Especially when it's three long years...
"They have a combined 3 years of experience.”
L.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I Know
I know, I know, I never post anymore. It's mostly because I abandoned the blog to reattach myself to real life. You know, phone calls, beers with friends...that sort of thing. And I'm glad I did.
So, from now on, this blog will basically be "Things I Overhear At Work."
They're pretty awesome as I am an intense eavesdropper and my job means that I'm around some, shall we say, "interesting" people.
Some of the posts will be rather obvious. Others will require that you "figure out the story," i.e. what do you think they're talking about? And some may just be odd all the way around.
So the first installment is:
On a cell: “Hey Stranger. Where have you been all week? We need to talk. (pause) About the bag I found downstairs. Uh-huh. I don’t believe that. I know you want me to believe that, but I don’t.”
This is a prime example of why you should take personal calls outside.
L.
So, from now on, this blog will basically be "Things I Overhear At Work."
They're pretty awesome as I am an intense eavesdropper and my job means that I'm around some, shall we say, "interesting" people.
Some of the posts will be rather obvious. Others will require that you "figure out the story," i.e. what do you think they're talking about? And some may just be odd all the way around.
So the first installment is:
On a cell: “Hey Stranger. Where have you been all week? We need to talk. (pause) About the bag I found downstairs. Uh-huh. I don’t believe that. I know you want me to believe that, but I don’t.”
This is a prime example of why you should take personal calls outside.
L.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Land of Opportunity
A big part of my job requires me to spend an exceptional amount of time with mayors from some of the smallest cities in our great state.
During the past two days, I've spoken, laughed, and worried with mayors from cities all across the state. We've talked about problems with sewers, hospitals, and tornadoes all while taking a moment to smile about how lucky we are to live where we do.
For those of you who have previously or maybe, currently, live here you know that we're lucky to live in a place where the people are nice, friendly and honestly care about each other. As the Governor said today, "When a tornado hits one city, the first people on the scene are the citizens from the last tornado disaster."
We understand each other and what it means to live in a place that requires, and, quite frankly expects, the love and respect of a neighbor. That neighbor may be from a city 200 miles away, but we're all in this boat together, and we'll make it to our destination only with everyone taking a turn at the helm.
The Governor also said that he's tired of hearing stereotypes about our lovely state--we're hillbillies, we're thankful that Mississippi always falls one step below us because it keeps us from being 50th in something, that visitors are always "pleasantly surprised" by what this state has to offer.
He's tired because we aren't last in the state rolls anymore. In fact, we're at the top of early childhood education, we're at the top of advanced placement education, and we're faring much better than most states during this economic downturn.
Let me be the first to agree. Aside from working with small town mayors, I also write grant proposals. To qualify for many grant applications, areas often must be "at least one percentage point above the national unemployment rate."
As I sat down to write a grant application two days ago, I felt sure that the counties selected in eastern Arkansas would far exceed this requirement. I was wrong.
The national unemployment rate is so high that many of our most poverty-stricken cities and counties have unemployment averages far lower than the national average.
Surprised?
I was.
Poverty rates here are still catastrophic and will likely continue to be for some time, but unemployment isn't as high as you'd expect.
Now, for the soap box. So, our citizens are employed, but they're wages are so low they can't actually support their families. They may, in fact, have jobs, but they can't pay the bills. They work everyday, but they still live in poverty. It's unacceptable, but...
They do have jobs.
What does this say? I have my own thoughts on the matter, and I'll leave it to you to come up with your own.
The question to ponder is: Do we need more jobs in general or do we need more high paying jobs?
One answer is linked to current stability and one is linked to education. Now it's up to you to decide which is most important to you.
Why?
Because your answer to that question answers where you want your tax dollars spent. It's a question we can only answer individually, but a question that answers where we go collectively.
In the meantime, we'll still be the Land of Opportunity even if it's no longer the state motto. If only because, we all care so much about each other that we'll make sure that the day you move to Arkansas is the day you find your long-lost family in her wonderful citizens.
L.
During the past two days, I've spoken, laughed, and worried with mayors from cities all across the state. We've talked about problems with sewers, hospitals, and tornadoes all while taking a moment to smile about how lucky we are to live where we do.
