I Do Too, Ms. Evans

One of these days I'm going to write a blog called, "The Things Parents Do For Children" -
It will include things like searching in the dark for a spare key, then sitting in the child's home office at 2:30 AM, calling each of said child's credit card companies to cancel accounts after the child realizes her purse has been stolen from the Texas dancehall she's boot-scooting around on a September Saturday night. 

It will also include rummaging through thirty-three years of items collected in a man cave that will be demolished for that same child's wedding. 

We're tearing down the white garage (not to be confused with the Red Barn) that has housed our chest freezer and pre-lit Christmas wreath for as long as I can recall.

As Momma, Dad, Cody and I sort through decades of Dad's collectables that occupied his time far before Shorthorns did, we've found a little bit of Bowman Superior Genetics history: Micky Mouse fishing poles, size 4 cowboy boots, welding rods and walnuts still hanging out to dry - 18 years and counting. 

We've also found content for today's blog. 

Last night we cleaned out a (no kidding) turquoise cupboard that was hanging in the garage when Momma and Dad bought the place in July, 1979. Tucked away in a box was a sheet of paper that was folded, musty and yet, still glossy. The only timestamp I could find on the piece read, 

"Compliments of the Firestone Tire & Rubber Company

Akron, Ohio

Roots Blower

Connersville

1854 - 1954"

 I had never heard of piece or the author; but Dad recalled both well. He made Cody and I stand in the midst of white garage destruction and read the article. I'm so thankful he did. 

___________________________________________

I Speak for Democracy

By Elizabeth Ellen Evans

I am an American.

Listen to my words, Fascist, Communist.

Listen well, for my country is a strong country, and my message is a strong message.

I am an American, and I speak for democracy.

My ancestors have left their blood on the green at Lexington and the snow at Valley Forge

- on the walls of Fort Sumter and at Gettysburg

- on the waters of the River Marne and in the shadows of the Argonne Forest

- on the beachheads of Salerno and Normandy and the sands of Okinawa

- on the bare, bleak hills called Pork Chop and Old Baldy and Heartbreak Ridge.

A mission and more of my countrymen have died for freedom.

My country is their eternal monument.

They live in the laughter of a small boy as he watches a circus clown’s antics

- and in the sweet delicious coldness of the first bite of peppermint ice cream on the 

      Fourth of July

- in the little tenseness of a baseball crowd as the umpire calls “Batter up!”

- in the high school band’s rendition of the “Stars and Stripes Forever” in the

      Memorial Day parade

- in the clear, sharp ring of a school bell on a fall morning

- And in the triumph of a six-year-old as he reads aloud for the first time.

The live on in the eyes of an Ohio farmer surveying his acres of corn and potatoes a pasture

- and in the brilliant gold of hundreds of acres of wheat stretching across the flat miles of Kansas

- in the milling of cattle in the stockyards of Chicago

- the precision of an assembly line in an automobile factory in Detroit

- and the perpetual red glow of the nocturnal skylines of Pittsburgh and Birmingham and Gary.

They live on in the voice of a young Jewish boy saying the sacred words from the Torah: “Hear O Israel; the Lord our God, the Lord is One. Thou shalt love the Lord with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with all thy might.”

- and in the voice a Catholic girl praying: “Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee”

- and in the voice of a Protestant boy singing: “A mighty Fortress is our God. Bulwark never failing”

An American named Carl Sandbur wrote these words:

      “I know a Jew fishcrier down on Maxwell Street with a voice like a north wind blowing over corn stubble in January. He dangles herring before prospective customers evincing a joy identical with that of Pavlova dancing. His face is that of a man terribly glad to be selling fish, terribly glad that God made fish, and customers to whom he may call his wares from a pushcart.”

There is a voice in the soul of every human being that cries out to be free. America has answered that voice.

American has offered freedom and opportunity such as no land before her has ever known, to a Jew fishcrier down on Maxwell Street with the face of a man terribly glad to be selling fish.

