Lazy W Marie

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

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turkey palooza love letter to my family

In our family, every person counts. We are a big, rambunctious crowd, and while from the outside it may seem that anyone could get lost in us, we always feel the absence of any one member.

In our family, we tease each other mercilessly, sometimes bordering on meanness, but we love each other fiercely and will defend each other to outsiders with everything we have. Sincere efforts are appreciated, too, and applauded. We love doing things for and with each other.

In our family, we value fun and silliness. Greatly. We laugh loudly and a lot. And at everything. Over and over and over again. We play games chance we get.

In our family, kids are precious. And the adults are also kids.

In our family we weep with each other. And although we no longer attend church together, we all feel and benefit from each other’s prayers.

We all crave deeper and continuing connection with each other. We are gently competitive, but we mostly help each other. Everyone contributes. Even the Whos in Whoville have nothing on our family’s sense of teamwork. You know what we should do? Go on Family Feud or maybe The Greatest Race or something.

For us, there is no such thing as a black sheep, because we all take turns being the odd man out, ha. At some time, each of us has wandered from the fold, and we always come back. This gives us hope for our babes who are hurting. We have learned that each of us has an ongoing need for grace and mercy. We all have said and done things to hurt each other, we all have been forgiven, we all want everybody else to stay close immediately and from now on, ok? There are no outsiders in our family. We are all of us, together, even when we are far flung. Every person is worth waiting for.  

(Come home, Joc. We miss you. We need you. We are here for anything you need.)

We love each other. We love each other’s babies and puppies. We feel at home in each other’s homes. It feels like childhood after a few hours or especially a few days together in a shared, confined space.

In our family, we eat really well. We are, I like to think, health conscious hedonists. Giving us home cooked food with whole milk and eating dinner at the table for 90% of our meals, Mom and Dad raised lots of very enthusiastic cooks! This Thanksgiving, two of their adult grandchildren some cooking for the feast, and we were so proud.

We care about beauty and lushness, but we are not too fancy.

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We value lots of traditions, if they serve our communal joy, and we won’t be shamed out of it. We don’t mind test driving new traditions either! The Saran Wrap game is only a few years old for us, but it’s not going anywhere. We also love to share memories and figure out which details we retain differently. (If you think we didn’t have a pet ferret, though, you’re wrong.)

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In our family we work hard and expect accountability. For example, when a projects falls flat, Dad might say, “What did you think would happen when you did that?” And this question doesn’t sting; it only points us back to the process.

We nap hard. We dance, draw,  create, play music, imagine, climb trees, study, clean, and work. Hard. Really hard. All of it.

Our family takes lots and lots of photos! Of everything. We do this because we are amazed by how quickly time passes. We want some documentation of all this life happening. But we also hate for our own photos to be posted to Face book without permission. Ask Genny about having cheeks full of banana at the 5K.

For our family, the two people who started everything as bright eyed, glossy faced teenagers are now our matriarch and patriarch, and for all of our juvenile complaining and petulance in the past, now… none of us know what we would do without them.

In our family we celebrate each other’s successes. We ask a lot about the future, and we love talking to each other about our plans, whatever they may be, big or small. We encourage each other. We have learned to not dwell too long in the past, except to celebrate it and hopefully laugh. We have learned that every single one of us needs some forward momentum. Some encouragement and a push here and there. Also some grace and compassion, all of which we happily provide for each other.

In our family, it’s a lot. It’s a lot of a lot, with no signs of it ever not being a lot. But we love it. Our two sweet members who married into all of this A-Lot-Ness  probably feel it the most. BW and Halee are often a bit wide-eyed by the end of a good reunion, but we trust that they too value the whirling dervish that is our family.

We all need a nap now. And a bit of quiet, maybe some Febreeze for the house and a few raw veggies for our bellies. But truly we just love the happy chaos so much. We love the intense texture and noise and wild flavor of us all together, because as messy as it is, as overwhelming as it can be, as much as the togetherness may stretch each other’s boundaries, this is where each of us originated.  This is the very real and powerful nucleus of Love and Intention and Effort from which all five of us sprouted and grew. How wonderful that we all have grown in such different directions and still “come home” to celebrate so often.

