Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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hold what ya got

My husband says something that drives me crazy.

Not the… please shut the cabinet door or would you please put your dirty socks away kind of crazy.

(Not that he does those things.)

(I’m just giving you examples.)

More of the… Sleeveless tshirt, backwards ballcap, and stern business voice on work calls kind of crazy.

That kind of crazy that gives me shivvers.

Handsome behind the wheel on a country drive…xoxo

At various crucial times around the farm, he says to me in his deepest, most controlled, most deliciously mellow voice, “Hold what ya got.”

And I almost can’t focus. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I love it, ha!

This past week he said it to me while we wrangled Scarletta Jones into our makeshift squeeze shoot to administer antibiotics. My job was to hold the rope against her strenuous objections and then apply whatever full body tension I could muster onto the steel gates to keep her still. Hold what ya got. He just utters the phrase calmly under his breath, without making eye contact, focused on his side of the task.

Earlier in the week and again yesterday, he said it to me many times while we worked together on our little greenhouse build. He has designed and purchased and organized all of it. Planned every step. He gives me useful-feeling tasks along the way, often amounting to lifting lumber to the sky while he measures some mysterious distance or holding two pieces together while me makes an angle just perfect.

Hold what ya got.

Then inwardly, to myself, Focus, girl!

There are innumerable examples of him casting this atomic spell on me. He’s been saying it for years, and I only recently intimated how it affects me. He doesn’t get it. But that makes it worse. Or better.

I suppose he’ll keep saying it forever. I hope he does.

And I absolutely will.
XOXOXO

another year, a thousand more love notes

Twenty two years! Handsome is off work for a nice stretch while we celebrate our anniversary, and we are hitting the reset button HARD. Last night, just two days deep into the appointed retreat, we both commented on how much better we already feel. It seems like we have been “off” for much longer, and that is a luscious feeling.

I have been reflecting on these many milestones in our life and on the pillars or qualities that seem to uphold them. Every marriage is unique. I love to look around at our friends and family and see the different ways people thrive. It’s beautiful. It all inspires and challenges me. So what follows is not meant as a how-to or should-be post. I am very aware that what works for us may spell disaster for another couple, ha!

One thing I see is that while some couples start with the machinery or on-paper compatibility of the two people then build up their chemistry (like an arranged marriage or people who meet on a compatibility app), others do exactly the opposite (maybe they start with how they feel around each other then see what they can do to survive). We are in the latter camp. We started with chemistry and have discovered and worked on the machinery of really good living along the way.

We kind of launched straight into the deep end with big, choppy waves. Now we are at such a smooth operating level that it almost feels like we planned it this way.

We absolutely did not, ha!

We have just loved each other on purpose and lived with intention as often as possible. For us, the chemistry has made it fun and possible. The machinery and structure have built up steadily over time, with lots and lots of mistakes and restarts along the way.

How wonderful that grace and time have been on our side. That Love has been here all along.

Again, I have no idea which approach is better, easier, longer lasting, more fun, more sensible, etc… I don’t even think that is answerable. Life seems to offer up infinite ways to be happy and fulfilled! I would never say to anyone or any couple that their approach is wrong. I will just say that for us, our approach has been rich with lessons and deeply textured memories. Our love story has been messy, chaotic, restful, growth oriented, fun, wild, sweet, hilarious, bitter, scary, and sweet again. As so many poems and love songs declare, I would not trade any of it because it all brought us to this moment.

One day soon I will share an experience we had last winter in our friend Dr. Kelly Roberts’ college classroom. We sat for her students so they could practice a therapy modality that kind of visually maps your family tree and shared history. It was fascinating. And a great way to reflect on how you are operating as a couple.

Another note on seeing how other couples thrive and build their happiness: I do heartily endorse surrounding your marriage with a variety of personalities and histories, but yes, the happier and livelier the better. We create environments for our relationships, you know? Our relationships breath in the air we give them, feed on the nutrients available. And gosh I want ours to be well fed. I want ours to be energized for longevity and vitality. Chosen friends do this. Solid family marriages do this. Whether brand new or well aged, all kinds of unions can lend to the environments that feed us. I think it’s wise to keep an eye on this ever shifting part of life.

When we renewed our vows two summers ago, we repeated the original promises then each made new ones. We did not orchestrate it ahead of time.

“The best is yet to come,” summer 2021…xoxo

Handsome promised to continue surprising me, which he certainly does all the time. He always has. Since the very beginning of our love story, he has surprised me with huge and momentary gifts. What’s interesting is that once he promised to do that, I started noticing more. For these past two years I have been paying better attention and can see the effort he makes to be full of surprises. It’s pretty magical, to see such a hard working, analytical, foundation-and-fortress kind of guy make such an effort to also be full of surprises. Of course, this necessarily means lots and lots and lots of jump scares and screams. But. I’ll take it.