For those of you who have previously or maybe, currently, live here you know that we're lucky to live in a place where the people are nice, friendly and honestly care about each other. As the Governor said today, "When a tornado hits one city, the first people on the scene are the citizens from the last tornado disaster."
We understand each other and what it means to live in a place that requires, and, quite frankly expects, the love and respect of a neighbor. That neighbor may be from a city 200 miles away, but we're all in this boat together, and we'll make it to our destination only with everyone taking a turn at the helm.
The Governor also said that he's tired of hearing stereotypes about our lovely state--we're hillbillies, we're thankful that Mississippi always falls one step below us because it keeps us from being 50th in something, that visitors are always "pleasantly surprised" by what this state has to offer.
He's tired because we aren't last in the state rolls anymore. In fact, we're at the top of early childhood education, we're at the top of advanced placement education, and we're faring much better than most states during this economic downturn.
Let me be the first to agree. Aside from working with small town mayors, I also write grant proposals. To qualify for many grant applications, areas often must be "at least one percentage point above the national unemployment rate."
As I sat down to write a grant application two days ago, I felt sure that the counties selected in eastern Arkansas would far exceed this requirement. I was wrong.
The national unemployment rate is so high that many of our most poverty-stricken cities and counties have unemployment averages far lower than the national average.
Surprised?
I was.
Poverty rates here are still catastrophic and will likely continue to be for some time, but unemployment isn't as high as you'd expect.
Now, for the soap box. So, our citizens are employed, but they're wages are so low they can't actually support their families. They may, in fact, have jobs, but they can't pay the bills. They work everyday, but they still live in poverty. It's unacceptable, but...
They do have jobs.
What does this say? I have my own thoughts on the matter, and I'll leave it to you to come up with your own.
The question to ponder is: Do we need more jobs in general or do we need more high paying jobs?
One answer is linked to current stability and one is linked to education. Now it's up to you to decide which is most important to you.
Why?
Because your answer to that question answers where you want your tax dollars spent. It's a question we can only answer individually, but a question that answers where we go collectively.
In the meantime, we'll still be the Land of Opportunity even if it's no longer the state motto. If only because, we all care so much about each other that we'll make sure that the day you move to Arkansas is the day you find your long-lost family in her wonderful citizens.
L.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Well, You Know What? I'm Cool
"Since I'm the leader of the free world, I'll just go ahead and lounge right here on these steps. Yep, I'm just that cool."
L.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
65 Years Later
This weekend marks the 65th anniversary of D-Day. An occasion that happened so long before my birth that it seems like lifetimes ago.
It's a historic occasion. One marked with death, sadness, and pride in the faith and sacrifice of so many men.
Men like your husband, your father, your boyfriend, your nephew, your brother, your son. Men with wives, daughters, sons, mothers, fathers...families...were willing to give their lives to the cause of freedom.
Freedom from tyranny. Freedom from oppression. Freedom to live how we live today.
My Grandfather Matteson fought in World War II. He wasn't in Normandy. He didn't brave the beaches at Omaha. In fact, he rarely spoke of his experience at all.
He was in the Navy on an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific during most of the war. He was simply a mechanic. He didn't fly the planes. He didn't drop from the sky with a parachute on this back. He maintained the aircraft that allowed others to do those things.
When he left for the war he left a wife at home. A woman pregnant with his first child. He boarded the carrier and served his country proudly. After a year, his superior officer gave him the opportunity to return home reportedly saying, "Worth, you've served your time, and you can leave, but this war needs your skills here."
My grandfather, realizing this importance of this statement, and the opportunity it presented him, said, "Sir, I have a child at home I've never seen. I have to go."
And he did.
Two days after his departure, the aircraft carrier where he was stationed sent a plane carrying an atomic bomb to Hiroshima. The carrier was on its way there...the thick of the war. He was part of a crew delivering one of the final acts of World War II.
He returned to Arkansas to hold his first born son a year after his birth, and lived to see his wife give birth to a second son...my father.
He never spoke of World War II or his experience there. The only comment I ever heard him say was, "You'd be surprised to know how fast aircraft carriers move."
That was it. It was long after his death that I heard the story of his decision to come home. He never said it, but I'm sure he lived most of his life wishing he'd stayed to serve his country longer. He was just that kind of person.
I, on the other hand, am glad he chose to come home. Otherwise I might not be here today, and I might not have ever known such a brave, loving, caring and extremely secretive man as he.
