This week one of my "official" duties at work was Hall Monitor. It's kind of dumb just how important this made me feel. I got to escort students to the bathroom if they needed it, carry a walkie-talkie and call over it if help was needed, and make sure no one came into the building (which was an epic fail because almost everyone but ME has a key, so they can come and go as they please and unless I tackle them like a line backer, there isn't a dang thing I can do about it). It was the simple fact that I was in charge of the hallway during testing that made me feel special. This goes to show that either too much exposure to tiny humans has rubbed off on me, or I've become an adult who is easily amused! Either way, it's not a bad thing. In fact, I've reminded myself often over the years that the best pleasures in life are the simple ones and the most important lessons we learn are those we learn as a child.

With mid-week fast approaching its end, I hope you have enjoyed some of the simple pleasures life has to offer, as well. Sadly, they made me give the walkie-talkie back, but trust me that's a good thing. Had I ever gotten it truly figured out, I'd have driven everyone bonkers talking over it like some hack Air Force wife on the flightline with a new toy. Thank you for carving out some time for me today. Carry on. This is A....Over and out!

I was doing quite well with my Monday experience until "people" happened. I am mostly a very social creature, so when that whole "people" thing gets to me, it's because as my father would say, "They're just not doing right." First, my drive to work is quite lovely...except when there's traffic. I swear, I am constantly amazed at just how few skills many drives on the roads actually have...no, that red stoplight is not merely a suggestion! Rude drivers are almost as bad, rolling along as if they are the only ones on the road. As per the scads of people I see still texting and driving...most of you can't even walk and chew gum at the same time! Put the flippin' phone down and pay attention to the road! Sheesh! (Insert deep breath here). Fortunately, I have a playlist in my car created exactly for these kinds of emergencies, so I put it on and cranked up the volume. I refuse to have bad drivers ruin my entire day! No way will I give random straners that sort of power over my life. The music kept me calm and happy, and I pulled into my parking space with a smile. Then, I had to face other grown-ups. *sigh*

I like short people (and by that I mean tiny, young humans) because they are funny, creative, and adorable. Even a cranky seven-year-old CAN be quite cute. This does not translate into adulthood. Grumpy, confrontational, anal adults are no fun no matter who you are, but sooner or later we all have to deal with them (and hopefully not BE them). Apparently today was my day.  And no, I did not take off my boot and throw it at another adult in the hallway after being informed that said boots were just "too loud and distracting" in the hallways during testing (Yay me for stellar self-control). I did, however, seriously consider it! If I were seven, I'd have totally done it without hesitation!

Now that my Monday is officially half over, this second part is spent devoted to my other career (i.e. writer) and is tons easier because there is no "peopleling" required. What comes next is a solitary endeavor, which works out great unless I'm having one of those days where my own company gets on my nerves (...which is happily not the case today, but does happen). Wherever you are, how ever your own Monday is playing out, here's wishing you a good one. And if it's not, I have some leftover coconut pecan cookies from my party yesterday that I am willing to share!

Always,
A.

Going to church every Sunday morning was expected in the house where I grew up, my mother's side of the family having strong roots in the Southern Baptist faith. My Aunt Mattie, Uncle Homer, grandmother and I all put on our "Sunday Best", grabbed a quick bite of breakfast and then spent the early part of the day doing Sunday School and a sermon. Our lunchtime meal when we got home always consisted of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits and gravy and by the time it was ready, I was starving. This routine became as embedded in my life as brushing my teeth before bed. "Why do you go to church?" someone might ask..."Because that's what you do on Sunday," would have been my answer for a very long time. I wonder how many others go mostly because it is what's expected, what they've always done. I swear, the first time I missed a Sunday I thought for sure I'd burst into flames and go straight to hell because I'd broken the "rules", deviated from the expected plan!

