Understandabilityness

There is a list of words that need to be in the dictionary. For starters let's just say "funner". I like that word and the fact that it is not a word is annoying. "More fun" isn't near as fun as "funner".

"It was funner bringing the dog on the sled."
"Oh, my gosh, that was so much funner!"

Charlee Beth invented a word when she was about three. I would say something like, "Charlee please don't pull on that." She would reply with, "I amn't". You may need to say this one over a couple of times. The contraction is formed with "am not." Kinda like"is not", or "isn't." A little like "are not," or "aren't." You get the picture. Amn't. It's a good word. I am putting it in my school dictionary of new words.

Who has the power to make words? We do. But who are the dudes who are writing them and making them into real words? Is there a government branch in charge of this? Hmmm. Webster would flip in his grave to see the dictionary now.

My husband is grand for creating wordal novelties. (Hey, "wordal"....that's a pretty good one, too!) But, Travis came up with "rotisserate". This is a verb and you do it while standing around a very hot campfire. It is a combination of the word "rotate" and "rotisserie". This makes complete and total sense and from now on you will not be able to spin around the fire without thinking, "I am rotisserating!"

Aside from being funner, another great thing about inventing words is that you can also invent their spelling. I cannot spell "rotisserate" incorrectly. When I push the spell check icon, do you know how many words are already highlighted in yellow?? A lot. But, guess what....I don't care. I am president of the word bureau right now and I do not have listen to spell check because it obviously hasn't gotten the new updated memo including these fine words.

How about words that babies can't pronounce correctly and we all start saying them because they are cute?:

picey=spicy
bess=dress
peez=please
na noo=thank you
shoshun=lotion
noonees=noodles
wuv ooo=love you
tiss=kiss
queer=clear!
etc., etc.,

In life we cling to these sweet familiar mispronounced words because it stops these babies from aging. The way they see the world also slows us down. Why explain that "arm pat" is really "arm pit" until their friends laugh at them? We love these things that make us all unique. They are our trademark, our tattoo of love from the innocent eyes that look up and say, "Mom, do you have enough engury to make me some smoothie?"

"That's energy, honey, and yes I do!"

The trivia game that I bought the girls for Christmas was purely educational.....I thought. I didn't have a clue that my $7 would bring so much laughter to our home.

Question: Correct this sentence, "She ain't my friend anymore."
Hannah's answer: She is my friend again!

Wow! That's exactly the way to "correct" that sentence. Make up and get over it. You can still be friends even when you don't agree. Who wrote this stuff?

Question: If a man has a wife, a woman has a.....?
Charlee's answer: A baby!

Well, there's no reason to take that one further. I mean that's common sense right there. We did it three times! We have photo albums. There's mom and dad when they were "SO young!" There's mom and dad with their new puppy. There's mom and dad's wedding. OH!!, there's baby pictures, and lots of them! Yes, when and man has a wife, a woman has a baby. That's scientific brilliance, at it's finest.

These times of precious innocence, I cherish. These little glimpses into simple pure thought, unstained by a busy world of, "No, this is how it really is!" I enjoy watching them. I enjoy seeing what they will deduce from a situation; how they will solve the problem. There is wonderment and curiosity in everything. This is how we are meant to be. I want to pick up that flower and look at it for too long. I want to play a make believe game and never leave the beach until it's so dark that Daddy carries me to the car! (But, somebody, has to make dinner and clean the house!) There are things that I KNOW because I'm 34 yrs old, and there are things that I have forgotten because I'm 34 yrs old.

We come into this life as little scientists, ready to learn and experiment and prove, and prove again. "Is the fire really hot? OWWW....yeah, you weren't a kiddin', Mom!" And, that right there is why we are given big, tall, strong, smart parents to keep us ALIVE while we are experimenting with the world. When the experiments fail and the "wings" we built to "fly" off the porch roof didn't work, it's our brilliant parents who are standing there, hands on their hips, first aid kit at the ready to tell us, "WHAT were you thinking you crazy kid?? I told you to keep your feet on the ground!" (Good thing, the Wright brothers didn't listen too closely...thanks for speedy travel, boys!)

















Too many no's upset our growth and balance, as do, too many yes's. We need contraction and expansion. We need chaos and order. We need quiet and noise. We need movies and hikes. We need bacon and grapefruits. We need sleep and wake, up and down to make us learn and grow. What a beautiful thing this life is!! I have a deep compassion for thought that goes off of the mainstream; minds that work on double artistic time. My love goes out to the frustrated hands thrown in the air chirping, "WHY?!"
"Really, kid, I don't know why, a lot of the time! No body does. But, this way works, and if you can show me another way that fits into my slot of safe, intelligent, and timely...then we can work this out!"