She has given him the right to own his pushcart, to sell his herring on Maxwell Street,

- she has given him an education for his children, and a tremendous faith in the nation that has made these things his.

Multiply that fishcrier by 160,000,000----160,000,000 mechanics and farmers and housewives and coal miners and truck drivers and chemists and lawyers and plumbers and priests----all glad, terribly glad to be what they are, terribly glad to be free to work and eat and sleep and speak and love and pray and live as they desire, as they believe!

And those 160,000,000 Americans----those 160,000,000 free Americans----have more roast beef and mashed potatoes, the yield of American labor and land;

more automobiles and telephones

more safety razors and bathtubs

more Orlon sweaters and aureomycin, the fruits of American initiative and enterprise;

more public schools and life insurance policies, the symbols of American security and  faith in the future;

more laughter and song -

than any other people on earth!

This is my answer, Fascist, Communist!

Show me a country greater than our country, show me a people more energetic, creative, progressive -

bigger hearted and happier than our people, not until then will I consider your way of life.

For I am an American, and I speak for democracy.

_____________________________

And I do too, Ms. Evans. 

If you agree, I sure hope you'll pass this on. 

Robbed at CVS

I was robbed at a CVS last night. 

Yep. 
Plain daylight. 
5:57 PM. 
Walked right into the deal. 
No one even noticed. 
The gal even told me to "have a good night"-

As soon as I entered the store I realized I had forgotten every coupon that has been snail mailed and emailed to me in the last month. I put two coupons in my purse just last Thursday. I switched purses for the wedding on Saturday...Same ol' story. 

Fact: CVS coupons only appear in your wallet exactly two days after they expire. 

Already feeling a bit sorry for myself, I went on to browse the clearance section. I found a weird blue nail polish that had approximately five days of life left before drying up and some brown shoe laces marked 90% off. I took them both. Never know when you'll meet a troll. 

I'm a sucker for a good sale, and there were yellow sale signs everywhere - from corn chips to envelopes. To get my head in the right place, I had to do a bit of a recap: 

On my list:

1. Face wash
2. birthday card
3. Nail polish remover
4. Alka-seltzer Plus

The problem with a list like that: You have to walk the entire store to find the things you need. Including past the coupon machine that prints all of your potential savings right there in front of you. I don't mean to brag, but my CVS coupon list yesterday was something like two miles long. 

I had work to do. 

Twenty-three minutes later and my CVS basket had graduated from my two bare hands into one of those stupid mini-carts. 

I don't want to sound like a super shopper, but about a month ago I saved something like $4.90 on the coupons I used for denture cream, diapers, solar yard lights, expired Juicy Fruit and a AAA battery. While we're on the subject, how in the heck can I use a single AAA battery?

What should have been a quick trip to CVS turned out to be a 9-bag fiasco that left me stumbling up the steps to my door way. I don't know why, but the super-clearence hardwood floor mops we're entirely too big for the CVS bags they gave me. I had to buy 3 to even save the $.60 - Rude.

I've developed this love/hate relationship with CVS. I generally go there twice a month with an intent to buy one or two things and leave with sale products that I have no absolutely no use for. 

I stood in the check out line last night and the kid behind the counter evaluated my purchases. 

"Looks like a fun night to me," she said, braces and all. 

I looked at the counter: Sharpie markers, a bottle of wine, a bag of CVS pretzels, a flash drive, four greeting cards and a box of hair color. 

"Nope," I responded, half confused, myself. "Just another blog."

Casually or With Intent

Monday I sat in a frigid ballroom in downtown Nashville, working to keep up with  a presenter who failed to pause at the conclusion of a single sentence. His content was beyond worthy of my time, but his presentation skills were slowly extinguishing the flame born inside me when I learned he was a rural photographer, passionate about telling life's stories by way of camera lens.

