Green Acres is the Place to Be

           

            As yesterday’s blog will attest, this day was cast before it began…

            Only you can’t really “cast” a day in the country. You can only, kinda start one and then hang on for the ride…

            I was given strict instructions to pick Rosey up by 7:45 at the big S&N (Spay and Neuter clinic over in Gallatin). Seems things pick up steam after 8, and by the looks of things, I’d say Thursdays are cat days.

            At the mercy of my friend with the truck and given that same said friend had cats in need of “fixin’” …we were two for two on the ol early morning drive to Gallatin heading towards a clinic where we could now be staff.

            In a scene I could only title “What a difference a day makes” …we arrived back at the same, said clinic, at approximately same said hour….only to find a line out the door looking lots like a Walmart day after Thanksgiving. There were cats in carriers; cats in crates; cats in little kid’s arms. Seems someone put out a memo saying “Today is get your kitty spayed day” and everyone clipped the ad. I’ve never seen so many cat people (nor have I seen so many cats)…It was a 180 opposite of Rosey’s check in the day before.

            Ever the co-dependent, simplifier in moments such as these, I hit the scene hoping to help, thus was doubly grateful when one of the staff whistled “Pssst…Hey….You~ Meet me out back”  which I did. . . only to be greeted by Rosey …all belly-shaved and druggy happy. Having swapped her ovaries for a microchip and a tattoo (seemed a fair trade to me) I was told Rosey refused their food, but she was plenty happy with the drive thru we managed on our way home J (I know. I know. The paperwork forbade this, but hey… Rosey spent her first night ever in a cage. Work with me people. Work with me.)

            Having blocked off my day to work from home, it was “Farm-ville 101” in the truest sense of the word as I used the day to catch up while Rosey napped off her drugs.

Catch up on a farm includes pulling crops, picklin’ cukes, freezing corn and basically stashing away all the produce one girl can stash between talking on my blue tooth and making notes for business meetings to come. (Yes, at some point I have to leave my little doggie /goat haven and head into the city to do business things…otherwise, dogs, goats and girls don’t eat)…But today was Rosey’s day to have her mama at home. At least I was able to check on her regularly and stop every so often when she’d go belly up to show me her stitches, reminding me that this was her day to be pampered.

Of Trucks, Dogs and Friends (Rosey's Spay Day!)

          I’ve heard it said you never want to own a boat or a truck, but you do want to have a friend with one~ I’m sticking with that one when it comes to boats, but I’m pretty dang certain you can never be officially country without a truck. But until I get there, thank God for friends as today was our day to get Rosey to the spay an neuter clinic one town over.

            May I just take a moment while I’m here to give a big ol shout out to the folks at the Sumner Spay and Neuter Alliance in Gallatin. If you’re considering this proposition for your pet, (and I highly recommend you do)...This is your place. Not only are the fees half what you’d pay in a vet’s office, they’ll update your vaccinations, and even (micro)chip your pet while they’re at it for a small additional fee~  They are, in a word the BEST!

            Trickiest part was getting Rosey in the truck as it didn’t take her long to determine that something was different about this morning. First she broke a lead; then she slipped her a collar…Then she took a nice long romp around the neighborhood before getting hoisted into the vehicle against her wishes. Nervous she might jump out the back, my friend graciously allowed her to sit in the cab with us which tells you what kinda friend he is given Rosey’s doggy-fine condition. (In addition to being 3 days into her heat cycle, Rosey also managed to tangle with a skunk the day before. Let’s just say there’s not enough Fabreeze on the planet ~ Oh to be “nose blind” for real. )

            Once there and paperwork complete, Rosey weighed in at a whopping 109, meaning TJ must weigh at least 150 if he’s an ounce. In one last ditch effort to avoid her plight, Rosey splayed her legs before entering the operating room, but to no avail. I left knowing she was in capable hands and that we’d done the responsible thing.