As I sit here this morning in my warm ol' bathrobe and bunny slippers on this chilly, rainy Sunday, I realize that my Faith has come a long way since those childhood days when "communing" with God was just part of my normal routine, not even an after-thought, but more like some blind thing I did without any need for thoughts at all. Totally missed the point in the beginning on that one, let me tell ya! Back in my twenties I started actually listening to various sermons I'd hear and it didn't take long for me to realize that while they might be great, inspiring even, when I'd go out into the world and see other people from "there" who had listened to the same thing I did, those people didn't exactly behave in a manner that showed the messages held any value what-so-ever. I, too, was guilty of the same sometimes. Then there would be the sermons where I'd leave angry, completely disagreeing with whatever had been the theme and thinking to myself that the message seemed to be directly contradicting the foundation of what "church", "God", "Faith," and "Love" are supposed to be about. I began to look more closely, not just at the core of the denomination I grew up learning about, but at other religions as well, and there were plenty of examples of hypocrisy to go around, no matter the denomination. It was in that realization that I abandoned most of what I consider to be "organized religion" and began taking a more personal spiritual approach.

There is a higher power in my life every...single...day. What you call him/her makes no difference to me, and in fact I often think of that higher power having many different names. I call him God and I don't always think of him as a He. That higher power I carry with me requires only two things of me...two very simple things: 1.) Be a good human and 2.) In all things, do the loving thing. It irritates me that sometimes I fail at one or both of these things quite spectacularly. They're not that difficult, right? And yet, when I'm angry, or rebellious, or frustrated, or just plain lazy...failing at them is extremely easy. The good news is God gets that and is patient with me and my screw-ups. He encourages me to make right whatever it is I've flubbed and learn for next time. I'm glad to do that because in the end I always feel better by making amends. I'm pretty hard-headed, so often it takes me making the same mistakes repeatedly before the deeper message finally sinks in! I DO get there, eventually. Considering the frequently messed up world we live in, that is an accomplishment. Life can make you bitter, jaded and cynical if you let it. I have no intention of allowing myself to become any of those things. I'm so grateful to have a loving guide that helps produce light for me, especially when I find myself in deep, dark places. I'm happy to have the Love and comfort of a being beyond this world who cares what happens to me here in this life and well into whatever comes next.

Wishing you a safe and nurturing Sunday, wherever you are and whomever you pray to (...or not).

Always,
A.

Freckles and I sat at the kitchen counter having a mother-daughter heart to heart when her phone rang. "I should probably take this," she said and I nodded. "Of course," I told her then stepped outside. She came out of the door a few minutes later. "Well, Mom, guess what?" "Tell me," I prompted. "The Navy just offered me a pilot's slot," she screamed. I swear, hours later and my heart is still racing! When she told me she was considering joining the Navy, it was so far away I didn't think much about it except to be excited for her making grown-up plans. Now those "plans" are here and OHHH my goodness.....!!!! She had to submit an essay when she was filling out all of her paperwork, and it was so wonderful, I cry each time I read it. Tonight I'm sharing it below. My little baby zipperhead....all I can say is FLY beautiful girl!

United State Navy

APSR – Application Essay

 

Today, I am less than 100 days away from graduating college.  I have spent the last four years preparing for this moment by getting involved in everything I could get my hands on and investigating every possible career.  I have changed my plans about a dozen times, not from indecisiveness, but from adaptability.  My father is a retired Master Sergeant of the United States Air Force and my whole life has been spent developing the ability to handle anything that comes my way.  I have faced many opportunities as well as obstacles, and combated them all with the steadfast readiness I was taught from being a military dependent.  This lifestyle is my past and present, and I cannot imagine a future without it. 

The military has always been a crucial staple in my life, but it was not until recently that I realized how suited I was to be an officer.  As anyone would be able to tell from my impressive OAR scores, my consistent GPA and Marshal status at the University, I am a strong candidate academically.  However, often times those with educational success have a lack of appreciation for leadership, initiative and independence.  For me, this is the farthest from true.  My work ethic and job integrity rival even my greatest academic achievements.  At Lawndale Veterinary Hospital I am one of the most seasoned and reliable staff members in my department.  I am constantly going above and beyond what is necessarily asked of me to ensure that every task is handled properly and efficiently and to maintain the best quality of service.  This is the attitude I always bring to work because excellence is my expectation. 

