I met a man on Tuesday who had kind eyes and a polite manner. When our conversation began, we spoke of technical things related to the mask he wears for his job, safety ratings, gas mileage, cargo space, etc. But the magical part of our encounter happened after we sat down to discuss financial matters. In the downtime between credit checks and general accounting flibberty jibbit, he and I spoke of "people". He talked about his grandmother with gentleness and respect, his father, who passed away six years ago and before that instilled in him values that seem old fashioned and out of date in today's world. To my mind, however, those values will never be out of fashion. His father taught him about standing on his own two feet, taking care of family, and treating others "right". I nodded my agreement and said to him, "In the end, the only things that truly matter in this world are how we treat others, and the love we share. It is the only thing of real value that we will ever have or give." He smiled at me. "Yes ma'am," he agreed quietly.

As the finance manager approached us to discuss various terms in the sale of a car, he too was sucked into a lengthy discussion about who he was behind his "mask". He told me he had served in the Air Force and talked about his job, bases where he'd been, etc. His eyes lit up as he shared his stories with me and it makes my heart all squishy remembering how his entire demeanor changed. Beyond the numbers, the business at hand, my daughter and I got to meet the men behind those titles, those masks they wear all day.

People. Stories. Every single human being walking this Earth has a heart that beats with passion for something and a soul that recognizes other souls around it well beyond those masks we all wear per our place in society. Sure, those two men I've been speaking with the last two days are a car salesman and a finance manager for a random car dealership in Western North Carolina. But that is not ALL they are. They are men who treated me and my daughter with respect, cared about much, much more than the money they would make from a sale, and let their masks slip happily away when dealing with a woman they didn't know whose main concern was for the safety and well-being of her child.

I sat curled up in the big, black leather chair listening to my daughter laying the groundwork for her future while I caught up on social media. I read random posts and scrolled through various pages until I came across one that said, "This video will change your life." *snorts* I've heard that, seen that claim before, but out of curiosity I clicked on it. Honestly, it was very much like falling down a rabbit hole, as I watched the little girl's story that resonated in so many ways with my own. There were differences, but the essence was the same and hot tears burned my cheeks as she spun her eloquent tale.

"Sometimes someone hurts you so bad, it stops hurting at all. Until something makes you feel again and then it all comes back. Every word. Every hurt. Every moment. How could you understand where I come from? Even if you ask. Even if you listen. Even if you see, you do not really hear, or see, or feel. You won't remember my story. You haven't walked my path. You haven't seen what I've seen." I shook my head, nodding as she spoke those words. She also spoke about how she felt her life was this giant circle, often a tornado, and she didn't know how to get to a place that was safe. She talked about how frequently she had absolutely no choices of her own, as adults around her continued to make "bad" choices for her life. And finally, she talked about being unwanted, unloved, invisible even. Oh how well I remember those feelings, even though they are now, mostly far removed from the world in which I live today. The foster mother she ended up with was a teacher, who showed her love, infinite patience and kindness. She provided a Safe Harbour for the girl, and at one point she tells her, "You don't have to escape from the tornado, you just have to learn how to live inside of it." She also teaches the girl about what to do when she does get the opportunity to "choose" her destiny... (*There is a ReMoved Part 2 where you can see the "end" of her story. It's a little long, but I think it's totally worth the time.)

Her story has a happy ending and thankfully, so does mine. I am still writing my chapters, forging my path. Sometimes it's a convoluted path, full of thorns, big rocks, and uncertainty. But always, always, I choose. I choose the path with the most light, even if it's rocky and perhaps not the easiest option. I choose the path with the most joy, even when it also includes some sorrow. And by doing so, I have walked out of the "tornado" that began my life and into something altogether new! As my little Ensign would say, "It's a good Navy day!"

Family and solidarity have been on my mind all day. As I choose what to pack for my trip to see my little one graduate from OCS, I also think of her gorgeous sister who is doing her own packing to come with us. One daughter has begun a journey that involves supporting this great Nation, and the other is on her own journey, tenderly cultivating new roots, i.e. that tiny human she brought into this world. As a mother, I look upon both their paths with equal pride, joy, and nervousness.