Come home. Touch base. Home base.

“Safe!”
(unless you are playing Wago)
XOXOXOXO

using shadows to see the light

Once in a blue moon, I allow myself to wander the shadowy landscape of What Might Have Been. I briefly revisit so many surreal weeks in hospitals with our girls when they were tiny. Family funerals over the years. Bizarre relationship changes. Job loss and all of the precipitating life evolutions. Near misses on the highway. Injuries and illnesses with our farm animals. The terror of everything that happened in Colorado two years ago. All of the scary parts of life that my mind is mostly trained to not glorify, I will just sometimes glance at again.

I don’t do this often, or for very long, because I have learned that imagining things can bring them to fruition. Our most vibrant emotions have the power to magnify; they can either fuel or fight against our prayers. Those idle moments lost in thought can sharpen unseen possibilities, good and bad. So I am careful.

But I am as susceptible to triggers and as filled with memory as anyone, so sometimes I let it all drizzle over me for a few moments. If I am feeling strong and focused enough, I allow a good, steady gaze straight in the face of all those phantoms. I remember the terror, the grief, the uncertainty, whatever it is. Or whatever it was or could have been. I think that’s key.

Then inevitably I am flooded with visions of reality, for how things actually are, and I am shaken to my core with gratitude. At that point, my indulgence is over. My mental habit is to give thanks for as many true details as I can scoop up. Gratitude is easy for facts like sunsets and gardens. Art and music. Fat horses. Dramatic Oklahoma skies. Life and redemption. Lies burned through with truth. Healing. Financial provision. Relationships strengthened. Children returned home. Addictions dealt with. Breakthroughs. Peace. Unbridled joy in the midst of so much suffering.

I return intentionally to reality, to the present moment. And the beauty of the present moment always outshines the shadowy, phantom past.

A few weeks ago, on a whim, I texted a phone number still programmed in my phone to Jocelyn. It is no longer hers, I knew that, but in the bounce back of one of the indulgences I just described to you, I had to try. The new owner replied and I asked, if they knew Joc, to tell her know that her Mom loves her and misses her so much. This was a silly thing to do. I realize the odds of that person knowing her were ridiculous. But this person responded with compassion and a wish that I find her and that she knows we love her.

Then, just a few days ago, Handsome and I were driving on Northwest Expressway and stopped at a traffic light across from Baptist hospital. This was exactly the last part of town where I last spent time with Joc and her little sister, almost a year ago. Stopped at that light, in the driver’s seat, I spotted a petite young woman with dark hair and slim legs, an oversized coat, backpack on one shoulder. She was waiting to cross the Expressway. It only lasted for a moment, but I thought it was her. My body flooded and tensed with adrenaline, and I very nearly threw the car into park and flung open the door. I was ready to scream her name and sprint to her, but the young woman turned her head and showed me a face that was not Jocelyn’s. I sat there just kind of crumpled, you know that feeling when a flood of adrenaline drains quietly. It’s always such a sickening, nauseous moment. I held my breath, begging silently for the green light. When Handsome saw my face, all I told him was that I thought I had seen Joc. He put his hand on my leg and whispered a few words of prayer. Everything was warm and steady again. That familiar sensation of God being near us dissolved the sick.

I miss her. I miss so much I do not have the words for it. And I am dealing with lots of anger, too, with other adults in her life and her sisters’, in their upbringing, in their adulthood, just the world itself is so violent and treacherous. My beautiful, innocent babies. Yet… Layered with and connected to this ongoing grief is a strong, brilliant assurance that every single prayer is already answered. Reality is both; they seem inseparable.

If we never revisit the old wounds and fears, either near misses or catastrophes that actually did happen and actually did reshape our worlds, I think our gratitude can become dull, theoretical, rote. But laying hold of our darkest feelings and offering them to God is a good way to transform them. It’s that miraculous alchemy again. The gratitude that comes next is textured and colorful, vibrating with life because we know our gifts are real and worth appreciating.