Today I think of you, Grandy.
I thank you for your service to our country. You served your country behind the scenes, doing what you always did best, and you kept our country safe by doing it.
I wish I knew more of your time during the war. Maybe you knew there was an atomic bomb on that ship, and I'll never know you did. Regardless, you served our country proudly, and I and so many others thank you for your service.
I also thank you for being a simple and amazing man.
A man who, yes, kept his dark war days to himself, but also a man who taught me not to peel out in gravel. A man who taught my father to be a good father, my uncle to be a good uncle. A man who taught my brother and cousins the importance of respecting women. A man who taught me what to expect out of men.
But most of all, a man who held me on his knee and called me Sweet Potato.
Grandy, I love you, and I miss you.
--Sweet Potato.
It's a historic occasion. One marked with death, sadness, and pride in the faith and sacrifice of so many men.
Men like your husband, your father, your boyfriend, your nephew, your brother, your son. Men with wives, daughters, sons, mothers, fathers...families...were willing to give their lives to the cause of freedom.
Freedom from tyranny. Freedom from oppression. Freedom to live how we live today.
My Grandfather Matteson fought in World War II. He wasn't in Normandy. He didn't brave the beaches at Omaha. In fact, he rarely spoke of his experience at all.
He was in the Navy on an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific during most of the war. He was simply a mechanic. He didn't fly the planes. He didn't drop from the sky with a parachute on this back. He maintained the aircraft that allowed others to do those things.
When he left for the war he left a wife at home. A woman pregnant with his first child. He boarded the carrier and served his country proudly. After a year, his superior officer gave him the opportunity to return home reportedly saying, "Worth, you've served your time, and you can leave, but this war needs your skills here."
My grandfather, realizing this importance of this statement, and the opportunity it presented him, said, "Sir, I have a child at home I've never seen. I have to go."
And he did.
Two days after his departure, the aircraft carrier where he was stationed sent a plane carrying an atomic bomb to Hiroshima. The carrier was on its way there...the thick of the war. He was part of a crew delivering one of the final acts of World War II.
He returned to Arkansas to hold his first born son a year after his birth, and lived to see his wife give birth to a second son...my father.
He never spoke of World War II or his experience there. The only comment I ever heard him say was, "You'd be surprised to know how fast aircraft carriers move."
That was it. It was long after his death that I heard the story of his decision to come home. He never said it, but I'm sure he lived most of his life wishing he'd stayed to serve his country longer. He was just that kind of person.
I, on the other hand, am glad he chose to come home. Otherwise I might not be here today, and I might not have ever known such a brave, loving, caring and extremely secretive man as he.
Today I think of you, Grandy.
I thank you for your service to our country. You served your country behind the scenes, doing what you always did best, and you kept our country safe by doing it.
I wish I knew more of your time during the war. Maybe you knew there was an atomic bomb on that ship, and I'll never know you did. Regardless, you served our country proudly, and I and so many others thank you for your service.
I also thank you for being a simple and amazing man.
A man who, yes, kept his dark war days to himself, but also a man who taught me not to peel out in gravel. A man who taught my father to be a good father, my uncle to be a good uncle. A man who taught my brother and cousins the importance of respecting women. A man who taught me what to expect out of men.
But most of all, a man who held me on his knee and called me Sweet Potato.
Grandy, I love you, and I miss you.
--Sweet Potato.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A Little Strange
I lived half of my childhood on Matteson Farms.
A farm my great-grandfather started, but a farm on which my grandfather managed to make a hell of a profit.
I played on golf carts, helped unload peanuts, corn, soybeans and milo (and by helped I mean I stood to the side while my father, uncle and innumerable workers unloaded those crops and then I played in them), hung out with my grandmother, and learned that the amazing people who worked on the farm for little money were amazing people, because they loved more and worked harder labor than anyone I've ever known.
The other half of my childhood was lived on Lake Greeson. My mother's parents worked for most of their lives, and saved a great deal, to build a house there in the 60's.
I lived a goodly portion of my life there learning that my cousins were really my best friends, that it's never a good idea to fall off the back of a jet ski with your legs wide open, and that some people in this world will always, and I mean, always, cover for you no matter what you do, i.e. that same best friend cousin.
I learned a lot in both places. On the farm I learned what it meant to care for, love and respect people who worked harder that I'll ever work.
