It's Who I Am

I am so many things.

I'm a daughter, sister, aunt, niece, granddaughter, friend, and girlfriend. I'm not a mom, and may never be, but I love my dog as if she is my child.

I try to be happy most of the time, but I do sometimes have a nasty temper. I protect those I love and would do nearly anything for them...or, for that matter, for nearly anyone. I love quickly and deeply and permanently. I hate to see suffering, whether it's human, animal, or any other form.

I have three tattoos, all of which are meaningful and important to me, and none of which I regret, or ever will regret. To that end, I believe in self expression and probably will end up with at least one more tattoo and eventually would like to pierce my nose.

I believe in karma and in doing no harm. While I'm not a member of any particular organized religion, I do think there probably is a higher power. And, yes, I do pray because it soothes my soul. I do not, however, judge anyone based on his or her religious beliefs and it irritates me when people do judge.

I have a job that's just basically a job. It helps me pay the bills and I work with some cool people, but my job no longer defines me. Ultimately, I'd like to be able to make it as a full-time jewelry designer.

I'm by no means rich...and, while I'd like to have more money, I'm okay with not being a millionaire. Sure, it would make life easier, but I like to think that having to sometimes pinch pennies builds character.

My relationship with my father is non-existent and I'm at peace with that fact. Just because he's my father doesn't mean that I have to honor, respect, or even like him.

When I'm really tired, I tend to either get really, really, really mean and crabby or to cry at every little thing. Of course, there are times that I laugh like a loon, but it's usually one extreme or the other.

I am so many things, all of which combine to make me uniquely me. And if, for some reason, you decide that you don't want to be my friend because of who I am, well, then, I guess that's okay. I'm me...and I'm happy being me. You either like me for being me or you don't. It's that simple.

He's Way Too Young!

One evening last week, my phone rang. As I picked it up, I saw that it was my mom calling, so I answered, fully expecting to talk to her. I was a little surprised that it was my nephew calling, but I was happily pleased.

We talked for just a few minutes and then he told me why he really called. It seems he has a girlfriend and he wants to buy her a gift -- one of my bracelets. Now, this isn't the first time he's had a girlfriend, but this time, it seems a little different. In fact, this isn't even the first time that I've made a bracelet for one of his girlfriends. I made a couple for a girl's birthday two or three years ago, but that seemed to just be a little kid friendship.

This time, it seems like something's different. It seems more serious...well, at least as serious as a "relationship" can be at 11 years old.

I'm a little surprised. This is my nephew...my sweet (and, yes, extremely stubborn, at times) boy who still giggles over farts, cuddles with his Grams, and sleeps with a stuffed animal or two, when he's upset. It just doesn't seem like he should be old enough to be wanting to buy a gift for his girlfriend...especially a gift just for the heck of it. Sigh...this probably means that I'm getting old. He's still supposed to be a little boy.

What Exactly Is It That You Believe?

During the past several months, Oklahoma has dealt with a plethora of nasty weather and, honestly, natural disasters. Last May, we were scorched by wildfire; in December, it was record-setting snow; in January, we had icepocalypse; in April and May, we received several nasty tornadoes, and less than two weeks later, still in May, we had one of the worst hail storms ever on record...anywhere. Oh, and let's not forget the floods from two weeks ago. I'm truly beginning to wonder when the locusts are coming, but I digress.

It's been interesting to see how my fellow Oklahomans (I despise the term Okie) have dealt with these issues. Some rely on prayer, some just pull out their boots and gloves, and still others donate time, goods, and money. The theme throughout the past year has seemed to be survival; it's truly cool to see everyone band together to help their fellow men.

A couple of weeks ago, shortly after the hail storm, J and I were driving through town and saw a church saw that was, most likely, meant to be inspirational. It said, "God didn't bring the hail, but he did bring the help."

Um...what?

If you believe that God is the root cause of everything, wouldn't you believe that he brought both the hail and the help? To believe that he brought one, but not the other, seems to me to be a little contracdictory.

Please understand that I'm not denigrating anyone for their beliefs; that's not my style. It just seems a little strange to me to say that you believe one thing, but then to pick and choose parts of it to actually believe, seemingly making it fit your every whim. Shouldn't we all believe what we will, but believe that way all of the time?

A Poppy for My Poppy

It's no big secret that I like tattoos. Before getting my first, I was warned that they were addictive, but I didn't believe it. Well, that warning was correct...they are incredibly addictive!

I got my first once, Picasso's Dove of Peace, more than two and a half years ago; my second, the Sanskrit interpretation of "honor", followed a year later. I knew that I wanted a third one, but for the longest time, I wasn't sure what I wanted -- but I did know that it needed to mean something important to me, like my first two.

Last November, the idea for my third tattoo became crystal clear. I wanted to get a red poppy in honor and rememberance of Poppy Abe.

So, two weeks ago, my mom came to visit and I decided it was the perfect time to get ink.

Before:



During:



After:



I think he'd be touched...he'd probably tell me that he didn't deserve anything, but I'd have to disagree. After all, he was my Poppy.