My new promise at our twentieth vow renewal was to stop seeing him as my competition and to embrace him as my teammate, which has meant I have had to show as his teammate more. Back to fortifying the machinery, you know? Friends, let me tell you, this has been a steep climb for me, but also of course a source of serious growth and great joy. He is a hard act to follow, and our God given gifts are very different. Trying to match his every step and measuring myself against his unique contributions was keeping me in a state of frustration and staleness. It took a series of reminders and lessons about individuality for me to really get that we are different people and are meant to contribute differently to our shared life. Anyway. That is a work in progress but is going well.

Just a little encouragement, to take a deep breath and dive into whatever area of your relationship you feel you could improve upon. I will write more, soon, on the immense value of strength-based harmony. This internal adjustment on my part has yielded lots of peace and smoother waters for us. It also seems to afford him more space for surprises, which is cool.

These are good changes.

But lots is the same twenty two years in.

We still write secret grievances throughout the year and read them to each other on New Year’s Day. We still have simple, regular weekly meals and several daily rituals that ground us and tether us, no matter what is happening outside the farm. Though church is not part of life right now, we still try to pray together regularly, holding hands and giving thanks for blessings big and small. We still cling to promises about our family and the future, still remind each other what is true and lasting. We still check in with each other about where we are headed, knowing that mindset matters. We still fiercely protect our time off together then dive into hospitality as often as possible. We still allow each other time and space to do the things we enjoy individually, like gardening and book discussions and car collecting and costumes, though we also help each other and participate in each other’s hobbies plenty.

We have gotten much better at resolving little conflicts and about directly addressing big ones.

As Jessica and Alex approach their second wedding anniversary, we are more aware than ever of how we might be modeling marriage. At the same time, because life is amazing, my parents are approaching their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and we are humbled by the scope of life and survival and the depth of love available to people.

Okay, friends. If you have made it this far, gold star, ha! Thank you for reading. I could write all day and all night about the beauty and intricacies of life with this man. I am so grateful for the ongoing adventure, for the ever increasing sense of safety, and for all the surprises. I could write volumes about the benefits of showing up as his teammate, not his competition. Mostly, I am just so happy that we get to continue writing our own love story. I hope you are writing yours, too.

Happy anniversary, Handsome.
I love you always, now and forever.
XOXOXO

sweep the leg!

I won’t even bother trying to convince you that I never had and don’t have a crush on Johnny Lawrence-slash-the actor who plays him, William Zabka. Obviously, back in the day (it was a Wednesday in the mid-eighties), everyone was publicly rooting for Daniel-Son, but before the hashtag #confessyourunpopularopinions was a thing, I was one of many adolescent girls secretly thinking the taller, better built, blonde-headed guy in the black karate gi had every right to be cocky.

Had Johnny been under the tutelage of Mr. Miyagi instead of the war-damaged Sensai John Kreese, his life would have followed a much healthier path. Who wouldn’t thrive while studying in that zen garden? And had healthy relationships been modeled to him, Johnny would have known how to be sweeter to Ali, Elisabeth Shue’s character. She would no doubt have chosen him over Daniel and everybody else. Obviously. Johnny probably even wore Drakkar Noir!! Daniel was meant to be a flirtatious but still platonic friend, you guys.

Anyway.

We, meaning my real-life husband (who I love deeply and truly) and I, spent a chunk of our Sunday watching the final episodes of the YouTube Red series Cobra Kai. Everything makes so much sense now. My instincts have been proven sound, as the show gives all kinds of cool insight into the characters’ backgrounds as well as into their fast-forward storylines. And it was just plain fun to watch.

Have you seen any episodes yet? I especially enjoyed the scene where Johnny and Daniel are test-driving a car and get caught together reluctantly singing along to REO Speedwagon’s Take it on the Run Baby. Solid gold stuff, ok? And when Johnny is at Daniel’s breakfast table, salting his scrambled eggs angrily and from a ridiculous altitude and with just way too much aggression? I died. I might never salt eggs again without giggling.

Again, anyway.

If you haven’t yet caught the show, do yourself an 80’s throwback favor and track it down online. And message me if you want to join my brand new support group for Girls Who Secretly Loved Johnny Lawrence and Still Do.

Cobra Kai!!

In related snake news (bear with me), yesterday was a designated rest day, but we did more than just watch t.v. We also explored the local flea market, had a late breakfast in Choctaw, and did some summer shopping.

chlorine rodeo coming soon to a hobby farm near you

We also took the Shepps for lots of walks outside, planted more flowers and herbs, and worked on getting the pool open for summer. In between everything, the sun shone gloriously and we played several hundred rounds of FETCH.

Back to snakes.

