 Image@thechive.com Some days when I'm sitting down to write the blog article in my journal, I have so much trouble unraveling the thoughts whipping around in my head that it feels like dumping a 5,000 piece puzzle out onto a table and deciding where to begin. Do I sort the dominant edge pieces, then fill in the middle or should I just randomly pull out a center piece and go with that? More times than not, I pluck the most "noisy" thought out, plop it on a page and work from there. Today, however, I'm beginning from the cornerstones (or edge pieces).
The things that balance my world are my Tribe, my careers of teaching and writing, and my Faith (not necessarily in that order, and frequently the order itself changes depending on the day). It is within these three places that my roots grow the strongest. They are like rich, fertile soil that nourishes an feeds my soul. Some of the roots connected to certain members of my Tribe are thick with time and age, while others are smaller, more tender connections. Both are of equal importance to me even though they are very different. It is up in those highest places, where new leaves reach mightily for the sun, however, that capture my essence today. I feel the growth as I stretch up as high as I can possibly extend myself and strain to force myself even further. I remember what the wind feels like beneath my wings when I can no longer remain on terra firma and must fly! I am changing and it is wildly exciting, but a little frightening too. The undertone of angst to be found in the new will not hold me back, though. No longer do I remain captured in my self-imposed cage of fear from my past and that is a glorious feeling indeed! Whatever your weekend entails, I hope it includes many sweet, waking dreams and flying things (...okay, except for mosquitoes, which are completely UNFUN and tornadoes, which are far worse!). Until Monday, embrace your life with JOY in your heart...and eat the cookies!
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 Image@mitpatarpot.blogspot.com In my first novel, Desperate Measures, young military wife Abby Regatti gets caught up in a terrorist plot that's about to take place on the military base where her husband Nick is stationed and they live with their two small daughters. She is forced by her government to become a spy to help foil the plot. Her assigned government handler, Agent Ian Taylor, is charged with keeping her contained and helping her to do the bidding of his superiors in assignments that may never end if something drastic doesn't happen. Agent Taylor doesn't want that drastic thing to be Abby giving her life for a cause she didn't want and his desire to keep her safe is mounting, along with the feelings he doesn't want to have but can't seem to stop.
When the government discovers that the base commander's wife in Aviano, Italy, is having an affair with a man who may be a terrorist arms dealer, they seize the opportunity to use Abby to get close the the General's wife, uprooting her entire family to set in motion a dangerous game. Abby, who has grown quite fond of the General's wife, Nara, gets a frantic call from her in the middle of the night and Abby attempts to send Agent Taylor, who's not answering his damn phone. She's afraid Nara won't survive if she doesn't do something, so she races to the arms dealer's home where he is hosting a lavish party. She discovers Nara locked in a bedroom and attempts to free her, but both of the ladies are caught, taken out to a building on the grounds, tortured and nearly killed before Agent Taylor finally comes to the rescue. The excerpt below comes after both women are recovering in the base hospital. A Fragile Balance Agent Taylor stood outside her hospital room door knowing her husband was inside holding her while she slept and healed from the damage that had been done to her by the hands of a monster. That fact, alone, made him want to kick the shit out of something. He smiled instead, knowing he'd gutted the monster as easily as he would a fish and felt even less remorse. He walked towards the waiting room and restlessly paced, his mind so full it made his cells hum with the need for action. The girl. Goddammit, how had become so attached to that crazy cream puff who had confessed to him she'd not spilled even a single secret while they'd tortured her. Never in his life had he wanted to kiss a woman so much as he did then. He wanted to kiss that brave little creature he'd carried to safety until they both forgot their names. "So," a lone male voice came to him from the shadows, "...why don't you tell me what really happened to my sister? I'm guessing you're the man who knows." Agent Taylor looked up at the speaker and studied him carefully from head to toe. Abby's younger brother, Aiden, bore some of her features but mostly he had the air of cocky youth that permeated from him. Bet the nurses swarmed him like bees on a flower, Ian thought. "Why would you think I know anything, boy?" Agent Taylor replied, smirking. Aiden raised an