            I would get to do this same routine in reverse in 24 more hours. For now, my job was to release her into their care, and that of the good Lord. Rosey’s mothering days are done and for sure, she was the best. Rosey took to motherhood like a duck to water, but now was the time to be a good mama myself, after all birthing pups is stressful on a dog, and certainly a dog this size. When it comes to my Rosey, I’ll do anything in my power to keep her days stress free and happy, after all, I want my girl around for a long, long time.

Clearing the Clutter --Including Debt

   

     True confession: I don’t like thinking about money. And guess what? Uncle Sam and light companies don’t care. A friend once said I’m allergic to it. It’s not that I don’t love it or  wish I had more of it, I just don’t like thinking about money for some reason, which means, by the time I have to, it’s often too late…(like the time I forgot I’d closed the bank account that had my auto-pay to the water company tied to it; nothing like having no water for a night to bring that little money matter front and center).

      Given a choice I’d much prefer to spend my days writing, pondering...washing dishes or pulling weeds if it means avoiding money matters.  After all, Jesus didn’t keep a checkbook and his apostles just up and quit their day jobs...No one mentions they worried (well, not about money anyway). A lady named Peace Pilgrim gave up money and walked across the country living on faith and the kindness of strangers. She seemed happy enough. And look at St. Francis.

      But sadly, I’m no Jesus. I’m no St. Francis and I’m not exactly dying to walk up to strangers and ask for a meal, though I’d gladly have spotted Peace a bucket of veggies if she happened down my lane.

      So what’s with my resistance, I’m asking myself? What about money (coming in or going out)  has me ranking it bottom of my priority scale. I don’t have a complete answer on this just yet, but I have a hunch it’s tied to that same gene that makes me cling to clutter…When given a choice, I go with the most sentimental of answers. Given a choice of remembering an old friend or clearing out space from the cards that friend’s given me over the years…no brainer. I choose Memory Lane. Given the choice of calling in my credit card payment or writing on a topic that comes to mind before it leaves me...(Wait. Is this a trick question? What day of the month is this?)

     But as much as my head to live in the clouds, my brain is smart enough to know if you’re gonna live on planet earth, you gotta play by earth rules.  You can only make poor choices for so long till they start backing up on you so as I see it, I have two choices: keep doing what I’m doing till something makes the change for me…or face this awareness head on and take a step –even a baby one, to rewire the neuropathways in my brain patterns so as to affect a different outcome.

    For today’s baby step I went back to my radio archives…Beyond Reason, being my favorite show I ever produced. I recalled an interview we did with a guy named Harv Eker who wrote a book called “The Millionaire Mind”. According to Harv, we each have a “set point”…a thermostat setting of sorts in our minds that becomes the default we revert back to when it comes to money. It gets set early in childhood when we’re not looking. It can come from something our parents taught us, or something we interpreted sideways, but once it’s in there, it’s the lens through which we view things, and being creatures of habit, it takes a serious awakening to rewire such long held beliefs (wrong though they may be). It’s why lottery winners eventually wind up poor again, and why Donald Trump can go bankrupt and build it all back in a year.

      In my never-ended quest to dig deeper for my own answers, I share for those perhaps spotting similar habit patterns in need of a fix, our interview. Here’s hoping you enjoy~

                                           http://beyondreason.com/mp3s/eker.mp3

When Video Blogs Go Personal

     Ok. So call it a learning curve...I'm halfway through my one year experiment of blogging every single day (a la Julie and Julia)...Goal by now: to be video blogging at least every other...Well, guess what? Just because I planned my timing doesn't mean everyone planned theirs...
     I can only pray Rosey forgives me.
     Let's just say it was a stay-at-home-kinda "girl's day" today ~

     Rosey's next few won't be so fun as her puppy-nursing days..but I'm prayin' she'll thank me later.

