I would hope I'd be Chandler.

You would be hard-pressed to scroll through any online media or news site and find something along the lines of "What I've learned in my 32 years." or "How I chose to live a happier life." or "Advice to my 25-year-old-self" mysteriously missing. Why? Because these types of articles are the "philosophical" equivalent of "What Friends star would you be?"-type quizzes and "Bout to get my __________ on! Just sayin'." status updates....they are everywhere (For what it's worth, I take the Buzzworthy quizzes with far more fervor than any reasonably sane person should. The end result could be a conclusive explanation of what kind of cheese I would be or what city I should call home...i love them all. I am fairly certain, however, that I have never suggested I was 'bout to get my anything on). 

And in complete disclosure, I typically find myself clicking the link for all of these articles. I know that I will likely just find more of the same cliche stuff that frequents every other list - be grateful/mindful, value sleep, drink water/meditate/exercise, money doesn't buy happiness...but it makes things easier, never stop dreaming, you will always have to compromise - yet I read anyway.  I suppose a part of me is simply looking for validation of the things that I have also come to know/accept, but the bigger part is hoping that, in one of those bullet points, I will finally find the key....to complete contentment, to trusting my decisions, to actually being the "best me I can be." 

And so I read...

But inevitably don't. 

And while I realize that my disappointment is illegitimate considering 1) there is no magic life key and 2) there is no sound reason some random blogger should be able to really "speak to" my soul and mind as though we were BFFs, I always find myself frustrated, thinking things like "Well, no shit, of course sleeping four hours on a couch every night isn't bringing out the best Liza I can be." 

If "sounds like someone needs to meditate and be more mindful of blah, blah, blah." is going through your mind right now, quit reading my blog. You are dead to me. 

Here's what I choose instead...

I have asked several women in my life to answer a variety of questions that typically inspire these types of articles. Some are very close girlfriends, some are acquaintances who I wish I knew better, some are women who I have never actually met, but who inspire me. There will be a wide spectrum of careers, incomes, ages, and locations represented. The similarities between this impressive group of women, however, is far more significant than their differences.  They all seem to really be living life. They take chances. They have fun. They think and read. They love. They seem passionate. They are the ones through whom I like to vicariously live. 

And so, in the next post, you will hear from these ladies. 

Until then, however, I offer my thoughts on the same questions I posed to them.  While none of us have that elusive magic key, maybe, just maybe, we will say something that makes you think, or laugh, or take solace in your own thoughts. 

Or...we might just make you roll your eyes and think cuss words. In which case, close Pillow Book and go get your Buzzworthy quizzes on instead.   

***

1. Do you consciously resolve to be a better/happier woman? How do you do this?

I do.  I actually probably overthink this. I am constantly trying to come up with ways to be more productive or a better steward to my community/world or just generally a happier person.  I have not settled on some definitive answer yet, but here are some specific things I do in search: I write letters to friends, I make to-do lists of things I really don't want to, but need to, do and I do at least two of them, I read through my gratitude jar, I reread passages from my favorite books, I go through my Pinterest boards and try recipes or projects that I pinned long ago, but never did, I take my dogs to the creek and let them play, I fix coffee, pour it in my favorite mug, and sit on the porch, I make lists of the places I want to go and the things I want to do, I tell someone why I appreciate them, I walk the farm or clean stuff at the barn, I declutter and give or throw away things that I don't need or have not used. 

2. What advice would you give to someone in their early/mid 30s regarding a fulfilled life? 

If you have to talk yourself into it, it probably doesn't fulfill you. Realize that stability is important - you have to have to job, you have to take care of responsibilities, you should appreciate what you do have - but if acceptance is the product of constant reminders and logical analysis, there is likely something more that you really want. Figure out what that is. You may never pursue it or you may even decide (sometimes upon crashing and burning) that your reality was in fact quite greener, but living with "what if"s or constantly questioning "What is missing?" will crush your soul.  Don't be afraid to consider this question. 

3. What lesson have you learned the hard way? 

One of the greatest fairy tales of life is that if you work hard enough or want something badly enough, you will achieve it/it will (or, will not, in some cases) happen. This is not true. Accept that. Sometimes this is learned through death. Sometimes through lost love. Sometimes through denial letters. There often is no silver lining. When one door closes, another one does not always open. But...

work hard and want something desperately anyway. One way to survive loss is take comfort in knowing you did everything you could. 

4. If you wrote one quote on your bathroom mirror, what would it be? 

"Decide what to be and go be it." 