This morning, the talking heads on all the news stations brought grim news...terrorist bombings in Belgium. And for what?  A world that sometimes feels as if it's seeping hate out of nearly every pore has left me worried about what comes next...for all of us. And yet, when I look into those forest deep green eyes of the boy my baby nurtures and showers with love every day, I see roots of Hope. When I look to the members of my Tribe, their own babies and grand-babies happily displayed on social media, I feel that Hope spreading out across the world. I want it to be enough to counter-balance the hate. I want it to be more than enough to overthrow what is negative and give way to something more spectacular than we, as a people, have ever seen before.

I'm glad I'll be able to take my oldest daughter's hand as we watch her sister be commissioned. Something about her gentle beauty, her quiet, easy-going nature calms my spirit. In fact, it's as if her very essence puts off a vibe of Peace and light. I try very hard to leave anyplace I go better than it was when I found it, even if all I can do is pick up random trash on the ground and dispose of it properly. My most precious gifts to the world, however, are those "new" humans I will someday leave behind as I pass on to the next plane of existence. I couldn't have done that without the Big Guy in the Sky, who trusted them to my care. One day, when I face him again, I hope I will be able to confidently tell him, "Your trust in me wasn't wasted." For now, I just bask in the wonder of the people they've become...one soaring high, the other one growing roots!

My husband raced as fast as he dared to the ER in rural Kansas. It was a snowy night deep in winter and we were losing our baby. I was rushed straight back once we got to the hospital, the ER doc grim as he told me I'd probably abort the baby sometime in the next 24-48 hours. With another little one at home, Brad had to leave me there alone. His pained expression said what his words could not. "I don't want to go but you know I have to," his sad eyes told me. It didn't matter. His work was to protect the life we already had at home, while I waited in fear, mourning the one we were losing.

I was stoic in the dark room, standing at the window watching fat snow fall on the sleeping Kansas city. I picked up the phone and called my father. He answered sleepily on the third ring. "I'm losing the baby," I said on a sob. He was silent for a long time. What could he say? What could he do? He was hundreds of miles away and there were no words of comfort that would ease what I was facing. "It will be okay, girl," he said in his big, gruff voice. I nodded but what else was there to say? We sat in silence on the phone for a long time before he said, "Try to rest and call me if there's any change." "I will," I told him, but I knew I wouldn't 'rest'. I did fall asleep sometime after dawn, but was woken fairly quickly by the voice of my own doctor. "Let's go take a look and see what that baby is doing," he said cheerily. "Wait," I stopped him. "You mean the baby is okay?" He smiled. "Probably, but telling you isn't the same as showing you, so let's have a look."

The ultrasound showed the child I was terrified to bond with, fear of losing her holding me back as hard as I could. But there she was, safe and sound, and it was too late for holding back anymore. I was lost. I prayed as I watched her, begging God not to take her. And he didn't. Five months later, out she came...screaming, healthy and very much alive!

Flash forward almost twenty-three years into the future...and this evening I will pack my bags. Wednesday I will drive to Rhode Island. And Friday, that baby I nearly lost will become an officer in the United States Navy. After she graduates, she will head off to pilot school and learn to fly! My fighter, my defiant, strong-willed, whip-smart little girl has grown into one of my heroes! And really, all I can think to say to that is, God is GOOD!

Technically a violet is a weed. It's certainly not as elegant or showy as, say, an orchid or an aster, nor does it give off any sweet fragrance, like a rose. Still, I have always considered it to be the first true harbinger of Spring. It reminds me of a gentle organic love-note saying, "Warmer weather is on the way and soon every living thing will bloom again." Violets have, in fact, been my favorite flower since childhood (with buttercups, roses, and tulips vying for second spot).