For years I would get distracted with my homework. I would be inventing a story next to the history lesson, just to make it even MORE interesting. I still got the work done and I got good grades, but it was boring just following the curriculum. There had to be more to that Columbus story....stuff they didn't know because they didn't have a camera crew. We took the word of some dudes that kept journals and no pictures! So pretty soon I took to doing my homework with my walkman on and Pearl Jam playing guitar riffs in my ears. It took that creative part of my mind and occupied it so I could be freed up to learn about lipids and white blood cells. It allowed my thought to travel and complete itself. It kept me interested. Now, my mother, who is a VERY understanding and excepting woman, questioned this...repeatedly. But, as it proved to work for me, she allowed me to do it. Just because it's not standard doesn't mean it's not right.

We are all unique and beautifully built. And, if I spend my time trying to change the way that my kids think and believe, so much, that I miss what they are trying to show me....then I'm the one being unteachable. It's a creative dance that we do, keeping our families together. We can't read each other's minds. We must communicate. And, to communicate, we must LISTEN. As a good friend once told me...."That's why God gave us two ears and one mouth, because we are supposed to listen twice as much as we talk." That is dang good advice for all of us. Our way is not the only way. The minute I think I'M right....I am missing a golden nugget somewhere. Love passes ALL understanding! Love drives away ALL fear.

So, as the dictionary in my life expands and the collective books of my family are filled I will turn my mouth off and my ears on. I will correct only the mean behavior that stems from some overlooked burden in her little soul. I will hug, and love, and explain, and swat, and hug again. I will listen and try my best to understand. I will not give up when the dark clouds roll in and the wind doesn't cease, because there is a calm after the storm. There is relief and understanding to be had. It's much FUNNER, and I AMN'T gonna miss it!

You're Aiming Way Too High!

To change I must be entirely sick of my current situation. Kind of like a baby sitting in a dirty diaper and crying because she missed her nap hours ago. It's just got to happen. Change for the better, change for self preservation and sanity.

So I have embarked on a mission to be perfect. Yes, perfect. It's already happening. I shaved. I started a workout routine. I am drinking fresh juice and lemon water. I am not drinking beer at noon. I am eating a diet of glowing, fresh vegetables, fruits, nuts, and seeds. I am not eating Doritos with my beer at noon. I have added yoga to my day. I am watching my words and having patience. I am drinking my tea with my pinkie out. I am writing lists and checking them off. Whew! It's hard work being perfect.















But, at every turn of this mission of mine, people are out to thwart me. And they are all shorter and younger than me. They all look a bit Hollonish...yes, they are my little girls.

I was in the middle of my glorious, very serene, yoga session yesterday when I experienced the first attack. The windows were open and the fresh morning breeze was blowing in on me, while I took my deep breaths and stretched my spine. But, I hadn't started early enough to avoid the crowd, apparently. Out of the room walked the 9 year old. She took the seat nearest my mat on the floor and just watched me with interest...about two feet from my face. I was still trying to concentrate but, surely, it was wavering. The door opened again, and out walked the 6 year old. She took the seat next to her sister and stared. My dear little asana began to falter. (It is already hard enough doing my exercise on the camper floor, where I have about six square feet to move around in.) I no longer felt like a swan, but more like an animal behind glass at the zoo.

Then the questions started.

"Mom, why didn't Harry Potter just tell Dumbledore about the book?"

1,2,3,4,5-concentrate, Shoshannah-6,7-

"Mom, can I make pancakes this morning?"

10,11,12,13-breathe deep, now-

"Mom, when is summer warm enough that we can swim?"

"Mom, what is a mammal?"

No proper yogi can endure this barrage of random mind stealing thoughts. But, a perfect person can. Because a perfect person knows that the yoga isn't more important than little sweet girls that need answers to their curious questions. To get frustrated with them isn't a solution to my concentration problem. I just need to take that "relax" part in the yoga book and change the meaning to "help small children start their day." There is no need to fume, "Girls, give me ten more minutes!"

I smiled in spite of myself, as I looked into their glowing wondering eyes. This is why you don't take your offspring to real yoga classes. You wouldn't need the little bell to rouse you from your silent happy place. Tenesee would just holler, "Mom, I gotta poo poo, " and the spell would be broken. A perfect person's solution to the dilemma...get up earlier tomorrow!

There is no way to escape the things that make life "normal." The baby will puke on my shirt. The mail will drop in the puddle. The debit card will mysteriously not work with that pin number that I'm sure is the right one. The gas will run out in the car. The bike will have a flat tire. The 6 year old will spill milk down the entire front of the cupboard and into the drawers. The spouse will say the wrong thing, or the right thing at the wrong time. The toilet will get plugged. The 3 year old will break that beautiful serving bowl. The car will get stuck in the snow. The computer will lose connection right when I am almost done with my application!



















