Laughter; The fruit of real life.

~Life Lessons: Family Laughter.~

I can’t say that I dwell in the past. A girl’s past can be ‘a many splendid thing’ or it can be a haunting nightmare. No one’s past is the same. No one family tree is perfect. No one story ever can be told with one or two short sitting spells over coffee. Life is always hard for any kid but when the kid buries part of them to keep skeletons in the basement, most children just learn to grow up and try to move on. Some of us manage to find peace in life. 

For me, I have written and talked about it enough to say, that I learned to deal with skeletons early in life. The first thing I learned was how much honesty will hurt the wrong person and let the person who wronged you get the upper hand. Or did I? I was honest as a j-bird anyway. I shot from the hip as a small child, never thinking about any consequence. Shining the light in the closet wasn’t the only way to feel comfortable, but when you’re a kid afraid of the dark ~ light helps!! It was NOT something I recommend, and I had a very shy uncomfortable side to me in contrast. 

My Grandma Kicklighter, I know God loved her, and gave her a knack for a way to cope: laughter. While I was just tattling on adults and telling everybody everyone else’s secrets…she laughed away the pain in her life. I grew up in the South. Well, I say that because most psychologists will tell you that a child learns most of its personality traits before they are 5 years old. I grew up in the heart of Southern Living well into Middle School life. My manners, or lack thereof, got me into enough trouble and my mouth got me into more than my little butt bargained for. The look on some of those jerks faces was all I needed to get me through to the next uncomfortable place, where ever it would find me in the future. (I was always certain of one thing in my little head and that was the fact that I wasn’t going to like some situation soon.) 

In a recent heart to heart chat with my mother, and yes, I called her mother when I was young too. Once I even asked her if she was the evil step-mother from Cinderella. See, how my honesty could get me into trouble. Anyway, in our recent chats I told her about my need to write down some of the most important lessons people like her have taught me. She was supportive and cautious as she too is familiar with my honest streak. You can say I think honest, like my dad which is a wise move to make. Honest thinkers look at the situation and don’t sugar coat it in their memories. Then you get to the part where I speak honest and most people would like to think they do, but no one does this like my mom. I learned a lot from my dad and I like to think more than I talk these days but either way you’ll get my honesty. 

Moms can’t always help their children become who God intends. I am learning that sometimes God gives us children we are unprepared to guide, so he gives us other people in our lives that help us guide our children. My mom always let my grandma guide me without much jealousy. We all laughed together a lot after I grew of age. My mother came to terms with my grandmother leading me, even if it meant I got pieces of my grandma no one else would ever hear. 

Laughter doesn’t have to be honest, or pure. Boy when it’s an honest gut wrenching laugh it fills the air and is what some call a contagious laughter. My grandmother’s legacy reenters this story here. She was a God-fearing woman and I loved her but she had a stream running through her veins that was deep pain and only laughter let her clean it out of her system. My mom sat on the front steps at her house the day she died and I knew it would take some time before I could make her laugh the way her mother could. My grandmother took the simplest of things in life and made them funny. She took practical jokes to church. I learned from her why Jesus must have been a fun to be around as a teen. 

When life is waiting for you to fail, and when there is always a burden waiting for you to carry it you can choose: – a life lived waiting to die under it’s weight – OR – a life lived within every moment in anticipation of something to smile about and something to loosen your muscles and the fastest way to release the pain is to laugh.

Laugh at it all. 

God answered my prayer. My Uncle Jack fell that dad right in front of us all ~ we checked to see if he was ok, and then with my Grandmothers blessing, we all let out a bellowed laugh… then we all cried.. then we laughed some more. My grandmother was the first person I saw laugh when someone got hurt. I wasn’t sure what to make of it when I was little but then, as I got older I learned more about slapstick comedy. As I matured and learned about some of our family skeletons, the burdens my grandmother bore and the children she raised because her mother slipped out at night and eventually didn’t return; that’s when I learned WHY she loved to laugh. 

