Boys to Men to Good Friends

I've been blessed with a life of incredible men. In case you ever question that in your life, take an afternoon off work, watch bad tv and be grateful that you've never gone on national tv to watch a man you've had sex with, possibly had a baby with, dance with glee because "he is not the father!" I have the best father ever. That's my opinion and I'm eternally grateful. But, this post is about the rest of you. In kindergarten, Chris Fulton snuck a kiss in the cubby holes. I do believe that was my first kiss. Greg Davis, my childhood crush forever, put up with whatever my parents asked. He cut our lawn, he and Angel did the square dancing thing, and we all rode around in the back of a pick up truck. Angel looked the other way when Greg kissed me. Ron Seats and Rich Seats were like brothers. We had those babysitting memories with Kim, phantom babysitters and heaven knows what we did to Grandma Love. I miss Ronnie and am eternally grateful for my neighborhood siblings - Rich and Kim. Happily-married men are often retrospective. I had a converstation with someone I have known my whole life and he asked, "Why didn't we date in high school?" I know why. He does too. We tried to expand our horizons. We actually played spin the bottle and I was thrilled when my spin landed on David Hinesley. I was goofy, grossed out and simultaneously honored that he stuck his tongue in my mouth. I told my mother and she told me to never let it happen again. Sadly, it didn't. I didn't date a lot of men in high school. I will say that the first man I dated seriously, Jeff Glass, was (and is) a really good man. He is the first man I thought I was in love with. His wife is a very lucky woman. My first true love was, and is, also a great man and his wife is blessed as well. I've not even mentioned all the male friends who seem to stay in my corner, no matter what. You know who you are and I love you. I've known some yucky men too. But, that is another post. Someday. Thank you boyfriends, boys who remain friends and hats off to the women who realize what a treasure you are.

Honey, Baby, Sweetie, Darling

I found this in my archives of posts I'd written but never posted. I find endearments ... well, endearing. I used to love it when my parents or other loved ones use them. There's a country song I love, I think it's called "Love like Crazy," and one of the best lines is "Never get too old to call her 'Baby'"

I'm not crazy about total strangers using these titles. The waitress at Bob Evans shouldn't call me "Hon'" but I recognize she is trying her best so I let it go. If a false sense of friendship or intimacy helps her tips/bottom line, so be it.

It is completely inappropriate in a business situation but every woman you know will tell you that it happens every day. I have been called, "Honey" and (my personal favorite) "Kiddo" by men way younger than me.

Here's a confession. I've found myself doing it, although NEVER in a professional situation. But as you refill my coffee, I might say "Thanks, Hon." Then I will kick myself. Is this a middle age or older thing?

Darling, or as it is supposed to be pronounced, "Darlin'" is my favorite. I save it for those I hold dear. It's my southern roots and the Ellis/Ridenour & Roman/Easterling southern roots.

Hello Again

For whatever reason, a number of you have asked me to blog again. I admit to missing it tremendously. I also admit to knowing so many others who do it better, who are funnier, who do it with more purpose and who put me to shame. As I have been reminded, it's not a competition. And, I am not going to apologize for not knowing how to add music and other stuff. I will have to wait until one of my goddaughters or younger friends visits.

In a few weeks, I get to take a trip with my besties. This picture is from a trip a couple of decades ago when Jan & I humiliated Deb. What are best friends for? I wish I could be like my friend Kristen and share world travels, great recipes and the joy of family. I wish I could be like my friend Janis and share family stories and words of enthusiasm. I wish I could be like my Aunt Cess and share the joys of finding love and adventure after a lifetime of love and adventure with your first love. I wish I had time to read all the blogs, tweets, and other things that grab my attention. But,I will share a few thoughts. Maybe some perspective on the divorced life. You can count on things about dogs.

Turning a Blind Eye

Admit it. It's so easy to do. Someone in need is right in front of you and you change directions, look the other way, duck & cover. Often, we then say a prayer of thanks that this person, this particular situation is not ours.