And during all of this "normalness" I will throw my hands in the air and yell, "Ugh! I am NOT my situation. This is NOT happening, is it?!" But it is happening. And I must deal with it. I must smile, laugh and act generally undisturbed by it because I am on the quest of perfection. I can't permit it to unravel my day.

But, back when I wasn't perfect...I just might not have handled it so well. I might have cried. I might have paced up and down the living room randomly muttering a phrase of confusion over and over again until the kids asked tentatively, "Mom, are you okay?"

I might have said something nasty to the phone lady who over charged me for the third time in a row. It might not have been something you would want to repeat with small children in the room...oh yeah, there were small children in the room.

I might have thrown things. Just maybe. I might have given that little toy, that was left on the floor for the 100th time, and feels just like a pine cone on my bear foot at 3 a.m., a severe pelting against the wall.

Wow. It's a good thing that I'll never do that again, now that I'm perfect!

Instead I will analyze the situation and say to myself, "What can we learn from this?" I will speak calmly and firmly to the phone lady. I will wince with pain as I step on the toy and place it quietly in the toy basket with a shaky smile, "Those darling kids." I will breathe deep and patiently set the 2 year old on her bed while she cries because she can't have candy for breakfast. Then I will hold her close and try to understand how hard it is to be a sugar addict!

The sun is shining now and the smell of cut grass is floating through the air. The sound of the birds and the distant sound of the lawn mower are reminding me that summer is just around the corner. The day is new again. What a gift. It's time to practice opening up and letting go. It's time to remember who I was and who I am and who I want to be. It's a day for fresh lemonade and no mistakes!

And perfect?...well, it's in the eye of the beholder. Because, guess what, I already am. Even when I yell and even when I cry and even when I forget to laugh and even when I skip my yoga and drink coffee instead...I am still the me I am supposed to be. Because, I don't believe in mistakes. I don't believe that life is too hard to handle. I don't believe in "Oh, I wish I would've done it that way!" It doesn't exist. The past is passed! There are only the beautiful reminders of those days, that I choose to keep around.

















When I open the boxes of pictures that span over 30 years and when I read those journals I hear the voice of a child, teenager, lady, and a woman in the making. I laugh at the changes I have made and I shake my head in disbelief at the way I am still the same. Because we are all perfect people, just surrounded by imperfect circumstances. We do get to choose our reactions though, and they may as well be good ones, worthy of the history books. I want to laugh at my mistakes and I want to teach my girls to do the same. Life isn't always easy, but, then again, no on ever said it would be!

Rodeo Weekend...Hollon Style!

The sun is out. It went away. It's out again! Oh...is it raining?! Ah, the sun is back and I'm gonna have to take off this jacket. Brrrr, that wind just picked up again...would you hand me my jacket? Riggins in May. This weather can never make up it's mind. I just tell my little girls that winter and summer are wrestling again. Winter will lose and that's called spring.

Every geographical area has their own clock and calender centered around it's celebrated events. In Riggins, Rodeo weekend means more than too many cars parked up the River Road, big trucks cruising Main Street with 14 intoxicated people hanging out of the back, food vendors in every little slot they can fit in and having to quadruple stock the beer order. It really means it's time to plant your tomatoes. You can't go wrong if you put those starts in the ground on the first weekend of May. ALL the old timers say so, and I have to agree. It's a good omen....and you can almost bet it won't freeze again.

Gramma says, "If your plants like you, honey, you'll have a ripe tomato by the 4th of July." Of course, she plants Early Girls and her plants love her and she ALWAYS has a ripe beauty by then. She knows just what to feed them and when. She knows just how far apart to space them so that they don't get claustrophobic or lonely. She knows that they like people and that they don't like cigarette smoke. I absolutely adore watching Gramma in the garden.

Rodeo weekend also means that the morels are out. You can bet your life on it. Just like clockwork every year. In fact, back in the day, we used to make an annual get-out-of-town-to- hunt-morels weekend, on every rodeo. This was in between our stage of party-till-you-drop and the OH!-we-have-kids stage. These days morel hunting is an adventure and a mainstay for all of us. We gather up the baskets and the pocket knives. We load up the dog and three squealing girls with pony tails. We turn the music on and head up "No-Tell-'Em" Creek. We unleash on that hill like no body's business! Daddy always finds the first mushroom and the girls fight over who has the biggest one and then we all whisper so the baby can get her nap in the car seat. Inevitably, we run into friends up there, that are doing the same thing, and we stop for a chat over the hood of the rig. It's good 'ole fashioned fun.




But, on the first weekend of May we do make it downtown for the Riggins Rodeo madness, eventually. The kids know that the parade means candy and pretty ladies on horses. The parents know it means Bloody Marys are acceptable, and even recommended, before noon. Sunday is the day for our family to get over to the Rodeo grounds and vie for a spot on the locals bleachers. It's the day to hope for sun. There are less crowds and most of the crazy youngins are so hungover they don't head out into daylight until noon.