Comfort Food, Grandma Style

I think that everyone has a comfort food that their grandma used to make. Most of my comfort foods were things my mom made, but there are a few out there that remind me of my grandmas: homemade mashed potatoes, melted cheese sauce, strawberry pie, and more. Some people, however, have slightly stranger Grandma comfort foods...like Jason, but no matter how weird they seem, they're sometimes ah-mazing!

A couple of years ago, Jason started talking about Grandma's Country Stew. He dug out the recipe and I think looked at him like he was completely insane. The first time he made it, I barely touched it because, after all, it contained canned vegetables and hot dogs, which are NOT my idea of haute cuisine. The second time he made it, I grudgingly ate some...and fell totally in love. It's so good! Yes, it's definitely a grandma-style comfort food, that, more than likely, was initially made when she looked in her pantry and refrigerator and realized she didn't have a lot of any one thing.

So, without further adieu, here's the recipe for Grandma's Country Stew:

1.5 pounds hamburger, browned and drained
1 package hot dogs, thinly sliced
1 can mixed vegetables (do not drain)
1 can (8 ounce) tomato sauce
1 package sloppy joe mix

Mix all together in either a large skillet or pan; stir and cook until heated through. You can either serve it in a bowl like a soup or over rice or pasta as a main dish. (We tend to prefer it over brown rice.

So, there it is...Grandma's Country Stew. Seriously, don't judge. It's pretty darned good, and, as Jason said, if you were to make it for one of their family dinners, there wouldn't be a single bit left over!

A Yard of Flowers in OKC

When I was growing up, my Grandma Dorothy and my Poppy Abe were quite the gardeners. They always had a huge garden, filled with all sorts of vegetables, strawberries, and, my favorite, a huge variety of flowers, including the flower I most closely associate with my grandma, the Bachelor Button.

Bachelor Buttons are fun little flowers that are simple and cute. They grow tall and typically are a blue, purple, white, and pink, or any combination thereof. When we were kids, they grew by the ton at Grandma and Poppy's -- and we were allowed to pick and play with them, making things like homemade leis. While I love them, they're not a flower that you see often in floral arrangements; in fact, I just don't see them often at all any more.

A little more than a week ago, I was at my friend Tracy's house in the Paseo Arts District. We were walking down her block, heading to a meeting, when I saw a yard full of Bachelor Buttons. The instinct to pick one was nearly overwhelming, but I stopped myself and just spent a few seconds looking at them and fondly remembering Grandma Dorothy.

Fast forward to last Saturday and, after an incredibly long and hot day, we were again walking past that same yard. As I looked at the Bachelor Buttons again, there, dead in the middle of the yard full of them, was a single bright red Poppy. A Poppy growing among the Bachelor Buttons? You couldn't find a better reminder of my grandparents if you tried for six years.

It's been six months since my Poppy passed away and, to be brutally honest, I'm still not dealing as well as I could with my grief over losing him. Every time I start to cry, I stop myself -- and I know that I haven't truly mourned properly. Somehow, though, seeing that single red Poppy growing amidst the yard of Bachelor Buttons, made me feel a lot better. I still miss him and know that I'll always have a void in my life, but what an amazingly awesome reminder of two fabulous people.

Dancing in the Rain

Last night, after leaving Henry Hudson’s, where I’d had a drink with the girls after work, I headed to the grocery store to pick up a few necessities. I noticed that it was cloudy and humid and I knew that storms had rolled through, just to the north, an hour or so earlier. I quickly ran in to Crest, grabbed the few things I needed, and came back out, just in time for the rain to start softly falling. Normally, I might have been a little irritated, but last night, it was kind of a magical experience.

You see, I love the smell of rain. I always have and I always will. For me, those first few minutes of a soft late spring or summer rain immediately transport me back to the days of my childhood…

Suddenly, I was no longer standing next to my car in the parking lot of a metro grocery store. Instead, I was seven again, running down the sidewalk at Grandma Barbara’s, laughing uncontrollably with my face tilted up to the sky, taking in that soft rain. I could hear the pinging sound of my feet hitting the sidewalk and see Gus and Ben, her two dogs, running alongside me, while she sewed on the kitchen table – because it was cooler in the kitchen than in her sewing room.

My memory’s time travel didn’t last terribly long, but it was an incredibly sweet journey.

You see, Grandma didn’t care if we played in the rain, as long as there was no lightning. She’d even let us use her umbrella, if we wanted to dance and twirl it, while dreaming we were singing on stage. For that matter, she normally didn’t care if we played in the mud…or the puddles…or her flower beds…as long as we stayed safe and out of trouble.

But, I digress. I feel so fortunate to have sense a strong connection between my sense of smell and my memories. Sure, there are times that it’s difficult – like when I was in public and smelled someone smoking a King Edward cigar shortly after Poppy passed away – but it’s a feeling that I wouldn’t trade for anything!

Ahhh…to be a carefree child again, even if it was just for a few minutes last night, thanks to a brief rain shower!