eyebrow at the question. "Because I'm not as dumb as people assume. You look like a man with a lot of secrets who has a thing for my sister. Is she in there because of you?" he asked low and dangerous, his posture changing over to a more lethal stance. Agent Taylor laughed to cover up the surprise at just how dead on the mark the kid had been. "Ease up there, boy," he chuckled. The kid amused him and he couldn't help but smile genuinely. He cold have quietly killed the boy quicker than it would take for him to screech out a call for help, but he imagined Abby would be somewhat put out if he harmed her brother. "Well?" Aiden waited for a response to his question. "You should go see if your brother-in-law needs some relief from sentry duty, boy," was Agent Taylor's only response. He tried not to snarl it, but damned if it didn't come out that way anyway. "No, I should get to the bottom of what's really going on here, and I will. You can count on that. See ya around campus, old man," Aiden replied cheerfully, then headed for Abby's room. Ian sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Well, this kept getting more fun all the time! Now there would be two of them to babysit! Might as well give the powers that be a head's up now rather than later. His ass was already going to be reamed for the number of people he'd had to kill to get Abby and Nara safely away, although killing the head of the operation had been a pleasure. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and made the call.   Today I was a Proctor for the EOG (End of Grade) test at the school where I teach reading. Basically, a Proctor's job is to help the teacher monitor testing and let me tell you this is about as exciting as watching grass grow! Since I'm still pretty itchy from my Poison Ivy, I had to find a way to pass the time besides scratch. Since my options are vastly limited, I decided to mediate. There have been a whole boatload of things going on in my head of late and mediation is always a good way for me to help calm the chaos. After taking a cursory stroll around the classroom, I came back to my desk, sat with my spine completely straight, shoulders back, palms pressed together and began to breathe deeply. About two minutes into my breathing exercise, God popped into my head. The following is most of that conversation:
God: Someone is in a snit and has been for days. Let's have it, Little On. Talk to me. I look down at the new tattoo on my left wrist. Me: You already know what's wrong. God: Clearly. But I'm not sure YOU do. Let's start with the tattoo, though. See where that takes us. I sigh and rub a fingertip over the delicate lettering on my arm. Me: Okay. I'm upset because here it is, bold as brass, and what it represents is gone now. God: Is it? What does it truly represent and think hard about your answer before you give it. You may lie to yourself about the answer, but you can't get away with that with me. I want you to look at it and focus on the very deepest meaning behind why you chose that symbol, that word. I go back to rubbing the mark on my arm while concentrating on each cleansing breath of oxygen I take in, carbon dioxide I exhale, and how my lungs feel as I do this. Many answers come to mind but they only skim the surface of the deeper meaning that sits way down beneath them in the very HEART of who I am. God: Do you have your answer? Me: I do, I think. God: No. Don't step into it with uncertainty or an out. Give me the real answer and then own it. Me: At its heart, this symbol represents the part of me that is wild and free and all of the manifestations that entails. Freedom from responsibilities. Freedom from having to say no to things I really want to say yes to, even though no is the better choice. It represents the part of me that doesn't hold back...feelings, words, actions. The part of me that often people have judged harshly, labeling those desires as immoral, irresponsible, or just plain wrong. But they're not. They are wild and beautiful, even though I must frequently reign them in because I have others to consider. There are many layers of meaning behind this mark tied up in things as well as people, one in particular... God: Stop right there. You got to the core of the mark on your arm, and that is enough. Clouding it with other things serves no useful purpose in your life. Tell me about the Marine. You are unhappy. Angry? Me: No. And sad is a better word than unhappy. God: Why? Me: Because of his callous, careless words. His assholedness is showing and I don't like it when he directs it at me. It hurts. It diminishes all of the things I fought for where he was concerned. God: And you're unhappy that he didn't fight for them as hard as you did. What you fail to admit is the fact that he didn't know how, and he doesn't have the Faith in his heart that you do. Do you blame him for that? Hold it against him? Me: Not really, no. I love him and respect that in many ways he and I are very, very different. That is not to say that his way is right or my