Last year, we had perfect weather for our Sunday adventure. We parked on the outskirts of town, loaded up our picnic basket, and made the trek across the bridge to the Rodeo action. The first thing that happens in a crowd is that the parents panic and the kids turn off their ears and get the blank stare going. We made sure that the girls were out of imminent road danger and that they were holding our hands, while Daddy started herding his crew to safety, all the while balancing the baby in the back pack. We were quite a scene.

As soon as we got to the edge of the moving mass of people, we saw the familiar faces of some of our good friends. The kids ran to greet each other and we made our way to the booth to pay. I quickly counted heads and we proceeded in the direction of the bleachers on the far side of the arena.

As we slowly weaved our clan to camp Rodeo, the deep voice of the announcer came across the loud speaker, "We have a lost little girl up here. She must have been told not to talk to strangers, because she won't tell us her name!" He chuckled at his own joke. Travis and I looked at each other and laughed. What a good kid, we both thought.

"Where's Charlee?", I heard one of the kids ask. And it sunk in....NO WAY! Where is Charlee???

I looked at Travis carrying the baby on his back, he looked at me, "RUN!", he yelled.

At this precise moment, the announcer's voice said, "She finally decided to talk and said her Daddy's name is Travis Hollon!" PANIC!

I darted through the arena dodging horses and clowns and slipping in mud and muck. I panted as I made my way up the steps to the announcer's booth. No Charlee. They looked at me. I looked at them.

"You must be the Mom? Someone came and got her already." I didn't say a word as I fled down the steps and headed in the other direction. I got around to the road side and there she was holding hands with Rhonda Spicklemire, looking sheepishly up at me. Thank God for good people and a small town!! I hugged my middle child, and felt mad and glad at the same time.

"What happened, honey?!" I looked intensely into her eyes and held her close.

"I was following your legs and then they weren't your legs...they were somebody elses," she replied shakily, trying to smile.

So we lost a kid and we hadn't even been there for 15 minutes! I rounded back past the ticket booth, a sheepish Charlee Beth in tow, and the ticket collector said, "You must be hell in Walmart!" I laughed and sighed. I felt relieved and embarrassed and ready for a beer. It was the start of a beautiful Rodeo.

We are more than hoping, this year, to up our odds on making it to the bleachers with all 5 members of the family! And as we all laugh at the cooler races, the bumps and bruises, and as we "ooh" and "aah" at the bull riders and cheer our hearts out for the locals, we will remember that this is the end of spring and the beginning of summer. We will remember how happy we are that we have this day to laugh and cry with our friends. We will enjoy the innocence of the sweet wrangler butted children perched on the fence. We will hug old classmates and kiss their babies. We will try and drink some water in between the cheap canned beer and we will scream and yell and enjoy the comfort of knowing that the tomatoes are in the ground and the morels are drying on the counter. Happy 2011, first weekend in May, Rodeo madness to all!

A Day Off

Ever since I had my first baby, a beautiful blonde tiny girl with a halo on her head and a dimple in her chin, I didn't want to let go of her. She was so dang hard to get into this world that I got a little protective over her. I mean, after having two mutt dogs that sleep outside rain or shine and that drive around in the back of the truck at 65 mph, a baby is SO fragile and dependent.

I know I was born to be a Mother...amongst other things. I took to it with a surge of energy and passion, but that didn't mean I knew what I was doing. I had a lot of theories that broke real quick. Babies do not want to ride in a back pack down a trail for hours on end just because you love nature. Instead, she just might have to poop when you put her in there and then, because you can't speak baby, ends up crying the whole time you figured she would gaze up at the trees and blue sky in awe. Such a rude awakening. .....not that it ever happened to me!

So we didn't leave our cherubs even though we were told over and over again that it was good for all of us. We just like to be together. And just like you don't need someone to tell you when you're hungry, you don't need someone to tell you when you need a break. You just know. And after 9 yrs on the job I was ready. Last week I had a DAY OFF!

I needed to get out of the house without kids and go do something with adults and enjoy uninterrupted conversation. I cried and begged and pleaded and bargained and blackmailed my way to the top of the list for "next in need of vacation to avoid nervous breakdown".

So on a Sunday afternoon, I called my Mother and told her I would be headed to McCall to visit her the following morning after coffee. I came back in the house and told my husband the plan and he said, after 5 minutes....

"Why don't you go up tonight?"

"Really?! Just leave? Just like that? I need to make some dinner for you guys--"

"I'll make the dinner."