There is no doubt that I inherited this ideology from my military childhood.  My earliest role models were my mother, who had a strong, passionate voice as she advocated for our troops, and my father, who never grew weary of hard work and service.  Together, they could not help but to raise me on the core values that shape the Armed Forces.  They taught me to be honorable: to act with honest intentions, strive for success and accept accountability for any consequence I earned.  They gave me the strength to take courage in the face of adversity, knowing that there is much in life worth daring.  They trained me to invest in my commitments, and prove that I could handle responsibility and deserved the freedom that corresponded.  Honesty, courage, and commitment have become deeply entrenched in my character so naturally I would pursue a career that promotes the same values.  No job would be more suitable than an officer in the United States Navy.  My dad's advice to newly commissioned, young officers was to be receptive to the mentorship of their senior NCO's.  He has given me the same guidance throughout my life and it has molded me into an exceptional up-and-coming officer.

Life is a journey, not a target.  I could be satiated by everything I have accomplished, but rather I find myself excited by the constant potential for improvement.  I am ready to dive into a new challenge; one that provides an environment for personal growth, allows me to put my aptitude for leadership into action, and become a more engaged citizen of the world.  One of the lieutenants in the recruiting office cautioned me not to get my hopes up for the "glamour pitch": the benefits, the travel, and the prestige, but these are all false goods.  Nothing is more compelling than the unrivaled opportunities to provide humanitarian relief and the ability uphold the highest standard of excellence that our country has to offer.  If I am not busy, I am restless.  If I am not serving, I am unfulfilled.  Finally, if I had to choose a career other than United States Navy, then I would be settling for anything less than the best.

Many of you who regularly follow my blog probably noticed that I didn't post one yesterday. While laying in bed last night unable to sleep, I kept thinking about a favorite professor of mine, Dr. Astair Mengesha, who was one of the wisest people I've ever met. She told our class that when she was a little girl, her mother used to say, "Do not speak unless whatever comes out of your mouth is important." (Plenty of people clearly haven't gotten this memo.) It stuck with me because I am always very mindful of not using my words carelessly. It doesn't always work, but know that I try!

What does this have to do with the absence of yesterday's blog article? Well, every time I tried to start it, the words sounded mostly like, "blah, blah, blah," even to me! NOT good! The way I see it is this...if YOU are willing to take time out of your day to read my words, they ought to be words worth reading. Right? That is my goal, anyway. I will add that I did think of all of you just before sleep finally claimed me. I hoped you were all well, and that your day was spent making good memories. I promise you three things....1.) I will never preach to you, 2.) I will never be ugly, even when I'm angry, and 3.) I will never post a blog filled with blah, blah, blah.

Always Yours,
A.

Prepping for our trip and wishing you a weekend full of making good memories with those you love...

Always,
A.

(Image found at commentskart.com)

Writer's Block: When your imaginary friends stop talking to you. ~author Unknown

I am well and truly stuck in my novel writing process. To put a fine point on it, I've got myself a nasty case of writer's block (...which I know will completely crack up many of my former students). The cause of this problem is frankly laughable...I'm stuck because I'm happy. Not like, "Oh, I'm having a good day" kind of happy but the kind that goes all the way down to your bones. It is quite a novelty feeling this way, spending my time doing things that just flat out make me fly. It makes for a great life, but sucks the edginess right out of my ability to write fiction. For those of you eagerly waiting on the sequel to my first book, it's coming I promise!

Having writer's block is a completely new experience for me and the fun part is I can finally relate to all of those students who have dejectedly confessed, "Mrs. Schaefer, I just don't know what to write." I have given hundreds of little exercises to them in an attempt to unclog those creative juices. Hopefully I saved them all in my "Teaching Writing Bin" (which is currently collecting dust in my garage), because it would appear that I'm gonna need them in order to get this career back on track! Unfortunately, my foray into the bin won't be happening today, either, because I have a date on my sofa with a brilliant homicide detective who always knows how to keep me on the edge of my seat. I'll go digging through my bin...tomorrow!