way is right. His way is right for HIM and mine is right for me. I want him to do what is best for him and maybe all along that never included the path we seemed to be heading for which makes me sad. God: Do you want to walk away from your life? Brad? What you two have built together? Really want that? Me. I would have. God: That's not what I asked and you know it. What is Brad to you? Me. He is my person. I can tell him anything and he won't even flinch, even if he doesn't like what I have to say. He is the best man that I know, which is not to say he is without flaws. It just means that where he finds flaws within himself, he never stops trying to correct them. When he loves someone, he does so with a conviction that I am in awe of. He doesn't have conditions attached to his love, nor does he exert judgement, even if he disapproves. Not once in three decades has he ever thrown a mistake I've made back at me to cause me pain, at least never intentionally. He certainly doesn't agree with me on everything, nor does he like the things I have done, but he respects my right to be my own person without his approval and loves me anyway. He looks at me as if I am the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Recently he said to me, "Without you, I am an empty shell. You give me purpose. You bring joy, light, and beauty to my life. Every morning when I wake up, I strive to be a better man...because of you, because of our girls. I'd go on living without you if I had to, but my existence would be empty. And I'd let you go if I knew I couldn't make you happy. I will live out the rest of my days finding ways to do that...bring as much happiness into your world that you've brought into mine." God: Still in a snit? Me: No, and thank you for taking time to poke around in my head. I know you're busy and have far more important things to see to than me and my junk. God: I'm never too busy for you or your junk, Little One. You are on the path you're on for a reason, all of you. The Marine's path and yours have almost always been heading in opposing directions. Whether it continues this way remains to be seen, but neither your, nor him, nor anyone else can live in the now based on the what might be's. That's not living and you know it. Be happy for his journey and your own and be at peace with the fact that you have given your very best in all of the situations you've found yourself in, even when the outcome many not have been what you wished. That's life, a fact of which you ALSO know. So, while the children in my class were getting their standardized test on, I was getting my brain decluttered from the Master of Zen, himself. All things considered, I think I got the better deal!  seane.deviantart.com "That's the thing about Mother Nature, she really doesn't care what economic bracket you're in." ~Whoopi Goldberg
If you've ever had any type of condition that constantly itches, then you'll probably be able to relate to this. A week ago Saturday I was weeding my flowerbed wearing shorts, flip flops, a tank top and gardening gloves. I got knee-deep into some Poison Ivy and let me tell ya, this is NOT a good thing. I didn't know I'd had my skin infested with the oils from the leaves until it was too late. Spots started showing up on Wednesday and by Friday night, the itching was almost unbearable! I couldn't sleep, I couldn't sit still, and the only thing that constantly occupied my mind was, "I want to scratch and make it stop!" It's strange to me how something as simple as an itch could drive you mad, but it totally can. You can't think through it, distract yourself from it, or force it out of your head. Hearing, "...it will stop in a couple of weeks" was not comforting at all! In fact, at one point it crossed my mind that if I burned my flesh with, say, a flame-thrower, the itching would go away and I'd actually get some relief (See? I told you it was making me nutso!). When I was a child, Aunt Mattie used to tell me various places in the yard to avoid while playing due to nefarious plant life. She also never allowed me to play in the woods unless I had long pants and tennis shoes on. Once I was old enough to have my own yard, she taught me to never dig through brush without first protecting your skin, which I totally didn't do on that Saturday that Mother Nature decided to teach my butt a lesson. I have always had a healthy respect for the wondrous and sometimes deadly things she is capable of. And even though I'm still itchin', I am in awe of her constant beauty! The growing season has begun and so far the score is weeds = 1, Amy = zero! And contrary to the picture above, Poison Ivy is not a sexy look...at least not for me, unless you find oozing sores all over my body and hairy legs due to my inability to shave them per avoiding infection in the "Smokin' Hot" category!  "We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men (and women) stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm." ~Winston Churchill Taps always gets me. The lone lament to honor the fallen who died for a cause is a simple reminder of one of the greatest sacrifices made, a life. People often celebrate the Memorial Day weekend with a BBQ or a mini-vacation and perhaps that's as it should be, celebrating LIFE. I know that for me it hasn't been such a simple holiday since the day I became a military wife in 1988. This was punctuated when the first conflict broke out while my husband was serving. Suddenly, the people going to that Global hotspot and putting themselves in harm's way were faces I knew and I was acutely aware of the fact that those I loved could very well come home in a box with a flag draped over it. Kind of difficult to get excited about Aunt Mattie's famous potato salad with that reality looming over me. The idea of Memorial Day is an ancient one, with countries around the world paying tribute to their fallen warriors. And while I certainly do not disparage our right to lounge in lawn chairs and pop open a cold one, or sleep in on Monday morning, I'm grateful for those precious souls who paid for my rights in blood. More than once today I've asked myself, "What would you die for?" Even tougher, "Who would you die for?" Because let's face it, not everyone we meet holds equal favor or value in our hearts. The courage it takes to "lace 'em up" and put yourself in harm's way for people you don't know or don't even like, or a cause you maybe don't agree with is a level I'm not sure I possess, and I've done some pretty dang HaRD things in my life. If that's not honor, then I don't know what is. To those who gave their lives so that I could live mine, I promise you I won't waste it!  Image@plumproductionsinc.com A friend of mine sent me a song today and I had to catch my breath as I cried through the entire thing. I'd never heard it before and man did it catch me off guard. I think he was a little disconcerted that I lost my shit (and if you're reading this tonight, it's okay...I promise. My reaction was totally NOT your fault). I'm definitely getting softer with age because honestly I had a perfectly lovely day until that EXACT moment those words caught up on something inside of me and rubbed against it until it hurt. Maybe it's because this is my PMS week and my whacky koo koo hormones are all over the place. Or perhaps it has to do with other things in my life, past...present...that made the song spill my emotions over the edge. Whatever the reason, I'm getting kind of used to just letting those emotions come and go as they will. I don't always like the ones that show up, but at least now I'm not afraid of them anymore. Forty-five year old me is mushy. I'm just lucky to be surrounded by people in my Tribe who are good with that, because I couldn't lock all of these feelings down anymore even if I wanted to...and I totally don't! When I can get through listening to this tune without sobbing, it is SO going on my ipod Country Music playlist. Happy Thursday, ya'll.  Image@clevelandcountyschools.org "Play gives children a chance to practice what they are learning." ~Fred Rogers
This morning when I got up, I dug out my tennis shoes, put on my school t-shirt and shorts, slathered myself in sunscreen and happily went to work! The sky was blue as a Robin's egg and the sun was just right. It was a glorious day for the activities to come. When I got to school, I made my way down to where the events of the day would take place. I was assigned to help run the "Cup-Stacking Relay Race"! The field quickly filled with little kindergarten and first graders eager for the festivities to begin. I must confess, I was as excited as the children! The last time I was involved in Field Day I was IN the fifth grade, and lemme tell ya that was a LONG time ago! The PE Teacher declared, "Let the games begin" and sounded her air horn. The children began the events at each of their stations! I whopped, hollered, encouraged and high 5'd the little ones at my station as they raced each other to make pyramids out of their cups! About 2/3 of the way through, a little boy came up to me, wrapped his arm around my leg, leaned his head against me and said, "Mrs. Schaefer, I'm really tired. Can we have lunch now?" I swear I nearly scooped that cutie up and headed with him to the nearest ice cream shop! We should never get too old to play. I swear half the time it feels as if being a grown-up equates to sucking the simple joys out of life! Why do we allow that? Is it not possible to maintain our youthful enthusiasm while taking care of our adult responsibilities? If not, I don't wanna be an adult anymore! I'd much rather play with the parachute, race the kids in relay, do the bean bag toss and end with a picnic in the grass under an old shade tree, lunchables and juice boxes as my fancy pants meal. Popsicles for dessert? Count me in!  