Oh, my! The man of my dreams....and I was actually married to him! That made it easy. It took me all of 2 seconds to pack. No diaper bags, no extra water bottles, no 50 changes of clothes in case the baby pees her pants or the big girls roll down the dirt hill....just one bag....ONE! After deciding to make my husband a list of JUST how to do everything while I was gone and just how NOT to do things, and then changing my mind and deciding that even if they ate cereal and watched Scooby Doo for two days......they would survive, I climbed in the pick up and waved goodbye.

I rolled the windows down and let the cool wind blow all around the cab of the truck. I turned up the stereo too loud because I could. And I tried not to worry.

"Oh, yeah, I have to mail that stuff to the insurance company....the septic needs to be emptied....I hope he doesn't forget to check the mouse trap...."

Shut-up, Shoshannah! Who cares. It's less than two days. It will be okay.

So, needless to say it took a couple hours before I could calm down and relax. Mom and I went out to the McCall Brewing company and snuggled into a corner table with an appetizer and a glass of zin. It had been too long between times like these. To push that stress and guilt from my "mother mind" felt so good, once I got the hang of it. My job doesn't allow for stray thoughts very often with a 2 yr old always ready to walk off the edge or step in the water or try to use the kitchen knife or saying, "I gotta poo poo!" So to have that time at my disposal, to think what I wanted to think, and even more importantly say what I wanted to say without the worry that it would need explaining to my 9 yr old and spelling all of the bad words and making kids leave the table so they wouldn't learn how to gossip....aaahhh, sweet relief!

I layed down that night and thought to myself...

"I have not had one stressed out reprimand come out of my mouth in like 8 hrs. I am a fun person...not just a "no no" fountain. I am SO going to enjoy this!!"

And I did. We watched a movie. I helped Mama put up a new display of her beautiful paintings in the Gallery 55. We went shopping for groceries and laughed in the aisles like little kids. We made a spring green salad with smoked salmon and bought fresh salsa and chips at Chipalas. We celebrated my brother's 24th birthday and stayed up WAY to late. Little brother and I bonded with shuffle board and PBR. We sang at the top of our lungs to Queen and CCR and laughed at stupid jokes and old memories. We snuck around the house the way we used to 20 yrs ago when we were sneaking chocolate chips late at night. It was like being 20 again.

When it was time to get in the truck and make my journey back up the road toward Riggins I was very satisfied....and a bit hungover. I stopped and got an Americano with cream at the drive through espresso shop and relished my folk music and the beautiful spring day. That 2 days was like 2 wks.

I pulled into the driveway and you should've seen my greeting! Oh, man, I was royalty!! Daddy and the girls flung the door open and greeted me with gusto. I MISSED them. I love being needed and loved on and I love long stories with stutter words. I love my loud laughing girls in their beds in the morning and eventually making their way to our room with giggles. I love making dinners and cleaning up and I love turning on music and watching them dance. I love family get togethers where we all laugh and tease each other and where we play games and comment on the weather and take turns holding the fussy baby. I love to get away and to realize who Shoshannah is by herself. I love to dig down deep and find new enthusiasm for ways to express myself. And I love who I am to them....the Mommy, the safe place, the kiss for owies, the kitchen boss and the story teller.

It is like one of my Mama's paintings, the ones with all the colors. You see the picture....you think you know what it is. Then as you look closer you see each brush stroke and all of the colors within the colors and you realize that it takes alot to make up the vision. You can feel what it is through all of those movements and textures and it makes you want to laugh and cry.

We are all made up of each other and of ourselves. We are all alike and different and needy and independent and fragile. We are strong and full of life and we are weak and need built up to face the storms. We are a people that need to be reminded what it was like when we were free and young so that we can appreciate being servants and aging into a beauty we never knew was going to be as awesome as it is....and OH IT IS!

Oh, and P.S. When I got back the 2 yr old's finger and toes were painted! Yay, for a sweet wonderful Daddy that does spelling tests and makes good meals and reads while Mommy is away!!

Mean Mommy Syndrome

Loud is different than mean. But, being loud is kinda mean sometimes. Yes, I was having a mild anxiety attack. Maybe she had picked up on that? She was innocently sitting on the toilet. The perfect 2 yr old with her simple mind. I hollered out the door some instruction-rule-reprimand to the other members of my tribe, and she looked up sharply, "You mean, Mama?"

Who me? Your sweet Mother that cleans your messes, makes your meals, holds you and sings to you, wipes your fat spaghetti covered cheeks (and the other cheeks)...NO, I am NOT mean! But....I had been annoyed, under gunned, out numbered, hormonal, and depleted of patience before noon. In some cultures that could probably be considered "mean".

Some days it's SO easy to be nice. I WANT to stop doing dishes to run and kiss her little knee when she trips. I want to read that Curious George book for the 100th time. I want to patiently listen while she tells me all of her little secrets. But, that week...the week my 2 yr old dubbed me as MEAN....I didn't want to do any of the things I was supposed to do. I don't particularly like myself on those days. The kids are looking at me like a boiling kettle that's gonna start screaming at any second. The school gets done at a frantic pace and they are looking for the door! Everyone has bad days. But, for some reason, when MAMA has a bad day...watch out!