My grandma never really lied, but often told stories about people with different names to protect the innocent. They were her stories, but the innocent was always us. She always wanted us to look at things “fresh” and “honest”. Most importantly, she wanted us to laugh. And laugh hard. Even if it was at your cousin who skinned their knee on the pavement…: No seriously, make sure they aren’t hurt, get help and then laugh! But she always laughed first.. then helped us up. P.S. Her feelings were hurt when she tripped and fell and no one laughed with her at the hilarity of it all. 

Here’s the real lesson: it wasn’t in the moment that made anything funny, it was all about learning how to tell the story!

She was alongside my dad one of the best storytellers of my life. She took the truth and stepped outside of it and told a story of the tale with accurate punch lines to make even the straightest face crack a smile.

So, when the pain of my life or the burden that tries to weigh me down peers around in the mirror; I can’t forget the lesson that deteriorates all life can throw at you ~ find anything you can and laugh. Laugh hard. Laugh till you cry. Let the laughter release the real pain, the real tears, the real fears and then gather yourself together – grab a hanky and laugh at your tears. * Preferably laugh with someone else.*

Soapy Sin

I happen to have a beautiful shower which means we have a large glass door and glass panels. It makes a gorgeous look that I knew right away would be my one cleaning monster to conquer. I have had the luxury of glass shower doors previously and knew that the only way to have a clean shower door is to never let it get dirty. HA! Yeah right!

So, the next best step of never using this beautiful functional shower is to buy or create a cleansing spray that you can use on the shower door after each encounter with soap & shampoo. Of course, some would say that glycerin soap will not require as much maintenance, but honestly, my husband and I use different soaps and it’s typically the oh so “professional” hair products that cause the largest soap scum. So, the reality is that we “spray” our shower with a shower cleaner lightly (less than when cleaning) after each use and then a regular monthly cleaning keeps it completely clean.

Yes, I just told you that I only clean my shower once a month. But have no fear, it’s clean.

EXCEPT for when I “sin” against my shower and get too busy to spray it every day. Although my shower doesn’t get mad at me and doesn’t even care when I miss one or two days of “pre-cleaning” that lack of faithfulness will land me in trouble. I can find that if I just don’t have time to spray my shower today then forget tomorrow I will end up with 4 or 5 days worth of what seems to be an overnight situation of soap scum.

Then, it hit me in the shower one day while I was dreading the actual scrubbing with ammonia to come. GEE, Shelley, this soapy build up didn’t appear overnight, but you just couldn’t “see” it before this morning because it was in small amounts and relatively clear. Yes, you are all smarter than me I am sure but ultimately my spiritual life flashed before me in this soapy residue.
I do great for a long time; maybe even go a few years without missing the time I need to invest in my spiritual health. I will be on a regular routine of quiet time (meditation scares Christians so I leave that word out), looking to the Word for insight, being mindful of who I am and who I am not (repenting to turn away from the things I don’t want to be) and even chatting about spiritual challenges with friends on a regular basis. Thus, I am really doing what can be radically viewed as daily cleansing and a renewal of my mind. Yet, let one area get to be too hard for my schedule or if I allow myself to become too independent and lose those thought provoking spiritual growth opportunities for too long and uh oh! I can find myself looking through foggy spiritual eyes and missing something. In one moment in less than a minute I stood in my soapy reflection of that glass door and saw a window into my soul’s stained glass.

Is it hard to clean a glass door covered in soap scum? NO, not if you have the right formula.

My soul can be stained with unimaginable sin, and only one prayer of belief in a God who loves me can wash it all away. Does that sin re-stain that glass, no, I don’t believe so. If I go back out and sin again do I lose my salvation, no, I don’t think that happens either – I am talking about clarity and vision. Sin does separate us from our God, and although a savior (Jesus) can save us & wash us clean in one prayer; we become a saint trapped in a sin-craving body who has to be tamed. We ultimately all sin after we are saved and if not looked after with some internal thought, thoughtful conversations and finding insights in the Word of God…or whatever you think the Bible tells you to do to maintain a healthy balanced lifestyle… I think we can start to see things in a less than clean light. I think maybe that is when we are easily offended, or even when we become innocently used by gossip, or maybe that’s why people who love Jesus forget how to love other people who also love Jesus?

