Fabulous & Fascinated

“The world fascinates me.” – Andy Warhol

My attention was instantly captured when I read this quote hanging on the wall of Washington D.C.’s Third Edition. It’s true you, know. The world and the lives we live here are quite intriguing. Weather that permits shorts and sandals Monday, requires pea coats and scarves Tuesday, followed by umbrellas and rain boots Wednesday, laying out in a bikini Thursday, building a snow man Friday, an overcast, cloudy movie day Saturday, and finally a beautiful day for a pic-nic Sunday.
Unexpected. Unpredictable. Unexplainable.

Much like the up’s and down’s of the even more chaotic ride we call life. From happy to hating, from crying to rejoicing, from calling it quits to falling in love, from defeated to conquering, from positive to uncertain. It’s never ending. The only certainty is uncertainty. The only thing sure is change.

And so, rather than resisting it, we learn to embrace change.

Flat tires. Broken wheels. Missed flights. Plane reroutes. Burned restaurants. Missed reservations. A city water line break. They can’t be prevented and they can’t be changed. Sometimes, while living, life gets in the way. We can cry or we can curse, but the result will be exactly the same if we smile, or laugh about it. And so the story we goes, we “dance like nobody’s watching and love like we’ve never been hurt.”

If I Die Young

By: Payton M. Ishmael

I’ve never been a talented musician, nor has my voice ever been one to serenade the millions. In fact, recently I was told that my whistling was horrid and was asked nicely to “just stop!” I do, however, enjoy listening to good music. You can imagine my excitement, then, when I received a phone call exclaiming, “I just heard a song that made me think of you!” The thrill dwindled away as quickly as it was spurred, though, when I was told which song.
In the words of, The Band Perry:
“If I die young bury me in satin. Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn. Send me away with the words of a love song”
Woah! Woah! Woah! How incredibly morbid that a song about death and the wishes thereafter spurred a though in someone’s mind to think of me! First of all, I don’t think satin would be my material of choice. Second, roses are far too generic. Third, I think drowning would be a tragic death so I’d prefer not to be thrown into a river… even after I’m deceased. Most importantly, I’m the anti-love, so PUH-LEASE do not send me away with the words of a love song.
After listening to the lyrics in their entirety about 50 times, I decided that one line held true, while yet another instigated a very important thought.
The ONLY line that I want correlated to me, “So put on your best boys and I’ll wear my pearls.” You must know that I love, love, love pearls; A true and classic indicator of class. A well dressed male isn’t the worst thing that could happen either.
The line that inspired my sharing with you, “The sharp knife of a short life, well I’ve had just enough time.” The sharp knife of a short life… I could be wrong, but personally I don’t think I’ve had enough time just yet. However, it brings to my remembrance that we never know just how long we will be here. We have a limited amount of time with an unknown expiration date. To God, that time is “but a breath.” So we have merely a Heavenly breath in which to leave our mark, make history, change someone’s life, and leave a legacy.
The song goes on to say, “A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I’ll sell them for a dollar. They're worth so much more after I’m a goner. And maybe then you’ll hear the words I’ve been singin’. Funny when you're dead how people start listenin’.”
It’s true. After we’re gone, the words we said, the things we did, and the life we lived all have the ability to remain. How will you choose to be remembered after you’re long gone?

“Who would have thought forever could be severed by the sharp knife of a short life?”

Make the moments count.

Sticky Stipulations

By: Payton M. Ishmael

We’ve heard them all before, conditional commitments. I’ll lose weight, starting Monday. I’ll donate more money, as soon as I get raise. I’ll start going to church on Sunday nights when work slows down. I’ll go back to school, after my kids are out of the house.
I know three people who lost their fathers this week. Although two were somewhat expected, one was a complete freak accident. I think about how fast times flies and how quickly life changes.
With the element of uncertainty ever present, I wonder why we continue to put things off, waiting on the right person, the perfect time, or the ideal circumstances. Rest assured, you’ll miss out on much of life waiting for the right person. Timing, you’ll learn, is often irrelevant. And the ideal circumstances, most often turn out to be opposite of what we initially expect.
And so, we must say goodbye to our stipulations, step out of our comfort zones, and quit watching life pass us by. Don’t stand around waiting for a ship that may never come in. Don’t settle. Don’t stop the forward progress. It’s quite a shame life doesn’t have men in black and white pin stripe shirts running along side us, throwing little yellow flags to indicate our penalties. Would you be guilty of a ‘delay of game’?
I consider Adrian Peterson to be one of the greatest running backs of my time. It could have something to do with his alma mater, but who’s to say? Throughout his career, I’ve never seen him take possession of the ball, stop, and look at his teammates… “Hey man, you gonna block so I can run this to the end zone?” “I don’t like my old-man Favre, so I’m gonna just hold the ball wait until these people wisen up and get Sam Bradford as my quarterback.” Oh no! Not Adrian. He’s the best because he’s focused on making forward progress. Does he make mistakes? Yes, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going in the same way that we should. We’re gonna fumble. We’re gonna get plum laid out. If we persevere, though, there are goal posts and pretty end zone in our future.