It's because I am the support beam for this unit. I am made just perfectly to fit under my house of Hollons, and never let them drop. I know this. It all rides on Mama's mood. But, instead of an intricate part of construction, some days.... some rare-windy-snowy-wet-live-in-a- camper-with-three-kids days....I feel a little more like that brown rug that lays by the front door. I catch most of the dirt before it becomes part of my floor. I need shaken and beat out just to look like I'm doing my job. I am the mess protector. And, no I'm not complaining. It's simply true that to be great you have to be small. And to be small you have to realize you are great. I'm doin' a GREAT job.....that's my mantra that goes through my head on a reel.

If I could turn back time I would not change ONE thing in my life. Not one. I used to have a list of things I would change. But, you know what? It's all part of this beautiful mud rug that makes me and I'm keeping it all. I have always been where I am supposed to be. If it wasn't a success I learned that I didn't want to do that again. And maybe I would do it again, anyways. Life is short and we are people that are in need of change, challenge, and excitement.

I LOVE my job. The beam and carpet thing. Love it. I cannot blame my bad mood on my three kids. They are still doing what they've always done. It just happened to be getting on my nerves more during Mean Week. They laugh, run, spill, draw, cry, fight, eat, spill, potty, create, sing, talk, love, read, play, and sleep. They are imperfectly perfect.
























I cannot blame my bad mood on my Man. I know I'm the lucky one. He is trustworthy, honest, and fun. I look in his eyes and see that 18 yr old that drove too fast and smoked Camels, two at a time, and I know that we are meant to be together through the rain and the shine. No, it was not my sweetheart's fault that I was in the funk.

When the wave of blah hits and I feel like I will literally explode if another thing goes 1/2 inch off my controlled little train track of life then I really only have one person to blame. Yes, it's me. Wow, it sure feels good to admit that. There is something nagging at the back of my mind when the mad Shoshee rears her head. It could be lack of outside time. Overindulgence in the bacon products and needing a cleanse. It could be rest. But, somewhere in my subconscious I know what I need to do. It's just a matter of DOING it. Making the change and standing strong.

So, to ease the pressure of being everything to everybody I took a trip to the Main Street Hair Salon. I know, I'm not a salon kinda girl...but somewhere inside of every woman is a princess waiting to be pampered. I suppose I should have gotten a massage or a hot oil treatment or a trim...but I went for the waxing of the facial hair. It kinda fit with the week I was having. No kids. No questions. Just me and the warm wax and laughs with those fun ladies that make all of Riggins beautiful. Aaaaah, what a treat.

It's not politically correct, AT ALL, to write about your bad week WHILE you are in it. It's okay afterwards because you can laugh about it. When you are IN it, nothing comes to mind but the negative without the kiss of witty sarcasm. It's just plain "whining" and that's all there is to it. So, as the Mean Week moves further back in time and as the 2 yr old has decided I must be nice and isn't asking if "You mean?" 5 times a day, then it must be okay to write about it and laugh.

If I just take some independent moments to realize who I am, not who I was or who I want to be....but who I AM, then I can see where I need to be headed. I am the me that I am supposed to be. Only the drive within can push me to greater heights. I awake in the wee hours thinking of all of the things that I want to do. All of the songs I long to play on the guitar, all of the books that I want to write, all of the new things I want to teach the girls...all of it just courses through me. Then I turn back into the butterfly I am instead of wallowing on the ground, a fat old caterpillar.

Home Sweet Home

Home is where your people are. Home is the place you feel most comfortable. People say, "There's no place like home," but that's not true. There are a million places like home....they are just "home" to other people. The older you get the more "homes" you have. I am comfortable here in the Salmon River Canyon. There is an ongoing relationship that I have with everyone and everything here. I may not even know it exists until I REALLY think about it. After living somewhere long enough, you will eventually have a story about everybody. Maybe just a little story, but a story just the same. Especially when that town has less than 500 people living in it.

I moved to Riggins, from Alaska, 17 years ago. My family had formerly lived in New Meadows, but on my return, my Dad had remarried and moved to Pinehurst. Man did it suck! I did NOT want to be here. The mountains were too tall. The girls dressed too preppy. The school was too big. (Yes, big! I came from a class of 7 and a basketball team of 6.) All of the faces were unfamiliar. It just wasn't MY town...yet.

I met kids that were nice. I met kids that were rude. I made people laugh. I fought with the teacher that made fun of my pants. I skipped school and jumped in the River and smoked cigarettes for the first time. I got good grades and kissed boys...not too many! I drank soda pop and made 3 pointers. I learned to ride the bus in style.