Image@funny-pictures.pics.photos.net "How long until dinner, mom?" my youngest daughter asked as she bustled through the kitchen door, coming in from work. "About 20 minutes," I told her, while waiting for my pasta water to boil. Tonight is Italian night at our house, the spaghetti sauce on slow simmer all afternoon so that it would be perfect for our evening meal. My youngin' is not a fan of spaghetti, so instead, she rushed to make Penne with Spinach & cheese sauce (her specialty). As she whipped up her own pasta dish, I finished the garlic bread. She asked me, "Where are we eating tonight? In front of the TV?" Our normal routine is to have dinner in the living room while we watch Family Feud. Apparently, she had other ideas. "We can eat wherever you like," I told her. She was like, "Oh great because I've created a playlist of Italian music that's lovely and I thought we could have dinner in the kitchen together and take a little trip to Italy while we ate." We lit candles, dimmed the lights, hit play on her list, said Grace together and spent our evening happily chatting as we dined on a piazza far, far away. It was quiet and beautiful, turning a random Tuesday evening into something very special. The food was molto buona, the idea was fantastico, and the company perfetto! It is easy to fall into a rut, where one day blends into the next with only the date changing. In order to infuse LIFE into our ordinary days requires effort, creativity and a willingness to shake things up as often as possible. Thanks for the trip to Italy, little one. I had a great time! The food didn't suck, either!  Image@gizmodo.com.au "Oath of Enlistment: I (name) do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God." Saturday morning, my husband, brother-in-law, niece and I went to the Wings Over Wayne Air Show. It's been almost four years since I attended an Air Show after almost twenty-four years of going to every one that was put on at whatever base we happened to be stationed at the time. I didn't know what to expect, nor did I realize just how deeply affected I would be. During the early part of the jet demonstrations four F-15 Strike Eagles came screaming overhead and my brother-in-law turned to me and asked, "Do you miss that sound?" "Every damn day," I replied, showing him the goosebumps on my arms from the fly-by. My husband wholeheartedly agreed. Here's the thing...when my husband was active duty, I knew what my role was. I knew where my place was, even when it was really difficult to carry so many burdens alone because of his frequent deployments and long hours when he was in country. I even understood the part my girls and I played in supporting the "mission". My tasks were straight forward...care for our household, raise our girls "right", and keep things running smooth that my husband couldn't tend to due to the nature of his job. Many nights I slept alone, cried alone. As I sat in the shade beneath the wing of a B-1 Bomber (the very first plane my husband ever worked on), I thought, "It's not supposed to be easy. Freedom should come with a price tag you can FEEL, one that hurts at least a little, to remind us of just how important it is to attain and maintain. The sounds of freedom are not just jet noise or gun fire or tank engines or helicopter blades...they also include post-deployment fights, crying family members (happy tears when all is well, and sorrowful ones when it gets lonely), our National Anthem, 21-gun salutes, fireworks on the 4th of July, cadence calls in formation, and many other patriotic sounds that remind us of just why being free is so very precious. I didn't take the above oath, directly, but I certainly considered myself a part of it. Those that have taken the oath, their commitment to its spirit doesn't end when they retire or separate from their active duty service. For many it is never null and void, or just "finished". And even though Memorial Day is a week away, I want to say thank you to all of our service members and the families that support them. *insert crisp salute here*  I have this bumper sticker! Image@hatnpatch.com  Image@StatusMind.com  "I've said that playing the Blues is like having to be black twice. Stevie Ray Vaughan missed on both counts, but I never noticed." ~B.B. King "You play a lowdown dirty shame slow and lonesome, my mama dead, my papa across the sea, I ain't dead but I'm just supposed to be blues." ~David 'Honeyboy' Edwards Tribute to a legend: I am a Blues girl to the core. To me the Blues is like grabbing hold of a raw, live wire that connects to the core of your soul where those dark places it's impolite to talk about live.This world will greatly miss the legendary B.B. King but tonight the sky will be a 'rock! RIP, B.B. Love, A. |
About The Author
I grew up in rural North Carolina. When I was only nineteen, I moved away and became a military wife. My only aspiration at that tender time in my life was to create an adult life that "fixed" all of the "injustices" of my childhood. Secretly, however, I wanted to reach for the sky! I wanted to be a writer and find ways to "save the world" (my mother used to say, "You have Save the World Syndrome".). Mostly, I wanted to matter. Archives
August 2021
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