I am absolutely appalled at the Penn State scenario. Heartbroken for the victims and heartbroken for those who will carry the stigma, whether they were involved or not. I don't think putting Penn State grad or Penn State athlete on your resume is going to cause you anything but trouble for the coming years.

Of this whole saga, the most troubling thing to me was the protests and riots over the 84-year old, turn a blind eye, make a b'jillion dollars coach being fired. I would feel a whole lot better about our society if the riots were for the victims.

I feel certain I would properly report a child being abused or molested. I'm quite smug about helping children, animals and anyone I sense to be in need.

Yet, I drive everyday by people with those signs: "Homeless & hungry." "A veteran who needs a leg up." "Hungry kids, will work for food."

I drive by. I often don't believe the signs.

I'm questioning whether I'm any better than others who witness awfulness.

Being Liturgist

I do not know the actual statistics but I know that more people would rather observe their own funeral than stand up somewhere and speak. In the top ten list of fears, public speaking always comes out as number one.

It's not my number one fear, but it's up there. So that's why I can confess to a little nervousness about beginning my month-long stint as liturgist in my church.

I rotate with Jay, Joe, John, and Matt. They all do an awesome job and regardless of which one I follow, I have that deep fear that the congregation is going to be disappointed.

When my minister asked me to join the rotation, I (for a moment) thought he might be confusing me with someone else, then I thought he might be kidding. I have finally figured out that he is amazing with figuring out what the church needs and also helping with individual growth.

When I say, "I am not worthy." He says, "No, you're not. Do it anyway."

In less than 24 hours, I will be liturgist. I will do it this month and several others next year. I have written my prayers, read my bible passages and certainly prayed for guidance.

Hypocrisy? Sometimes. Always. I know I sin. I suspect you do too. I suspect the clergy I adore and respect (current & former) do too. I love the story about the man wagging his finger at a church-going man with "Why would I go to church? It's filled with hypocrites!" And the answer is, "Isn't that the best place for us?"


What gets me through it is this. I am not public speaking. I am doing a public service for my Lord.

(This sounds so holier than thou and I don't know how to fix it!) Please muddle through and see the bigger message: Be involved! Join a house of worship!

Belly Laughs

This is a photo from my childhood. I think I posted it years ago on another blog but it's worth posting again.

This is what childhood is supposed to be. Pink bellies, bathing suits and neighborhood fun. I wish Richie and Ronnie and Jan and Tammy, Tara and the multitudes of others in our neighborhood were in this photo. I wish I had a photo of Rick Lawrence and Tom Bradley to contribute. I wish David Hinesley was in this photo because this is probably the age I began my crush on him that lasted for decades. I wish some of the weird dudes, the cool dudes and happening girls were there but I guess that came later when personalities developed.

We're so scared now. (And rightly so.) Kids are only allowed to go so many houses down and 10-year olds have to check in with their cell phone. Responsible? Yes. But also a little sad that the absolute reckless freedom of running like crazy, climbing fences and trees with abandon and all that childhood fun may be lost to a new generation.

The world changes and you all know I embrace certain changes and buck the others like a mule.

My greatest wish for children is to have faith, have great parents and have a neighborhood like the one I grew up in.

All Muddled Up

I hope you are having a good day. In fact, I hope everything in your life is aligned with God and there is not a worry in your head.

The reality is that you probably have something niggling at you. You are worried about a spouse who drinks, a kid who lies, a child in your life who might be bullied. Or worse, the bully.

You might be worried about superficial stuff like the lines on your face or the cellulite on your thighs.

I spent a lot of years thinking I could decide what to hide and what to share when the probems of my life made me a little crazy. My minister says that there is no shame in telling the truth; the shame is in secrets. I love him but he is living a dream.

There is no shame in telling people you love and trust about the issues and pain running through your brain. Yet, when you lose friends and lose jobs and lose hope because someone is now holding your decisions against you, there is shame.

We all say, "Love me, lean on me, I won't judge you." And yet, we do.