On one happy lap around the back field, the dogs and I stumbled on a cottonmouth snake sunning himself on the bank of our pond. Naturally, Klaus stopped running immediately where the snake was stretched out and literally stood over the creature like a tall, massive, slobbering bridge. Just stood there. And Lincoln was standing just next to Klaus, both of them looking at me expectantly. I screamed, Lincoln ran like lightning up to the house (he hates it when I scream and apparently I scream a lot more than I realized), and Klaus braced for combat, lowering his belly a few inches. He did not MOVE you guys. He stood there over the snake, ears back, legs stiff, oblivious to danger, yet not knowing quite what I wanted him to do. It’s a miracle he didn’t get bit.

I don’t remember exactly what happened next; it was all a dramatic blur of adrenaline. But somehow Klaus and I made it up to the house and Johhny Lawrence-I mean-Handsome got a gun and we walked back downhill as my heart rate returned to normal and now the snake is completely dead.

Such a close call!! My poor, loyal, skinny black-bear dog.

And my steady, cold-blooded, protective husband who did learn under men like Mr. Miyagi and who does know how to treat women and who also smells very nice, with or without Drakkar Noir.

The End.

No Mercy!!
XOXOXO

there’s no crying in blogging!!

It has been brought to my attention that so many of my posts lately are, however appreciated or readable, so sad that a very special person in my life can no longer read them at work for fear of crying at her desk. So I am dedicating this post entirely to her, and it will contain only funny stuff. Three stories.

Also. She and I are embarking on a new book, reading in tandem The Radium Girls by Kate Moore. We will explore these 400 pages across time zones and while juggling very different lifestyles. I can’t wait to discuss it with her! And I will post a review when we finish.

Okay. Three short stories, all painfully true:

  1. False Alarm: After a good speed workout at my favorite four-mile loop, that one at a nearby reservoir that is so well patrolled by both local police and the sheriff’s department, I was stretching near my car. Really stretching, and actively celebrating a good run because I love my tendons and ligaments so much right now. A police officer with whom I have a hand-waving acquaintance sped over and circled up alongside my car. Kind of in a startling way. I thought for sure I was being arrested. (You know, for running too fast, ha!) He asked if I was ok, I confirmed that I was great but had I done something wrong officer, he said it looked like I was flagging him down for help. That, my friends, is some over-achieving stretch work!
  2. Zero Upper Body Strength: One afternoon this past week Handsome and I took Klaus to a nearby park to romp around and sniff things, two of his best hobbies. I spotted a small monkey bar and had no choice but to attempt an old-school penny drop. This was a staple back in childhood, something my neighborhood friends and I did from the swingset hundreds of times per day and eventually perfected so well that we often hosted backyard performances for Mom and Dad. Once they even brought popcorn and lemonade and offered us scores. It was like the Olympics! It was also the era of Mary Lou Retton, okay? We nailed all the landings back then.Well, back to 2018 and I am 44 and my penny drop days might be far behind me. Despite some recent efforts to lift a hexagon weight here and there, I could not even hoist myself up to the bar without a phenomenal, crawling and moaning, very awkward full body effort. The difficulty was stunning, especially compared to how buoyant and energetic I had felt all day. When I finally got my knees hooked over the bar, my fancy Old Navy workout pants made the whole situation so soft and slippery that my husband said something like, “Don’t break your teeth!” To which my brain added, “…again!!“SoI dismounted (that’s a gymnastics term, don’t worry about it) and aggressively scooched the purple compression fabric up over my knees, hoping some skin contact to the metal would help. It did not help, but it did summon happy memories of raw skin and summertime. Also, I am 5’8″ and the monkey bar was built for children, so once I stretched out upside down, my head almost touched the ground already.


    So I dismounted again but didn’t exactly nail the landing. Really a fantastic anticlimax. Then I spent several uncomfortable minutes working to un-scooch the compression fabric back down to my ankles. It had sort of cut off the circulation at my knees.
    A penny drop did not happen that day, but now I can’t stop thinking about it. Do I want this more than I want to beat my brother in a half marathon? Maybe.

  3. Staple Gun Drama & Marriage is Hard: Yesterday, just before the weather turned cold and ugly, I wandered outside to see what kind of protection the gardens would need overnight. So much has broken dormancy and has been growing well this month, I didn’t want to lose anything to the predicted frost and freeze. I carried to the raised veggie beds a large sheet of landscape fabric, buckets, and my husband’s staple gun. He offered to help me with the staple gun but I took such great offense to him obviously thinking I was too dumb and incapable to operate it myself that I said something sharp and refused all assistance. He went back inside, wounded a little but mostly stunned I think, and I proceeded to deal with the project at hand all by myself thank you very much.Guess what. I couldn’t load staples into the stupid staple gun. But rather than ask for help I went to my little tool cabinet and brought out a hammer and box of finishing nails instead.  I hammered that white fabric to the wooden boxes as quietly as possible, tap-tap-tap, glancing furtively over my shoulder the whole time, lest my temporary opponent might hear the banging and feel victorious.Ok, as you might have guessed, he definitely heard the hammering and also saw through the upstairs window that I had abandoned the staple gun.Later I apologized for snapping at him and explained why my feelings were hurt but that I knew he had good intentions, is only ever trying to help and obviously he knows I am a genius. Obviously. He nodded enough to satisfy me then said that, actually, he had seen that I was trying to use a broken staple gun. Apparently, we own two. The End.

