hum drum

Sometimes I have thoughts that cling to me. I find them evoking in some way. That’s what my blogs are for…But for the life of me I can’t seem to construct one today. So today I will leave you only with my haphazard thoughts that go together about like mustard and ice cream. Eww.

Why do songs from CDs feel different than song from the radio?

Standing in the dressing room: Why the hell would anyone ever even consider wearing this…anywhere?

When did the wheat head out? Where have I been? Did this happen overnight? Surely this happened over night…

On the drive back to Sikeston: Oh sweet, flat Delta home, how I’ve missed you. I like being able to tell people that I’m from a place so flat you can kick the ground and make the biggest hill for miles around.

Riding around the farm while the summer sun settles down: The sinking sun is glowing on his hair, casting funny shadows of me on his shoulder. With my feet on the dash and the windows rolled down just enough to carelessly wreck my hair, I breathe in the sweet, sweaty summer and sigh, “this is life.”

If I haven’t clipped anything to put in my “Dream Big Binder” lately does that mean I am not even driven enough to dream? Lazy much…?

Group message autocorrect-mistakes and emojis are the best entertainment for groups of girlfriends on those mundane days at work. Oh and Snap Chat. Definitely Snap Chat.

Pinterest is every girl’s guilty, shame-free, unsocial, social media. You can pin things on there that you would never even consider posting on other outlets like Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter because there are men that might see it for goodness sake! Just admit it- we’re all as guilty as the next for having wedding boards a mile long and baby wardrobes planned way before we ever get a ring. No judgment here.

Some of the new floral patterns in clothing are supposed to be “feminine” and cute. But I just look at them and see material for outdated cushions on those white wicker couches. Or bad drapes.

I wish the newly proposed Farm Bill would have passed.

As I get older, I realize that I do not put as much emphasis on bras as I used to. Push-up, smush-up…sports bras are way more comfortable. I call them “boob jail” either way and prefer to let my inmates free as soon as I get home.

I like getting old. I have started to care more about my insides than my outsides. And my outsides are starting to look better (to me, at least) because of it.

Here’s a little tip: if you’re ever eating peanuts out of the shell, don’t pull off the rust colored skin between the peanut and the shell. That’s possibly the most beneficial part of the whole peanut. I did a lot of reading on peanuts yesterday because I thought I had discovered the “fountain of youth.” I didn’t….but learned quite a bit in my research.

If I owned a football team, I’d offer Tebow a contract. It’s crazy to me that people are afraid of his “media circus” that follows….in my opinion, the players with the mistresses, ten children from different mothers, murder and rape convictions, etc. etc. are the circus acts.

This Paula Deen thing has been blown way out of proportion. I don’t think there is one person on this planet that has never said something off color. (Besides babies that can’t speak…yet.) End of discussion.

I swam in the Tom-Bigbee River for the first time last weekend. It was smelly and I couldn’t even see my own shoulders beneath the murky water. But it’s was fun. And worth the kink it put in my hair.

If you’ve never read anything by Rick Bragg, you should. Here’s a good place to start: http://thedailysouth.southernliving.com/2013/06/10/stillness/

Hope you have the best day ever.

Love always,

Addie

“But someone, somewhere, is looking after me, and sent me another train. I hear it bump through the city…in the small hours of the morning, and I dream and wonder, again, though I know exactly where it goes.”- Rick Bragg

mermaid cake and the magic guy

Excitement. One word that can lead to a multitude of outcomes.

I received a birthday card from Aunt Laurie (currently hanging over my desk) that shows a more than excited little girl and the words “…and the mermaid cake and the magic guy and the swirly ice cream and the piñata and the…” I can completely relate to this little girl- (especially over the fact that she wants a mermaid cake. And a magic guy.)

Excitement fuels the intensity for which we live. It kindles our very being and pushes us. It fills the gaps between dreams and reality. It’s the zest for a life worth living and something to look forward to, and gives your heart a natural cardio workout that’s much better than going to the gym. It’s also easy to spot because those that have it in their blood seem to be on fire. On the other hand it can also cause you to overreact, have accidents, and let your nerves get the best of you.

I think that some people see excitement as a one-size-fits-all kind of deal: when you’re a child your body is smaller and thus is much more easily overtaken by excitement, but as you grow, your body becomes larger and much more able to withstand or contain the excitement and anyone that cannot contain it is either confused or just plum crazy.

I disagree. I believe excitement grows in direct proportion with the body, but some find it more comfortable in a serene, less stimulating adulthood and choose not to acknowledge their zeal. Eww.

I want to be intoxicated by everything. If there are no fireworks, I don’t care to waste my time.