5. If you had one piece of advice for your daughter/best friend/[any other woman of significance in your life], what would it be?  
Don't be around people who make you question your self-worth. You are stronger than that. 

***

This is switching gears a bit, but not entirely. Stay with me...

You know, jumping out of a plane sounds much more scary than it actually is.

No, really.

When I think about or tell people the basics - climbing to an elevation of 10,000 ft. in a five-seater plane on a cloudy, drizzly day (by the way, "drizzle" at 120 mph isn't like the "Oh, I don't need an umbrella to walk to the car. It's just drizzling." sort of rain); standing on a 6" ledge at that height in a slightly oversized, Kentucky-blue jumpsuit with black rectangle accents; crossing my arms, leaning my head back and jumping out with the parachute-toting, tandem skydiving instructor I only met about thirty minutes prior - I'll admit that it sounds pretty outrageous. I promise you, though, it didn't feel that way at all to me.  Exhilarating, surreal, inexplicable, yes. Scary, careless, unsafe, no.

I realize that seems to make very little sense.

Well, here is my rationale...
1. The staff at Skydive KY in Elizabethtown, while professional, was friendly and laid-back. They had an office dog. They didn't offer cliche or corny jokes about flying/jumping/landing. I did not hear "dude" once. They suggested that we would have fun, but never implied that we were embarking on some life-altering adventure.  In short, they seemed capable, but relaxed.  I had avoided talking about the trip to anyone beforehand because I did not want to answer questions or be burdened with others' fears or excitement. I appreciated that in the two hours or so before the jump, the time when we were signing liability forms, being trained, and watching other people jump, I could still live in this environment of relative calm, devoid of nervous chit-chat or unnecessary verbal build-up.

2. I trusted the person I was with. I never questioned whether Lee would do it. I never worried that I would have to talk him into it and in so doing, make myself more nervous. I knew that if anything seemed askew or I was in any danger, he would stop it. I knew that we would both have fun and not take it too seriously.  I knew he would be up for Cracker Barrel biscuits afterward.

3. I think we should do out-of-the-ordinary things when given the opportunity.
4. I realize that I could die tomorrow on my way to the library. I realize that if we worried about everything that could go wrong, we would do nothing, whether that was mundane tasks like driving to the grocery store or extreme sports like skydiving.
5. Even though I have certainly made mistakes, done my fair share of stupid, stupid things, and have regrets, I know that in the past few years I have consciously tried to live the best life I can live. I have made hard choices, I have taken chances, I have tried to be more open with my feelings, I have pursued some of my dreams, and kept hope that the untouched ones might be fulfilled. I guess I am just more of the Avett Brothers mindset, "if I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die."

Plus, as i said, jumping out of a plane really isn't as scary as it sounds.;)

Mother's Day, Part II..and this one has nothing to do with Jackie Turner driving me crazy.

In a post long, long ago, I discussed my contradictory feelings toward rather randomly-and/or-arbitrarily-date-selected "holidays" like Groundhog Day, Labor Day, President's Day, Mother's Day (if you can find the exact post, good work you little sleuth you...because I sure can't find it). The basic point was as follows: Sure, most holidays benefit card companies and inspire us to give the impression, via words and actions that seem offered as much for our own self-aggrandizement as for an expression of gratitude, that we are far more sentimental than we actually are. At the same time, however, those who get on high horses and go on and on about appreciating parents, service men and women, and blue collar workers EVERY day rather than on one designated date on the calendar can be just as annoying as all those hokey, pastel, calligraphized cards I mentioned in the last post. Quit being dumb. Of course I love my country on more days than July 4. Of course I find my mother worthy of recognition on more days than a particular Sunday in May. Of course I know in non-November months that white settlers stole land from Native Americans. Holidays are fun and sometimes it is nice to do something, or buy a gift, for someone you love. How about we just leave it at that?

One article in connection with this discussion that has particularly interested me since I read it a few years ago, is one written by Anne Lamott (a favorite author of mine).  In this article, which I by no means agree with in its entirety, Lamott questions Mother's Day on the basis of these arguments: 1. it elevates mothers above other women who have chosen to or cannot have children. 2. it tends to ignore all those non-birth "mothers" who have nurtured us perhaps as much as, if not more so, than our actual mothers. 3. it plays into the notion that "true" love and self-sacrifice can only be known through parenthood.

As a non-mother, here is my take...