 

Tim Barnwell photo

The presenter spoke of how he captured such incredible images, and the steps he took to ensure his work - his efforts - were of some sort of value.

I had refilled my water glass twice and collected all of the free Sheridan pens from the middle of the table when a single line from the monotonous presenter ignited an interesting thought. I looked around wondering if I was the only one whose wheels were set into motion by the words. I jotted it down in my iPad:

What an interesting question. It is incredibly simple to lose sight of that in everyday life, and I'm no longer speaking of cameras.

I can recall a very specific time in my life when I was - no questions asked - living casually. I woke daily dreading another mundane day at work. I didn't hate my job but I was bored. And boredom is in fact the desire for desires, according to  Leo Tolstoy. I adored the people I worked with, but I didn't understand how anything I was doing made a difference anywhere but on the bottom line - and that bothered me.

I spent my evenings at the farm having a Budweiser with Dad and tending to our cattle. I don't discount any of those hours; it was then that I recognized the value in treasure hunting and cow paths. Those evenings formed the foundation for this blog.

But the days and nights began to run together and somehow never ended. I stayed up far too late sitting around with friends, old and new in the greater Greens Fork area, reminiscing of days past and wondering how our lives would turn out. Understand: there is no worse gut-check than going through your days wondering how your life will turn out. I was living then; I was in the middle of it.

It was time for a change. I needed intent.

So I began discovering ways to pass on the good things I see or hear. I acquired a camera and never let it leave my side. I realized the value in a good nights rest. My intent became creating a medium to pass on all the great things in this life. This blog was born. 

When you look at your life, are you going through it causally, allowing the important days to pass with an annoyingly packed schedule? What are those busy things that occupy your mind and your energy? How do they infer with your life's intent?

Today I live with the intent to use this medium to translate all of life's best lessons and stories on to you, a group of people I may never have the opportunity to meet. While I'm not always so great at it, it keeps a certain focus in my weeks and definitely has changed my Tuesday nights. And that isn't my only intention. I live with the  intent to be a loving, supportive wife and one day a mother. And I'm also with the intent to support and supplement my family and our operation. I also have an astounding intent to vacuum my carpets weekly. But that is so lofty. 

A life lived casually can be a dreadful, dangerous one. Don't just let the days pass. 

The two enemies of human happiness are pain and boredom. 

Arthur Schopenhauer

Are you living casually or with intent?

For Sale By Owner

I remember sleeping in this house for the first time on the night I got the keys. 

It smelled like Murphy's Oil Soap and the place was eerily quiet. 

I had never lived near train tracks before. 

I was so concerned that the night train moving through the tired streets of Greens Fork would startle me awake and I'd have to use my mace gun on something that wasn't there. 

I was wrong. 

In five years of living here, I've never once been awoken by the train. 

I've always had a list of things I want to do on my own: the travel, the moving away, the city, all things I've always felt important to do before I, one day, "settled down". Buying a home was on that list, too. I just knew that when that time came, I was only going to be content if I'd done much on my own. I wanted to ensure that before 2 become 1, I'm actually a 1, not a 1/2  in how I've lived this life.  

I'm quite proud of this place I've called home sweet home for nearly five years - the best five years. 

It needed such little work in that time. 

Just before I bought it, the previous owners put in all new windows, siding, doors and a new roof. 

I did install a new water heater two years ago. 

The place is in great shape. 

I painted the three bedrooms as soon as I moved in. 

The walls have changed but the foundation hasn't. It is strong and old and well-maintained. I've always viewed this place as an old soul with a new shell. 

Time changes things, and great changes are just around the bend. 

I've put my house up for sale, I'm looking for a buyer. Preferably one that is still inclined to use Murphy's Oil Soap on the hard wood floors and who has a lawnmower who can keep the yard maintained - not that I've done a great job at that. I would also prefer that the buyers do a better job than I did at keeping up on the window washing detail. But I'm not picky. 

A quick tour:

Keep my home in mind if you know of someone looking to buy in east-central Indiana.

