April Showers High 1985

Twenty years after graduating from High School is the perfect time to go back and read all the signatures in your yearbook.


I have to share some with you. I really must. As I do, please enjoy these two boys chatting it up at Rechelle's 40th birthday party. They are the only two boys in the world that could handle Rechelle and I or maybe I should say they are the only two boys that could tolerate us.

What I love about this one is that the girl who wrote this ended up marrying the boy she is wishing me luck with and she felt the need to say 'dearly not queerly'.

This is from 1985

April, We've had our ups and downs, but hopefully now they will all be ups. You are fun to cheer with. I hope we cheer together for the next 2 years. Goodluck with everything you do and with C. Stay Sweet Love Ya,- dearly not queerly T.


Now onto 1986 and this is after C and I broke up, but we remained friends. I even set him up with the sister of the new guy I was dating. I know, how nice was I? When I read this I laughed a very uncomfortable laugh off and on for two days.


April, You really made my junior year fun. Remember when we were out at the farm on the three wheeler and I took off without you on the back? And remember all the times we got in trouble? I still am getting in trouble because of you. Remember writing in my year book about the vo-tech parking lot? I had to explain that to my mom.
Love, C

Dear GOD!!! His Mom read his yearbook!!! What on earth did I say? I'm so sorry C. All I can say to you is 'good luck in the future, I hope you go far', because that seemed to work pretty well back in 1986.

In 1985 I let my sister sign the back page of my yearbook. I'd show you a picture, but my camera has fallen into the black vortex that sucks all the things I value the most or my kids must have been playing with it. grrrrrr. And I'm too lazy to go look for it.

April, You are my very favorite sister. I'm really happy that out of all the strange people I could have gotten for a sister, I got the strangest one of all, YOU! I don't think I could make it through the day without one of your "imitations" or one of your strange little characters, that seem to pop out of your mind. Especially the dude that says, "Lunch Tickets!" and your Swedish, "Stankers!" I know you also wouldn't survive without my daily hugs. Thanks for being around for me to borrow money from and beat up on you and crush your ribs and sometimes even talk too.
Love and Lots of Hugs,
the one and only,
Rechelle

Now let's jump to 1987 when my sister finally got herself a boyfriend. J was in my class. He had a big ego and was a giant pain in the butt. He teased me relentlessly about my hair, makeup, clothes and choice of boyfriends. Rechelle and J were two strange birds thrown together to torture each other. I never knew if they were getting along or in the middle of a heated debate. J wrote this just after he and Rechelle broke up. Rechelle had gone to college and J and I were trying to figure out how to get through our Senior year without her around to LORD over our lives. He was the closest thing to a brother that I ever had. When my homecoming date left with another girl, J held my hand and took me out on the dance floor. He was a terrible dancer, but he knew he could make me laugh by watching him try to move to a beat and I did, I laughed really hard at how bad of a dancer he was.

April, Hi April! I'm sitting in Broadcasting and all these people are telling me what to write in your yearbook. Since you wrote something nice I am going to try to write something nice too. This year I want us to get along better and be good friends. I know I tease you a lot and I give you a hard time, but I do like you. You are a super person to be around and I am going to miss going out to your house. Remember how Rechelle used to get mad at me when I would flirt with you? Well, sometimes I really was flirting with you. Keep up your wonderful smile and personality. Good luck in EVERYTHING. Love, J.

The CD, he can't dance a lick and he teases me pretty bad too.


But my sister tolerates him anyway.

This last one was from the farmer boy I dated my Junior year. He was a really nice boy, but had the personality of a dried piece of corn. Poor guy, he never knew what to do with me when I started acting goofy. I think he was mostly embarrased by me. We were still dating when he wrote this. When I think back about the year we dated I can't remember anything we did except drive up and down Maine Street in his car. I don't remember having any meaningful conversations, fights or anything. I'm pretty sure we were the most boring couple ever. I think his entry will prove that.

April, Your totally awesome personality is always so nice to be around. You brighten my day whenever you smile and laugh at me or whatever. Keep up the cheerleading, dancing, puppeteering, and all your other great talents. Make the best of your last year with Shelly, you two are great sisters even if she is a 'sissy'. Don't let Jeff pick on you too much! This year is going to go by fast I can already tell. It seems like all I do is take tests and apply for scholarships and all other college junk. Well, it's such a joyous occasion to sign off on this, ha ha. You're the Greatest April!!! Love, P.

What the heck? Seriously, we had been dating for a while and that's all he could say?! I don't even remember how we broke up. As far as I know we're still dating.

I think I ended up with the right guy. His goofiness overshadows mine. I can't embarrass him and I try really hard. He's the only guy that I could wear high heels and still be shorter. He sings harmony to all my made up opera song and he's really cute.

And my brother in law? He's not too bad. And he's got great hair man, really great hair.

Now, good luck in your future and all you do. You are awesome and really great and thanks for being a good friend. Let's keep in touch and don't ever change.

BFF,

April

Freaky White

Is it a wonder that people don't believe me when I tell them I don't bleach my hair?

Did I ever question why a slew of boys called me Albino then shortened it to Alby?

It was real. Every white hair of it.

My dad was the only one that said it wouldn't get darker because I was his little angel.

It did get darker.

People still ask me if I bleach my hair.

Nobody in my family had blond hair. Nobody.




Now, the outfits. Those were from our trip to Prince Edward Island. Our mom liked to have us dress up in costumes for photos. There are other photo sessions with Rechelle in a Dutch outfit and me having tea with a bunch of dolls. I remember feeling incredibly uncomfortable wearing that hat so I pushed it back as far as I could so it wouldn't mess up my Sally-do.


Before you go check out my fingernails and that turquoise ring. Classy.

And that's the end of today's humiliating history lesson. Thank you and goodnight.

If I could go back....

Ever think about what you would do differently if you could go back to high school?  

Man, every time I visit Goodland I go back to my teenage days.  What would I change?

1.  I would never have hid a note in a certain gorgeous boy's locker telling him his girlfriend was a dip and then undeniably describing myself, but signing the note anonymously.  Lord, have mercy was I a retard.