Pretty soon the mountains were like my Mama's hug and the River was like my sister. And, I found a best girlfriend that didn't have to wear make up all the time. Her mom had a van with a stereo that worked some of the time. We put on old army jackets and found our niche as the little hippie chicks. We drove out to Time Zone Bridge and talked about deep and trippy things. I started spending all the time I could up the Salmon River and learned how to drink cheap beer with the best of them....and the worst. I bought a vw van and learned how to play the guitar. I got a job at a fire lookout on the Clearwater and learned to be alone. I got a little puppy dog. It died. I got another one.

I met my husband in the boy I knew from school and we made each other laugh...and cry. We bought llamas and hiked around finding antlers. We camped and scoured the beaches for old rocks. We bought Oly stubbies in the box for $4. We hunted for deer and ate breakfast burritos. We hung out with Grampa and Gramma and fed their chickens. We bought a bus, with history, and parked it on the River. We decorated it with plants and pictures and played house. I sewed pillows for my dog.

We got married on our beautiful Salmon River. A grand shindig with a roast pig and family and music and swimming and sun. We had our first baby on that same River. It's been 9 years ago, this week. I was so young. We had no idea what to expect. I read 15 books on breathing and eating right and massage and nursing. It didn't prepare me for what I had to do. Nothing can teach you to labor, like labor. My sister came to stay with us. We played Skip-bo and cooked sausages and ate fish tacos and laughed a lot. She rubbed my feet. Travis paced nervously and mopped the floor. He "caught" the baby...little Hannah Hollon! She was perfect and she looked just like her Daddy!

We moved the bus to a road job in Council for awhile. We saved up $7,000 in a diaper box under the fridge for our dream property. I washed cloth diapers in a bucket and played with my baby in the shade by the creek. We met friends that are now like family. We went to their house and ate good food and stayed up late. Then we went back to Riggins and we bought 2 acres on Shingle Creek. We built a cabin. We planted trees and made mud pies and had campfires and told stories. We hung a swing up for the 2 yr old and taught her to count.

We had another baby! I was experienced enough to be scared of what was coming that time. I knew how hard it was going to be. I also knew how wonderful it was. Travis cooked pork chops, fed the midwives, and I paced and drank Raspberry Leaf tea. Beautiful Charlee Beth was born! She looked just like my side of the family! We had now doubled our numbers.

We got chickens. We got goats. We got cats and more dogs. We cut firewood. Travis traveled away to jobs and I stayed and counted days until he came home. I started homeschooling the girls. I went to the beach with my girlfriends and their kids. We taught them to swim and cussed the rafts that pulled up on "our" beach. We went to the library. We went to the store. Travis built a rental house in town. We built a health food store in town. We sold organic veggies and creamer. We sold our cabin. We rented for the first time in our lives and lived in North Riggins! We taught the girls to ride bikes and circled the neighborhood, visiting with anyone who happened to be out in their yard.

We had another baby! This time I wasn't scared. I was brave. I broke records, I'm sure. Tenesee Rose was added to the clan. We figured out we were very good at making pretty girls! The big sisters were so excited. Grammas and Grampas and Aunts and Uncles and friends and neighbors came to hold the new Hollon. We hosted Christmas in that house. We were all grown up.

This canyon holds all of that for me. And we are making more memories every day. The kids have best friends and they ride horses and they help us find mushrooms in the spring. We go out to Ruby Rapids and look for garnets. We go and lay in the sun while the kids chase the dog. We go in the bank and eat suckers. We go to basketball games and yell and chase kids. We stay up too late singing by the campfire...and forgetting most of the words. We chase the neighborhood goat!

It's day in and day out and it's all of these little things we do, when we think we are doing nothing, that make up just who we are. Time builds love and bonds that will last a lifetime. So, even when we leave we take the Salmon River and all of you with us. We load up our camper and head out for new adventures. We reunite with family we haven't seen for years. We see the coast. We walk new Main Streets and look in their little shops. We get jobs in new towns and make new friends. And, all the while we talk about home and what we will do when we get back. The kids make maps and plans for new forts and games they will play with their buddies at home. Leaving is somehow always about getting back.

So, I guess we are getting old. I guess we will never look better than we do today! I know that somehow, it will all make sense at the end of the road. I won't sit around and feel like I missed it all. I will relish in all of these things that make up who I am, who we are. Because we are living it up! We aren't wasting a minute! I see these certain strong and bold people around me. They let their hair go gray. They get a little thick around the middle. They laugh and hold their grand babies and tell stories over coffee. They are beautiful! I want to be like that.

