hair.” The days when I decide to force things to happen, just to prove what a She-Woman I really am, are the days that I usually wad up my pretty little list and toss it over my shoulder in surrender and defeat.

Time to admit I'm just human. Time to forget about the stuffed chicken breasts with spinach salad and that really good homemade dressing. Time to grab for the jar of Prego. Spaghetti it is... and let the dishes sit. They'll be there in the morning, all crusty and ready for some lovin' and hot water. And the longer my Boyfriend and I are married the more keen he is on getting that look when he walks through the door. “Don't even ask if I got that thing done for the thing.....I'm here and dinner is made and I'm still sane. Just tell me I look pretty even if I am pregnant...again!” And he does. And we snuggle in and say, “What a beautiful family we have!” (Spaghetti faces and all!)

ROLL WITH THE CHANGES

I am not always accepting of change. When I create it on purpose, it's fine. But I instantly freeze up into shock mode when it jumps up, slaps me in the face, and hollers, “HERE I AM!!”
Maybe I'm busy doing something else. Maybe I'm enjoying being where I am. Maybe I don't want to adjust myself to the new.

I feel 12 years old a lot of the time. I won't lie. When I was a kid I thought that I'd be grown up when I grew up. Sometimes, I am. But, most of the time, I am 12 in a 35 year old body. I throw fits, I cry, and I fight with the inevitable.

I remember when I got the “one day you'll be a woman” talk. I listened politely, while playing with my shoe lace and looking anywhere but in the eyes of the speaker of doom. I said what I was supposed to say...sort of...and skipped along my merry little way, back out to the dirt pile I was playing in. And there alone, making roads and dams out of rocks and sticks, I decided firmly and resolutely that all of that “woman” stuff would NOT happen to me. It sounded like a complete and utter nuisance and hassle. I would be the miracle exception and just not have to deal with anything that made my life that complicated. I still had visions of beating the boys in football at recess and winning every race in P.E. And I did, and I would...until about 5^th grade.

All of a sudden it wasn't acceptable to wrestle the boys during gym class. I remember, vividly, ripping off my earrings, handing them to my teacher, tucking in my shirt, and running over to tackle the nearest “enemy.” I was strong. I also had beginner boobs. I had been trying to ignore them, but other people seemed to keep reminding me. I was overly embarrassed when the teacher called me back to put my earrings in and have another talk about this blasted, “acting like a lady” thing. Adults frustrated my world. 

I cried when it all changed and I had to “grow up.” I really thought that somehow I would be able to skip all of it. Jr. High was the worst and best time of my life. Mostly the worst. Boys that liked me were mean to me. Girls that didn't like me were nice to me...at least to my face. And, the hellish hormones, that make me the woman I am today, took over my life like some parasite eating up all of the good stuff. I was half girl and half lady. I didn't know what to do with what I was given. So I tried to hide it away and pretend that maybe it would all get easier eventually. And it did. I got used to being me. In fact, after realizing that everyone was at the same level of “uncomfortable,” I learned to laugh about the changes.

Now, at 35, when the news of the 4^th baby dawns on me like the breaking of day, and there is no way to slow it down and say, “Well, maybe we'll do that later,” I react about the same way I always have. It's called shock. It's called fear. It's called elation. It's called “Motherhood.” I wasn't a natural right away. This profession kind of had to ease it's way upon my just like everything else. But, none of it would I change. And, my 12 year old self can just buck up, because, for all of the uncomfortable changes that I must go through to make a new Hollon, it is MORE than worth it in the end.

But the reality is hard on a parent. I KNOW that I have to give completely of myself to create this new life. It's all about me and not about me at all. To get we have to give. To create we have to become.

It wasn't as scary the first time I got pregnant. I had no idea what I was in for. The second time I would wake up in the middle of the night and shudder to myself thinking of contractions and labor and wondering how I would get through it. Then I would talk myself down from the proverbial ledge and remind myself that I was strong and that I could make it through anything. When you grow up, you have to be your own Mommy. I also had a trick. I would think of the weakest women I knew and say, "If they can do it, so can I” (I know that's mean but misery loves company of the lesser strength.)

Now I wake up in the middle of the night with insomnia that comes with my body preparing for long nights ahead where I will nurse and mutter, “Shush, shush...you're okay...Mama's gotcha.” It's old hat now. It's not taken for granted, by any means, but it's comfortable and understood. It's also even more of a miracle because I see what becomes after ten years of growth and love, change and tears.

We only get today once. We always only have today. That's it. So if I need to laugh or cry or stomp or dance, I'll do it. Because, that's me today. That's the change having it's way with me. To become a butterfly one must sit still and wait. Waiting doesn't come naturally, it must be practiced. We are always hurrying into the next step. But, when we wait patiently for the change to occur and put ourselves fully into the journey...we get off of our caterpillar bellies and we FLY!!