2. I would not have stolen my parent's van on a muddy day to go pick up my friend Tina to cruise Maine Street and then get it stuck in the ditch and have to run home in my white penny loafers to call Tina and make up a whopper of a lie to her dad about why I was driving in the first place.   And could he please come try to pull me out?  Oh, I was in 8th grade when I did that and I'd been taking the van out for little test drives unbeknownst to anyone for about a month before I decided it was time to cruise with a friend.   Tina's dad couldn't get his truck down the road as far as I drove the van.  My punishment was to pay for the tow truck and clean all the mud out of the van (because I tried digging the darn thing out with my bare hands before I gave up.  I got mud all over the driver's side) and my dad threatened that I might not drive again until I was 21, which was like cutting off a limb to me.  

3. I would bolster my wit and courage, unfortunately that didn't happen until I was in college.  But, there are things I would love to have said to people if I'd only had the guts.  I don't mean being hateful I just mean standing up for what is right and justified and shutting down the loud obnoxious mouths.  Like the time I was in MacDonald's a couple years ago and this big-smoking-loud-tattoo laden woman was talking on her cell phone and cussing up a storm in the play area.  Not that being forced into a play area doesn't already make me a little on the edgy, but I looked at her and said, "Hey!  Do you mind?  There are kids in here that don't need to hear that kind of language!"  and she looked at me and said......oh, sorry.  I know!  I shut her up!  Ooooh, I feel a cheer comin' on...  THAT'S RIGHT UH-HUH SAY IT AGAIN, GHS!

Which brings me to my next regret..

4. I would not have been a cheerleader.  Good God!  Rechelle just went into cardiac arrest.  Seriously though, I look at my cheerleading pictures and think, what the hell April, what the hell?  Did I not realize I was six feet tall?  I should have played sports.  Do you know how many coaches and parents asked me why I wasn't out on the court?  They were embarrassed for me.  I guess I had something to prove.   And I can dance and I'm not afraid to dance in front of people, but I feel awkward and self conscious on a basketball court.  Well whatever,  now I have a daughter that can play any sport with grace and confidence and has stamina and will power, but she can't dance a lick, I mean she refuses to try and shake her hips.  It's unfortunate and admirable all at the same time.  I guess I'll live vicariously through her while I look out the corner of my eye and criticized the weak arm positions of the cheerleaders.

5. I would have studied.  I can't even say I would have studied harder, because I never studied for anything.  What a blow it was when I got to college.  I was so unprepared.  Listen to me kids, go for the gold while your young!  STUDY HARD!  Geesh, I wasted so much time.

and this is why....

6.  I would not have dated Tim, Tony, Chris, Pat, Rex, Brian or any other guy I may have dated in high school but can't remember.  Because I never acted like myself around any of them and they were all way too freakin' SHORT!  Sorry guys.  Errr, what a waste!  Why couldn't I have my 38 year old brain in place when I was 15?  Why?

7. I would have spent more quality time with my friends and my family.  I would love to go back and have one day a week with my grandparents.  They only lived 17 miles away and I would go months without talking to them.  That is a crime.  

You know what?  I think that's it.  I'd like to say I'd go back and change my hairstyle and make up choices but then I'd probably look even more like a freak, not that a teenager with the brain of a 38 year old wouldn't be freaky.  Oh, but wait.  When I got to college I stopped curling my hair and wore very little make up and one of my sister's good friends saw me on campus and said, "Hey, April.  Wow!  You are so much prettier than you were in high school.  You look better with no make up."  sigh.  

8. So, okay I'd go back and chuck the hot rollers and the Mary Kay eye shadow trio.

Mickey

Oh Mickey your so fine, your so fine you blow my mind. Hey Mickey!

Now, try to get that song out of your head. Not possible.


A long time ago, when I was newly married to the skinniest man on the face of the planet, I worked at an animal hospital.  Because I love animals and I fleetingly thought that I might should have been a veterinarian.  That thought lasted about five months, then I got pregnant.  As a pregnant woman I really didn't want to smell one more animal or their yeasty ears, puss filled abscesses, hot craps or the most gagging thing.....the Lysol that everyone sprayed to cover those smells.  Yeah.  Good times that first trimester at the animal hospital.

The hospital had a very nice boarding facility for cats and dogs. Occasionally, during holidays, we'd get calls to board a rabbit, ferret, snake or.. shudder.. Mickey.  Mickey was a hissing cockroach...shudder.

Mickey's owners would bring him in a plastic Rubbermaid bowl.  He sat at the bottom of the bowl with a damp cotton ball and one piece of dry dog food.  The staff would sit him on the lab counter so we wouldn't forget about him.  

Everyday one of the girls would have to take the lid off the bowl, dampen the cotton ball and replenish the one piece of dog food.  Even though Mickey gave me the creeps, he was incredibly low maintenance and people got a kick out of him.  

During one of Mickey's stays with us he stopped eating.  He just sat there, not moving and we got sort of concerned about him, I mean even though I didn't want Mickey anywhere near me, I didn't want to explain to the family that their bug had died on our watch.  To keep a closer eye on Mickey one of the vet techs places the bowl on the receptionist's counter for me to look after him.  Yeah for me.

Once I'd finished my work and all the exam rooms were filled with clients and their animals I took a minute to glance at Mickey.   I saw the cotton ball and the dog food, but no Mickey.  Oh dear.  My first thought was Mickey was probably crawling of my back or nestled in my hair.  My freak-out meter went through the roof.  Just thinking about it is creeping me out and suddenly the black keys of my computer seem oddly roach-like.....argh!

Okay, back to Mickey.  Nervously, I decided I better take the lid off the container to make sure he really wasn't in there disguised as a piece of dog food.  I slowly removed the lid and that's when I saw that Mickey had molted.  He had wedged his body up near the lid and now instead of being black he was a milky-larvae-white.  I couldn't take it.  I let out a scream, slammed down the lid and fled to the corner of the room.  I was certain a million milky white cockroaches were crawling up my pant leg.

