Laugh out Loud Happy

Had a disturbing realization today.

I was thinking on what to write on my blog today and thought I'd ask what time in every one's life that they were the happiest. Asking the question demands that I give my response first. But I was stumped. I gave it a lot of thought and couldn't come up with any single time that stood out.

Rob and Jarred were memories of wonder, awe and this unreal fear that I was in over my head.

My marriage was one of acceptance - both times.

My baptism was one of desperation.

I've been 'grin happy' a lot in my life. Things have gone pretty good except when they didn't. And when things were black, they were opaque.

But 'Laugh out Loud' happiness? Maybe that's a wait on heaven thing.

So He is Normal

When I hit the ground, I heard that sickening 'THUD!' that I'd completely forgotten existed.

See, I'd been lulled into a false sense of security when it came to horses. Tesster, although fun and tending to be 'witchey', was a secure, safe ride. What she threw at me, I handled with a grin. She made me too sure of myself. Enter Chief, her son, who said 'Duh! Whatever you want, Jackie' so may times I'd gotten careless. It both surprise me and was something I expected when he turned tight and pitched me right off.

I laid on the ground, trying to breathe and thought' "Serves me right. You were stupid, chick." But the foremost thought was; "This isn't any fun any more. I want some help."

Ah, the life lesson in that. Oh, the new chapter waiting to be written.

'Resting'

On the trip to get the red truck to California, I found that I have become quite the bathroom connoisseur. We had to fill up every four hours going and every 3 coming back. With all that time on the road, I got to be in many MANY more bathrooms than I wanted.

I learned that most people don't clean their hands - trash baskets were sparsely filled with paper towels, and I learned that I am simply unable to use a bathroom without buying something. Also, you get to a point where you don't even attempt to balance anymore. Yeah, I sat, actually sat on unfamiliar toilets.

tmi, I know.

24 hours

Dust devils can reach far, far, FAR into the sky. I didn't know that. I watched them dance (once there were seven at one time), and it was literally one of the most graceful things I have ever seen. They flitted across the Arizona and California deserts. Deceptive things, dust devils. Beautiful and hypnotising from a distance, but they throw your vehicle around should you run into one.

I saw blobs of rock. Put there by a God who has the most amazing imagination, they sprang from nothing. Their beauty caught in my throat, then they were gone, and the sand remained.

108 in Phoenix, 104 in Palm Springs. Dry. Dead. The air was filled with grit. The people unkind.

So many lessons, so much time. The trip was 24 hours one way. It will live in my memory for much longer.

Slow Trucks

On my horrendous three day whirlwind tour to central California and back, I noticed several signs that read: 'Slow Trucks'.

What exactly does that mean?
1. (Be careful there are) 'Slow Trucks' (on the road) . . . or
2. Slow (down, all you) Trucks. . .or
3. Slow (stupid) Trucks (are scattered. Beware.)

If #1 and #2 are true, ok. (Didn't these guys get a license - - they DO know what they're doing, right???) If number three. that's not very encouraging to them. Couldn't it be rephrased?

And also, if you have to tell the driver of the truck numbers 1 & 2, doesn't that make them #3?

And by the way, the word 'Slow' looks wrong if you look at it too long, doesn't it?

Pictures of Mom

Ceal's blog got me to thinking. I put a picture of my mother next to my bed when I got home from Lubbock. She's smiling in it. I was looking at it last night and actually wished I was able to talk to her again. I just wanted to hear her voice for some reason. I didn't need anything specific . . just to hear her voice. The picture of her seemed to urge me to call a number that is no longer there.

. . . . and then . . . .

Then I close my eyes and see her on that stupid bed in ICU, hear the respirator keeping her alive, see her uncomprehending eyes open, see the monitor slow then finally stop.

At last I am able to cry.

The Red Truck

Robert first truck was a GMC step side. It was really red and not all loaded with bells and whistles but just seemed quietly cool. He really loved that truck. I used to watch him as he drove, his young (around 25 years old) face would just grin. He was a happy camper behind the wheel.

But during desert storm I had to stop my full time job and go part time. I couldn't afford two vehicles. I had a red convertible and the truck. And since the car had 4 seat belts, the truck had to go. I was heartbroken. Not because of the truck, but because it was special to Robert and I blew it.

My brother offered to take over payments so I wouldn't have it repossessed. He's had it for going on 11 years now.

He told me during moms funeral that he didn't' use it anymore and asked if I wanted it back. It's got body problems and transmission problems. . . . but . . . Roberts 25 year old face comes back with real force.


Yeah. I want it back.

Da Boys

Actually got to speak to both Jarred and Rob today. How weird was that? I was so tickled that I think I actually giggled. It was better than reading the back of the shampoo bottle at a friends bathroom.

And I thought; Man! I used to see these guys every single day. I used to laugh and fight and grump and joke with them all the time. I took it so for granted. It's all gone. All the hugs and kisses and stuff that comes with raising two boys named Robby and Jarred. What I wouldn't do to have those times back.

Will no one ever learn that in time?

A Question For The Ages

Why do people put reading material in the main bathroom?

I mean, how tacky is that? Like you expect someone to come in and park? You go to a persons house and the idea is to not only NOT make noise and NOT leave smelly evidence that you were there, but you also have to be in and out . . . right?

What does a person expect when they use a persons rest room - - the peoples Almanac? I mean, isn't the back of the shampoo, deodorant or hand soap good enough?

A Brreakfast Story

Don't you hate it when you go to get cereal, but there's only a little milk, so you pour it over the cereal and it's too much cereal and not enough milk so it makes the milk all sweet and thick?

I did that this morning.

It'z beena long day.

The Finals

The Final don't start until Thursday and already we are bombarded with Cav's stuff. The Cinderella team. James, James, James. It's all about them and what they're gonna do. It's pictures of Lebron dunking, and running and picking his nose. It's talking trash on Timmy and talking gold on James. There'll be fouls and sneers and rotten refs that want the series to go 6 or even 7.

It's peanut brittle, Dralenas dip, and Amy's couch. Jonathon's "Go to the basket!", Andy's "Where's the black for the rebound?", Robert's "They're lettin 'em back in!" and of course, Jackie's covered face as Tim goes for a free throw, then ill concealed disgust when he misses - - - again.

So it starts.

We Be Jammin

Ain't it cool when the day clicks?

I spent today cleaning, finishing all the pre-draft stuff for my book and doing all those things you put off. It was great. All caught up and feeling a little full of myself.

Why can't I always be this good? Usually, I'm too zapped to move by 3.

Must be the B-12.

One of Those Things That Makes You Go: Hmmmm

Have you ever cut yourself and had no idea how and when that happened? I'm sitting here watching a movie and I notice my hand hurts. So I turn it over and here's this pretty decent cut in my palm.

But I haven't had a knife out for anything, I haven't brushed it up against anything either. But it's there and it hurts.

Think it's aliens?

Why do you blog?

Darla wrote once that she wanted to be positive in her blog and to be honest, that made me feel rotten. When I started this, I always said that I was going to show people who I really was. All the silly, ignorant, bleak world that is 'Jackie'. See, I figured that we spend so much time hiding behind smiles that the true gift of oneself is to be honest - not brutal all the time, but honest.

But then you get all the downers and dark and tears. What good is that? Does anyone really care?

Darla, your way is better. I just stink at it.