Life is utterly miraculous. I'm glad I can't stop the changes. I'm glad I don't always get to choose what comes next. Because, at the end of the day, lying in bed and looking at the beautiful faces of my perfect girls and my gorgeous husband, makes me feel like I am right where I am supposed to be.

Besides.....all of this Mommy stuff, by far, surpasses the fun of wresting 5^th grade boys!

MOMMY'S ADVENTURE

Flying in an airplane is normal these days. People talk about it like it's an everyday thing, and it is for a lot of them. But it is not for me. I am generally phobic about the entire procedure. Am I the only one that sits in the little seat, that is far too close to the person next to me, and wishes I was not about to shoot up into the air 55,000 miles above the gravitational pull of the earth? Am I the only one that is sitting rigidly, breathing rapidly, and writing a will in my mind, while the pilot calmly drones, “We have a storm forming above Minneapolis, ladies and gentlemen, so we will have some light to medium turbulence.” I think I would rather give birth, than get on a plane.

I had to retrain my mind when I flew to Alaska last week. Because what was waiting for me up there was a sister I hadn't seen in two years, who owns a beautiful restaurant and health food store, and who lives on the ocean where the sunsets are phenomenal and the silence is Divine. And I have a brother who looks like me and he has a baby that won't be a baby for long, that I hadn't gotten to meet yet. I had put off this trip for too long. So when some family bought me the ticket, who was I to say no?
I told myself, “Shoshannah, it is like driving or boating. Air is just like earth and water. It's safe. If it isn't then why do the stewardesses look so happy?”

So, in my life it just so happens that either nothing will be going on, or it will all be going on at the same time. And it was all happening in the land of Hollon. We were changing lifestyles, locations, and Mommy was leaving the tribe, all at once. When the morning came for me to leave I was a mess. I hugged my big girls and told them that I would see them in a week. Being 9 and 7, they are very understanding about the time frame and the reasoning. But being an almost 3 year old, my little one didn't know exactly what was going on. I hugged her and said, “I love you, Tenesee, Mommy's gotta go bye-bye.” She looked at me and told me that she wanted to go too. “No honey, Mama's got to go by herself, but I'll be right back.” (Yes, we all use this phrase even if it's not technically true.)

“But, Mom,” she tilted her head and chirped up at me with her big brown eyes, “I don't want to lose you.” My heart just melted and my knees got weak. I felt like crying, but I didn't. Instead I told her that of course she wouldn't lose me and that I'd be “right back” to see her. I mumbled a bunch of stuff and then jumped in my truck to drive to the airport in Bismarck.

I sped down the road and couldn't get rid of the lump in my chest. I tried to dance and sing it away, but it remained lodged there, stuck like dry bread. I changed the radio station and Tom Petty sang “Free Fallin” and I let out the tears. There is nothing quite as relieving as a well deserved cry. Now I know why kids do it all of the time. It gets the emotions out of the way and deals with issues you never even knew you had. From that point on I let it all go. They would be fine, I would be fine, Daddy would be fine and this was my adventure!

The first thing I learned at the airport was: Don't ever wear Carhartt overalls! I thought I would wear them because they are like a security blanket to me. If I were to crash into a mountain, I would want to go down in Carhartts! So I went through the metal detector, which makes me feel like an evil criminal anyway, and the buzzer went off! Everyone looked over at me. I turned red and smiled at the gal with the magic metal detector wand thing. She flicked a smile at me, and then said, “Please step over here, ma'am.” I did. She pointed to some foot print outlines painted on the floor, “Please stand right here...oh, unless you would like to do this in private.” She snapped on a latex glove. That's when I wished I had on jeans without brass buckles. Oh well. No one said it would be easy. (And, no, she really didn't need the gloves!)

So I chose to stand there in front of everyone, so I had witnesses to the little frisking action that was happening near gate D3, and take it like a real woman. It all worked out. No cuffs, just a, “Thank you, Ma'am.” For what? For not hiding something in my Carhartts? For not freaking out when you got personal? No problem.

By the time it happened at the next airport, I was ready. I held my arms out and said, "Go for it. I'm just going to think of this like a little massage." She just stared at me and then started to laugh. Thank God for airport bars with happy hour!

I got in late to Anchorage. My sissy and I hugged and jumped around like teenagers. I told her all about the funny things that the girls were saying and how my 9 yr old loves to play spy and take pictures of the neighbors. She told me about our plans for the week, the restaurant, and caught me up good on old town gossip. We slept well after catching an episode of the Dukes of Hazard.

I fell in love all over again with the ocean. I remember my school years walking around the small dirt roads of Seldovia and listening to my walkman and mooning over some teenage boy, or another. I remember watching those sunsets go down and the bitter sweet feeling of wanting it all to last forever. I instantly felt 17 again.....in a good way.