I didn't feel bad last Sunday.  I would never want pity or for others to assume that I sat around wondering, "Why isn't there a day for ME?" If I rolled my eyes when glancing at Facebook it was because public displays of affection of any sort tend to make me gag, not because it was some defensive physical embodiment of my biological clock. I would never want mothers to feel bad about recognition simply because there are those of us who do not have children, just as I would never want someone to feel guilty for mentioning their dad around me on Father's Day. Just because I do not have something, does not mean that I'm so selfish that I can't be happy for those who do.

In regard to Lamott's third point, I do think she is on to something here. Although I am not sure on the accuracy or source of her data, she mentions that roughly 98% of American parents seem to feel that unless one has been a parent, their capacity for love is diminished, that "non-parents can't possibly know what it is to love unconditionally." This point also reminds me of Elizabeth Gilbert's in Committed (I highly recommend) whereby she argues, "all too often, those of us who choose to remain childless are accused of being somehow unwomanly or unnatural or selfish." In both cases, the conclusion is the same: "they are not like us." Regardless of the validity of these general claims (and really, how could we ever really test this?), I would guess that they are assumptions most parents do secretly hold to some degree.

And you know, you parents might be right. I'm sure you want to roll your eyes when I talk about how I love my dogs like they are my children.  I know that when I talk about the privilege of being a stepmother to a wonderful, wonderful child, most of you probably think "that doesn't really count." I realize that being an aunt carries very little of the responsibility of a parent.  Nevertheless, I also know, without hesitation, that I would give my life for any of those mentioned above.  I know what I feel is not just something "kind of like" love.

I can't be defined by something I am not; thus to suggest that my ability to give of myself is relative to, and less than, a parent seems just as arbitrary as our national fascination with a groundhog coming out of a hole.
***
I am fully aware that this quote somewhat challenges the point I just made (that the roles we play do not have to be in competition with one another), but I love Jane Austen and I love that being an aunt is one of the roles that does define me.

"I have always maintained the importance of Aunts as much as possible. Now that you have become an Aunt, you are a person of some consequence." - Jane Austen

The real story of mothers and daughters.

I know what I should do.

I should buy my mother a pale pink, unfathomably overpriced Hallmark card that has a quote about unwavering love in oversized gold calligraphy. I should attempt to compete with all the other Facebook statuses, proclaiming my two sisters and me to actually have the "best mother in the world" (which brings to mind the scene from When Harry Met Sally where Marie says that everyone thinks they have good taste and a sense of humor...but they couldn't possibly all have good taste and a sense of humor). I should write a blog post and make special effort to work this in: 

The truth of the matter, however, is that my mother often makes me want to do this:

or this: 

In short, my mother drives me bonkers sometimes.  She gives unsolicited beauty tips; if I had a nickle for every time she has commented on the width of my eyebrows, I wouldn't have to work. She sits still when I'm trying to talk to her roughly 1 out of 10 conversations. She states the obvious.  She will ask me about stuff I've repeatedly told her that I don't want to talk about or upon which I have already decided. She will do what we ask her not to do, even if our reasoning is "that's really stupid and unsafe, Mom." She is worse than many 15 year olds when it comes to having a phone out all the time.

No ma'am, Jackie Turner, no field-of-flowers-Maya-Angelou-quote-filled card for you.

My card would tell you that for all the reasons mentioned above, and a few thousand others, you make me crazy. It would then say...

I know I do the same to you....and basically for the exact same reasons. I do just as many dumb things for the same reason you once put a step ladder in the back of your gator and painted a barn: because we want it done. Now. Without help. I will press issues when I don't feel like you've given me a satisfactory explanation. If you would put your phone down and look up at me for ten seconds, I would critique your eyebrows. 

But there is one more similarity between us that has become increasingly obvious as I've grown older, a personality proclivity that has both forced tough conversations and ultimately made our relationship more honest and more substantial: You and I have come to accept that at least half the time, we are not going to agree with the other's decisions. In fact, we may occasionally think the other is making a gigantic, possibly life-altering mistake. But the thing is, even though we might hoot and holler about it for a little while, saying harsh things reserved primarily for mother/daughter relationships, we acknowledge that it's the other's life to live. We voice our opinion, but ultimately defer.  We understand that loving someone does not mean that you will always like their decisions, or them for that matter.  

Letting someone be who they insist on being is a wonderful gift. For this, Mom, I thank you. 

Oh, and for....