Post Script to this one: When It Rains, It Pours
     Having totally miscalculated Rosey's heat cycles, I find myself racing to book her an appointment to be spayed. For those who know about these things, dogs give you a very short window of warning, after which, lock up your girl. As if having Rosey indoors all day wasn't challenging enough, the brief time I let her out last night she decided to tangle with a skunk. Oh how I wish I were "nose blind" ! I have one more evening of this lovely mix of bodily things to endure then tomorrow morning it's off to the vet! (Hang in there Rosey. We'll get through this.)

No Pain Like Betrayal (On Unwanted Emotions)

            Not to be all glass half empty, but not everyday comes with glee. There are disappointments …fears…sadnesses. Face it, life is hard. Here of late seems everywhere I turn someone is going through something major, which makes me wonder just what’s about to happen. I feel like those elephants before the tsunami…You know, the ones that headed inland about a week before it hit, guided by something inside that kept them alive...?

Fortunately (or maybe not) we Americans are a blues-dodgin’ bunch. You gotta admit, we have more ways to avoid our feelings than Carter’s got little liver pills.  One glimpse of the evening news will catch you up on the latest anti-depressants (like we don’t need these just to watch the evening news). Alcohol consumption is on the rise. Clearly pot use is hot and happening.

If altering chemicals is not your thing, there are mental tricks to help you avoid those less than fun emotions. We can zombie out in front of the TV, watching shows so mindless they have to nudge us to laugh…or shows so traumatic we come away feeling better by comparison. Then there’s the good ol internet. We can catch up, stalk or scroll the night away, losing hours on end for having electronically reached out, in poor substitution for what real life relationships bring.

And if acting out to avoid your woes is your preference, why you can shop your way through them, eat your way around them…grab a movie and remove yourself from reality entirely for a couple of hours, only to find when you snap back, well, there you are again. Whatever you hoped to avoid is waiting right there for you…just like you left it. Only now you’re a tad bit broker if not a tad bit guiltier for having thought you could dodge the problem in the first place.

Far be it from me to psychologize, but anymore I’m beginning to wonder if we aren’t damaging ourselves with all these avoidance techniques. Sure, who doesn’t want to be happy, happy, happy all the time, but is this realistic? Isn’t the proper response to a hurt or a betrayal supposed to be pain? It’s not like God just gave us one mood to be in, so why do we Americans work so hard to stick with this one mood all the time?

I liken feelings to colors ~ sure we all love cheery yellows and bright reds, but how flat would life’s masterpieces be if there were no darker hues to deepen the effect?

I’ve got a friend who likens feelings to house guests. He says they’re supposed to come, then leave…that our true being lies beneath these moods, that we are merely the host…the observer. Some guests we like better than others so we let them stay longer. Others are not so fun, but even when dealing with one we don’t like, give it time. It will pass.

But as a people…as a country, have we messed with our feelings so much, that we forgot what they’re here for? Thanks to Hollywood have we bought the lie... drunk the Kool-aid? We’ve convinced ourselves that up and perky and happy is the only mood worth having and all the others need to exit stage left, and if they don’t exit on their own, well, we can run ‘em off with any of the afore mentioned techniques. Since happy’s the only one worth keeping, we panic when an unfamiliar one creeps in. We live in mortal fear it’s going to stay too long, so we race for that drink, that drug, that mindless activity to chase it away rather than processing the gift that guest was here to bring.

I’m as guilty as the next person for being rude to these unwanted house guests. No one loves the sadness that comes with betrayal or the emptiness that comes from loss. But as we age…as we start losing those we love….as we get wiser to the fact that yes, life can be hard and yes, people will let you down, perhaps the proper response to those less than desirable feelings is to invite them in…sit with them a spell. Do what country folk do when new neighbors move in. . . get to know them.

I don't know. Just a thought...