Sometimes life is easy-squeezy-lemon peasy.
Sometimes it is difficult-difficult-lemon-difficult.
XOXOXOXO

super moon reflections, a month later

One Month Ago:

At 5:20 Monday morning, our south lawn was draped in stark moon shadows. Long, dramatic, angular ghosts in black and silver, jutting out to the east of every outbuilding, every oak tree, even the slender zinnias. The sight was truly stunning. I had never seen the farm so zig-zagged by shadow and light. The full moon was still lit fiercely, almost too bright to gaze at directly, and now perched high in the satiny black heavens, no longer eclipsed. I don’t remember even a stitch of a breeze that Monday morning. All the animals were asleep except the barn cats and Klaus. He was bounding around in the moonlight, swirling our ankles and celebrating a new day. A new moon phase, too, though he didn’t know it.

(photo credit to my friend Christina Kamp)
(photo credit to my friend Christina Kamp)

A Few Hours Earlier:

Sunday night before, just as the swollen moon was growing that bloody rust around her edges and the eclipse was beginning, Handsome and I sat with Klaus in the barnyard, the one where we sometimes have outdoor movie nights with friends. We were in plastic Adirondack chairs facing east, toward the Talking Tree. The sky was black and breezy.

That night I had collapsed desperately into moon gazing, feeling more physically and emotionally drained than I had in months. So much of that previous week was spent shredded and crying, angry, deeply examining and weighing everything in my life (big stuff, friends, not what color to paint my kitchen). I watched the sky and measured my internal reactions, actively hoping that the full moon would bring the end of some unwelcome intensity. Breathed deeply.

(photo credit to our friend James Menzies)
(photo credit to our friend James Menzies)

The eclipse was amazing, of course. We sat in that barnyard and watched for a long time, trading cuddles with Klaus and holding hands more cautiously than normal. We saw a shooting star at the same moment and both made wishes. Probably breaking good-luck protocol, Handsome asked me what my wish was. “For everything to return to normal,” I answered honestly. This stung him, he said, because he thought everything was normal. And wonderful. I pulled my frayed orange blanket more tightly around my arms and flinched at a sticker that had found my ankle.

For all its beauty and intensity, that previous lunar cycle was rough. It coincided with my own personal lunar cycle, and the combination was almost too much. As life goes, this cosmic intersection happened alongside some unrelated (or maybe definitely related?) life events, external stressors that became much harder to cope with under these circumstances. My energy was both drained and exploding, which is bizarre, and everything was white hot, sharp, and painfully intense. Just like the full moon in those pre-dawn moments on Monday. The heated edge cast scary shadows on every part of my life.

Today:

That was a month ago. Our Super Moon. The Blood Moon that captured everyone’s attention in so many ways. That Monday morning in September, drained of all its color and gleaming fiercely, the moon got my heart and mind all churned up. And the difficulty continued for a few more weeks.

This morning in October, as we watched the moon rise full and bright again, everything is softer, gentler. The weather is cooler but not yet cold. Our windows are open and so is my heart again, finally. My thoughts and emotions are settled now and I feel stronger with this new perspective. We are enjoying a rebuilding in this house, and it feels pretty wonderful. I got my shooting-star wish that things would return to normal, except that having walked with eyes open through that bizarre month, things are better than normal now. Deliberateness brings lots of added beauty, you know?

Did you experience anything like this leading up to the Super Blood Moon? Did you notice the crystal clear dark-before-dawn that first Monday morning after the eclipse? Had you been through an exceptionally potent week (or month) leading up to it?

Our bodies are comprised of so much water, after all. If the ocean can be pulled by the moon, why would we be exempt? I have tried to rebel against this for a long time, but finally the rhythm makes sense. Finally the purpose seems a little more clear, the swell and retreat of energy, all the variations in between. Now, as long we stay centered in Love and navigate the waters honestly, I feel safe riding the waves and plumbing the depths. Who once said that an unexamined life is not worth living?

And one last note: Other life issues aside, I personally believe the color of your kitchen is kind of a big deal. ; ) Choose wisely.

“Summer ends and autumn comes,
and he who would have it otherwise
would have high tide always and a full moon every night.”
~Hal Borland
XOXOXOXO