To step away from mommy hood and jump back into the world as Shoshannah, was like shedding my skin. It hurt and it felt so great, all at the same time. Life has a way of preparing you for these situations before you even know what you need. And then, BAM, it happens.

I was fine until the first anxiety attack. It's all good to have tons of time to myself and no questions being asked and no butt to wipe besides my own, but when that's what my profession has been for 10 years, it's frankly hard not to be needed. My hands took to looking for a little hand to hold and I had to busy them with artsy things. I drew some signs for my sissy's restaurant and I took a lot of pictures and I ate the best food in all of Alaska.

We saw a bear. We boated across the bay and watched sea otters. We drove to our brother's house and caught the sweetest smiles from my little nephew. I was ready to kiss baby cheeks, by the time we got there. But at every turn I kept thinking, "Wow, the girls would really love these sea shells and they would be picking these fat blueberries like crazy!"

If life has taught me anything, it is to be here now. It is to relish all of the sweetness I can out of each and every experience. It's to slow down and love each moment, because there really is no tomorrow. The little faces of my children, the way my husband looks at me, the sun going down on the river, and the hot days of September hanging on before the fall slowly creeps in and settles over the mountains frosting the Elderberries.

I got back home after so many little adventures, it would take a book to tell. I pulled up to our little camp on the River and those girls attacked me. We all kissed, hugged, kissed again and everybody was talking at once. I showed them my pictures of Alaska and told them all of my funny stories. They showed me bee stings and rocks they had painted for me. They told me about getting wood in the mountains with Daddy and swimming in the Salmon River. We laughed and cuddled and I watched how grown up they all were and I took pictures in my mind and marked them down as EPIC! I do believe the big girls will always remember the time when Mommy went away to Auntie's for a week. And I think Daddy will, too!

MONEY MAKES THE WASHER GO 'ROUND

The laundry money I'm using today has a story behind it. Everything does. I wish I could trace it back to its origin, follow all of the hands it's gone through, and see what has been made and created with it. See who held it in need, used it to make their dreams reality, and what great shoes were purchased with it. I would be amazed at the intricate loom that weaves us all together.
You cannot tell what a person is like by looking at them. I like to think I can, and I try because it's amusing. It keeps me entertained while killing time, stuck waiting on the tires to be aligned or the taxes to get done. In moments like these I do my best work, much to my husband's amusement.
"She's with him for the money." I say as a couple walks by. He looks double her age and she's checking out the construction worker across the road as her man adjusts his toupee, flashing his $1,000 watch in the sunshine.
"You don't know that." My husband replies, barely looking up from the Classified Adds. "Maybe it's his daughter."
"Nope. The body language is all wrong. Hup! I can see the huge rock on her finger from here. Yeah, she's a gold digger." I reply confidently.
I know it's mean. It's even downright a waste of time, but I love a good story, even if I have to make it up. I like to speculate. I am so in trouble on Judgement day....when I get judged for judging.
Well, the other day I went to Williston North Dakota, to do some shopping. I don't like driving up there, because it's boring. The only trees on the prairie, are the ones that people planted there. It's truck, fields, construction, and oil rigs. So I'd already made up some stories about the guy at the gas station. He was about 100, and he had tattoos all over his body. This guy probably invented the tattoo. He had them before they were cool. He was driving an old rusty truck and I'll bet his real stories would have blown my made up ones clean across the prairie.
We pulled into the parking lot of the "Economart" and my heart began to pound with anticipation. Every lady that I'd met in the last two months, had told me that this place was the best place around to shop. Especially for produce. Apparently Walmart Superstore had nothin' on Economart. (I saw the "Econo-Liquor" sign hanging near the far end of the building. Wow, these people could use some help in the catchy-name-department.
I was like a kid with a brand new pogo stick! I jumped out of the truck, grabbed little sticky kid hands, and streaked towards the entrance, Nascar style. I looked at my beautiful little 2 year old, that had just woken up from a nap and was still trying to put together muddled sentences.
“Oh my gosh, Tenesee!” Her hair was sweaty and matted in all of the wrong directions and her face was covered in strawberry juice! She'd fallen asleep after eating half of the package. She looked like a vampire, that needed a shower. For once, I had no brush, and NO wet wipes. I tried to run my fingers through her hair. No use. Now she looked like Ace Ventura, in a bad way.

We hit the produce section first. It's my favorite part. You can tell everything about a store, by it's fruits and veggies. It's like the business card. Disappointment quickly set in. UGH! $2.99/lb for nectarines?? They were .89 cents/lb in Montana. Head lettuce for $3.50!? Where's the Romaine? Are these women from the same produce planet as me? This is lame. Yes, the quality was there, but the prices were for the company men, not the roughnecks.