Recently I have been excited about healthy lifestyle changes. (Temporary until I decide which ones I like the most.) I have always been an advocate of chiropractic wellness and hot teas. So I decided to start researching health benefits of tea, which led me to vitamins and supplements, and the next thing I know, I’m shopping for a reasonable fruit and veggie juicer for the “casual juicer” like myself. (I’ve never juiced anything, but I like a good spinach smoothie on occasion so why on earth wouldn’t I also be a fabulous juicer on occasion? note: sarcasm)

A couple weeks ago I landed in a yoga class where I was thoroughly enjoying myself in all the toe spreading and pelvic stretching goodness, and absolutely considering making it a weekly routine. So I started searching for other fitness classes in my area and eventually caught myself reading about ballet classes- of which I am definitely not cut out for.

I am the worst about letting my excitement carry me away to over-the-top-ness. But I think that’s why I like it. I look at fashion magazines and fall in love with weird tutus and head pieces and immediately picture myself wearing them to Walmart and the gas station and all the other usual places I attend, none of which seem fitting at all. I can stand staring at my closet all morning asking “what do I want to be today?” and the answer will usually always be the same because I don’t think the venues that I frequent are up to par with the visions in my head. I guess I could stand to be a little more daring when it comes to certain choices like what I feel like wearing, but the excitement is still there, none the less.

Another excitement that I felt recently (and forgot to blog about) was that of “sitting on a turkey.” I grew up in a family of hunters, however the sport never grew well on me. Mostly because spiders in the woods are way bigger than house spiders and after sitting for 30 minutes looking at the same trees, my attention deficit gets the best of me and I start thinking about things that completely distract me from the whole point of being there in the first place. But I can now say that I have had a rich and exciting turkey hunt, without the attention deficit (for the most part).

Before I tell the story, here’s a little turkey hunting vocabulary in case you’re like me and didn’t know:

On a turkey: You’re not really on him, you’re just tracking him closely and can guess his whereabouts.

Cut: No knives involved. This actually is the verb used when you call a turkey.

Roost: The noun form is where the turkey rests. To roost a turkey (verb) means to scare him up into the roost spot (noun), typically at the end of the day, so you know where to find them in the morning when he starts moving again, making the hunt much easier.

Now back to the story….

After trekking through the woods all morning listening for gobbles and trying my best to step only when Alex stepped in order to make as little noise as possible (something I’ve never been good at), we finally got to….eat lunch! I know that’s not what you were thinking I was going to say but at that point it was probably the second most glorious part of the day, right behind hearing the first turkey of the morning, which also happened to be the first turkey I’ve ever heard. Ever. Weird, but they don’t sound like what I thought they would, making the whole experience even more surprising. (At one point we were “on one” and I admit that I did get a little excited, but when we rounded the corner, he had vanished. These birds are magicians- literally. No other explanation.)

Finally, after eating my ever first order of Church’s Chicken (two thumbs up) for lunch, we set out to check out the woods with no real hopes of seeing or hearing anything since most turkey movement is in the early morning. We stopped once for Alex’s dad to “cut”. The second time we stopped for a “cut”, only about 40 yards or so from the previous spot, we heard one call back! Following Alex’s lead, we bailed off into the ravine and quickly found a tree to sit against. I pulled my face mask on as fast as I could and just as I got my gun up, the ole Tom (turkey) came strutting out. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I slowly put my bead on him just as he popped his head up but I couldn’t think fast enough. He strutted past a tree, which ultimately blocked my shot and as soon as Alex realized, he took it for me. Turkey down. Apparently I wasn’t the only one not breathing because after the shot, Alex couldn’t seem to catch his breath either.

A strutting turkey is actually a funny thing to watch, but in moments like that when excitement creeps up on you out of nowhere, it’s almost magical, and definitely breath taking. One minute I’m walking down a dirt path, smelling like chicken, and being annoyed that I don’t have my sunglasses. The next minute I’m trying to think and gain enough focus to simply pull a trigger. Excitement has a way of capturing and paralyzing me in those moments. Time slowed down while my heart raced on. And after the dust had settled, I finally understood the hunter’s addiction. Rushes like that are intoxicating and drug-like. Similar to finding the dress you’ve been eyeing on the clearance rack- in your size!

It’s those times that make life so full of life. Embrace excitement. Celebrate every single day and all that it holds. And know that even the attention deficit woman can find as much of a happy place in the woods as she can on a yoga mat or at a clearance event.

Namaste.

Love always,

Addie

“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly despairing, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.” –Agatha Christie

live it anyway.

Bold. It’s my favorite color scheme of all the Magic Markers. It’s my favorite style of coffee.  I also favor statements that are made in this manner- where they are vocal or physical, they always seem to convey the message well. Live your life accordingly- it can make all the difference.