1. Instilling in us the notion that no man should ever control how we cut our hair. 

2. Making conversation in otherwise awkwardly quiet rooms or cars.

3. Raising us in a home where we had a choice of Kool-Aid or milk only and had dinner at the table nearly every night. 

4. Letting me climb in a pickup truck and drive across the country with Dad when I was about eight years old. 

5. Spending your summers skipping rocks with Leigh and me at the ponds and creeks near the house...or at Greenwood Mall with Sbarro pizza and our baby doll strollers in tow. 

6. Still doing Easter baskets and Christmas stockings for all of us. 

7. For offering to pay to have a horse's sheath cleaned even when your daughter tells you, "That's dumb. We're not going to pay someone without trying it first ourselves."; for nevertheless putting on your overalls and work boots when that same daughter pulls in your driveway at 5:15 and asks for gloves. 

8. For being the type of teacher people describe as "their favorite ever." 

9. For making sourdough bread from scratch.

10. Hell, for occasionally being the wind beneath our wings.  

"Solitude is blessed."

I finally did it.

Goodbye sliding keyboard phone. Goodbye keys that don't work and thus make my texts illegible. Goodbye surprise presents, ranging from twin decorated tin cans to an old Blackberry, that have been dropped off at the library to both mock and assist. Goodbye all Facebook suggestions to upgrade like a normal person.

Hello....
Samsung Freeform! You are a much nicer non-smart phone than I had!

That's right; I refuse to cave until phone companies absolutely make me.

***
Here is why I refuse to get a smart phone:
1. I don't want to be like 95% of the people I know with smart phones. I don't want to be scrolling all the time. I don't want to have my phone out at dinner or when I'm with friends. I want to pay attention to people when they're talking.  I am already distracted enough; I don't need one more thing to fiddle with....and I'm on no delusional high horse; if I had it, I would use it. Hell, I've wasted HOURS watching America's Next Top Model marathons.  My willpower is not that strong.
2. I don't want everything to be easy. I like stopping to ask for directions (i.e. "get a fountain drink"). I like finding recipes in actual cookbooks and taking pictures with an actual camera and reading actual books.  I like trying to figure things out (same reason I am often hesitant to use a calculator) instead of just punching something in and relying on someone else to give me an answer. We are getting increasingly lazy and dependent; I want to prevent or stall that as long as possible.
3. There are other things I would rather spend the money on.
4. I think Louis C.K makes a couple of great points: A) Just because it's available, doesn't mean we have to do it. B) We rely on technology in part because of an inability to be alone.
***
Speaking of which...
I love this video, not only because it validates my loner tendencies, but because it reminds me to really be present in my life....and to do things like go to an unknown-to-me city and just roam.  I'm not going to lie and say that living alone is always easy. It's not. Sometimes I get stuck in my own head, the silence around me accelerating a medley of "what if"s. Sometimes I just want to cook supper for someone. Sometimes I wish I had kids' ball uniforms to wash.  For the most part, though, I embrace my solitude. I love going to movies alone. It has never bothered me to eat at restaurants alone. I like imagining all the things I can do, all the places I can go, and all the things I can try...primarily because I have few restraints. I like walking into a house that looks exactly like it did when I left in the morning. I like not having to compromise.  None of this is to suggest that I have no desire to be a part of a family unit again sometime or that I am unwilling to relinquish some freedom (I was very fortunate to live in that world for a while)...only that being alone and being lonely are not the same for me.
 ***
I like this a lot.

Lessons I sometimes forget...

By: Guest blogger, Brandy Pruitt

A good friend once wrote me a note during a difficult time in my life that read, “Good people deserve to be happy, and you are good people.”  I received it sometime during 2005 (I believe) and I still have it tucked away in a box of special memories.  I go to this box on occasion and pull things out, reading over them and remembering; evoking feelings and tears that I am typically too busy for.    

I understand that life is full of both good and bad.  I am fully aware of the ‘God will not lead you to it without leading you through it’ phrase that should make me feel better.  I accept with my whole heart that yes, it CAN always be worse.  I know these things.  Every Debbie Downer and Negative Nancy I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet knows these things.  And yet, I still feel an obligation to say that an often cheery disposition can not disguise the ugly truth that life is a struggle.

There are days when my struggles are too much.  I’m simply too stressed, too anxious, or too emotional to continue with my daily life.  My chest feels heavy…my eyes burn and blink back tears; tears that are sometimes full of anger or disappointment, sadness or loneliness.  Sometimes, they are just signs of pure exhaustion and defeat: the only white flag I have the energy to wave.  Some days I allow my struggles to define me and they win.  