My scream had alarmed everyone in the hospital.  The first to come to my aid was one of the vet techs followed by one of the doctors.  Seeing me fearfully plastered against the wall they were quick to think I must be in labor.  Reading their concern I began to feel a bit foolish and was pretty embarrassed to explain that Mickey had, had, well, turned white.  And that scared me.  Rolling there eyes and muttering under their breath they went back to work leaving Mickey and I alone.....shudder.

And that's all I have to say about that particular incident because now I'm going to be hyper-bug-aware the rest of the day.

Winter, it's really time for you to go away.

Remember that thing called summer?  Anyone?  Anyone?  I've got a serious beef with Mother Nature today.  Apparently she's decided to take a long holiday to the tropics and leave us Heartlanders shuddering in the wake of winter's grip.

Let's take a walk down memory lane.  Waaaaay back last summer, I had a garden.  It was my place of serenity.  It was beautiful.
Clay built raised bed out of the abundance of felled trees on the property.  Then I filled the beds with cow poop, top soil and peat moss.  The plants loved it.
I did the 'taters in a trash can' idea that I read about on Crunchalota's blog.

They were wonderful.  I haven't decided if I'll do them again this year since we have so much space to put vegetables in the ground.

Ah, then there was the Gypsy Caravan where I picked up these lovelies and we sweltered in the heat.  
This wasn't taken last summer, but it's green and my baby actually looks like a baby.  And I'm hoping he didn't eat that wormy apple, but he probably did.  We have a mini orchard here in Kansas.  I haven't been able to identify all the trees.  It will be a lovely surprise when the fruit starts to form.  I believe we have several apple, a couple cherry, several peach and a couple pear.  But, we'll see for certain......if summer ever gets here.
Oh, this was the day I was reverting back to my 'Granola' days.  Shouldn't every woman wear a long sundress and flip flops to work in the garden?  Yes, I think sometimes it's a must.
How about the day Levi found my bright pink nail polish?  At first glance I thought he was bleeding.  Then I noticed he wasn't crying.  He spilled nail polish all over the carpet in my bedroom.
He got to sit in this chair and watch me clean it up.  He wasn't too happy.  I wasn't too happy.  What makes me happy about his picture?  He doesn't wear a diaper anymore!  See, there's a happy story behind every tragedy.
This is one of my favorite photos from last summer.  My dad came for a visit on his way through to Virginia to ride his bicycle in Bike Across Virginia.  We went to Shakespeare in the Park.  It was a lovely summer evening.  There is something so sweet about an old guy holding a little guy's hand.
Now, come on spring, rear your head!  I'm done with winter!   I'm sick of coats and boots!  Mother Nature get your butt back here!

The Bridge

Last night Clay and I went out to eat and then decided to go to a movie, but we had an hour to waste, so I said, "Hey, drive through campus."  

The students haven't returned from break yet, so the campus  buildings were mostly dark and desolate.  As we drove by the architecture building, Marvin Hall, and the art and design building, more commonly known as the A&D building I said, "Hey, think it's open?  Let's go look around."

Sure enough, Marvin Hall was open.  It's always open.  I don't remember a time that I wasn't able to get into that building and I entered it at all kinds of unspeakable hours.

Clay and I roamed the dark halls of Marvin Hall, then we crossed over the bridge, which is called The Bridge because it links Marvin Hall to A&D and houses the computer labs.  We peaked in the lab and saw one weary looking student working at a computer.  "Man, how many hours did I spend in that room?"  Clay said in a whisper.  

I looked at the ledge that runs under the windows along the wall where I'd spent hours sitting and studying.  I looked out the darkly tinted windows on the bridge, but only saw our reflections.  There we were the two of us standing in the bridge.  The architectural element that connects two buildings, links together two creative and artistic training centers.  The bridge that brought us together.  It's the place we would meet to eat lunch, read the paper, take a nap or cross over to visit the other in their studio.

We walked across the bridge and into the A&D building.  I walked by my old studios.  The familiar smells of wood, foam, paint, glue, charcoal and paper lingered in the air from the projects that were probably locked away in dorms and apartments or frustratingly tossed in a dumpster.  All the caustic chemicals I used to inhale while building a model, it was so long ago.

I saw the name of one of my favorite professors on a door.  I thought he was so amazing.  He taught me how to think about design more thoughtfully, how to think through a process, to make something with care.  His words mesmerized me.  I was shy and intimidated around him.  During the time I was in his class I got so stressed out about the model I was building that I threw it across the shop and it splintered into a thousand pieces.  Guess who came in the door right as I was throwing my fit?  Not the professor, but Clay.  He helped me clean up the mess and glue all the stupid little pieces of balsa wood back together.  That model was chosen by my professor to be placed in the presentation cases to be viewed by all the A&D students.

The next year I didn't have the same professor, but his office was across from the shop that I practically lived in to build all my projects, so I saw him quite a bit and talked to him on occasion.  During that year I had a terrible bike accident while I was riding home from Clay's dorm.  I basically removed all the skin from the left side of my face, shoulder and thigh.  I looked like I'd been beaten.  I couldn't stay home from school, because I had a project due, so as usual I was down in the shop, building whatever design project I was working on at the time.  The shop was crowded with busy students and I was trying not to attract attention to my disfigured face, but it was pretty impossible.  I was sore, tired and wanted to go home and hide. I looked up from my project and saw Clay at the door.  We walked out in the hall and shut the door to mute the noises of students, saws, drills and sanders.  Clay gently wrapped his arms around my sore body, kissed the top of my head and asked how I was doing.  Still wrapped in Clay's embrace I heard the door behind us open, it was my old professor coming out of his office.  He had seen me earlier and knew I had been in an accident. He looked at us and said in the sweetest voice, "Oh, that'll make it feel better." then he walked through the door to the shop.

So many memories were flooding my mind.  We continued to walk down to the sculpture and ceramics studio.  Clay had taken a ceramics class the summer after graduation to fulfill one last art credit that he needed.  I remember carrying our baby girl into that studio to watch him finish some assignment he had.  

I looked at the plaster mixing area and was reminded of the hours I spent mixing plaster for a "love seat" that I made when Clay and I were engaged.  I spent days applying tile to it.  It was so heavy I had to build it on a cart so I could move it around while I was working on it.  It took four men to move it.  A few years later, we took a baseball bat and broke it to bits so we wouldn't have to move it again.