This is where I will interject a small disclaimer for the Bakken Oil Reserve. There is a nation wide assumption that we are all rolling in the dough over here. Yes, it's true that they pay well, but the retailers also know this. Housing is astronomical. Try $1,500 to $4,000 a month! The grocery stores know it, too. Food is so cheap in Idaho! I take this for granted while I'm there. Go to the store, right now, and buy a loaf of 7-grain bread for $1,69...because you can, people! It's $3.29 here...on sale! When I get home, I'm headed straight to the store, and I'm going to roll around on the floor, and purr.

I was standing in the fruit section, thinking about all of this, and sniffing an apple that was probably worth $2, when an older gentleman caught my eye. He had poofy, shoulder length white hair and was grinning like Buddha. He crossed over to my cart, passed over the invisible line of personal space, and put his hand on mine.

“I like to help people.” He said. His hand was cool to the touch and was still resting on mine, which was now gripping my cart handle in Mama bear fashion. I subconsciously moved my little cubs behind me and slipped my hand out from under his.

“Do ya?” I replied, wondering what was going through his mind. Was he a creeper or a scammer? I was ready for anything....I thought.

“Yes, I do.” He grinned at Tenesee. “Especially people with little kids. Okay buddy, where are you going with this? I readied my self to make an aloof comment and skedaddle down the aisle. He held out his hand toward me again. There were some $20 bills folded neatly in it. “Here you go,” he said.

“Oh, no! I a can't take that! No, you keep it.” I looked at his eyes and saw a warmth there, that I had missed the first time. I looked at the money. Of course I could use it. Who didn't need more grocery cash? Especially those of us that refuse to live off of Ramen noodles and Kool-aide just because they are cheap.

“No, please, take it. This is what I do. I like to give. Please! It's my blessing.” He pressed it into my hand and looked at the kids and smiled.

“Thank you, so much! That's awesome.” I took the money and thanked him again. Well, what could it hurt? I hadn't met him on Craigslist and he wasn't asking for my bank account number. This was just a nice deed and obviously I should take my 2 yr old to the store more often, looking like a wayward orphan.

He walked away, and I half expected him to disappear. Angels have poofy white hair, you know...and apparently very cool hands. I didn't stop thinking about it all day. I am still thinking about it. It is so easy for us to step across the “that's-so-wierd” barrier and do something nice. Just to do it.

CNN should take a week, or even one day, off of reporting all of the filth and nastiness of mankind, and do some stories on the wonderful and the good! I don't want to know about the evil choices that people make because of a series of bad decisions and events that have taken place in their lives. Rape, murder, and violence should not be the news that is spread around the world at mock speed. I don't watch the news. I skip the headlines on AOL that start out with, “Woman convicted of killing her children.” I will not and absolutely refuse to have it in my mind. It does not exist in my world.

“Well, Shoshannah, it happens. You can't ignore it. It's reality.”

It's not my reality. Imagine what it would be like if the news was all about miraculous wonderful acts of kindness and generosity? What would we be spreading then? Instead of going to work and saying, “Oh, man, did you hear about that wacko in Waco?” We'd be saying, “Hey, did you see that thing on the news about the poofy haired angel guy?”

My mantra for the week is: Love creates more love. The good is ever abundant. What I focus on becomes an intricate part of my make up. I want a good foundation to build on. I don't want rot and decay. There are so many great stories and information to pass around.

From now on, my stories that I make up are going to be about good things. That gold digger lady wasn't a gold digger at all. Her car probably broke down on the way to the nursing home to visit her Mother. The guy she was with picked her up because she was walking in heels and needed a ride. He was looking at his watch because he was late for work. Then he gave her his triple A card, as he dropped her off at the dealership, to get her car worked on. What a nice guy.

There are many ways to "fight" against the negative things in this world. If you want to start a campaign against something, then that is fine. It takes perseverance to make radical change. It takes changing laws and advocating the good to bring about better living conditions. But, I personally think it is very ironic, when I hear about a man that hated abortion so much that he shot the abortion doctor.! Isn't that a bit of an oxymoron? To murder so that no more deaths occur? If you don't like something, don't be part of it. Spend time doing and supporting things that you believe in, not hating people for doing the things that you don't.Maybe that guy should have spent a little more time loving the miracle of birth, creating a family, and raising some beautiful children of his own to make good choices and to enjoy LIFE!

We can curse and scream at the darkness. We can beg, plead, rebuke and pray. "Why is it so dark in here!?" But until we turn on a light...it will never go away. It's simple. It's beautiful. And, wherever you are, produce-section-20$-bill-angel-guy....thanks a lot for the blessing. You just made my laundry day, a whole lot brighter!