Early in the week, tornadoes and bad weather plagued this area of the state. I didn’t see a twister or any damage inflicted by the natural disasters, but I stood beneath the gray and watched as lighting perforated the bleak, eerie sky. I felt the ground reverberate as I listened to the roaring sound of thunder. Staring into the endless oblivion of the storm, I couldn’t imagine how the sun could ever shine again. How could a world that currently seemed so dark and cold ever muster up the likes of a crystal clear blue sky, fluffy clouds that resemble cotton balls and marshmallow cream, or a sun bright enough to provide light even to the darkest corners of the world?

There’s a striking resemblance between weather and the human life. We have storms much like the ones we witnessed recently, where it seems as if nothing will ever get better. It seems almost as if a second flood is coming, until finally, when it’s all said and done, we see pastures renewed and refreshed. We see the living shades of green all around, and our crops are blessedly plentifully.

We have the raging thunders of constant turmoil. It seems during these times, the bark is so much bigger than the bite. We hear the noise around us and it continues to nag and nag at us, stealing our sleep and crushing our spirit. Thankfully, we know that joy comes in the morning and the storm has once again subsided.
We have monotony of the overcast. This is my forecast right now. I feel as if I go through the motions day after day. Not a bad day, not a good day. Just life… but I know there has to be more.

We have the hope of a springtime shower. One of nature’s most beautiful phenomenons is to walk into a springtime shower. Warm water splashes, new life is born, and flowers begin to emerge from beneath the soil.

We, of course, have the joy of a bright, sun shining day; the moments we look forward to and never want to go away.

Like the weather changes, so do the seasons of life. We will inevitably find ourselves in the midst of dark, disheartening times where the forecast seems terminal. Don’t lose hope, my friends, He makes all things new. In order to get the sunshine, we have to put up with a little rain.

“You have a way of turning winter to spring. Make something beautiful out of all this suffering.” – Nicol Sponberg

These Two Feet, Well, They Were Made for Standing On

I can remember several times being asked the question, “If you could give one piece of advice, what would it be?” As a younger person, I naturally responded with something meaningless and cliché, “Follow your heart.” “Be yourself.” “Stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.” Those days, though, are long gone right along with my natural hair color; Days and a color that I’ll always remember yet never to which I’ll return.

After experiencing the harsh reality of adulthood, many things have changed; my priorities, the way I spend or don’t spend my money, my friends, my career pursuit, and we must not forget that the advice I’d like to pass on has most certainly undergone severe modifications as well.

“Stand on your own two feet.”

Yes, you heard it from the girl who drives to her grandparents’ house every day during break for lunch, calls her favorite fashionista to ask which shoes will go best, and still goes to the service center to have her car maintained. I can’t do everything by myself but I’m learning, and while I learn, I know where to go to get things done.

I have a mental picture album of the way I foresaw my life from the eyes of myself as a little girl. I’ve pictured myself as Princess Belle; finding the Prince who seems a Beast but has a heart that beats with nothing but love. Cinderella’s story has played time again with my very own feet sporting the glass slippers. I’ve even imagined being a blonder, more western-hemisphere, version of Jasmine, overcoming obstacles all for the sake of love.

Inevitably, though, with age comes a steady stream of wisdom. I was more disappointed by the revelation that fairy tales don’t exist than I was by the truth that Santa Claus isn’t real. I learned at relatively early age that ‘make believe’ isn’t a cultural element that I’ll be passing on to my children.

That’s when I thought I’d arrived at adulthood; when I discovered that there are true-life stories of devoted, loving, lifelong couples. First to mind are my Anna and Poppy. Granted, I’ve put them on pedestal and deemed them Earth’s only sole slices of perfection, they have proven that whatever it takes for a man and woman to last, works. Then, my mind jumps to Cathey and Freddy, the two most genuinely sincere people around. I’ve never seen such an incredible exchange of mutual respect, trust, and admiration between two hearts. I’m sure there is a slew of others, but these are the couples who capture my attention. They stand as a testament of hope for those who disbelieve in that thing called ‘love.’