  • Admitting our broken relationships and failures then giving thanks for the healing that has come since.
  • Looking at where we have been emptied out and scraped bare then giving thanks for the unprecedented ways God has refilled our stores, emotionally, financially, physically.
  • Remembering lost loved ones so we can keep their characters alive and also more actively treasure the people still with us.
  • Excitement in advance for miracles still brewing.
  • Gratitude for the true elasticity of time and for the timeless, omnipresent, unstoppable force that is Love.

Faith cooperates with imagination, but it hardly an imaginary whim. Every one of these moments in life, each choice to redirect our energy and recommit ourselves, counts. And the sharp contrast between Fear and Love is so delicious, such a gift in itself.

Come home, baby. I have so much to tell you.

Dunbar Thoughts

Just a few chapters deep into Abundance and I am smitten. This is exactly the gritty yet conversational sort of education I have craved, specifically on the topic of outlook and positivism. This book, so far, is framing global well being and how we as individuals could approach big topics humanity faces, by breaking down not just socio-political and economic issues but also biological design. The how are we wired to operate kinds of questions that always grip me.

Ok. A full review and hopefully some deep discussion after I actually read the entire book, haha. Tonight I want to touch on one skinny little mention of a really interesting detail, from page 36 if you happen to have a copy. It’s the Dunbar Number, and it’s all about relationships.

After years of work and study, a researcher from Oxford University named Robin Dunbar landed on the anthropological fact that humans have evolved to nurture and maintain about 150 interpersonal relationships. One hundred and fifty. How does this number strike you? Because it has been swimming in my head all day (I really this around 5:00 this morning) and the number has felt both enormous and minuscule depending on what context I choose.

Relationships, though, not just contacts or followers or demographic-sharers. It’s also about more than just neighbors and classmates, though of course all of these people could provide life connection. But true, one-on-one, genuine relationships are, apparently, meant to be limited.

Can I effectively maintain that many though? Can you? Jessica and I explored this topic all afternoon, and Handsome and I did early this morning before he left for he Commish. (Two solid relationships, by the way, which I appreciate deeply and which will forever be worth cultivating.) They each had insight that I hadn’t even considered.

I find it fascinating to reflect on the variety of depth and quality that so many human relationships could display. Each one offers and demands such different gifts and efforts. And in those moments when 150 sounds high, I wonder if it’s because I am allowing my energy to leak out to lesser priorities in less meaningful ways.

Ok. I have dinner to cook and a few more chapters to read. Our windows are open, Klaus is snoring contentedly, and I am buzzing with gratitude for so many bouquets of late season flowers scattered around the house. Thanks for checking in!! Please share your thoughts below and I will respond. I hope to hear lots of perspectives on the Dunbar Number.

“The future is better than you think.”

-Peter Diamandis & Steven Kotler

XOXOXOXO

Dunbar Thoughts

Just a few chapters deep into Abundance and I am smitten. This is exactly the gritty yet conversational sort of education I have craved, specifically on the topic of outlook and positivism. This book, so far, is framing global well being and how we as individuals could approach big topics humanity faces, by breaking down not just sociopath-political and economic issues but also biological design. The how are we wired to operate kinds of questions that always grip me.

Ok. A full review and hopefully some deep discussion after I actually read the entire book, haha. Tonight I want to touch on one skinny little mention of a really interesting detail, from page 36 if you happen to have a copy. It’s the Dunbar Number, and it’s all about relationships.

After years of work and study, a researcher from Oxford University named Robin Dunbar landed on the anthropological fact that humans have evolved to nurture and maintain about 150 interpersonal relationships. One hundred and fifty. How does this number strike you? Because it has been swimming in my head all day (I really this around 5:00 this morning) and the number has felt both enormous and minuscule depending on what context I choose.

Relationships, though, not just contacts or followers or demographic-sharers. It’s also about more than just neighbors and classmates, though of course all of these people could provide life connection. But true, one-on-one, genuine relationships are, apparently, meant to be limited.