   

Picturing a Life with Less

   

     Remember the day when our cameras needed these for an inside shot? Remember when "instant" meant your camera spit out a square piece of cardboard with the picture magically appearing before your eyes five minutes later?
     It hit me as I sat down to organize three years of pictures yesterday. I'd sought the help of a professional (Who knew iPhoto locks up when you hit 10,000?) My computer had slowed to a snail's pace. I'd been watching that spinning beach ball so much I was starting to hear seagulls.
     Then it hit me~ My Mac looks like my garage! My desktop resembles... my desktop! The signs are no longer coming in three's ...They're coming in droves. And the common denominator is me. The underlying problem: too much stuff!
     This "stuff" stuff is really starting to bug me. Rather than sort through cluttered computer files I needed to dig into my cluttered mind to find just what is driving this need in me to hold onto so much stuff! So far, here's what I've come up with:
     1) I'm sentimental. I can point to any cup, bookend, candlestick holder and tell you where it came from, who gave it to me and/or what the nice lady was wearing as she rang up the sale .... Forget where I put my phone last, but show me a mug and I can remember the tiniest of details in its story~
     2) I'm creative. As if having too much stuff isn't bad enough,  I need to see my stuff... in plain view...for sure when working on a project, but sometimes (most times) even after.  Time to make pickles? Every jar, every ingredient, every possible pan and bowl (whether I use them or not) must be  visible, or else, I'll forget something. Same goes for laying out cookbook pages. Same goes for paying bills. My business partner once got me a book called "Organizing for Creatives" ...It basically said to color code things by projects. Now my stuff has a rainbow between its layers. Didn't change a thing, it just added pretty colors.
     3) I'm busy. Putting stuff away takes time and given the choice of putting it back, cleaning it up, tucking it away OR taking that phone call...well hey, it's just me. The dogs don't care. Heck, they even can't see the counters. I'll tidy up this evening. Only by evening, I'm too tired to tidy.
     4) ... (You get the gist. This list could go on and on.)
     Upon deeper reflection I DID stumble upon an answer, and a simple one at that, which is GET RID of things, Evins. And if you ever get good at that, QUIT BUYING MORE!
     I'm not trying to halt the economy, but if I never bought another piece of clothing as long as I live I couldn't wear mine out. Like most everyone, I go to my closet each morning, peruse an endless variety of wardrobe options, then reach for my same favorite "T", and my same comfy prairie skirt...Subconscious takes over and unless I have a key presentation or something fancy to attend, my  choices follow a very narrow pattern of selectivity.  Who am I kidding? I'm never going to wear that top I bought three years ago because it was on sale~ You think I could at least start there. Heck, sale things don't pack a bunch of sentiment (except for thinking, "Aw...Mom was with me that day. She bought a belt to go with a purse and we laughed about....." Yep. That's part of the problem. I assign meaning and memories to everything, which makes it hard to let anything go....You can only imagine me trying to sell a goat. It's a miracle I didn't keep every single one of Rosey's puppies~)
     It's not that I don't clear things out regularly. I do. I've got girlfriends I swap things with ("swap" being the operative word there). I know the people at Goodwill on a first name basis. But despite my myriad trips with boxes packed with purses, boots and pans, stuff keeps on accumulating. It's like it's breeding in there behind closed doors.
     It's an endless cycle of accumulation...frustration...deliberation, and then BOOM. It's outta here. I do haul things regularly. But like some homing pigeon, my stuff  always finds its way back home, meaning something in my internal wiring has got to shift.
     There is an old Buddhist proverb that states: When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. In this case, my teacher was on tape.
     While packing up boxes, I was listening to a book on organizing (which is technically moving your stuff around) when one statement stood out as if the author was speaking to me.  It had to do with the energy of stuff...namely how much it consumes. We lose time sorting through it, tripping over it, dodging it. We dread facing it, tearing into it, deciding what stays and what goes. In short, whether we've stacked it neatly or not, it's there, reminding us ever so silently that all is not clear in our world. When she spoke of stuff as energy, and how in removing stuff, you get more energy in exchange, THEN it hit me. If there is anything in this physical universe I revere, it's energy. Energy to get things done. Energy to enjoy life. It was a sudden paradigm shift to think of energy as an exchange unit. Heretofore, I had considered money as a possible exchange, peace of mind as an exchange, a neater house as an exchange. But not once had I factored pure energy as the resulting gift from ridding space of its stuff.
     It was an "aha" moment like none other. I can't tell you that it'll all be gone by morning. But there is a new carrot dangling before me now and that is "If you walked in your house tomorrow, Evins, and there stood a clean desk...an empty corner...the five item you use (but no more) in your bathroom cabinet...WHAT would that FEEL like?"
     Obviously, I'll have to get back to you on this, as I've never felt this feeling, save for the first days of moving in, but I honestly think it would feel freeing.
     Before going overboard, I'm going to try it with one small corner of my world, just to make sure. But I think it would feel freeing. Contemplating it sure feels freeing...
     Back with a report.
     Film at 11.
     Stay tuned...(cause if I pull this off, it WILL be breaking news.)
   
