Lazy W Marie

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

in a continuum, where does the story begin?

“The good news is that the heat seems to be exhausting our five million grasshoppers. Wait, let me back up…”

I was around nine years old, barefoot and in the middle branches of Mom’s mulberry tree, right there on the west edge of the house against our neighbors’ driveway. My hands were stained black with the wonderful inky juice, my skin brown from summertime and my hair probably tangled in the back. I was worried that something deep and important was wrong with me because I could never figure out the correct beginning of any story. I was fundamentally flawed, though I didn’t know the word fundamental yet.

I marveled at how people could just dive in and tell any story fluidly, discerning with confidence how to begin the tale and what details to include. To me, to my nonstop thoughts and conveyor belt lines of questioning, every beginning was really just the middle or end of something else, everything was very literally connected. Nothing, not even in fiction books, had a believable and well formed boundary.

It’s why I still have trouble telling stories. I never know where to start. What history can be excluded, can just be trimmed away as if it didn’t happen, as if it doesn’t matter any more.

What details matter not just to me, but also to the listener or reader? What details would be missed, if I attempted some economy? What precious context supplies the understanding that makes all the difference?

Nothing happens in a vacuum, and no man is an island. We all affect each other, and we are all affected by each other. That’s not a flaw; it’s part of our wonderful design.

As for how you tell me stories, tell me everything. Leave nothing out. I want to hear it all, even if it barely seems relevant. I want to understand the background stories, the moods and flavors, the weird implications, the spider webs of complicated stories that led up this exact moment.

The grasshoppers are numerous, but they are slowing under the weight of Oklahoma summertime. And the tomatoes are thriving. Tonight we ate a pretty delicious galette made with a few of those tomatoes plus fresh garden basil and a parmesean-cornmeal crust.

And we sat with and loved on our friends whose story is changing. Not suddenly, and not in a vacuum. I do not grasp where it begins, really, and maybe they don’t either. Tonight, though, we have this part of it, of this one part of a big and complicated story that is far from over. This moment in a continuum, this chance to do the next right thing.

I very much wish that someone would have told me, at nine, barefoot in that mulberry tree, that it’s ok to not know where a story begins. No one knows. We just get to dive in right where we are and pour ourselves out lavishly.

“You never know how hard it will be.
You never know when it will end.
You can’t control it.
You can only adjust. And, he added,
No one gets through it on their own.“
~Angel, Born to Run, Christopher McDougall

reeling from the KFOR “remarkable woman” fun

Several years ago, Handsome and I attended an awards dinner where my sweet Dad was being honored by his Knights of Columbus peers. After an effusive and much deserved welcome speech, the emcee invited Dad to the front and handed him the mic. Dad smirked while everyone applauded, then he said in his perfectly deadpan voice, “I had a speech written but seem to have left it at home.” Then, pretending to pat down his own pockets and turn to look behind himself, he shrugged one shoulder and actually left the stage. Dad rejoined the family with exactly the same smile he wears when launching a spectacular knee-grabber. The crowd exploded into laughter and applauded again, because of course this is exactly how Joe Dunaway would accept an award. I decided then and there, that if I ever won anything I would do something equally clever and evident of such charming humility. Such unbelievable arrogance to not have a speech! It turns out that Dad is a tough act to follow in every way, including this.

You guys, I have not even won anything, but I have so much to say! You all have poured out such love that I am soggy from it. Warm and pliable and smiling, pulsing from every syllable you have arrowed my way. My heart is full, is what I am trying to say. The magic here is that literally every single person who has expressed love and friendship to me holds a vital space in my heart. One evening as my husband read to me some names and notes that I had not heard from personally, I could not stop crying. How wonderful and bizarre to feel so connected. Please know that I have always felt this way toward you. My life is brimming with fascinating people. Inspiring, hard working, generous, amazing people. You all set templates for me constantly.

Dad calls this situation a “Mutual Admiration Society.”

Thank you to all of our friends and family who conspired with Handsome to include me in this fun nomination. I thank you truly both for the words you shared weeks ago (covertly, ha!), and I thank you truly for the tidal wave of love notes you have been pressing here since. Your affection and support have landed squarely in my heart, and I am letting it all sink in deeply. It will not go to waste.

Forgive me, though, if every time
someone quips, “you’re famous!”
I instantly think “don’t you mean INFAMOUS”
and do the Three Amigos dance in my mind. Okay.

we are INFAMOUS

Thank you, Ali Meyer, for your listening heart. Thank you for your talented storytelling and your discretion. I aspire to your skillful, poetic brevity. You and Travis helped us feel seen in the best ways, and we hope you and your families feel welcome at the farm always.

Thank you to my sister Angela for sharing her time to do an interview and for her immense love. I know how lucky I am to have her as a friend.

Thank you to Handsome for being the world’s most supportive and most protective husband, period. He just will not allow anything but love and freedom and safety here, and for that I am eternally grateful. And thank you to his colleagues, our friends, who were in on this.

Now that the story has aired, we feel compelled and excited to share more of our Lazy W Family Outreach stories. So far we have just flown under the radar with hints and glimpses. It’s all a relatively fresh undertaking and one which we are determined to keep fluid and responsive month to month, season to season. But right now feels like a good and strong time to open up. I hope you’ll follow along with that! Feel free to join conversations both here and on our Facebook pages (here is the blog page). We will be posting fresh new community events soon.

One more thing, friends, before we all get sleepy. I am thrilled to be meeting so many new Oklahoma readers! I think you are all from Oklahoma? Thank you for introducing yourselves and for leaving me notes here and in messages. I am having fun contacting everyone slowly. Thank you for understanding that I do this between chores and running and cooking, ha!

Speaking of chores (last thing, promise), I do not want to alarm you, but we collected thirty eight eggs over the past twenty four hours. Thirty-eight!! Also? The frogs have come out of  hibernation and the roses are all breaking dormancy. The countdown to true spring is gaining momentum.

Happy waxing moon indeed.

“UBUNTU: I am because we are.”
African philosophy
XOXOXOXO