On the lake, I learned what it meant to love my family and that my family will always love me--no matter what.
There is a lot to be said for both parts of my life, but it's the past few days that have brought home how fleeting it all can be. Below is a photograph of Narrows Dam, which holds Lake Greeson in its banks. Here it is overflowing, a thing I've never seen happen before.
I've seen the Red River, which creates the border of Matteson Farms, breach its banks a full 10 miles toward town, and I've smelled the dead fish and dead land, and I've seen the havoc a flood can produce.
But, I've never seen Narrows Dam overflow. In fact, the last time it occurred was 1968, a full 10 years before my birth.
This picture shows how much rain we've seen in the past few weeks. I can't help but consider all the people living downstream from the dam; all the people who make a living by maintaining docks, fuel stations, and recreation areas on Lake Greeson.
And, of course, I can't help but think about all the farmers out there trying to plant corn, cotton, and soybeans with just as much rain at their backs.
Maybe there will, from time to time, be a moment when both sides of my childhood will rear a head. And, I suppose that at those moments, I will always feel a little strange.
A farm my great-grandfather started, but a farm on which my grandfather managed to make a hell of a profit.
I played on golf carts, helped unload peanuts, corn, soybeans and milo (and by helped I mean I stood to the side while my father, uncle and innumerable workers unloaded those crops and then I played in them), hung out with my grandmother, and learned that the amazing people who worked on the farm for little money were amazing people, because they loved more and worked harder labor than anyone I've ever known.
The other half of my childhood was lived on Lake Greeson. My mother's parents worked for most of their lives, and saved a great deal, to build a house there in the 60's.
I lived a goodly portion of my life there learning that my cousins were really my best friends, that it's never a good idea to fall off the back of a jet ski with your legs wide open, and that some people in this world will always, and I mean, always, cover for you no matter what you do, i.e. that same best friend cousin.
I learned a lot in both places. On the farm I learned what it meant to care for, love and respect people who worked harder that I'll ever work.
On the lake, I learned what it meant to love my family and that my family will always love me--no matter what.
There is a lot to be said for both parts of my life, but it's the past few days that have brought home how fleeting it all can be. Below is a photograph of Narrows Dam, which holds Lake Greeson in its banks. Here it is overflowing, a thing I've never seen happen before.
I've seen the Red River, which creates the border of Matteson Farms, breach its banks a full 10 miles toward town, and I've smelled the dead fish and dead land, and I've seen the havoc a flood can produce.
But, I've never seen Narrows Dam overflow. In fact, the last time it occurred was 1968, a full 10 years before my birth.
This picture shows how much rain we've seen in the past few weeks. I can't help but consider all the people living downstream from the dam; all the people who make a living by maintaining docks, fuel stations, and recreation areas on Lake Greeson.
And, of course, I can't help but think about all the farmers out there trying to plant corn, cotton, and soybeans with just as much rain at their backs.
Maybe there will, from time to time, be a moment when both sides of my childhood will rear a head. And, I suppose that at those moments, I will always feel a little strange.
Foreman...
Gators...
A friend took this picture on HWY 71 at the Little River/Sevier County line--roughly 15-20 miles from my hometown.
They didn't call us the Foreman Gators for nothing.
L.
A friend took this picture on HWY 71 at the Little River/Sevier County line--roughly 15-20 miles from my hometown.
They didn't call us the Foreman Gators for nothing.
L.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Well, I managed to get through Lent.
I gave up wine and fast food, and forgive me for my transgressions, but I managed to get through 40 days with only two nights of wine drinking and one fast food mishap.
Pretty good for a woman who had Wendy's for lunch three days a week and at least one glass of wine every evening.
Not so bad really. I managed to lose seven pounds with only these few changes. But, I do hope that God really is forgiving...
My dear home of southwest Arkansas was devastated by a tornado four nights ago. A few photos follow.
Keep them in your prayers. Life in rural America is tough enough, without having this sort of distruction around you.
L.
God, forgive me of my Lenten mistakes, but, while I might feel bad about having a few glasses a wine and a Sonic grilled chicken sandwich, the people of Mena really need you.
L.
I gave up wine and fast food, and forgive me for my transgressions, but I managed to get through 40 days with only two nights of wine drinking and one fast food mishap.