How different my life would have been if I wouldn't have change my major second semester of my freshman year.  How different Clay's life would have been if he would have sent his application in on time and not had to come to school a semester late causing him to fill his studio hours with Drawing One where, "I saw a leggy blond walk in late, stick her butt out to sit on the bench and yowsa, I knew then I was going to make her mine." 

 

Walking through those halls with my husband I had no regrets, no yearnings to be back in that place.  We walked back towards the bridge holding hands.  So much has changed over the last nineteen years.  I would never have guessed this would be our life.  The two young struggling people that sat on that bridge talking about their future nineteen years earlier had no idea they would be walking over that bridge the parents of four children, him a successful architect, her a stay at home mom.  I caught our reflection in the windows again as we passed by, those two people they're not much different, older, wiser, fatter, calmer but who would have guessed, more in love.  

Fried Ham

We went to Mark Twain Lake for a relaxing vacation. However when we got home, I was really tired and every muscle in my body was a bit on the sore side because I water skied one day and I'm very out of shape.

I love to water ski and I love to drive a speed boat, deep in my heart I was meant to live close to a lake and be out on the water doing sporty things, but the Good Lord forgot to give me the skin to go with the water-baby lifestyle. It's just not fair, but actually it is fair....get it? Fair? Like fair skin? No? You all have no sense of humor.

My husband is even fairer than I. His skin sizzles within a mere moment of being exposed to sunlight. I've never seen a man slather on spf 50 as efficiently as Clay and then still have a blood-red burn on his neck and face. If you come to our house in need of sunscreen you will find it in no less than 30 spf and located in the laundry room, van, truck, swim bag, purse, and all the bathrooms. We pride ourselves on skin protection. The sun is our enemy and sunscreen, clothing and hats are our weapons.

Seth has been learning why sunscreen is so important this summer. He has sported a few good burns because of his lack of enthusiasm against sunscreen. Therefore, he has a very cute freckly face.
This kid can light a dark path with his whiteness. He's easy to spot in a crowd of bronze skinned children. He can make the palest person look like they've been to a tanning bed.

We don't have to buy white tights for our daughter so milky are her legs, she's practically translucent.
We've managed to save our children from the fried-raw-hamburger skin that Clay and I suffered through as children. Our kids complain and whimper when they get a little red on their shoulders or nose and Clay and I just look at them and say, "You have no idea how a real sunburn feels, no idea."

One year probably when I was in third grade I came home after a weekend at the lake with every exposed body part fried to a blister. My armpits, behind my knees, the insides of my ears, my scalp, belly, back....all fried. I was burned so bad I got the shivers and took a hot bath but couldn't make the water hot enough. I walked around the house in a pair underwear with my skin slathered with greasy Solar Cain. When the cleaning lady came over I regretfully slipped on my scratchy light green polyester robe and lay on the couch. She gasped when she saw me and wondered why I wasn't at the hospital. Oh, Lord then came the peeling. I think I could have slid out of my skin and people wouldn't have noticed I left the room. Some parts of me peeled several times before my skin finally decided it was healed. That was the summer that I got freckles on my arms and legs. Skin cancer seems imminent for me. Hopefully God will spare me that and just leave me freckled and wrinkled.

7 things you're dying to know about me.

Joanna tagged me, so here we go. Seven wonderful things about me that you all should know and at the end seven bloggers I read and am tagging to do the same.


1. I had a very small heat stroke while descending in the gondola from King Herod's Palace on top of Masada.
I was 13 years old at the time and was in a state of panic; when I stepped out of the gondola I tried to get through two armed guards blocking an entrance. They tried to tell me I couldn't get through and then realized I wasn't quite right in the head, so they whisked me away to a first aid station and started applying cool compresses all over my body and making me drink the coldest water I've ever tasted in my life.

2. I've never broken a bone in my body. Well, at least I've never had one diagnosed. I'm pretty sure I broke a rib or two after falling off my bike multiple times on the Arapaho trail in Winter Park. I spent months not being able to lie on my back and couldn't take deep breaths for a week or so after. I looked like someone took a baseball bat to me and beat the livin' tarnation right out of me. I had bruises all over my legs, arms, back and hips. I took my kids to the local pool just when my bruises were looking their meanest and I got all sorts of sympathetic looks.

3. When I was a senior in high school my art teacher sent me to the restroom to check on a fellow classmate, Maria, who had been gone for quite a while. I found her lying on the floor of the stall, paralyzed. She was terrified. I was terrified. I ran to the office and quickly told them to call an ambulance then sprinted back to sit by Maria and hold her hand. Turns out her brother accidentally shot her in the back with a BB gun several years earlier and the BB decided that day to lodge itself against her spine, temporarily paralyzing her.

4. I want to take the Master Gardener's classes so I'll feel like I know what the heck I'm doing to my garden.

5. My Dad owned a vending business so our pantry was always filled with stale chips and melted candy bars and dusty soda cans. My sister and I rarely ate any of it, but my friend Carmen thought our pantry was a little slice of heaven. She would grab arms full of chips and candy and drink all the old orange soda. My parents thought we were eating and drinking all of it, so they kept bringing it home. Carmen was always grateful that my dad filled her tummy with junk food.

6. I taught myself how to drive when I was 13. I was in 8th grade and rode the bus home everyday. My sister was busy with after school stuff, so I was by myself for several hours before anyone came home. I would "steal" the keys to our Chevrolet conversion van and drive half a mile down the road, turn at the grain bins and then go back home. I went undetected until one day when I slid off the road and got the van buried up to the door in mud. That's a story I'll save for another time.

7. I just so happen to be one of the best puppeteers in the world. This is a talent I stopped sharing with people a long time ago. My mom started a puppet company when I was in high school and of course I had to be involved in all manners of performing. I won several competitions at The Puppet Festival in Denver. That's all I have to say about that for now.

Now, I'm tagging..