I had no idea how addictive getting tattoos could be until I got my first one, the Celtic Tree of Life (which is on my left hip). The last couple of months I've been searching for the ONE that will perfectly capture my mother and wishing she were alive to draw it herself. God, she was a beautiful artist. I can only imagine what she would think of me now with my body slowly being transformed into a canvas of symbols that matter to me. Would she fuss at me or be the first person to come with me so we could get inked together? I just don't know the answer to that question, but I do wonder about it frequently.









It always amazes me when someone asks me, "Does it hurt?" Hell yes it hurts. Honestly, though, I don't mind the pain. I've learned to channel it as a release of emotional pain based on the nature of the tattoo I happen to be getting. I find doing so to be extremely cathartic. There is also a sense of peace and rightness to the "hurt", especially when I consider that all of the major things or people in my life that have influenced me came with a degree of pain, too. I have no idea how many times I'll be inked in my lifetime. What I do know for certain is that each time will continue to reflect the story of "me". And when my days are done, my body nothing but ash and my inked story erased, I hope the legacy of what and whom I leave behind will tell a new, even more thrilling story. For now...I continue to search for what comes next. I'm trying to channel you, mom. Can you hear me now?

Change is certain. Progress is not. ~E.H. Carr

"Progress isn't always progress," my husband said, as we drove to the lone video store in town to return the movies we'd rented. "I agree," I replied. "Remember where there were video stores all over town and renting movies on a Friday night was THE thing to do?" "Yes," he said. "I wonder what else will just plain be gone before our grandson grows up?" he asked me, disgusted. Call me old-fashioned, but I liked renting movies, pulling up at a full service gas station, and spending time with friends and family, which are things we do less and less (or not at all). I loved hearing the stories of the older generations about what life was like for them. They made "history" come alive for me, put it in a more personal context I could relate to. Now it just seems like the world spins faster and faster, while we all run around trying to catch up. Maybe what we want to catch up to most of all is a time when things moved slower, meant more...or maybe that's just me. We can get anything we want, it seems, with the click of a mouse. That's progress, right?

Except...as my family and I sat around the fire pit Saturday night, my oldest daughter Hannah wrapped her son in the quilt I'd found earlier in the day that was made by my great-aunt Eva for her when she was born. I told her the story of how Eva lovingly cut each piece from fabric and sewed them all together by hand. She inspected the rows of stitching, "By hand? Really mama?" she asked. "Every single piece," I said. "Wow! I want to learn how to do that," she said, a bit of awe in her voice. I told her about the amazing Halloween costumes my grandmother used to make for me and how much better they were than anything you could buy in a store. I remember wearing the Wonder Woman costume she made me until it was indecent because I loved it so much. I also vividly recall the lovely dresses she made that fit me to perfection, were exactly the colour and shape I wanted, and completely blew away any article of clothing I might find on a store rack. These things we would call "vintage" today were so great because they gave us a sense of human connection. Creating an article of clothing for someone or a blanked requires time that another human being chose to invest in YOU. That makes each piece feel as if it were stitched together with love.

We call this time a modern era, but much of the past we've so readily discarded holds great substance that our 'today world" seems to sorely lack. We eat crap from fast food joints (and I hesitate to call that FOOD), instead of the more delicious things we could grow ourselves. Frankly there is little in life that tastes better than a warm tomato freshly picked from a vine that you grew on your own! We have more ways to communicate with each other than ever before, and yet we rarely talk about anything of substance. Life, love, relationships have given way to this slick, fast-paced society that is devoid of any deep connections. Progress isn't progress unless we carry forward all of the parts in our "past" that truly matter. I don't want to TiVo my life to savor "later", while I kill myself NOW jumping from this to that and back again. I want to be front and center, live streamed in a life that includes real 3-3, high definition interaction. And I want a grown-up version of my favorite red dress my grandmother made for me when i was six. I'll take the Wonder Woman costume too, please!