Pretty good for a woman who had Wendy's for lunch three days a week and at least one glass of wine every evening.
Not so bad really. I managed to lose seven pounds with only these few changes. But, I do hope that God really is forgiving...
My dear home of southwest Arkansas was devastated by a tornado four nights ago. A few photos follow.
Keep them in your prayers. Life in rural America is tough enough, without having this sort of distruction around you.
L.
God, forgive me of my Lenten mistakes, but, while I might feel bad about having a few glasses a wine and a Sonic grilled chicken sandwich, the people of Mena really need you.
L.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
It Really Is A Better Time Than Most Can Dream
It's late, and I'm tired.
But, here I am at 11:30 p.m. actually working and contemplating on how lucky I am to have the job that I do. I love every single day. Even when those days are hard, and I'm pissed at the end of the day, I still love it.
I'm constantly rewarded by people who call and ask for our help. But more so by the people who email or send notes telling us what we've been able to do for them.
Even when days are bad they're never terrible.
That's what keeps me going.
Well, that and the promotion and pay raise.
L.
But, here I am at 11:30 p.m. actually working and contemplating on how lucky I am to have the job that I do. I love every single day. Even when those days are hard, and I'm pissed at the end of the day, I still love it.
I'm constantly rewarded by people who call and ask for our help. But more so by the people who email or send notes telling us what we've been able to do for them.
Even when days are bad they're never terrible.
That's what keeps me going.
Well, that and the promotion and pay raise.
L.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Oh, Wine, I Do Miss You So
I am not a religious person. I have my beliefs, and, not surprisingly, they fall in line with the Episcopalian belief structure of my childhood.
But, I'm not a church-going kind of person. In fact, I haven't been to an actual Sunday church service in at least four, maybe five, years. And, it works for me.
Since I was a kid, we've always "given up" something for Lent. We were also taught you could "take on" something to make a difference. I've never succeeded. Mainly because I never took it seriously. Never.
This year has been different. I made a decision to give up something for Lent. Not because I believe Jesus gave so much for us that we should give for him, but because this is the perfect time to really stick to a resolution. Not a year-long resolution, but 40 days. Surely I can do that, right?
Well, what would you know, but maybe I can.
Unlike the past several years of my life when I've given up things like bear meat, which I've never eaten, or taking on things like waking up before 7:30 a.m., which I always do. This year I was serious.
I gave up wine--both red and white--and fast food--everything but Subway sandwiches (so long as those sandwiches do not include mayonnaise).
What would you know, but I've actually managed to keep it?
OK, I'll admit it, I've had one glass of wine. But, just one. Really just ONE. Do you know how huge that is for someone like me?
And, I haven't come close to a Wendy's or McDonald's or Burger King in weeks.
Here's the best part. I've lost six pounds. Seriously. Six pounds. And I haven't walked an inch further than usual, or picked up a jump rope in three weeks.
Six pounds by eliminating wine and fast food.
I'm pretty excited, but still, really? A six pound loss with no exercise? I'm afraid that really says a lot about my drinking and eating habits.
Or, at least, it did.
I'm sure to maintain it a jump rope is in my immediate future. Jesus.
L.
But, I'm not a church-going kind of person. In fact, I haven't been to an actual Sunday church service in at least four, maybe five, years. And, it works for me.
Since I was a kid, we've always "given up" something for Lent. We were also taught you could "take on" something to make a difference. I've never succeeded. Mainly because I never took it seriously. Never.
This year has been different. I made a decision to give up something for Lent. Not because I believe Jesus gave so much for us that we should give for him, but because this is the perfect time to really stick to a resolution. Not a year-long resolution, but 40 days. Surely I can do that, right?
Well, what would you know, but maybe I can.
Unlike the past several years of my life when I've given up things like bear meat, which I've never eaten, or taking on things like waking up before 7:30 a.m., which I always do. This year I was serious.
I gave up wine--both red and white--and fast food--everything but Subway sandwiches (so long as those sandwiches do not include mayonnaise).
What would you know, but I've actually managed to keep it?
OK, I'll admit it, I've had one glass of wine. But, just one. Really just ONE. Do you know how huge that is for someone like me?
And, I haven't come close to a Wendy's or McDonald's or Burger King in weeks.