   
   
   
   
   

Simplifying 101

     So I'm reading a book on clearing the clutter (cause as easy as it sounds, psychologically, I'm learning there are reasons for why we resist letting go of things) ... The book is called "Shed"and no, it has nothing to do with stand alone storage units. Nor is it what my dogs are doing in spades this time of year. Instead, "Shed" is a book about removing layer after layer of the clutter that we silently...even emotionally....wrap our lives in. But this clutter (I'm learning) is slowing us down, if not tripping us up in life.
     This "stuff" we've accumulated (most often mindlessly...more times than not we're oblivious) --this stuff comes in the form of unopened mail, backed up purchases and stuff we haul from car to counter just before collapsing ourselves once back inside our cocoons.
    As mentioned in previous blogs,when I get too concerned for the clutter, I like to flip on that Hoarder show, just to prove it could be worse. Not quite that bad, but I have to admit, I understand the hoarder's mindset when they get  just a lit-tle too sentimental about trashing a memory. I'm bad about that myself. I tend to cheer for the underdog in these moments.
     The trick (as I'm reading) is to retrain the brain, after all,  it's not like we need all this stuff, but at the same time, hey, my niece might...Or someone might...Heck, even "I" might, after all, my grand folks lived through one pretty nasty depression. There is something primal about our drive to surround ourselves in material items.
     Well tonight it hit me. Chapter 12. Name Your Chapter
     To help me and other clutter bug hopefuls everywhere, this author suggests we stop and ask: 1) where do I want to go next in life; and 2) name that chapter. (I'm good at this. I'm with you author. Keep going.) In so doing, we are asked to have pen in hand (All about this one too. Yep. I'm there. And...?) And we are to write down in one word, the theme for the next chapter in our lives. . .
     (Play Jeopardy Music Here.)
      Now I'm not sure about you, but as a Type A, ADD personality I'm big on goal setting and listing future plans. But even so, for me, labeling a life chapter could take all sorts of forms and timeframes. I decided to clump past themes by age brackets; first there were my high school years; then my college theme (i.e. graduate); I had a first job; then career change; first real job (or at least the one I fell in love with, i.e. broadcasting). Then came writing.
     There's not enough space to checker jump you from writing to here, but suffice it to say, cookbooks led to livelihood, led to coming home, led to gardening (and is now leading to...well, that's as far as I got on the "Shed" CD- Chapter 12).  Pretty sure writing is here to stay, and I want to think the critters are too. But regardless, it wasn't hard for me to come up with the theme I really wanted to focus on next and that is: SIMPLIFYING my Life!
     Easier said that done, and Lord knows I'm far from there yet, but if looking ahead helps me focus in steering this ship of a life in my next best direction, then I pick "Simplifying" to captain my boat. (My co-captain, I named "Minimalizing") ~
     Bottom line: I have too much stuff. I mean...How can one little girl, never married, no kids, accumulate so much stuff? Well...it ain't hard. Matter of fact, when I speak with friends --some of them married, some of them in my kinda boat (more like a dingy)...this seems to be the theme on a lot of folks' minds. Seems everywhere I turn I've got friends asking, "Where in the WORLD did all this stuff come from?"
     It wasn't hard to pick a chapter theme. I'm seriously dedicated to ridding my life of the excess. I think I need it to move forward. What's hard is knowing where to start...Knowing how to overhaul a lifetime of stuff I was drawn to buy and replace it with new habits that keep the place from backing up and energy pockets cleared for creating (heck, breathing)...Therein lies the challenge.
     A work in progress for sure, but as goes my life, so goes the blog. I have to say I'm not real proud of my basement right now, and furthermore, I'm a sucker for saving things that might someday be used elsewhere. (The curse of the creative mind--we never see it as trash...just something to be reinvented). But maybe for once, I'll put my own stuff out there and see what freedom feels like.
(I hear it's just another word for nothing left to lose~)