Look, I am not saying this was a divine moment that someone should live by. I am telling you that I know what I realized in that soap scum build up that had taken over a portion of my shower door: if I leave this, it will quickly turn this beautiful bathroom into a place no one wants to shower, but the simplest of acts will make this shower door look brand new and that is a chance I don’t want to pass up.

My grandmother was a woman of God who often said, “the bible won’t tell you this, but cleanliness is the closest thing to Godliness.” I am NOT saying that, the Lord knows I don’t keep the kind of clean house my grandmother kept. I AM SAYING that a little bit of time spent on making myself aware of how I can live better, show more love to others, give more of myself away with thought & purpose within a balanced lifestyle of friends and social groups that inspire me – those things help keep my spiritual windows to the outside world less tainted and easier for people to see what I have holding me together inside this life. Let’s face it, without a way to see IN my life, no one is going to see the GOODNESS of GOD in me.

Really, I want to see out, but I more importantly want to be transparent enough for people to not focus on my flaws (soapy residue), but on the One who inspires me to Love them. I don’t want my life’s soap scum to get in their way.

Cowboys, Jocks & Baggy Jeans II

~ Life Lessons from Dad ~ Part 2

COWBOYS WHO...

My high school came and I was willing to step out and find the real me outside of the environment that kept me a shy scared little white girl. We had lived in Alabama when I was younger, I had lived in small towns and my entire family was a small town group placed in the outskirts of what might as well have been NY to me (Tampa). I was ready to embrace my roots & dare to dress in the style I felt comfortable in. Vintage western mixed with the nineties and there you have me, button up sun dresses in knee high pointed toe cowboy boots. (And just to the curious, yes, I had learned how to dance long before high school and enjoyed my line dancing!) Of course, this was also a popular way to dress and country was making it's own "cool" crowd so I was not alone!! 

My dad and mom had always dressed me this way and it somehow found me new friends. I retell it now as the "cowboy talk" but it went something like this. 

My dad tells me about when this time he got on a pissed off mean bull. Followed by how stupid this choice was and how many stitches he gained from the experience. Leading into a short conversation about real men and what real hard work on a farm in central Florida looks like to date. Then I get asked, "Do you know how to tell if a man is a cowboy or just trying to look like George Strait?" (Whom I love to gaze upon still.) ~ First, if he tells you he rides a bull, he's lying (I am fairly certain the exact phrase is not PG but it meant lying). *Real cowboys ride for the love and a real man doesn't brag. ~Second, (& my fav at the time) if his jeans are tight enough to see his heartbeat in then he ain't rode no horse and don't plan on it. 

The other thing that stuck out that day was something I found funny and now adore about my father's wisdom. *The only cowboy you are gonna find at that high school will not have time to date you but may invite you over to have dinner with his mom. Followed immediately by the No you can not go and don't worry since you won't find one. 

DISCLAIMER

Now let me say this disclaimer: My dad has admitted to me that mostly he shot from the hip and barely remembers any advice he has given me. He doesn't seem to remember some of those difficult talks but I love those memories burned into my brained none the less. Funny enough, my mother who has a diagnosed memory problem can remember most of what I have wrote about in this series!! So, I have a partial witness! :)

I still call my dad. As recently as two weeks ago his advice was this: Shelley men are stupid [about women] and when they learn what they should know they are too old to [abuse] it. 

In his cryptic way, I am sure I will see the light soon enough.

JOCKS

As a teen who was interested in lots of social functions, church, and after school band practice, football games; my parents often got as many friends over to our house as possible. (To keep track of my social life as any parent should.) My sixteenth birthday party brought about 30 teens to our home. After which led to the talk about the fools who showed up. 

*In a side note, I knew these were goofy kids, but I invited anyone who promised not to bring illegal activities to my house... and you may remember I have mentioned that I had friends from every crowd. 

Thus we had the letter-man jacket conversation! "Jocks are the fools at the party," he explained, "and as much "fun" as they may bring to the party; it's rare to find one who isn't full of himself and respectful." That was it, I guess he missed the part were he was suppose to explain it with grace. 