And again, wisdom reins, and common sense reminds me that I’m a constituent of a new generation. A generation where love no longer exists, where trust is obsolete, and where long term commitment is extinct. I live in era where movies are no longer produced in black and white and the principles of relationships have become as blurred as the skylines of all major, metropolitan cities.

Nowadays, relationships operate much like those old AOL trial CD’s you could pick up for free at your local Wal-Mart. Use it until the free time runs out, then head back to the store to pick up another. Men and women are equally guilty. It’s a dog eat dog world where only the strong survive. That’s the key; strength. You find your own means to build your emotional muscles and you go with it. For me, that avenue comes by relying on nobody, trusting in no one, and keeping everyone at a healthy arm’s length away.

“Stand on your own two feet.”

Oh, and of course, make sure your feet are fabulously covered.

First Down Ooooooklaaaaaahomaaaaaa!

It was August of 2003 and I was full of fear. Scared of living alone, terrified my first semester of college would be too hard, and mortified of the elusive ‘freshman fifteen.’ I worked out multiple times a day and would go so far as to count out each, little piece of cereal, pour juice into a measuring cup as to not drink too much, and avoid all avenues of temptation that might prove my self control to be faulty. I reckon, even with those extremes, I packed on a few pounds. Late night study groups left me craving Pizza Shuttle. Bad days always made a good excuse to escape to Rusty’s Frozen Custard. The snack kitchen of the Gamma Phi house made for a good home away from home. I was forewarned, though. There was no excuse for me to stuff myself silly knowing that I could fall prey to the evil freshman fifteen.

Sweets to me, though, are much like shoe shopping; charge now, pay later. Eat now, work out extra later. Eventually, I’m going to change my ways thinking and work out before I indulge, save before I splurge. I’ll let you know when that feat is conquered. Don’t expect to hear from me soon.

The first-year-fifty, though, isn’t one you hear about. I’m not talking about college anymore. I’m referring to the first year of teaching; the doom’s day of pot lucks, the calorie cavern more commonly known as the teacher’s lounge, the necessity of coffee and the rich creamer that accompanies. I swear off carbs, and then we have a pancake breakfast. I swear off sweets, then we have desserts galore served. It even goes so far as the occasional day officially called “Fat Friday” where everyone brings a dish to share. The name itself should be enough to make everyone run for cover, but instead it lures me in much like the cocktail dresses at BCBG. All hope is lost. Obesity haunts the hallways as teachers hide behind diet soda. It attacks you much like Oklahoma’s defense sacked ole Colt McCoy; strong, swift, and the poor kid didn’t see it coming.

I knew I had to do something. I mean, news flash, a 25-year-old, single female can’t just blow up and expect to find happily ever after. I made an oath to myself, I will no longer eat any sweets from the teacher’s lounge unless they are homemade. Game plan: fail. I should have opted instead for a statue of liberty-type play, compliments to Boise State. At least then, I could walk away with a “w.” Because you see, in east Texas, you must have to pay higher taxes if you’re a woman who can’t cook. EVERYTHING in the lounge is homemade. Somebody is out to get me.
Jenny Craig, speed dial #1.

I finally arrived to a point where all I could think about was summer. Not because I was ready to escape from 4th graders for a couple of months, but because I could at long, last get away from the expertly baked treats by my colleagues. Out of sight, out of mind. It was my only hope of not graduating to plus sizes. I had to get away. I don’t have the self control of my co-workers. I can’t resist the goodies. I was like OU football of the 90’s, begging for the mercy of the off-season to escape the never-ending plague of losing. My first year in Canton was my own, personal John Blake era.

At last, my off-season began. A diet of coffee, yogurt, and fruit for summer 2010.
I don’t know whose recipe it is, or why I have it, but I found a printed email from my school address of something called “The Grapes Dessert.” OH MY WORD. I’m flipping back to my losing play book. Why! Why! Why! If you call the same running play multiple times for negative yardage, try a pass play. Why was I tampering with the danger of punting in my own territory? It was mid-summer and I had a spat of missing my day-to-day routine and the delectable desserts of the teacher’s lounge. I went for two, fumbled, and “The Grapes Dessert” ran it all the way back for a TD plus 2! I’m Big Game Bob and I’ve pierced my soul with another national championship defeat. The pain sears like a hot iron on the rump of Bevo, only my rump is growing just as large.