When Dog Butts Go Viral

     So many ways to subtitle this one....Oh, the possibilities ...
     My thoughts right now range from
               "Make no butts about it...Jesus is the way" to
                                          "This is why the other countries hate us."
     As for me, my day was long enough before getting to all this. New project on the horizon / old business needing help. Combination of the two has me losing more time than that consumed from washing goat bowls and refilling water pails. But until the next one is "in the works" ...I have other matters to tend to...Things like loading docks...billing...new cookbooks to reprint. Things like gardens coming in, houses needing care...barns to be built. All this, not even counting friends going through crap....divorces mid stream....foreclosures at bay...Anymore, it's a toss up as to which challenge most needs the attention on any given day (and for a girl in ADD mode already, well...double down on that one. The results remain to be seen.)
     So what does one do to unwind/unravel from days like these? Don't know about you, but I either flip on a mindless TIVO'd "Frazier" episode or I check in with my Facebook peeps. (In other words, if I have 20 minutes before bedtime, I'm tossing it away. I'm no saint on this front...Some days just are what they are...I need the fix.)
     With any luck at all, someone's posted something silly that'll have me LOL in no time . . . Every now and again, some posts have me LMAO~ (Mom. For you... L = Laughing  M is My ---you insert the creature you once road in Mexico...Last word -- "Off")  On behalf of all of us FB scrollers everywhere... Thank you creative posters for creating or forwarding a good post that leaves us this way.)
     Tonight's LMAO moment came with a post I hesitated to forward (then again, it was just too dang funny not to)... Were my Div School professor on FB, I think she'd have found this funny too, but the rest of the world well, they'll probably deem me evil or shallow or both and question what I really believe (when what I really believe is, I need a nap).
     To those kinda folk--Rest assured, I love my faith. I do my best to live my faith...
     But I'd also like to think that Jesus was a light-hearted dude and would've found this a funny FB post...Can't speak for the man, but I'm pretty sure even he would be L-hisAO with this one.
     Many caught the joke after a few minutes of staring (granted at a dog's butt, but therein lies the humor)... But(t) coming from a town that drew national attention for a honey bun boasting what is now revered as the "Nun Bun" ...(a 2-day old coffee house danish that DID, in fact, age in such a way as to resemble Mother Teresa) ...Well, those folks wound up on "60 Minutes" ... We cherish these things. Put the same notoriety on an image coming off a dog's butt and I say we're not that far behind (Ok. There are just so many puns tied to this one... I can't even count 'em. I just need to write 'em and sleep.)
     Bottom line: This. THIS, is my comic relief end of day. And lest anyone write me and say I should not be taking the likeness of our Lord in vain, may I gently remind you WE HAVE NO IMAGES OF HIS LIKENESS FOLKS!! There were no cameras back then. Jesus had no FB followers (only real ones) ...The man never took a selfie. So face it. This may be as close as we get.
     Lest you think I've disrespected the creator by laughing at a dog's behind....may I respectfully say...it was God who made the dog, so who's to say He's not checking on us...just to make sure we're watching for him everywhere. What's more, surely Jesus had a sense of humor. They tell us he cried. I pray to God he laughed. If ours is a God of love, and love we equate with all things good and positive--well, I'd say laughter is about as loving as it gets. I think Socrates himself would've concluded (as have I) that God has a sense of humor (after all, he made monkeys). That same God made this dog...complete with the markings on her behiney that appear to be Jesus saying "Come to me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will make you laugh!" (Talk about the Lord working in mysterious ways~) Yep. I'm thinking God knows this is funny.
           Thanks to the soul who stared at his dog's butt long enough to see the humor (if not his savior) here. You made me laugh to the point of tears. For the comic relief alone, it was a blessing~ Add to that the sense of community from all the comments to a FB post, and well...that's a good thing too!