I used to wonder how I would handle teething and the first day of school and temper tantrums and lies and talks about sex. I see now that you are just prepared when it comes. Somehow you are unfolding to this readiness of each stage of life. So I won't be scared when I roll out of bed and take a minute to straighten up and have to pop my left shoulder so it'll get moving again. And I won't run away from my 40th birthday party. I will enjoy each and every stage with all that is in me. Because, that's the good stuff!~

Time & Money Should Get Married

I feel like a bank robber when I go to the tax man. They seem to look through you as a person, and see numbers and red flags. Kinda like getting a physical from the doctor. "Okay, what's wrong? What do the numbers say?" Tax returns are not my friendly good feeling favorite thing to do.

We decided to have like 3 appointments on the day we did the taxes. May as well do it ALL when we leave town. That's not always the most peaceful and relaxing choice to make with the whole family stuffed in the cab. Unfortunately, we got there about an hour before any of the appointments started. This leaves 3 restless girls on the backseat ready to bounce out the door.
We made the slick decision to go to the playground. It was about 20 degrees. The kids lasted about 10 minutes. Their parents were sitting in the heated cab of the pickup after about 4!
Aha, another good decision! Two spicy Italian footlongs from Subway. Back to the picnic tables for the explosion of food.

After I leave the house is when I really take in what my kids are wearing. Especially the middle child. I looked now as we ate our sandwiches and she gave us a tap dancing routine in her pink cowgirl boots on top of the table. Her tall Peruvian goat herding hat flopping on top of her head. I just started to laugh! She flailed around like a sugared up country girl. Kids just want to have fun. Parent just want a tax refund! Dang adults anyway.



I guess I just don't understand money yet. It's the sweet ticket. It's food, shelter, gas, and fun stuff. It takes a lot of time to make it, generally. Where is the money tree? I've heard money is evil. If this is true then so is food. You can do "evil" things with any good thing. Money is lovely! When we have it we go to motels and we buy the good drinks and we put lots of diesel in the truck and drive, drive, drive. We get gidgets and gadgets that make this 'ole life a little easier. I personally like spending too much on music and movies. Shoes! Yah, shoes for sure! When we have money we have more time to just BE together and not worry so much about work. What a funny little circle we run.

I have big ideas though. I don't give up too easy. I've got a plan to trick this old money circle. Its a form of positive denial. I am going to practice feeling rich! I am going to say, "Boy, we are living the best of the best right now." And, I plan to say it A LOT. Then pretty soon I will believe it is easy and then it will be. Because, really, we are! We are healthy, strong, beautiful people.

I learned this trick from the kids. They make believe everything. Hannah, my 9 year old, was walking around the house with the play phone, laptop and wallet full of money. She sounded very serious in her business. She was busy "blogging" she told me. And she apparently wasn't hurting financially! She had a good 15 minute telephone conference with some agent. I remember being a kid and doing stuff like this...with 80's technology, mind you. I remember playing "adult" all the time. Oh, man, if only we knew how long adult hood was going to be...we might have played "kid" more.

So the tax man turned out to be a woman and we went in and split jobs and kids and appointments and made it without disaster, for the most part. We bought suckers and went on little outside walks and IRS stuff is done again for another year. And of course my thought is all organization for 2011. No more keeping things I don't need and tossing things I'm 'spose to keep. I will do it perfectly this year...until about July. Then I'll look in the box and say things like, "Why is the March bill in the May slot?" and "Where did that hot water heater receipt go?"
I'm not the only one. I could start a little club of good intentioned mis-prioritizers like myself and we would all share our stories over coffee with kids playing and tap dancing in the background. We would laugh because the government must have the same problem...minus the kids.

I've grown up in low income areas all of my life. What does this mean? Well, there's the politically correct way to describe it, and the red neck way. I'll just skip the first one. "Low income" means that you know what's on sale at the discount store because it's what you and all of your neighbors are having for dinner. You drive around in the back of your Dad's Toyota Corolla wondering if it's going to break down. It means you have a sack lunch and so does everyone else. In fact, it could mean Mama shows up behind the school with a huge pot of soup. A low income community means that we are all cutting firewood and filling the freezer in October.



This is good. This is the rich way of life, even though it doesn't show up in the numbers. Because, guess what else the country has to offer? Camping and beach parties with cheap soda, beer and hot dogs. We have the stars without city lights and fresh air. We have friendly faces that we recognize from childhood on up. We have football games under the big lights and drives into the woods. We know about invention and winging it. We know how to raise chickens, grind elk sausage, make bread, sew, unclog drains, fix sewer hookups, and cut down trees. We know how to clip coupons and count change. We look each other in the eye and shake on things. So that's the red neck way to tell the income status of your geographical location. If you are invited in for a keystone light or box wine, and if your stereo is in your pick up instead of an entertainment center, then it's pretty likely you live in a small town. And if small town means small income, I'm not scared! Bring on the spring and we'll work when we can and bbq some steelhead!