It pains me to have to close up my house this weekend, as old man winter has his way with us one final time. I'm going to miss the warm breezes that gently waft the gauzy curtains at my windows and the sounds of Robins singing loud and merrily outside in the warm sunshine. I will say, though, I'd have been deeply surprised had old man winter not given at least one more icy whisper over the land before warmer weather prevailed. That is the way of things here where I grew up. It has always been woven into the seasons. Some of the more tender buds, unprepared for a stark chill, will die off in the onslaught. The violets, however, will stand their ground, a lavender cloak shielding them at the ready while their pretty faces offer up a sassy, "Challenge accepted!"

I get irritated when my husband insists on mowing over these violet beauties, but it must be done sooner or later to prevent the lawn from becoming a jungle. I am mollified by the fact that my little beauties will grow back again and again, this dainty little promise ever lurking beneath green blades of sweet grass. And I do firmly put my foot down at spraying them with any kind of weed killer, much to my husband's constant exasperation! There well be NO malicious destruction of violets, dandelions, and buttercups in my yard. I refuse to live on a swath of land that looks like a golf course (which is hilarious, now that I think about it, because this entire neighborhood is built on top of what used to be a golf course)! This weekend Spring officially beings here in the South (and around the United States). It will slip in on a cold night without much fanfare, as most of us are forced to turn up the heat or put a warmer blanket on the bed. Unofficially, though, it started for me the day I spotted that first tiny violet in the yard.

My morning didn't go at all as planned. The first hour at work was perfect! I gave my students written instructions, took them in small groups of three, and had them help each other while I clapped encouragingly when they got something correct! They were diggin' it. I was diggin' it. And then the SNAFU happened! I would like to say I handled the changes with grace, but that's not how it went down. I adjusted my course according to my schedule changes, but I was pretty cranky about it and I know it showed! After I'd had an hour or so to quietly stew about my new predicament, something weird happened. I slammed on the mental brakes and told myself to knock it off! The weird part was I did this, really, without even giving it any thought. Apparently my subconscious decided we'd sulked long enough (which is new because I am a world class sulker sometimes). Without any fuss or fanfare, I was just totally over it! It was an odd, yet wonderful feeling to simply be happy in the place I was in, with the people around me, just doing what we do!

I do have a smattering of Irish ancestors, mostly from my mother's side, that sprout along my personal mongrel tree. I'd really like to think that buried somewhere in that ancestral DNA code is a bit of Irish "Luck". That could really come in handy with the plans I'm building for my future. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure what I got instead was a more than healthy dose of Irish temper (sorry about that all y'all people who've been on the receiving end of that)! I remember my father telling me once that Grandpa Brown used to say, "I'd rather be lucky than good!" Today, in honor of Saint Patrick's Day, here's wishing all of us a little bit o' the green luck and hoping we all find ways to salve our tempers! Because I gotta say, being grumpy is NOT a good look for me (or anyone else, in my humble opinion...okay, MAYBE it looks super cute on Oscar the Grouch).

Oprah Winfrey has a show on her network called "Where Are They Now?". I don't actually have any burning desire to find out what has happened to various celebrities that have dropped off the public radar. In fact, I've never been much of a celebrity aficionado. What I really want to know is where the people I've known throughout my life have gone off to! I'm interested in their stories, the bumps in their own road, and their successes! Enter this whacky koo koo thing called Facebook. I spend a lot of time on Facebook, mostly for marketing and research purposes, but the one feature I adore is the opportunity to stay connected to people I don't EVER want to lose touch with.

My Aunt Debbie once teasingly referred to me as a Facebook addict. It might seem that way sometimes, but really I'm addicted to the "stories". This includes what's going on in the lives of my Tribe who live so far away, the military sisters I've made and the people who are a part of their Tribe that I'd be totally unaware of without social media. There is, at least for me, something magical about getting glimpses here and there of people's passions, accomplishments, books they enjoy reading, recipes they find, inspirational quotes they care about and hearing of their adventures as they travel along on their journey through life. The photos of people's dinner crack me up (and inspire me to occasionally post my own), because let's face it, nobody cares what we're eating unless we're invited and don't have to cook or do dishes!