Time for a Flip (in Consciousness)

   

     While clearing the basement I've been listening to archived interviews from radio days past (in classic cassette format, no less! Talk about Throw Back Thursday!) Can't help but marvel at just how timely the topics are even today.
     While the reference in this particular interview involves a former president and not our current one,  it's the same angst and frustration applied to whomever's up top that I find fascinating. (In other words, nothing's changed in 10 years.) While Jon Bonet Ramsey is no longer the lead story, sadly today's news still leads with missing children. But most intriguing of all is the feeling this guest points to that he sees in growing numbers (as do I...even more so today)...that sense of "What's it all about?" and "Is this all there is?" born of our overly consumptive society, feeding on junk food, junk programming and adrenaline pumping entertainment. (Like what's our fascination with the dark side?)
     According to Jared here, it's time for a "flip" --a shift in consciousness... where, instead of flipping out, we flip inward...from flipping out of the old paradigm and onto real living.  It made sense 10 years ago. It's still making sense today. Now to get there~
     May you find meaning in conversations of radio days past~
                                             http://beyondreason.com/mp3s/rosen.mp3

Nothing Compares to County Fairs

         

           It was a portal in time…a wormhole of the country kind. Walking across that bridge was like walking back into my childhood, complete with the memories that came gushing with that first whiff of funnel cake (as if the drive to get there hadn’t primed us already). The only thing better than a county fair is a friend to share it with ~

Country’s in my blood, and fairs are in my bones. I come from a long line of fair-lovin’ fools. At the time of my birth my daddy was part owner of the Wilson County Fair, an honor he shared with my great, great uncle A.W. McCartney, (a.k.a. “Mr. Wilson County Fair” from way back in the 1920s). They say Uncle Andy lived and breathed that fair… he literally took his last breath wrapping up one Saturday night. As Daddy told it, it was the fair’s biggest attendance to date and the man just keeled over dead doing the final count of the tickets. “Everyone should die doing what they love…” Daddy would say. “At least the man died happy.”

While the Wilson County fair is our state’s largest, it’s the DeKalb County fair that I knew best. This one gave me my very first paying gig of selling season passes the week prior to--money that went right back to the fair the next week in exchange for every gold fish and stuffed critter my little arms could carry.
        They call it the Grandpa Fair of the South. DeKalb County Fair is Tennessee’s oldest. (This year marks 158). While Wilson’s is a much larger fair, you’ll find none more charming than the one that rolls into Alexandria each summer. (They used to have it in October, but one year it snowed, so that ended that. Now it’s in July.) Once privately run, in 1994 fair ownership was re-configured and today it’s the residents of Alexandria (population 973) that make it happen-- one of the sweetest little hometown efforts you ever did see!

Between puppet shows, squealing kids and the Little Miss and Mr. competition, it was a busy night for a small town. We got our fix of corndogs, snow cones and cotton candy and threw enough darts to win a big red velvet rose. Taking back roads home we reminisced with falling down store fronts and old church cemeteries all that remained to commemorate the people, places and events that served to shape us into the adults we never thought we’d become.

Living Alone vs. Being Alone

A very wise friend once said, “The only thing worse than being alone is wishing you were.” Having been there/done that, I laughed at her then, and I revere her wisdom now. For those of us who’ve lived this, can we agree, it’s neither fun nor funny when going through it.