Of course, I had to explain that the fools in jackets at this party were mostly band geeks, journalists, and part of the wrestling team! Oh, wait there was that one guy who played basketball.... but really wasn't much of the jock type! (SORRY If you know who I am talking about.) So, I laugh, "You have nothing to worry about that in people who are going to hang out with me dad! Times have changed, and every "geek" or loser like me can letter in something."  (I actually acquired 3 letters and 4 bars by the time I graduated and didn't even dress out for PE!)

DAD

I know that when the day comes, which I am not ready for any time soon, and I have to turn over my dad to Jesus. I will have asked more questions, I know I will have done another project with him and heard some more funny anecdotes about men; and life from a crazy ole Iron-worker redneck who now watches too much TV and shoots wandering by field rats with a shotgun! 

While at my moms, try not to chew too loud on the porch!  :)

Cowboys, Jocks, & Baggy Jeans

~ Life Lessons from Dad ~ Part 1

My dad was "old" but no, really, everyone thought my dad was old too. He was 35 the year I was born, and although that isn't really old - it felt older when he had three older children who were MUCH older than me in relationship. :) Of course, as I approach the age I know it's not the age but the personality of someone who makes them seem old to a child. My dad had lived hard, played hard and sometimes prayed hard. 

I ran to his love from an early age and our relationship was a healthy one with far more of me talking than him = as it should be with a wise listener and a smaller child!!

So, we built stuff, broke stuff: I mean "worked on it" and he taught me about farms, the way to speak to horses (he loved the essence of training them without hurting them), taught me to shot at tin cans, and we often were together when it was time to kill a chicken for dinner or "dress" an animal that needed to be frozen for the winter. 

OK. I know I lost some of you but it was that kind of lifestyle when we were younger and in the region.

When we moved to the "big city" of Tampa and our talks changed as I began to explore my new social world.  I was saved (a spiritual experience with Christ) after we moved there and I was getting older. Funny how my dad and I never had A talk but we shared moments when my dad "shared revelations about boys". My dad revealed things in a very Southern and cryptic way. Why do people from the South talk in a language that few understand? I can only think it is both a conversation and constant test which coincide!  

BAGGY PANTS

Dad asked me once if the boys in my class wore baggy pants and were forced to put their hands in their pockets to hold them up. Well, this was the late 80's.... and the answer was going to be yes! 

As my dad worked that day in his shop he explained that I should never trust a boy who keeps his hands in his pockets and wears baggy pants. Followed with, "this ain't about what they look like, or what type of pants they are wearing but about their manners girl!" 

 -- My "ah ha" moment was 6 years later before I understood what in the tar hill he was talking about.  HE WAS RIGHT. 

CROSSING THE GANG LINE

In middle school we may not have lived directly in gang cross fire, but we sure were bused to the middle of a war. (Another blog there entirely.) This area was not new to gang violence and my class had been on the local TV stations for years over the increased gang war mounting violence within the public school system. My first raid for drugs on campus was in 6th grade, they arrested 7 students. The mob riots started in 7th grade and by 8th grade I had that most of my class had a lethal weapon on their person or in their locker.  It was a place that made my parents nervous, but the school system and their situation gave them no other choice but public school. 

I know my dad was always worried. He was insistent that I keep my nose in a book and my head in music and to make friends with the drummers in band. (So much wisdom about the culture of our schools even in that statement.) Drummers were easy to make friends with since I had learned by then how to dabble with many instruments and was good with a beat. They also stuck up for each other more than most. The drum line made peace with each other. 

The important reminder he gave me once or twice a week was the importance of anonymity when & if I needed to snitch for my own safety. (The same kids who rode my bus were frequently involved in trouble.) I thought it was strange that my dad was so worried about me BEING the narc but always asking me to tell on kids who were about to cause trouble. It seemed confusing to this 8th grader when given no explanation.  

When you are an unwilling witness to death (as I would be far too close a few times that year) you need to tell without getting dead yourself.