When I look through my "Friend's List", I am amazed and delighted at how many people I have there from high school. Most of those people I've known since I was about the age my students are now, and considering my own super rocky start, it makes me smile to see how well into adulthood many of those connections have stuck. And look at us!!! We all grew up, got jobs, most of us created little people of our own, and we're out "there" now all adulting (not sure how wise that is or who made THAT call, but it beats the alternative, right?)! Perhaps the most wonderful part in finding some of my "Where Are They Now" people is how those roots have started to grow deeper and flourish. I can think of a handful of names that I am truly blessed to be able to get to know from a grown-up perspective. I'm actually very impressed at just how many of us turned out O.K. (myself included)! There are people missing from my "list", like the twin brothers who bullied me mercilessly in 8th grade and my very first absolutely nutso crazy high school crush. Mostly, though, I've been fortunate in having the means to cultivate and grow a community of people I wouldn't trade for the world!

When I began blogging, it often felt as if I would write to you from beneath the blanket in my bed, flashlight in hand as I shared with all of you some pretty scary stories, many of which included ghosts from my past. It was like confiding in hushed whispers to a friend all the things I was afraid to speak aloud. Now, however, we've come out of the dark and oh what a joy that is to my spirit!

Today, when I come here with the sole purpose of writing to you, it is more like sitting down on some ol' front porch and unwinding the tangles of my day. That kinship and connection I feel to you, my readers, is stronger than ever and the numbers on my metaphorical porch continue to grow (...real soon we're going to need a LOT more chairs)! And even when we have difficult things to discuss, there is a great comfort in knowing that whatever it is, I can say it fearlessly.

We all have things in our lives that are uncomfortable to discuss. For some people, just letting those things go and moving on works well as a strategy to get them past difficult times. That doesn't work at all for me in most cases. I need to let it "out", purge it from my psyche', and hopefully find someone who can relate to my issues so that I don't feel completely alone (...and ridiculously foolish). Some topics I have to go even further, beat down with a shovel until I've mentally and physically exhausted myself in an effort to make sense where often there is none to be made (hence the dogged pounding that would go on endlessly if I didn't force myself to have a cutoff point). But now that I have this space with you, this porch where you happily sit by my side as we reflect, ponder, speculate, or just soak up "life", I feel the utter evolution of "blogging". I'm not sure what that word is supposed to mean, or even if I'm doing it "right". Mostly I'm just making up the rules as I go along and taking all of your fabulous feedback into consideration as I do.

We started this journey together in March of 2014 and two years later I want to say THANK YOU for:

• listening
• commenting, in public and in private
• sharing your own experiences
• not judging me or stepping on my pain
• sharing my words with others!

I am blessed every single day by the power, strength, love and support from all of you! Now, let's have a glass of tea, thank the baby Jesus that Monday is nearly over, and listen to these Robins singing in my trees!

Some days, like today, my head is so full of questions I can barely hear myself think! How one brain can hold so many thoughts and a bucket full of snot (thank you sinus infection) at the same time is beyond me! And truth be told, I'm not sure I even want to know all the answers to the ones currently driving me bonkers. I ask myself over and over, "Do you really need to know? How will it change things? What benefit could possibly come from digging out the answers?" I read these memes all the time talking about, "Just let it go" but none of them ever offer actual WAYS of doing that. I mean, if I could just let it go, why wouldn't I? I don't know how to let them go. And I'm sick to death of secrets and lies, relationships based on nothing but DNA or worse, mere familiarity. The older I get, the less patience and time I have to devote on fake anything. Life is difficult enough without the added puzzling mysteries of what is real and what is complete bullshit.

Many people have passed in and out of my life that I wish I had the opportunity to confront face to face and ask, "Why did you do that to me (or not do ______)?" Does the why really matter, though? It doesn't change anything. Hell, even knowing the why often still leaves a host of confusion and...further QUESTIONS! Maybe this is something I'll have to struggle with the rest of my life, this gnawing tenacity for answers. I do know without a doubt that people are messy, ergo relationships are as well. That, at least, answers some of the things I need to know. As for the rest, if I'm really lucky maybe I'll sneeze them out into a tissue and simply throw them away!