Can I effectively maintain that many though? Can you? Jessica and I explored this topic all afternoon, and Handsome and I did early this morning before he left for he Commish. (Two solid relationships, by the way, which I appreciate deeply and which will forever be worth cultivating.) They each had insight that I hadn’t even considered.

I find it fascinating to reflect on the variety of depth and quality that so many human relationships could display. Each one offers and demands such different gifts and efforts. And in those moments when 150 sounds high, I wonder if it’s because I am allowing my energy to leak out to lesser priorities in less meaningful ways.

Ok. I have dinner to cook and a few more chapters to read. Our windows are open, Klaus is snoring contentedly, and I am buzzing with gratitude for so many bouquets of late season flowers scattered around the house. Thanks for checking in!! Please share your thoughts below and I will respond. I hope to hear lots of perspectives on the Dunbar Number.

“The future is better than you think.”

-Peter Diamandis & Steven Kotler

XOXOXOXO

threshold magic

Seasonal thresholds always excite me. The shift in energy and the changing scenery, both in nature and in life, are powerful stimulants.  This recent slice of days, this threshold between summer and fall, has been brackish and wonderful. A stained glass window of work and gardens, of romance and books and socializing. I am smitten all over again, and autumn hasn’t taken hold yet.

On the very last day of meteorological summer we woke up early and decided with measured reluctance to close the pool. The chlorinated water had finally turned cold and cloudy. We gave thanks for a truly gorgeous, extra long summer then stretched the giant, crunching plastic blanket across and around the metal pool frame. We threaded the steel cord through the grommets, tightened it, and sighed audibly. The task itself was pretty easy, but saying goodbye to swimming season was less so.

Later that day we joined friends and strangers at Savory Spice Shop in OKC for their annual pie baking contest, definitely a seasonal treat and tradition worth keeping. The wonderful assault of fragrances aimed my heart straight at the best of autumn. Cinnamon! Nutmeg! Apples! Perfect, flaky crusts of every variety! Pecans!  My amazing friend Kellie won with her perfect entry of Bonaffee Pie, banana and caramel confection. Heaven in a pie plate.

 This past weekend, Handsome and I attended a storytelling event called “Ricochet,” in Oklahoma City. It was hosted by our friends Shanna and Ryan McKinley. I shared with a room full of strangers a pretty ridiculous true story of my own and thoroughly enjoyed hearing all the other stories. So fun! The recording will be on Ryan’s podcast and I’ll share it when it’s live!

We also hosted another community painting event in the midst of some intermittent sun showers. The afternoon was pastel and mild and had a suspenseful, magical quality. We enjoyed a more intimate group than last time and a smaller meal, too. The sun sank just as we were cleaning up, casting golden light on the easels as if that night was the first time a true Golden Hour had ever happened. Things felt weirdly perfect for those transitional days.

Things here are neither crisp nor cool, not yet, but at least we are no longer battling heat advisories. This kind of humidity is manageable when not in triple digits, ha. And around midnight tonight a much anticipated cool front just might blow across our beautiful state. Already the normally deafening frog song has quieted. Where did they go?

Fresh mums and pansies are sneaking into my flower beds, making friends with summertime’s zinnias, basil, and cannas. Tomatoes are still producing, and newly planted seeds have sprouted into tiny kales and rainbow chard plants. I haven’t bought any decorative pumpkins yet, but I have scooped up a few small green watermelons from the garden, just to display, knowing they don’t have enough time to ripen before our first frost. They kind of look like little gourds. Threshold gardening, friends.  It’s a thing.

Change is happening. Slowly and more slowly still, then all at once. We just have to breathe deeply and notice it all. Every day.

“See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.”
– Isaiah 43:19

Thanks to my local running friend Joe for sharing the above scripture at a most perfect moment for me. Autumn is its own elegant, wondrous time of renewal. Different than springtime. Mysterious and powerful. It’s good to be excited about it.