Lazy W Marie

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

Gift of Home

   To call me ruined by this beautiful place we call home would be fair.  There’s plenty of work to do, always, and nothing is ever really perfect by crazy-people standards; but I cannot imagine a more satisfying way to spend every day than to wake up here, work here, play here, and rest here. 
   The pleasures, challenges, and rewards of this crazy little farm march in gentle succession from dawn till dusk and at every moment in between, day after day and season after season.  I never dread coming home; in fact, I get homesick too easily now.  Home is now both my foundation and my escape, and I feel so blessed to be able to say that at such a relatively young age.
   Time passes too quickly within these gates, no matter how hard we try to manage our days and hours wisely. 

 

   One of the most beautiful truths we have discovered is that other people feel the specialness too.  Maybe not with the intensity we do, because visitors are usually only here for a few hours at a time, but we constantly collect warm, emotional reviews from friends and family of all ages about how good they feel here.
   One of our very beautiful, special-to-our-hearts nieces “K” once remarked that she feels happy here, that there is peace.  This only confirms for us that our country home was a gift from God.  I am not sure we have ever expressed to her our gratitude for that gift.  Thank you Sweet Girl.
   All of our prayers are not yet answered.  We wait and hope, ache, for all the beds to be filled here more often and for the dinner table to be crowded with happy faces on regular nights, without big parties. 
   That pain gets frequently eased with great mercy from the Lord.  But it is deep and pulsing and is always present. 

   And as so often happens, living with unsolvable pain makes us keenly aware of the abundant blessings we enjoy!  We have the gifts of knowing how to appreciate the things that are going well and of daily living so many miracles. 

   We simmer in love that comes in many shapes and languages.  We are surrounded by strong, compassionate people, both friends and family.  We get to care for a variety of creatures who mirror our spirit sometimes more than I would like to admit.  And we are constantly learning lessons we didn’t know were so vital. 
   The bottom line is that life here is good.  I am not bragging, just celebrating.  From the bottom of my heart.

  

Cyclical Creativity

   Over the years I have noticed both swells and droughts in my feelings of creativity or maybe in my productive creativity.  Writer’s Block is very real, and of course people from all crafts and disciplines have times of head-scratching and eye-rubbing because the seed of an idea refuses to germinate. 
   This could apply to office issues, home decorating, parenting, vacation planning, studying, anything at all that requires creative thinking or problem solving.  Universal but not terrible.
   One weird and slightly personal observation I’ve made of my own patterns has helped a bunch and might help you too.  Err, at least the ladies.
  Recognizing at what stage of my, ahem, lunar cycle I am tells me whether I have at that moment a propensity for wild idea storms, hard physical labor, painfully tedious attention to detail, praising and encouraging others, or just collecting energy from outside of myself. 
   I call this last time the Desperately Dry Sponge days.  It’s when I troll tastemaker blogs the most, re-read Charlotte Bronte, and flip through crinkly old marked up issues of my fave print magazines.
  Seems like every part of the month lends itself to something special and, when capitalized upon, can be uniquely fruitful.  Every stage of creating, by the way, is rich in blessing or benefit too!  All are necessary for the full artistic experience, and it may take more than one complete trek through the menu to complete a really good project.
   Maybe this explains in part why some bloggers may let a week or two pass without posting and then suddenly explode with  a long list of brilliantly written essays!  Or why after weeks of stagnant time in front of blank canvases, a painter can’t sleep for days because she is churning out her soul in color. 
   This brings with it a particular obstacle worth noticing, because how sad for the person who FINALLY feels the onslaught of motility in her craft but is bound by the structure of life to be at a paying job, care for others, etc, etc.
   Wait, shall we only go with the flow?  Remain tethered to the reggae vibe of our feelings?  I kind of don’t think so.  Part of adopting a discipline, of course, is the discipline part.  Working through regardless of the easy energy you feel.  So there’s a certain responsibility of any artist to try and produce with some amount of consistency, even if the end product is at times weak. 
   It will get better.  And who says you have to share the weak stuff with anyone?
   Pay attention to the added benefits here, too.  Check out what kind of emotional or psychological payoff you enjoy after managing to exact revenge on those thoughts like, “NOT TODAY ALREADY!”
   And by all means, when the monsoon hits, embrace it as much as you can.  Ride the waves of expression as much and as skillfully as you personally can do at that time, knowing that its time is possibly limited.
   How do you manage the swells and droughts in your creative life?  What practical methods do you have in place for those dry days?  And how do you rearrange your life for the lush days of outpouring?    
   The process of how people push through from frustration to completion is fascinating to me.  Crossing my fingers that you all share.  xoxo 

State of Fear (book review)

   First, let’s agree that this book has all the elements that make for a good read.  Great characters, plot, complexity, tension, and a reasonable conclusion, plus a readable and entertaining style throughout.  I mean, the flavor served up by Michael Crichton is not nearly so sensual as Anne Rice nor so fantastical as Dean Koontz or Aimee Bender, but it is enjoyable in its own right.