1. Rechelle my lovely sister
2. Jenn a real life person I know and adore
3. Jennifer a fun blogger person I just met
4. Jessie a sweet young mommy I know that loves good food as much as I do
5. Crunchy Chicken a funny Seattle garden lover
6. Abby a sweet young sleep deprived mommy I know that bakes some mean yummies
7. hope4grace a funny military wife that I like to read that apparently has the cutest husband
8. anyone else that would like to share seven things about yourself and spread the meme love.

Love Accidentally Part II

continued from the previous post


There are many couples in this world that just don’t match. You know what I mean? Like Sonny and Cher, they just didn’t match or how about Donald Trump and his latest super-model wife, please? Kelly and I were one of those mismatched couples. I was a head taller than him, he had jet black hair and flawless skin, I had freaky-white hair and freckles splattered all over my face and I’m guessing that I weighed three times as much as him. But, when you’re blinded by love, those physical features just blend together perfectly.

Kelly and I spent every possible moment together. During recess I would carry him around on my back, because he was just a tiny little thing and well, I was gigantic. I wanted to squeeze him and pet him and call him mine forever and ever; yes, I was that abominable cartoon creature with the tiny, cute, loveable pet.

One day as we wrestled around on the grass during recess I kissed his cheek. He stopped and looked at me with a big smile then wrestled me back to the ground and returned the kiss on my big freckled face. Oh, it was love.

Kelly had two older sisters that would crochet bracelets and necklaces for him to give to me. I wore all my yarn jewelry with the proud air of The Queen Mum. One day the sisters scrounged up a real piece of jewelry for Kelly to give me. It was a thick silver bracelet that clasped around the wrist like Wonder Woman’s arm bands. I hadn’t the nerve to tell him that I thought it was too much, I also hadn’t openly admitted to any of my family that Kelly was the man of my dreams and we were so in love that nothing could tear us apart. So, as I walked out of school that day I thought about how I would hide the bracelet. My first thought was to stow it away under one of the bushes at school and then retrieve it every morning before classes started but, I didn’t want to risk it getting dirty. I decided the best thing would be to come up with a real wing-dinger of a story to tell my mother and sister and then my love bracelet would never have to leave my body.

First, I showed the bracelet to my sister. She looked at it and asked where I got it. I told her I had found it under the bushes in front of the school. That seemed to satisfy her and we walked to the car where my mother was waiting to take us home. The first words out of my sister’s mouth were, “Mom, April found a bracelet.” That did it, I didn’t have the time or the experience to get my story straight, my mother asked where I’d found it, how I found it, who did I think it belonged to, and then she marched me up to the school and into the office where I had to hand in my bracelet to the school secretary to put in the lost and found. I was crushed. I knew deep down that my mother would never understand that the bracelet was a gift to me from my true love. So, I let it go. I never saw my beautiful silver Wonder Womanish bracelet again.

Kelly didn’t care that I had so carelessly lost the bracelet. Our love was stronger than any material gift. We continued to be in love and then Christmas break came. We talked on the phone once; it was awkward because if we couldn’t push each other on the swings or play horse and rider, then we didn’t have much to say. I think he told me something about visiting an antenna.

When we came back from Christmas I noticed Kelly’s desk was empty. I asked our good friend Danny where Kelly was and he told me he had move to Antenna. Our town’s radio and television station was located two blocks north of Maine Street and the antenna soared above all the trees. I always dreamed of climbing to the top to see how high it was. I was excited that Kelly was living by the antenna; maybe he would get to climb it and tell me how high it was. Day after day I thought Kelly would come back. I asked Danny if Kelly was going to a different school and Danny said, “Yeah, he’s going to a school in antenna.” Kelly was gone, forever. My little, tiny, bundle of sweetness was gone.

I don’t think it was until third grade while I was studying the United States that it dawned on me that Kelly had moved to Montana.

Love Accidentally

Brad Meyers was a very flirty, ornery boy that I grew up with in my small Kansas town. We easily became friends and I always enjoyed talking to him, but by the time we were in high school he had become a rocker-head and was held back a year in school. In a small town if you get held back a grade, well, it doesn’t do much for your social life, poor guy.

For some reason, during the early weeks of first grade, Brad became smitten with me. Our teacher had arranged our desks in a semi-circle around the room facing her desk. I sat just two desks away from Brad. This nearness allowed us to pass notes easily to each other without detection. I would write Brad a note saying, “Want to play swings at recess?” He would write one back that read, “You are cute.” I’d glare at him because being called cute was mean and a stupid thing to say, I hated it when any adult called me cute and it was worse coming from a nitwit, love-struck boy! I’d write him a note saying as much. Unrelenting, he would write, “I love you.” I’d retort with, “I DO NOT LOVE YOU!” Back would come, “I Love you forever.” I would beg him to stop writing me notes but he continued the onslaught. Finally, fed up and unable to put a halt to his forth right words of affection, I came up with a brilliant plan. The next note I received that professed Brad’s love to me, I would get up, march to the opposite side of the room and plop it down on a boy’s desk, then that boy would think that Brad loved him. Brad would be so embarrassed and the unsuspecting boy would be so mad that he would beat up Brad and Brad would leave me alone forever. It was flawless; I was a seven year old genius.

The note came not long after my plan was hatched and I executed it with superb eloquence. Not caring if I would be reprimanded for leaving my desk I hopped up and delivered the note straight to the desk of a boy I knew nothing about, Kelly. Marching back to my desk with confidence I gave Brad a look that said, “You are a silly boy trying to mess with me! I am waaaaaay smarter than you. Don’t you look dumb now? Yes, you do. But, I look cool and the entire class thinks you’re a doo-doo head and I’m clever, yes I am.” It’s possible that I stuck my tongue out too.

I sat down at my desk reveling in my own glory. Unfortunately, I didn’t pay attention to one small detail. The small detail that distinguished who was actually writing that note to Kelly, there was no signature. Kelly saw that note as a hand delivered, hand written confession of my deepest feelings for him. How do I know this? Minutes later Kelly passed the same note around the semi-circle back to me. Some of my classmates took the time to read the note and smiled in my direction as they continued to pass it along to me. I opened the familiar piece of paper and read Brad’s scrawling, “I love you” and underneath was Kelly’s note, “I love you too.”