So wise this advice that I began to notice just how many of my “coupled” friends had compromised themselves to the point I no longer recognized them. To be clear: I do have happily married friends.  But in all honesty (I am not being cynical here…this is merely observation) I don’t have many happily marrieds as I do peacefully singles. (Then again, being single myself, I realize we tend to draw to us our own type, so admittedly this is far from a scientific study).

That said, I honor the “happily married” ...Truth be told, I marvel at them. They are out there. I worship at their alter. I find theirs to be an endangered species, and I personally feel science should clone them, after all, who doesn’t want their recipe for success? But in my world it’s too often unhappily marrieds who turn to singles like me with which to vent their woes, thus I’m aware my survey is skewed. That said, it has served a useful purpose enough to lead me to decide for my own life, “Risk -- too high; Safer to stick with the life you know.”  At least I know what I’m coming home to at the end of the day. No one’s mood is gonna catch me off guard and ruin an otherwise happy one on my end. While not great bed-fellows, my goats are pretty consistent on the happy mood scale. You get to my age and you’re no longer up for the “Guess-What-Mood-I’m-In” Russian roulette of married life. Bottom line: I like knowing what awaits me end of day. Your grumpy day should not trump my elated one, nor should my bummer one bring you down. I’m sensitive. I’m getting older. I’m no longer up for sacrificing the joyful parts. It was at this point I made the conscious decision to re-direct my co-dependent, people-pleasing tendencies towards projects instead of significant others and so far, the decision is paying off. I get a lot done; my life is fulfilling; I’m a lot less neurotic (which makes others lives fulfilling :).  I’ll report back if I change my vote on this one, but I’m nowhere near that point today; I'm too busy. In all sincerity I love my life…and its friendships and its intentional choices; what’s more, I’m spotting a parallel trend in my single friends’ lives as well. 

However, I am intrigued by the myriad of responses generated from recent posts about living in community. (For those still figuring out how to post a reply, that one’s my fault…my apologies. No sooner did I commit (online and out loud) that I would do a daily blog about first time farming did I sit down the next day with my web girl only to find she had another, bigger and better gig awaiting.  Our last meeting consisted of “OK, well, can you at least  show me how to post, cause I just committed to doing this daily…” Beyond that, well, I’ve yet to find a new web girl for all the gardening and writing, but I’m sure she’s coming. We'll get the buttons figured out soon enough.

Moral of the story/reason for this blog…

The difference in living alone vs. BEING alone is to me…vast. And it’s critical to point out the difference.

I, like so many of my creative friends, like…(will even go so far as to say) PREFER living singly.  Far be it from me to give marital advice (never having been there) but when my married girlfriends come to hang, the one thing they seem to long for most is time to return to themselves…time to reunite with their own identity. They no doubt love their lives or they wouldn’t be in it…this is no reflection on their husbands, their children…their life choices. But when that inkling of a notion that reminds them of who they are, turns into that bitter, residue known as  guilt…well, it can pose a problem. How much does one give of themselves to the union? How much of that comes from your very being?

(Probably just as well I don’t have the “respond” button turned on here. I’ve spent 20 years fielding angry callers who misinterpreted what I said. It would be the “mute button” equivalent to not be hearing you now, but truth is, I DO want to hear, as I DO think we are (as a culture) robbing ourselves of the one most important ingredient in life, and that is self-reflection. That moment where we stop and ask, “But am I really happy? Am I living my bliss?” (Answer for which is: ____OK. YOU. YOU…the person reading this blog. STOP for a second; turn off the computer and ask yourself this question.)

Personally, I don’t have your answer. Heck, I’m working on that answer for myself. And I’m well aware of any number of substitutes for avoiding the question. I know we have fillers for filling up voids and I personally know how to dodge it artfully. But as the song says, either way, it’s ok, we wake up with ourselves . If you’re comfortable in your own waking moments, even in this instant, then keep on doing what you’re doing. What the world needs now may be love, sweet love. But to get there, I contend what the world needs now is more authentic souls being their authentic selves. In other words, the world needs YOU …being you.