  
   Okay, so no big surprise that the creator of Jurassic Park and the television series E.R. knows how to hold an audience...  But I had no idea what a thought provoking experience this paperback diversion would become. 
   And after digesting it for a while, I thought I was extremely clever to poke around the Internet looking for science to either reinforce or dispute what I had just read, only to find a full blown cult following already in place.
   I am always late to the best parties.  Unless I am throwing the party, but even then I am usually not early.  My hair is usually still wet from showering way too close to arrival time for guests, and the kitchen is in definitely in a general state of disarray.  A state of fear, if you will.
   Back to the book review. 
   This novel is basically about the inner workings and global wrappings of media, environmental concerns, big corporate money and government, and the straight up violence that comes with the whole circus. 
   If you have ever wondered about which media sources to trust and which to take with a big chunky grain of salt, read this book.  But I warn you, it will not act as a warm and cozy security blanket for your already troubled mind; you might slip into paranoia.
   If you have ever smirked at the extremes to which environmental activists take their many causes, read this book.  The same goes for people who are not sure why we should believe in something just because a popular celebrity says so.
   If you believe firmly in global warming and are a devoted recycler or carpooler, read this book.  I am not saying you will be be swayed one bit; you should just read this book.
   If you are either a member of or an attorney for Sierra Club or a similar group, well, you might not ought to read this book.  It could get you fired or at least placed on a list.  Then again, maybe it’s required reading…
   If your morbid self has ever been curious about cannibalism, read at least part of this book, okay?  You can’t even imagine.
   If you are an intelligent science student who has more than a lay person’s foundational knowledge on these topics, read this book and then please contact me.  We have a lot of things to discuss.  Thanks.
  

Car Show Culture

   I entered this marriage with a perspective that cars were nothing more than modes of transportation.  Learning through Handsome, then, the scope of artistic expression and passion and also the varying skills required in his car world, was eye opening. 
   Suffice it to say that his mechanical and electronic skills far exceed my own and most likely always will.  But my passion for this brave world is beginning to give his a run for its money. 
   Wait, does Passion have money? 
And if so, where does Passion get it? 
I don’t think Passion needs money,
but Passion sure can cost you money. 
I digress…
   We attended our second car show of this season over the weekend.  In Oklahoma we are already deep in the throes of an extreme summer, and we had a really wonderful time!
These Camaros’ lucky parking arrangement
had me craving a Dreamsicle. 
Bad.  Like, real bad.
“Would you like a white SS with orange racing stripes,
or an orange SS with white racing stripes, ma’am?”
   At any given car show you are likely to see every imaginable shade of red.  Every shade of most colors, actually, but red does seem to dominate.  Car owners, body men, and painters swim in color and pattern just like any other visual artist does.  Some people work hard at staying factory-original; other people take license to be very imaginative with their interior and exterior schemes.  The results are always interesting and often cause for friendly debate. 
   This photograph reminds me of a central theme that makes me kind of emotional.  Patriotism is pervasive, though inarticulate, at these gatherings.  In ten years I have never once heard mention of politics at these events, but there is lots of cultural exchange and fabric-of-life kind of talk.  And so much of it fortifies my opinion of living in this country!
   In sharing with each other your vehicles and your stories, you are helping to build a spontaneous oral history.  You are cross-pollinating the widely flung tales of people, families, and businesses through the decades, over the miles of these United States.
   And by the way, oral histories are arguably the most valuable bits of record we could possess.  More on that another time…
   If you listen closely, you can absorb who was president when this car was popular and why that matters; what industries were strongest then; how music impacted people that year; why someone chose that car and how he paid for it, whether a romance was important then, etc, etc.  Fascinating stuff! 
   People are interesting, and they are very willing to share their stories, especially when those stories can be illustrated by a big, beautiful, well loved machine.    I have seen men and women of all ages bond happily and anonymously this way, and that is just cool.
  
Some vehicles strike the marrow in my bones. 
This perfectly intense black Chevy truck
was one such creature this past weekend. 
I feel like Darth Vader would drive it.
   Speaking of a shared culture, only a few cars at the shows we frequent ever boast this kind of frenzy-causing ability.  This particular car is said to be titled in Georgia AND the owner had installed the right horn in his General Lee! 
   He was happy to oblige the crowd all day long.  Even across the expansive parking lot, Hazzard’s twelve-syllable anthem is absolutely laughter inducing!  Suddenly every one’s a southerner.
  