I could feel my neck and ears getting itchy with the blood that was rushing to my head, I realized my mistake. I was panicked. What had I done? How would I correct this awful mistake? Then I looked across the room at Kelly. There he was staring at me with his big chocolate brown eyes, smooth peaches and cream skin with a small black mole at the corner of his upper lip and a smile. Well, maybe I did love him.

To be continued…..

Brass Holes and Jazz Shoes

My best friend from seventh grade through high school was Carmen. Carmen was nine inches shorter than me, skinny, smart, respectful, popular, state cross country champ, honor society member, teacher's pet, modest, kind, blah-blah-lots of good things blah. I was her tall, blond, funny, dumb, fashion advising side kick. We heard ourselves described as Mutt and Jeff more than once.

We spent most of our time laughing at each other, but mostly at me. Carmen had an amazing way of blending in with a crowd or becoming invisible and therefore avoided a lot of public humiliation for things that she was solely responsible for. She also had a laugh that sounded a bit like a new born puppy grunting, short inhalations through her nose barely audible to the human ear.

We lived about half a mile apart on the same rural route, so we spent an ungodly amount of time at each other's homes. When talking about our parents, we would refer to them by their first names, because we thought that was funny and our parents have uncommonly old people names so it was fun to say, "Harry and Martha were a bit peeved that I parked my car on their side of the garage." and "Gerald and Faye are going to Colorado this weekend." Carmen's dad was a dead ringer for Sonny Bono and my dad had a striking resemblance to The Fonz. You can imagine the amount of fun we had with that.

My grandmother was house-sitting for us once and Carmen's dad stopped by to drop off some papers for my dad. When my parents returned, my slightly stunned and star-stuck grandma said, "Sonny Bono stopped by to say hi!"

Carmen had an older brother, Camron. He was a senior when we were freshmen in high school. This boded well for Carmen because her brother was a champ in wrestling and fairly popular so his buddies knew better than to mess with his little sister. However, her best friend was fair game. One of Camron's best buds was Bryce Cole or, as I appropriatley named him, Brass Hole.

From day one of my freshman year Brass Hole and his gang of Levi's 501-Stetson Cologne wearing gang had fixed their sights on me as target practice for their amusement. I never stood a chance to even introduce myself by name for I was quickly tagged as, "Albee", that would be short for albino. So, as Carmen and I would stroll to our lockers, Brass Hole and the Levi's 501-Stetson gang would walk down the hall and say, "Hey Carm, howya doin? How's Albee today?" Carmen would sneer and I would turn various shades of crimson only giving more credence to my freaky white locks and encouraging them to further point out how red my white skin could become.

Carmen turned 15 early in the school year and was able to drive us to school in her little blue Jeep. This was the kind of Jeep that guys use to go hunting, it sat up high on big tires, had little removable doors, no real windows, and a snap-on vinyl top. I hated that Jeep. It was nearly impossible for me to get my six foot body stuffed into the seat. There was nothing solid to grasp onto for assisting me in my launch into the Jeep. I never knew if I should try to hike my butt up into the seat and then fold my legs one by one into the side or kick my left leg in and then flop my body towards the driver's side and hope for a good landing. Carmen spent a lot of time waiting for me to, "GET IN!".

Being tall was a curse when I was young. I towered over all the girls and a large majority of the guys, including Brass Hole. I carefully chose the flattest shoes made. My favorite, were a pair of navy blue, leather, lace up jazz shoes. They had slick leather soles and were very cool and very flat. Unfortunately, the slick part gave me a lot of trouble. Our school janitor made sure that the floors in our hallways were shined to a mirror finish so while wearing my jazz shoes, I would precariously slide around corners, skate into lockers, skid to a stop or just fall down. I was constantly flailing around for something to hold onto to keep me from slipping: the stair railing, an open locker door, or an unsuspecting person were all frequently used to aid me to a stop. I usually had my books in one arm because this was in the day before backpacks were cool, therefore; I only had one arm to use to stable myself.

One winter day as school had let out, Carmen and I walked through the slushy parking lot to head home in her Jeep. Carmen did her usual "hippity-hoppity like a little sprite freakin' bunny" into the driver's side of the Jeep and then settled down in a comfortable position to wait for me to decide which launching method would be necessary for me to, "Get in!". I carefully secured all my books in my left arm and placed my pencil bag in my mouth. I used my right hand to open the little, but useless door to the Jeep and then kicked my left leg up into the passenger side. As I kicked my left foot, my right foot, donning none other than my slick jazz shoes, slid on the ice. I grabbed for the tiny metal door handle with my right hand just in time to keep me from falling in the slush and mud. It all happened so quickly that Carmen didn't realize I had suspended myself under the door. There I was, one leg hooked in the Jeep and the other sprawled under the open door unable to pull myself back up. I was mumbling through the pencil bag, "Arnen, I huck, I huck! Hef me! Hef!"

Carmen, laughing hysterically, jumped out and helped right me to my feet. I got up and embarrassingly looked around to see if anyone saw me. There they were, Brass Hole and the Levi's 501-Stetson gang getting a hardy laugh at my predicament from just across the parking lot.

I've blocked out what they must have said to me for weeks after that little stunt. But, since I was freely giving them such usable material, I can only imagine that I relived that humiliation over and over and over.

Ten years later, at my sister's wedding I saw Brass Hole. He and his wife entered the reception hall while I was standing by the door, his wife turned to me and said, "Bryce was really worried about coming because he knew you would be here and he feels so terrible about how he treated you in high school." I was standing there holding my sweet little baby girl and as sweetly as I could manage I replied, "Oh, goodness, that was a million years ago. I'm so glad you both came! By the way, did you know I used to call you Brass Hole?" They both looked at me and started laughing and then Brass Hole said, "I deserved worse than that!"

Yes, he did. Yes, he certainly did.

Our Christmas card, story, hoopla...