The new season starts Monday and I’m playing to win. I anticipate a perfect season. Teacher’s lounge is off limits!

Lesson Learned: The work room is much like the weight room, stick to it and you’ll be much more successful than chilling out in the lounge.

Accepting the Exceptions

I recently gave my dear friend and non-biological little sister the most valuable advice of her life; “I thought I'd taught you better. If a man opens his mouth and words come out... Those words are lies. 100% of the time.”

Bitter much? Why, yes, indeed I am. Like most girls my age, my heart has gone through a boot camp of sorts. It’s been stretched, beat down, broken, degraded, abandoned, forgotten, pressed to its limit. Being from the country, though, I’m well aware of the functionality of duct tape and have mended this heart of mine. Because of this, my heart is more heavily guarded than Buckingham Palace.

As a result, I don’t like boys.

Duke and Dutchess were the meanest duo of Doberman dogs you’ve ever met. At least that’s how I remember them. All because I tried to ride one of the massive canines like a horse, she snapped at me. As a 5-year-old, being on the receiving end of “snapping” by a 95 lb. dog meant “biting.” To a future drama queen, it meant “biting ferociously and almost killing me with its razor-like teeth.” Think along the lines of Kujo.

As a result, I don’t like dogs.

Some claim that you can ‘read’ a person by looking into their eyes. Other’s argue that it’s the palm, in fact, where a person’s story is found. Some even say you can learn all you need to know about a person by the grip of their handshake. Me? I disagree with them all. The secret is in the shoes. Boys, take notes. Flip flops indicate a girl who is easy going and laid back. Flats are found on the cutesy type. Heels, the higher the better, are reserved for the sassy, sexy, confident woman… or the one’s men like to call materialistic and high maintenance. Gentleman, you don’t know the half of it. There’s another domain of shoes that shame the soles of women globally…

As a result, I don’t like Crocs.

Then came my mid-life crisis. Yes, age 25 is the middle of my life because there is no way I’ll be able to afford all the cosmetic surgery I’ll need after the age of 50.

I now have a dog, a Doberman if you must know; my sweet little Dixie girl. Although her ancestor almost took my life, Dixie is sure to protect it. Because of that four-legged, furry ball of fabulous, I have someone waiting on me every time I come home. Because of her snaggle-toothed grin, I’m safe from intruders who don’t know she only uses those teeth to smile. Dixie has been quite a blessing.

As a result, I don’t think dogs are so bad. I’d consider myself a dog lover, in fact.

I hate that there’s an exception to every rule. I like for things to be black and white; life issues, photos where my complexion looks washed out, and cocktail dresses. Imagine the confusion that took residence in my head when I discovered that some boys are funny, honest, and sincere. It’s a case where the exception to the rule is highly favorable.

“We were given two hands to hold, two legs to walk, two eyes to see, two ears to listen, but why only one heart? Because the other was given to someone else for us to find.” – Author Unknown

Some of my very, dearest have friends have done just that. My sweet Katie is absolutely glowing with happiness as she laughs with her silly beau. Brandy and Neeley are literally staring at the starting line of forever, waiting to begin. Brooke and Kody keep me daily entertained with their posts to or about each other. My cousins Justin and Jarrod have wonderful wives who are excellent mothers and building happy families together. My most favorite lady alive, Cathey, is the epitome of the Proverbs 31 woman, wife, and mother and has a jewel of a husband who cherishes her. Anna and Poppy are still enjoying each other; traveling, riding motorcycles, and causing all kinds of ruckus.

As a result, I don’t think boys are so bad. I’d consider myself hopeful, in fact.

“I’m ready to feel now, no longer am I afraid of the fall down. It must be time to move on now, without the fear of how it might end. I guess I’m ready to love again.” –Lady A

As for Crocs, well, I will never find a justification or change my mind about them. For a girl barely hitting the height of 5’4, I need the highest heels I can find. Crocs just can’t do the job. Sorry, Jerm. Your shoes are tragically ugly.

Like dogs and boys, I’ve never appreciated eggrolls. They look and smell putridly. Then came The Hungry Girl 200 under 200 cook book. When my sweet friend insisted we cook the nasty ‘Sassy Southwestern Eggroll’ recipe, I simply couldn’t be so rude as to tell her “no.”

As a result, I don’t think eggrolls are so bad. I’d consider them delish, in fact.

Lessons Learned:
1.) There is hope in the exception to the rule.
2.) Do a 180, and life can be completely different with a new point of view.
3.) Crocs are the ultimate fashion faux-paus.