But there are other days that I win.  There are days that I allow my life, both the good and the bad combined, to define me.  I may feel stressed, sad, or defeated but I somehow overcome it.  I may still feel that heaviness in my chest but I choose to fight it.  On these days, I end up sitting on the attic steps of my home and reminiscing.  Sure, there are usually still tears; but they are the happy and therapeutic kind.

My special box lives on my attic steps, along with a lot of other not-so-special junk that has no where better to be.  Oddly enough, the entire time that I have lived in my home I have found solace in the attic.  Maybe it’s because it is the only part of the house that was built in 1956 that seems to remain unchanged.  Or maybe because it’s the only part of the house that my obsessive cleaning habits know they aren’t welcome.  Maybe it’s because all the keepsakes from my children’s lives are stored there or because you can hear everything going on in the entire house from those steps.  Whatever the reason, I enjoy it. I go to my favorite spot on the third-from-the-top step and just sit.  I sit and pilfer through notes that make me laugh, and cards that force me to realize I have people who care about me.  I read letters from my high school boyfriend and look at pictures my children have drawn.  These things may all fit into a box (although “fit” may be the wrong word when you see my box) but they are so much bigger than that box that encompasses them.  

Lessons I learn (over and over again) sitting in my attic:

-   Friendships can span years, miles, and even differences of opinion.  How corny is it that I am reminded of a song I used to sing in Girl Scouts? “Make new friends, but keep the old…one is silver and the other’s gold.”  But seriously, they are.

-   If you want to know something, ask.  But be prepared to hear the answer.  Know what you will do with it, even before you ask for it.  Make your decision and ‘own it’…hard as it might be.    

-   Family is forever.  They will love you and forgive you quicker than anyone.  But they can also hurt you quicker also.  And despite your best efforts, sometimes you will do the same to them. 

-   Write notes and send cards to people.  I honestly think taking the time to tell someone via ‘snail mail’ that you care about them is a special thing.  When my  ex-husband passed away, I received a hand written card from a stranger referencing a bible verse she thought might help ease my pain.  She lived in Richmond, KY and heard his obituary on the radio.  A little weird? Maybe.  More important than cards I received from close friends and neighbors? No.  But it made me smile at the time.  And this stranger has a spot in my special box because of it.   

-   Joys weigh more than sorrows.  Now that is a hard lesson to remember.  It’s easier sometimes to believe the opposite.  It’s almost effortless to just wallow in sadness and bask in the pity of others.  But don’t; it will be worth it, I promise.  Learn to refuse pity.  Either from yourself or others. 

-   Your life may be full of the very thing someone else fervently prays for; appreciate it.  I have been reminded so often of this.  Especially when I look around my attic: it is full of things my children have accumulated over the years.  They make me happy.  Also drive me crazy sometimes, but it’s a happy crazy. J It is hard to not sound cliché about one’s love for their children, but they are my soul mates. 

-   Forgive people. Even when they don’t ask, forgive them.  And also, yourself…forgive yourself. 

Every once in a while, there are some surprising truths and wonderful things that spring up exactly where you need them; exactly where you’d put them if life were a script you could write.  And for a fleeting moment…the world (or at least the tiny little part of the world you can call your own) is good.  Savor those moments.  Hold tight to those memories and visit them often.  Stuff them in a box if you must.    

Good people deserve to be happy, and you are good people.

My box runneth over. How lucky am I?

I was serious about that no cleaning up here rule. 

I have started a new box.:)

Lessons from...a (semi)-Reformed Perfectionist

By: Guest blogger, Mandy Higgins

When I volunteered to write a post for Liza’s lessons feature, it seemed appropriate to discuss my penchant for perfection and the lessons I learned in, trying at least, to let it go. But, because I don’t believe you ever truly get over being a perfectionist, I immediately began to panic as I wracked my brain for just the right anecdote to make my point, and how to structure the post to make the most effective statement, and where to write it, and for how long, and what would happen if I chose the wrong words and…  You see, the pursuit of perfection, like anxiety, is a rabbit hole of doom. It leads you in all kinds of directions you didn’t know were even available when you began.  Luckily, since I’m semi-reformed and all, I can pull back the throttle a bit, open the shades, and stories emerge. So, readers, friends, and fellow Pillow Book admirers, I present to you an anecdote and a few extra “lessons” on semi-reformed perfection.