Here's the best part. I've lost six pounds. Seriously. Six pounds. And I haven't walked an inch further than usual, or picked up a jump rope in three weeks.
Six pounds by eliminating wine and fast food.
I'm pretty excited, but still, really? A six pound loss with no exercise? I'm afraid that really says a lot about my drinking and eating habits.
Or, at least, it did.
I'm sure to maintain it a jump rope is in my immediate future. Jesus.
L.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Where Are You?
I know. I've been gone a long time.
The past month has been a little strange. I've lived through the death of a loved one before, but after my grandmother's death I realized that I needed--that she would have wanted me--to try to be a better person.
Not that I think I'm a bad person, but I can--and should--always strive to be better.
Isn't that what makes us human? Always striving to be better than what came before?
So, I've spent the past month focused on work. Focused on my relationships. Focused on the things that really make me happy.
I enjoy being able to share my thoughts on a blog, but more so I love sharing my thoughts personally--on a real personal level with those I love.
Frankly, this blog isn't quite doing it for me now.
That's not to say I won't be back with some frequency, but for now, I need to direct my focus on me...my life...my personal growth...where I am now, and where I want to be in 5 years.
So, blogging might be intermittent, but I hope you'll still show up from time to time just to check in.
Because God knows if I manage to actually keep to my Lenten resolutions and get somewhat centered with myself, you might see much more of me here.
And, maybe, just maybe, it might be the "me" that I've been missing the past month.
L.
The past month has been a little strange. I've lived through the death of a loved one before, but after my grandmother's death I realized that I needed--that she would have wanted me--to try to be a better person.
Not that I think I'm a bad person, but I can--and should--always strive to be better.
Isn't that what makes us human? Always striving to be better than what came before?
So, I've spent the past month focused on work. Focused on my relationships. Focused on the things that really make me happy.
I enjoy being able to share my thoughts on a blog, but more so I love sharing my thoughts personally--on a real personal level with those I love.
Frankly, this blog isn't quite doing it for me now.
That's not to say I won't be back with some frequency, but for now, I need to direct my focus on me...my life...my personal growth...where I am now, and where I want to be in 5 years.
So, blogging might be intermittent, but I hope you'll still show up from time to time just to check in.
Because God knows if I manage to actually keep to my Lenten resolutions and get somewhat centered with myself, you might see much more of me here.
And, maybe, just maybe, it might be the "me" that I've been missing the past month.
L.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The View From Across The Pond
This evening I had a lovely dinner with a colleague from the UK along with a few other work friends.
As the conversation progressed to the recent presidential inauguration to crowds to how the DC Metro works, the UK colleague said, "You know what I've found? American crowds are quite polite."
"What?" I responded.
"Everyone is just so polite. People let you go ahead of them, no one ever knocks you out of the way. American crowds are polite," she said.
"Really? Polite? You think Americans are polite?" I asked.
"Yes, you really are. I think it's that everyone is in a good humor," she responded.
Wow. Americans polite and good humored. Who knew?
If Americans on the DC Metro are good humored, God help those poor Londoners. It's a wonder they make it to work alive.
L.
As the conversation progressed to the recent presidential inauguration to crowds to how the DC Metro works, the UK colleague said, "You know what I've found? American crowds are quite polite."
"What?" I responded.
"Everyone is just so polite. People let you go ahead of them, no one ever knocks you out of the way. American crowds are polite," she said.
"Really? Polite? You think Americans are polite?" I asked.
"Yes, you really are. I think it's that everyone is in a good humor," she responded.
Wow. Americans polite and good humored. Who knew?
If Americans on the DC Metro are good humored, God help those poor Londoners. It's a wonder they make it to work alive.
L.
Good Job, Dad!
I've been meaning to post this for a while.
Sure, he's just been inaugurated as the President of the United States, but he also answers to his daughter who says, "Hey, Dad, you're super cool."
Awesome. Welcome to the Executive Office, Obama family.
What a breath of fresh air.
L.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Be All That You Can Be
On my way home from work yesterday, I stopped to visit my local grocer to pick up chili-making essentials in anticipation of a major ice storm and subsequent snow days. The ice storm didn’t come in my part of the state, no snow days were issued, and something went bad wrong with the chili.