Disclaimers:
The Christmas tree is not up year 'round.
More photos available upon request, but I do need to get organized first.
Dixie does not come with the house (you're welcome).

Making Headlines

I spent one evening last week trying to get an announcement in the local paper. Five months into this deal and I'm finally checking one thing off the wedding planning to-do list. According to Martha Stewart, I should have done this before Thanksgiving. Martha and I live differently; Martha has someone who folds her fitted sheets. 

The problem with having a full plate (and I always clean my plate) is that many of the not in-my-face tasks get pushed to the wayside and I end up communicating after hours with a computer screen, an automated voice or a guy named Ryan who speaks a language that doesn't include the letter "R". That complicates things. 

Likewise, the problem with getting an event (less than three months away) in the special events section of the local paper is that the publication has to squeeze an internet submitted lively event into a section where the majority of content is written for people who will never read it. 

Why do folks publish open letters to others who have been dead for years? I have never understood that. Unfortunately, the deceased will never have the opportunity to read that print. They don't read it. But if they did, I would bank on them being furious that family used that photo with the lampshade on their head. These days fewer people pay to have the soggy local newspaper tossed into their side shrubbery. Why would the deceased subscribe Up There? Surely there is more to do on those streets of gold. They have a bird's eye view. They know what's Up. Why publicize it?

All of the sudden, I realized our better-late-than-never announcement is likely going to be situated between a letter written to a man (who is photoed) resting in a casket from 1978 and the funky "I miss you, friend" tribute that contains more LOL-B4-OMG abbreviations than it does words from Webster's. Two lines in and I question whether I'm playing bingo at the U.A.W. hall or reading the Sunday news.  

Irony lies in time.  At twelve the greatest day of your life is making fifth-page news when your science fair project gets honorable mention; it doesn't matter if they spell your name wrong or who your parents are reported to be. All you can focus on is the blurred ink print of your face.  Then you graduate high school and spend the next four years trying semi-hard to stay out of the headlines. 

To each their own when it comes to getting published - and everyone mourns differently. I will admit, I'd much rather read a headline report a successful lemonade stand rather than see one of my Facebook friends in the latest edition of Cuffs. 

Momma always says: Say it, forget it. Write it, regret it. 

I was at a house inspection some time ago and fifteen minutes after introductions the inspector came up from the basement with a question on his mind. He clicked his flashlight off and asked, "Were you the 4-H fair queen a while ago?" I was a bit taken back. 

"I was...it's been something like eleven years, now. Did you have kids in 4-H back then?"

"They are now, just young ones. Can't remember exactly what it was, but something you said that was in the paper..." he continued on his way, me trailing closely behind, trying - so hard - to remember what was put in print that this guy was about to call me out on. 

Self-made headlines in a small town. They stick with you. 

How does your headline read?

From The Ground Up

I spent yesterday in the field. 

Not just "the field", but rather a field in Tipton County, Indiana, responsible for interviewing a farmer about his successful history with a seed company. A bit of my time was spent with John in the cab of his massive machinery, but even more of my day took place on the dirt that was drying out with the flat-land wind. 

In order to get the shot I wanted, I waited several rounds as he, excuse me, the satellites, turned the equipment around and headed to and fro. 

A gal can do a lot of thinking in the dirt, waiting on a man to get things straight. 

I looked around and saw a single seed resting on top of the soil. Even with a hair tie and several bobby pins, I could barely keep my hair out of my face and dirt out of my teeth; the wind was intense. I wondered how this tiny seed, the size of a pencil eraser, was able to stay put when the soil around it blew away into the wind as tiny dust particles. 

My bleeding heart showed up per usual; I kinda felt sorry for the Lone Ranger and with my thumb I pressed it into the ground. Just like that, my planting season was done.  

Something else caught my eye.

A weed still rooted and resting in a chunk of dirt the size of  a ping pong ball. 