   If you are too young to have any stories to tell about actual social reform in the 1960s, then you are just exactly the right age to feel like you…
A.)  were blood related to the Duke family.
B.)  at one time were in love with a member of the Duke family. 
C.)  wanted to have your car worked on by Cooter.  Or…
D.)  were sympathetic to poor old Roscoe P. Coltrane and his misadventure sidekick, Flash.

“Geyoog, geyoog, geyoog!”
This is a veritable tuxedo on wheels. 
Even sitting still she looks fast, smooth, and classy.
She kinda took my breath away. 
I just love than rear wheel skirt, so ladylike…
Can you tell from this photo that the bed of this truck is textured? 
   It has been sprayed with bed liner material mixed with the same paint as the body.  What’s special about this find is that Handsome’s Dad is who started doing this way back in the early 1980s.  He was a pioneer, and people who show cars still know him by name.  He owned a body shop where were sown the seeds of automotive passion as well as a very respectable work ethic in his young son, my future Love.
   Saturday’s car show was excellent.  We saw friends, soaked up the sights, and celebrated some common appreciation for a pretty special art form.  Like always, though, at the end of the day we were ready to pack up and drive home.  We had memories to file away, a car cleaning bag to replace to the shop shelves, and a mild case of dehydration to nurse.
   The last thing we do before leaving is attend the awards ceremony.  Should our entry number be called (it often is), Handsome assigns me the task and the honor of accepting our trophy. 

   I dig it baby.  This is my moment.

   I mentally pretend to have not only invented cars but also to have personally designed whichever one we brought that day.  I imagine having hand painted the car with a brush built from a wild boar’s whiskers. 
(Victoria Jackson with Paul Simon? 
Classic SNL?  Look it up, it’s super funny.)
  
   As I sashay up to the microphone, flapping my pointy elbows like a rooster (this is part of the act) I notice a sour, humid odor that proves I have been at a car show all day in 95-degree heat. 

   And without warning my Car Guru fantasy shifts to thoughts of slipping into and drinking in deep gulps of the swimming pool waiting for us at home…

   Cars smell good.  Boys who work on cars smell good.  Girls who attend seven-hour car shows in summertime?  Not so much.


Tiptoeing Through Seeds

   Few normal, everyday events have the power to thrust me into a foul mood more than walking barefoot on a dirty floor.  Especially a hardwood floor encrusted with parrot fodder.  Especially when it happens fifteen feet away from the parrot’s perch. 
   I also hate sweeping and mopping, though.  These rank super low on my list of Pleasurable Domestic Duties.  What an unfortunate combination of personality traits, eh? 

   Introducing our bird, our only inside animal, Bobby Pacino….


“Wannabite?”

   You can just call him Pacino.  Or Peekaboo.  He recently turned six years old and is a really good and loving boy through and through.  But he is messy.  I mean, he is like a toddler crossed with Animal from the Muppet Show in the middle of a tornado.  That kind of messy.

   And while cleaning up after Pacino is not difficult per se, it is a tedious job that needs to be done frequently.  Which translates to, “It gets put off a lot.” 
   Like any job that gets put off, this can be problematic.  Maybe I can get away with not sweeping for an afternoon.  If I scoot his perch a little bit away from our walking path, maybe the floors can even wait until tomorrow. 
   But that causes terrible things to accumulate beneath the loveseat.  And eventually we are all padding around the living room, shaking empty sunflower seeds from our bare feet.  Or cursing the dried red peppers in the adjoining room’s carpet. 
   My last act of defiance against cleaning floors is tiptoeing through the now thickened blanket of seeds, elusive white under feathers, and cracker crumbs that radiates out from Pacino’s throne.  By day two of procrastinating, I lend to my trek across the lower level of our home the same energy you might give to navigating a minefield.  This causes my tension to mount rapidly.
   Almost as soon as I realize we have reached this extreme yet again, I go find the broom & mop.  Ten minutes later the hardwood is restored to safety and smoothness.  We are walking upright again, no longer wasting time, energy, and peacefulness on avoiding this very natural part of life.
   What are you actively avoiding today?  Don’t be like me and spend more of yourself on avoiding a job than you would spend just getting it done already.  Bite the bullet!  Do yourself a favor and fast forward into completion while you are still smiling…


  

  “The fastest way through a problem is solving it.”
~Author Unknown
Thanks for your indirect motivation, Pacino!
xoxoxo
~Momma