While I’m being bold let me address a tragic epidemic that I seem to always be confronted with in the car: proper nose picking. Just because you are alone in your car doesn’t mean other drivers can’t see you. If you’re going to go digging for gold, remember two things: use your pinky finger (it seems more appropriate if it’s completely necessary- it’s also a less important digit to lose incase mom was right about losing it up there…), and keep it down to one knuckle. Eww.

Easy to say, coming from the girl who wore her shirt backwards for an entire day without noticing. Yep, that was yours truly just last week. What can I say; the different pattern on the back was a better compliment with my outfit than the front. Bold.

And now for a bold thought: how do we know God isn’t recycling our souls up there…? What if when we die, we really do come back? I’m not talking about reincarnation or meaning for this topic to pertain to religion at all. I’m thinking more along the lines of the possession and dispersion of knowledge. Where do people get original theories and ideas? What if Einstein’s soul had studied in another century and God recycled his soul to send him back and continue his research and quest. Maybe some people are built for discovering new methods and ideas that will essential help mankind move along with God’s greater plan and everything they need to know simply cannot be taught in one lifetime- so they get more. Maybe we’ve all been working on something for generations and we just haven’t realized it yet…Progressive. Bold.

Just read that Delaware passed a no spanking law- more specifically, they banned any and all “intentional pain inflicted to a child.” Well I don’t see a bright future for a country that will eventually be ran by children who weren’t spanked. Just doesn’t seem natural. My momma was a firm believer in not only spanking us, but using the paddle that my dad made especially for the occasion that Spence or I was being a turd. You better believe that it put the fear in me and straightened me out. Kid need to have a certain “fear” of their parents…not literally be scared, but more of an awe-like fear that’s described in the Bible in reference to how we revere God. Once they get older, they can appreciate their parents and no longer need fear infliction. I thought that “putting the fear of God” (literally and figuratively) in a child was part of parenting…better believe my parents did. To this day, one wrong look from my momma and I’m down like an 8-point buck on opening day.  Spanking shouldn’t be outlawed, it should be mandatory. With breakfast EVERY morning for some…in the words of Earl Pitts, “WAKE UP ‘MURICA!”

I finally found a burglar that I can relate to… a homeless woman in Sacramento was caught after breaking into a home. But this wasn’t your ordinary break it- though she did take some of the kid’s allowance money (which I would never do), instead of robbing the family blind, she preferred to spend her short time in the abode borrowing the shower. Yes, she broke into the house to shower. Can’t say that I blame her. Though I don’t mind skipping a day on showers, I can’t stand feeling gross- and in her case, I’m sure she did. (Before you judge me for skipping showers, know this: it’s not that I don’t like showers- cause let’s face it, everyone loves a good hot shower- it’s the aftermath. More specifically, it’s blow drying my hair that I HATE with a passion, but I regress. ) And the most relatable part of this story is the fact that she finished her shower off by helping herself to a Poptart. This usually would have gone unnoticed, but there was a small child or another Poptart lover like myself in the house because the subtitle of the news article said something like “even had the nerve to eat the last Poptart!” The nerve. I hope it was blueberry and worth it. Bold.

Next time you want to complain about something in your life, remember this: there is a girl somewhere in England or wherever else cookies are referred to as “biscuits” with a tic. Not the kind that suck your blood, which would be better in her case. Her tic causes her to say the word “biscuit” 16,000 (on average) per day AND she involuntarily bangs her head on nearby objects…sometimes even her own limbs. Know how she’s dealing with it? She’s working to help other people with tics. Get it girl! Bold.

In other news from England, a young girl wrote a message in a bottle and tossed it off a pier expecting it to float across the English Channel in hopes that her aunt on the other side might find it. Bet she was surprised when the message traveled some 10,000 miles and ended up in the hands of a grandma in Australia. I heard they’re really cool pen pals now. Jealous.

As most of you already know, I love coffee. How much? Not this much: previously employed engineers of NASA and Apple worked together to build “the perfect” coffee maker that can make your cup the “perfect temperature” every time. They said they loved coffee so much that instead of building a machine for coffee, they built the machine around the coffee itself to make it the best ever. It damn well better be for $11,111. I’d never….but I sure wouldn’t turn down a free sample if someone offered. And make it bold, please.

Talk again soon.

Love always,

Addie

“My whole life I’ve been telling myself ‘don’t be afraid.’ And it’s only now that I’m realizing how stupid that is. Don’t be afraid. Like saying ‘don’t move out of the way when someone tries to punch you’ or ‘don’t flinch at the heat of a fire’ or ‘don’t blink’. Don’t be human. I’m afraid and you’re afraid and we’re all always going to be afraid because that’s the point. What I should be telling myself is ‘be afraid, but do it anyway.’ Live anyway.”