But, being the bright-eyed optimist I strive to be, I decided today not to focus on the chili that smells like wet socks, or the fact that I’ve spent the entire day at work. I focused on the young African American girl who made me smile so broadly while I waited in the Oh-My-God-Things-Are-Predicted-To-Fall-Out-Of-The-Sky-So-We-Must-Stock-Up-On-Bread-And-Milk checkout line.
As you know, checkout lanes are lined with magazines featuring celebrities who are too fat, celebrities who are too thin and celebrities who are just right. Oddly enough, not yesterday. I hadn’t noticed that three of the six magazines had a picture of President Obama on front until I heard:
“Daddy, is that President Obama?” a little voice squeaked behind me.
I turned to see a cutie, cutie little face peaking out of a pink and blue stripped tobaggon with a ball on top. She was accompanied by a young man who looked entirely too young to be her father.
“Yes, it is,” Daddy responded.
“How long will he be president?”
“Four years. See every four years we have a presidential election. Obama can run again then,” Daddy explained while tapping his foot and being seemingly annoyed that the line was taking forever (me too, Daddy, me too).
“So he can be president again?” the little girl continued.
“Yes, if he’s reelected. He can serve up to eight years. “
“Can a girl be president?” cutie little girl asked.
“Of course,” Daddy said. There was a slight pause, and Daddy added,
“If she wins.”
L.
But, being the bright-eyed optimist I strive to be, I decided today not to focus on the chili that smells like wet socks, or the fact that I’ve spent the entire day at work. I focused on the young African American girl who made me smile so broadly while I waited in the Oh-My-God-Things-Are-Predicted-To-Fall-Out-Of-The-Sky-So-We-Must-Stock-Up-On-Bread-And-Milk checkout line.
As you know, checkout lanes are lined with magazines featuring celebrities who are too fat, celebrities who are too thin and celebrities who are just right. Oddly enough, not yesterday. I hadn’t noticed that three of the six magazines had a picture of President Obama on front until I heard:
“Daddy, is that President Obama?” a little voice squeaked behind me.
I turned to see a cutie, cutie little face peaking out of a pink and blue stripped tobaggon with a ball on top. She was accompanied by a young man who looked entirely too young to be her father.
“Yes, it is,” Daddy responded.
“How long will he be president?”
“Four years. See every four years we have a presidential election. Obama can run again then,” Daddy explained while tapping his foot and being seemingly annoyed that the line was taking forever (me too, Daddy, me too).
“So he can be president again?” the little girl continued.
“Yes, if he’s reelected. He can serve up to eight years. “
“Can a girl be president?” cutie little girl asked.
“Of course,” Daddy said. There was a slight pause, and Daddy added,
“If she wins.”
L.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Farm
One day,I'm going to write a song called, "The Farm."
Just wait, it will happen.
In 1997, my father died. I was asked what I most wanted to include at the funeral. I couldn't come up with anything. I felt lost--like I should add something to such a meaningful service.
I woke up in the middle of the night the day before the serive with something stuck in my head.
My father should be buried under "Matteson Farm dirt."
The next morning, I approached my mother. I said, "I realize this will sound strange, but Dad needs to be buried under 'farm' dirt."
She said, "OK, Linsley, we'll make that happen."
It came to me in the middle of the night, almost as if Dad had approached me to tell me something no one else would hear or say. So, I said it.
Two days later, he was buried under "farm" dirt with a handful of pecans.
God bless him.
What I didn't know before that day was that long before I was born, my great-grandfather, my father's grandfather had specifically asked to be buried under "Matteson Farm dirt."
In 1999, my grandfather died, and asked, once again, to be buried under dirt from the farm.
Yesterday, I stood up at a funeral and poured dirt from Matteson Farms over my grandmother's casket.
It's a wonderful gesture. To have the ground that sowed your fortune be placed upon your grave.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I want to be cremated. And please don't pine over a casket for me. Please don't embalm me.
Please place my remains in a beer can and sink them to the bottom of Lake Greeson--from whence we came.
But, in that can, please add a little dirt from Matteson Farms. We should all remember every facet of our lives.
My life goes from Matteson Farms to Lake Greeson to Fayetteville to DC to Little Rock and, no doubt, places far away from here.
But, at the end of the day, I want to be in a place I always loved.
A place people will love long after I've gone. Just place a little farm dirt along with me.
I'm a Matteson. And I need that little bit of "farm" to go with me, too.
L.