           In December, on the same day my doctoral degree was conferred, my husband and I closed on our second (and potentially forever) home in Lexington. It’s a 1950s rambling ranch with a small yard and a ton of space. We live in a cute, transitioning neighborhood close to all the things and some of the people we love in the city. However, we bought our house in the midst of the worst winter in recent memory. Here’s my first piece of advice: don’t buy a home in the winter. Just, wait til March. Why, you ask? Well here’s the thing—yes, you’re likely to get a better deal, BUT, but, you have no idea what your yard looks like when it’s covered in snow and the trees are dormant, and there’s no blooming plants. Fast forward to March—winter’s ice and snow began to thaw, revealing our new yard full of leaves, moss, and ivy. Those trees that were bare when we bought the place four months ago have begun to bloom and the future raking is already occupying my mind. You’re probably wondering how all of this relates to perfection. Very simply, I’ll never have a perfect, manicured, green, leaf free yard. We could rake every day, meticulously mow, seed, sod, water, and weed eat, and still, our yard will have leaves. The magnolia that was the selling point for us—oh, it drops leaves on a regular basis.

And the ivy—dormant in the winter, but in full force these days, the ivy is proof that my perfectionist tendencies are under repair. I spent most of Sunday pulling up ivy in a small patch along the side of our driveway.  It’s not even my ivy! Instead, it has burrowed under a fence and taken up refuge from the neighbor’s yard.  Perfectionist Mandy would have not even begun the project of removing the ivy. I’ll never get rid of it all, I’d tell myself, so why even start? It’ll just keep coming back, you’ll never get it right, so why try? But instead of giving in to my base assumptions, I spent the afternoon pulling and pruning, cutting and cursing through the ivy. The bed is mostly free; a few shoots are still visible between the fence posts and the root system is still intact in a few places, which means in a month or so, I’ll be back at it—attacking the ivy and my desire for perfection at the same time.  

The ivy is a visible marker of my semi-reformed status. Some of it remains, but a lot of it is gone (at least from that particular part of the yard). It’s proof that even when not done perfectly, effort makes a difference.

A few other lessons for you from my semi-reformed world:

·         Being a perfectionist stops you from trying new things. When you’re so focused on doing something perfectly the first time, you don’t give yourself the opportunity to fail, and so you don’t give yourself the opportunity to do something different.

·         Being a perfectionist steals joy. When your life is dominated by a plan, by the desire to have everything just right, and by the need to make sure no one sees a mistake or a misstep, it’s almost impossible to be happy. Things aren’t always perfect. Sometimes the flies get in the punch, or the words come out of your mouth wrong, or the timing isn’t right. 

·         Perfection is the mask that keeps us from knowing ourselves and others. We use it to hide our insecurities and to control our fears. We use it to deny others access to our true, often vulnerable self, and to rewrite our identity in terms that are comfortable. 

I haven’t fully let go of my perfectionist tendencies, but I’ve learned that there is beauty, and love, and magic in imperfection. Life doesn’t usually unfold on the path and along the plan that us semi-reformed perfectionists seek, and I’m learning that plans and paths are meant to meander.  Thus, I am semi-reformed.  I still seek perfection but I am no longer defined by it. I embrace, reluctantly at times, the chance to fail and I relish in the imperfect ways we all try to get through the day.

But, the perfectionist in me is always sitting dormant, waiting for the perfect opportunity to rear its ugly little head—don’t tell her I’ve got a book proposal, anthology chapter, and conference paper to write…she’ll be relentless.

Lessons I've learned from my mower...

By: Guest blogger, Terry Staley

Spring is here
I'm ready to go
Let's get this show started
I'm ready to mow

Bruce tuned up the motor
New belts and new blades
I'm ready to go
Get out of my way

Up and down the yard I go
Things are going smooth
All of a sudden something happens
My mower will not move

I can't be out of gas
That just can't be right
I can't be out of gas
I filled it up last night

Oh yeah, I'm out
I've filled it up
I'll start again
I won't give up

I start again and to my surprise
As I am going up and down the rise
Woah Woah is what I said
But in the ditch I went instead

That is it
You sit and pout
I'm going in
You're staying out

After a call
Up came my son
We pulled the mower out
And it's ready to run

Just as I was about to be done
I started up the bank
I was on a run
When suddenly...I was done

Done, not as in finished
Done, not as in through
I mean done as in
Call in the tow truck crew

Upside down My mower lay
I get up
And I'm OK

Another call
to my son
Another "Mother"
What have you done

To my rescue
My brother came
He took my mower
Will it ever be the same?

Spring is here
It came once more
My brother, the mechanic
Has fixed up my mower

I love it
It's camo and looking like new
And now when I mow
I'll be hidden from view

So what are the lessons
I've learned from my mowing?
No matter what happens
You have to keep going!