One year in Sunday school I made an advent wreath. It was constructed of a Styrofoam hoop, colorful felt, gold tinsel and birthday candles. My mother humored me and placed it in the center of our coffee table. Each week leading up to Christmas my mom would let me light one of the candles and then quickly blow it out, since its burn time was probably less than a minute. But, to me, blowing the candle out immediately after lighting it wasn’t really enough fanfare and didn’t do my beautiful piece of art any justice. After all I’d spent at least twenty minutes pouring glue on it.

One evening, after the celebratory lighting and snuffing of the advent candles, my mother shuffled my sister and me off to take a bath. As we were soaking and having fun my parents came in to say they were off to their bowling league. They gave us strict instructions to finish cleaning up and get straight to bed.

I’ll pause here in my story while you all contemplate that… and I will end your thoughts with, those were different times. I also didn’t have a car seat or a bike helmet.

When I knew the coast was clear and my parents were well on their way to the Bowladium I made my move. Naked as a Jaybird, I streaked back into the living room and gave my advent wreath one last lighting. I paused to reflect upon the beauty of the tinsel glittering from the tiny flames and then remembered I was cold and fled back to the warmth of the bathtub.

My sister and I splashed and made Santa beards with the bubbles until the odd smell of charcoal began to fill the bathroom. We sniffed, we pondered, we splashed some more and then we panicked. The Advent wreath!!! Great horrors! We slipped and slid across the tile floor and then dripping wet we sprinted across the avocado green shag carpet to see the center of the coffee table smoldering.

My precious advent wreath had completely disintegrated. We ran to the kitchen and grabbed the necessary tools; a metal spatula and a can of Pledge dusting spray. We took turns scraping the charred circle while the other would run around the living room spraying Pledge into the air in attempts to mask the smell of smoke and charred furniture. We did this until the can of Pledge was empty and we came to the realization that the coffee table was ruined, my Advent wreath was gone and we were cold, tired and naked.

I went to bed that night feeling miserable. I knew there would be a punishment. My imagination ran wild with the endless torture that my parents would surely bestow upon me. Slowly, I drifted off into a troubled sleep.

Later that night, I awoke to a warm hand touching my back and a kind voice saying my name. I sat up to see my mother’s lovely face. I immediately began to cry, I was so repentant and so guilt ridden. I don’t remember ever receiving any kind of punishment for that horrific crime; I just remember we never had another advent wreath in our house, ever. And that’s when we started having a babysitter on bowling league nights.


Breakin' it down for the Fam...

Ellen is 13. More than once this year we have bought the same shirt from a store. I’m not sure if that means I’m dressing like a teenager or that she’s dressing like a, uh, um, 25 year old. Yes, I was only 12 when I had her, isn’t that obvious? Anyway, my sweet little girl is catching up with me quickly in size and wisdom, not to mention sarcasm. She started taking a couple classes at Wildwood Christian School and has enjoyed the social aspects and the new challenges that being taught by someone other than her mom brings.

Seth is 10. His geography teacher wrote on his report card, “Seth contributes interesting comments to class discussions! He is well mannered and friendly with his fellow students.” I can only imagine what he contributes, but I know that he brings a daily dose of whacko to my world. One day during school he brought me to complete exasperation, as I laid my head down on the table he gently patted my head and sighed, “Don’t worry Mom, you won’t have to homeschool me forever.” Thank God for that and for Seth, who makes me think about things that hopefully will never have any relevance to my life.

Isaac just turned five, but if you ask him how old he is he’ll say seven or six or four. Any number but five and it’s not because he doesn’t know, it’s just to get you going. Which is all fun and games until the Pediatrician starts quizzing him and he decides to not only tell the Dr. he doesn’t know his ABC’s or how old he is, but that his little brother doesn’t know how to talk. We left that appointment with a lot of information for Parents as Teachers and were strongly suggested to have them visit us soon.

Levi is two. God help us.

Clay has again managed to coach every sport his children play. He can’t help but be involved and feels anguished if he ever misses a game or, heaven forbid, a practice. He took up hunting this year. He came home weary, cold and empty handed, but had a lot of fun holding his new gun while sitting on a tiny metal shelf nailed to a tree for the good part of a day.

We said goodbye to two loved ones this year. Clay’s mother, Susan Lovett, passed away in May. We hung many of her Christmas ornaments on our tree this year and it’s nice to have things to remember her sweet Southern style. The Lord finally gave peace to my Grandpa Herb a couple weeks ago. He was the best Santa I’ve ever known. My mind is crowded with found memories of him. We miss them both.

And then there’s me. I continue to search high and low for a place that we can call “ours”. It’s a bit like an addiction; I have to follow the path of every For Sale sign, surf the web and call about the price of land. Surely, someday soon we’ll find “IT”, and when that day comes I may need to join House Hunters Anonymous. I’m still sharing a bit of my world on my blog. We’ve raised a beautiful flock of chickens this year. We’ve had fun learning that chickens are not as dumb as we think and they poop more than I could ever explain.

That’s it from here. We hope you all have a wonderful Christmas. Our door is always open, unless it’s closed; because if it's open the chickens get in.

Grandpa

Day is done,
gone the sun, from the lakes,
from the hills, from the sky...
All is well, safely rest,
God is nigh...

Fading light,
dims the sight
and a star gems the sky
gleaming bright
from afar drawing nigh
falls the night,

Thanks and praise for our days
'neath the sun,
'neath the stars,
'neath the sky...
As we go, this we know...
God is nigh

My Nativity

Joseph was decapitated early amoung the flurry of Christmas decorations. Mary sits in the stable gazing with wonder at the Christ child. A cow, a donkey and a boy with a sheep slung gracefully over his shoulders surround her. Three strange men are approaching the scene of the single mother from the East, they seem to be bearing little golden vessels holding precious items suitable only for royalty. One of the men sports a few glue droppings around his neck and my suspicions are that Joseph and he have much in common. Hopefully, with a little gorilla glue Joseph will be able to sit and support his wife just as soon as he's been released from the kitchen counter recovery area. Until then, I'm thankful that this child had a greater Father to watch over him.

The nativity scene was given to me 22 years ago by my Grandma Edna (the one we mistakenly named our rooster after, we still call him Edna. Sorry Grandma). I'm so amazed that despite a couple of decapitations it has survived. Every year when I pull it out I think of my Grammy. She passed away two months before my first child was born.