It's interesting to look at that measly weed and think that it remained rooted even after such a vast machine made several passes. 

Resilience. 

I was intrigued. 

It got me thinking.

What kept that weed so firmly rooted into it's direct surroundings?

What keeps us rooted?

What unearths us?

I've written a lot about "deep roots" and how those roots influence where we go and what we do. My roots have in fact sent me away and brought me back home. 

But what about strong roots?

The ones that serve us right when we're faced with a choice. 

The roots that are tied to those voices in our head that guide us right from wrong. 

I know those roots start when we're young - and work from the ground up. At some point we're taught life lessons and it's our responsibility to remain rooted in what we know is true, and part of us. It makes you wonder what series of moments we experience, or don't, that give us strong enough roots to remain grounded in adversity. 

What keeps you grounded? 

Your parents? 

Your kids? 

Your faith? 

A relationship? 

But it was more than that tiny root structure that got me thinking. If you just look around, a lot can be learned from the ground up. 

There will forever be road blocks, and rocks, in our path. 

And we have to learn to take them in stride, work around them and adjust. 

There will also be really big road blocks - or rocks - in life's path. How do we deal with these? We flag 'em. We take notes. We learn lessons. We pray. We find ways to move them, and we ask friends to help. Sometimes, we avoid that route all together. 

There will be things that we realize don't belong in our life. 

They may seem like a really good idea at the time, then we understand it is best to go separate ways. 

An ex-relationship? Maybe. 

But I was referencing the infamous red towels. 

 There will be people who are not looking out for our best interest. In fact, they may be intentionally working against us. Recognize these set backs dressed in jeans. There are ways to rid your life of those, too. Round-up is always a good start. 

The path won't always be easy, fast, or smooth. And that is the beauty of life. If it was easy it wouldn't be fun. We would get bored. And we'd all probably be really lazy. 

As unremarkable as it sounds, my reminder to you today is this: 

Keep it simple. When life gets complicated, remember that some of the best guidance can be found when you're working from the ground up. 

Choices

Every single day, from the moment we wake up, each of us are presented with a series of choices. 
My first choice today: to snooze or not to snooze. 
Some are terribly routine; there are days I stand in front of my closet and rack my brain trying to find something to wear. 
Others may need to be taken more seriously, and those are the ones that have the ability to change the course of our lives. 

This is not illustrating one of those life-changing choices. 

I've thought a lot about choices lately, regarding how we assess them and spend time debating them, whether internally or with others. We can expend a lot of energy weighing things on that scale in our mind, making pros/cons lists, discussing and debating. Perhaps the heaviest component in the decision-making process is knowing what you want in the first place. 

I don't know why God puts these choices - or decisions - in our life. I think it is more than He just "testing us", but rather He giving us the opportunity to have say in even just a small part of the plan already created. You can consider that a blessing or a burden! Your choice. 

In the end, it is us that not only has to live with that choice, but we get to. We get to experience the fruits or the difficulties that follow the decision we make. In fact, had I known that Dixie would cost me hundreds in carpet cleaning supplies and Febreze, would I have saved her from that ditch? Probably. Ask me again tomorrow - it may rain today. 

Maybe you'll make the phone call, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll apologize, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll admit it, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll commit to starting today, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll seek forgiveness, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll drive home, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll take the job, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll take better care of yourself, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll ask the bank, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll do the right thing, maybe you won't.

What choices are weighing on your mind? Who can help you make that decision? What is standing in your way of making the right choice? What choice are you putting off? What choice are you afraid of?

While every choice may not be song worthy (artists like Jones have a knack for making everyday life a masterpiece), some can be life worthy.  

Make sure the choices you make today are reflective of exactly where you want to go, because the path you choose today will surely lead you.

“But until a person can say deeply and honestly, "I am what I am today because of the choices I made yesterday," that person cannot say, "I choose otherwise.” 

- Stephen R. Covey