Yet, throughout my life when I have ignored this advice it has come back to bite my in the -ahem-.  

continued.....

(see part 2)

Jellies & Outlet Shopping

GIFTS FROM MY MOM!

(The above pair of Jellies can be purchased from http://www.shoebuy.com/nina-dazzy/371325/793040 for around $30)

There are trends that we all participate in and some day we fear the photo evidence ~ uh hum ~ parachute pants, pleather black pants, or those punky brewster shoes with non-matching socks ~ not that I would know!!

Here's the thing; we didn't have much "stuff" and didn't really get much via name brand items. We (my family) had a LOT of other things that "those kids" didn't though. Um like, my very own earth worm pit, and subsequent earth worm races! We had starched pants off the clothes line that stood up by themselves and our fruit trees. More pears than we could ever can, eat, cook or preserve and other creations from which I stear clear of if at all possible. Oh, did I mention, we got a golf cart while all the other kids were getting go carts!! But our dad made that golf cart speed!!

The point I was making got lost, but I'll get back on track.

We got much more "stuff" second-hand (third-hand for me) or from the Outlet Stores rather than the department stores like those "other kids". Interesting as it is OUTLET when I was younger was not the place where Northerners go to grab some deals ~ OH NO!!! This was the ACTUAL manufacturer defect drop off store that sold the items for nothing to get rid of them but still turn a penny. This was the IRREGULAR Store. Oh - I am very serious. We had to try on EVERYTHING. It could have flaws that you would never notice if you didn't put it on. The largest problem was typically that it wasn't sewn to be the size the tag said it was. However, in each trip to a large shopping trip was a funny irregular item. Not so funny when your mom suggest you wear it anyway and it's pocket is in the wrong place or the tag is ripped off.

The other half of our purchased material possessions came from cheap-o stores. You know, the Dollar General where things may not be a dollar because they are a "look a like" to the name brand counter-part!  Well, look-a-like may be a stretch.

This is where my mom always bought my "jelly shoes" aka "jellies". I loved them. I thought this idea was the best thing since fake lures. These little shoes were the crocs of my childhood. Apparently, they are still sold for a rather expensive price tag. (listed above) I was so in love with being barefoot that this was just as wonderful and helped make cute little marks on my feet with the dirt! (OK I may not relate to every child, but I was really cute when someone brushed my hair!)

A few years of wearing them out, then getting new cheap-o fake jellies and I was addicted. One year one of my relatives bought me a pair of nice new soft jellies. I don't remember which gift exchange this would have been but I do remember the moment when I didn't like them. Can you guess why??

The only thought that sticks out amoung the tears in my memory is the idea, "they don't crunch" ~ there is no crunchy plastic! All of my new pairs of shoes had to be worn in, give me very sore blisters in the meantime and I had grown used to this way of life.

I WAS RUINED . . . BY JUNK KNOCK OFFS!

I love to find a deal even to this day but I really do not like trying clothes on. I still have small flash backs of dressing room nightmares in outlet stores and of my mother putting clothes over the clothes we had on when there was no dressing room!

You can teach a child any thing without trying. Especially when the lesson involves shopping. The lack of explanation can sometimes open doors of understanding that can not be taught anywhere else. ~ When you never get new stuff, but you get trendy-ish shoes 2 times a year, even if they are crap, you will begin to believe that the crap is the Lexus of all the items in your closet. ~

I try really hard to budget our clothing allowance, to take my children to the thrift store, to appreciate the handed down clothes of relatives but to also value all of the items in their closet. While we do our share of shopping big sales in actually department stores. (My children don't notice that most of the times we never buy anything! It's about making it fun not putting ourselves down.)

DISCLAIMER: No children were injured in this memory & The views expressed here are meant to make us think WHILE we enjoy saving money & shopping!

My Florida ~ Pictures

I am starting a blog that I will come back to when needed. I will just call them My Florida!  They will not always be what you expect, since I have a few that will make you think twice.  So, let's start with an easy one, shall we!

The Magic Is Never Far Away ~ unless you live in Pensacola!! :)