Right now my Grandpa Herb lies in a comma slipping slowly from this world. I know he will be so happy to have a healthy body and mind again. Mostly, I think he will be so relieved to see my grandma. I can imagine him lumbering over to her and being embraced into her large arms. I can hear my grandma cackle with laughter and lovingly call him Herbie.

Grandpa slowly lost his head to Alzheimers and has spent over 13 years waiting to be recovered; longing to sit by his wife. It's time to let him go, it's time for him to take his place by his Father. Merry Christmas Grammy and Grandpa, what a beautiful gift you both were to me.

Y'all ready for this?

I thought I’d share a couple of my most embarrassing moments just to make you all feel better about yourselves. You know what? I could probably dedicate an entire blog to April’s humiliating situations. Sad, but true.

Okay, we’ll start off slow...

After a J.V. basketball game that I had been cheering for I went down to the girls locker room to find my friend Sonya who I swore went down to the locker room just seconds before. I was yelling in a very high sing-song voice, “Sonya?! Sonya!!! Where are yooooo-hooo?!” I turned into the locker area where all the benches were and there the entire visiting Varsity Basketball team was sitting staring at me. Their coach somberly said, “I don’t think Sonya is in here.”

And now for a really juicy one…

I was probably three weeks post partum from my second child. Suffice to say I was pretty chunky, I mean beefy chunks, big marbled dipped in batter and fry it up chunkeeee! So of course I wanted to go get a snow cone.

My husband and I drove to the snow cone joint and parked as close as we could, cuz it’s hard to walk too far when ya got some beefy chunks to hall. The sun had set and the only light illuminating the parking lot was the glow from the neon on the snow cone shack.

We unloaded our little ones and lumbered across the parking lot and up the wooden decking of the snow-cone shack. We stood in line behind three beautiful young girls dressed in short-shorts and tank tops. They were so young and so thin and I remember feeling so old and so fat. They got there snow cones and walked off into the night.

We stood by the shack to enjoy our sugary ice and let our daughter take heaping spoonfuls of the sweet goodness. Like any two year old she became instantaneously sticky. I had gulped my snow cone down and was feeling a bit, shall we say, uncomfortable so I volunteered to go back to the car and get some baby wipes to clean her up. This would also give me the opportunity to relieve some of the pent up “uncomfortableness” that was swirling in my intestines without any of the other customers waiting in line at the shack knowing, hearing or smelling a thing. So as I entered the darkness of the parking lot I let freedom ring. I was probably "back firing, big juicy sounding, fat old lady rip-roaring flatulence" for three or four steps before my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I turned my head to see sitting on a bench not 15 yards from my car those three beautiful teenage girls frozen in silence with their spoonfuls of snow cone lifted halfway to their mouths agape in disbelief. God have mercy!!! I opened the passenger door of our car and hid myself in the back seat shaking my head and thinking, “I have to walk back by them! God please kill me now, just let me die!!!!”

After a few minutes I gathered the strength and decided the best thing to do was pretend I didn’t know they were there. I made a bee line to my husband told him not to ask any questions, just get the car and meet me on the other side of the shack. I told him the whole story on the way home.

For the past ten years every time we go get a snow cone guess what story we tell?

"Hey honey remember the time you farted the length of a football field and scared those poor little girls half to death?" Yeah, we're not short on exaggerations.

Pots O' Copper

Happy Saint Patrick's Day! I thought this would be a good story to share today.

Clay and I had very humble beginnings. Very humble. When I was pregnant with our second child we had no insurance and didn't quite meet the poverty level that we were at when we had our first child with no insurance and were forced to seek government aid. So, our second child was paid for by cash on a monthly basis and I did everything I could to lower the cost of the prenatal appointments and birth. I even went so far as to refuse pain drugs of any sort and brought many of the supplies I knew the hospital would charge us for (pads, those weird mesh underwear, ibuprophen, etc). I was so happy after five years when we could finally call our little guy "paid for". During that pregnancy we prayed our way through every pay check. One day the cupboard was bare and there wasn't enough money in our checking account to pay for groceries and hope we would get paid before the check cleared. The mason jar we had been throwing our pennies in for the past couple years gleamed like a pot of gold on top of the refridgerator. I went to the bank with my toddler in tow and asked if they could count the coins for me to give me cash. I tried to make it seem like the money belonged to my child and she was going to use the money for something "special". I was just too proud to admit that I was going to use the $17.00 to buy the next weeks groceries. I was so happy to get nearly twenty dollars, I was able to buy the basic necessities to get us to payday. We ate a lot of pasta dishes and tuna back then. Thank God for those days, I am definitely a better woman because of them.

Just Stick It Up Him

When I was five Thunder entered my life. He was our black Standard Poodle. Thunder was the sweetest, smartest dog and the closest thing I got to a little brother. He lived until I was a sophomore in college, just died in his sleep.

Thunder developed a heart condition when I was in high school. Later, when I was working at an animal hospital I discovered he probably had heart worms. Anyway, we always knew where he was because his breathing became very labored, he sounded like an Orge rattling around the house. My mom brought home a prescription to help his breathing and sat it on the counter with a note, "Give Thunder his medicine." My sister ,Rechelle, and I read the bottle, "Give one pill twice a day." Okay, so how do you give a dog his medicine????? This was obviously too much for two teenage girls. My sister called our vet and asked how to administer the pills and the answer she was given was, "Just stick it up him". So I took the first round. Luckily we had a pair of yellow rubber gloves under the kitchen sink, it's very important to have the proper attire when you are about to stick it to a dog. Rechelle patted Thunder on the head while I held up his stump of a tail and nervously tried to get the tiny pill into his pulsating sphincter. I think I pushed it in about an inch and decided that should do. I have never seen a dog tuck tail and run to a door so fast in my life.

We tortured him a couple more times before one of us decided it just couldn't be right to be shoving pills up our dog's rear. Another call to the vet confirmed our stupidity and we laughed so hard we were crying. Poor Thunder, he put up with a lot.