Just wait, it will happen.
In 1997, my father died. I was asked what I most wanted to include at the funeral. I couldn't come up with anything. I felt lost--like I should add something to such a meaningful service.
I woke up in the middle of the night the day before the serive with something stuck in my head.
My father should be buried under "Matteson Farm dirt."
The next morning, I approached my mother. I said, "I realize this will sound strange, but Dad needs to be buried under 'farm' dirt."
She said, "OK, Linsley, we'll make that happen."
It came to me in the middle of the night, almost as if Dad had approached me to tell me something no one else would hear or say. So, I said it.
Two days later, he was buried under "farm" dirt with a handful of pecans.
God bless him.
What I didn't know before that day was that long before I was born, my great-grandfather, my father's grandfather had specifically asked to be buried under "Matteson Farm dirt."
In 1999, my grandfather died, and asked, once again, to be buried under dirt from the farm.
Yesterday, I stood up at a funeral and poured dirt from Matteson Farms over my grandmother's casket.
It's a wonderful gesture. To have the ground that sowed your fortune be placed upon your grave.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I want to be cremated. And please don't pine over a casket for me. Please don't embalm me.
Please place my remains in a beer can and sink them to the bottom of Lake Greeson--from whence we came.
But, in that can, please add a little dirt from Matteson Farms. We should all remember every facet of our lives.
My life goes from Matteson Farms to Lake Greeson to Fayetteville to DC to Little Rock and, no doubt, places far away from here.
But, at the end of the day, I want to be in a place I always loved.
A place people will love long after I've gone. Just place a little farm dirt along with me.
I'm a Matteson. And I need that little bit of "farm" to go with me, too.
L.
Smile. Always Smile.
On Friday my only living grandparent passed away.
I was initially sad, but it wasn't a sad day. She was 92-years-old and had experienced a wonderful, long life. A life filled with two children who adored her, five grandchildren who loved her, and four great-grandchildren who had the opportunity to know her, and she them.
She and I had our disagreements; our distances. But, she was a southern lady through and through.
I last spoke to her on New Year’s Eve. She told me of how she didn’t want my uncle to find her dead because, “he’s seen too much death in his life.”
I couldn’t argue with that. He’d found my father, my grandfather, my great-uncle, all dead. He really had seen “too much death.”
She also told me she was proud of me and my choices. She loved me. She loved Dave. She wanted us all to know that at the end of day she loved us.
For three weeks, I wished she’d said those words 15 years earlier. I wished that I’d had that relationship with her during my childhood.
But, I also knew that only a strong, dying woman, would say those things. She never regretted anything. She lived on her terms; therefore, so did we.
I loved her even though I didn’t do the greatest job expressing it. And she loved me for the same reasons. Since her death, I’ve realized we were much more alike than we were different.
I disliked her for telling the reality of life and for never mixing words. But, as I grow older, I realize that what I liked most about her was that she never made things better than they were. She told you what she thought and never held anything back.
It’s difficult to see it when you’re a child, and maybe even more so when you’re a semi-adult who has lost a parent. But now I see that she was the only person who said what needed to be said even when what needed to be said should have been kept quiet.
She was kind when we were children. Because she knew we needed a kind heart.
She was tough when we were teenagers. Because she knew we needed to know what it meant to love and be a strong woman.
She was hard throughout our lives. Because she’d seen hard times.
She lived to be 92-years-old.
She spent quite a bit of time angry, and she was well-deserving of that anger. She watched my father die. She watched my grandfather die. Yet, she lived.
I pulled away. I lost touch. But, in the end, I saw her; I made my peace; and I will never forget the lessons she taught me:
Always be a strong, vibrant woman. You will be disappointed. You will lose many people you love. But, many people you love, who also love you, will be standing right next to you when you go. And when you go, there can be…
There should be…
A smile.
L.
I was initially sad, but it wasn't a sad day. She was 92-years-old and had experienced a wonderful, long life. A life filled with two children who adored her, five grandchildren who loved her, and four great-grandchildren who had the opportunity to know her, and she them.
She and I had our disagreements; our distances. But, she was a southern lady through and through.
I last spoke to her on New Year’s Eve. She told me of how she didn’t want my uncle to find her dead because, “he’s seen too much death in his life.”
I couldn’t argue with that. He’d found my father, my grandfather, my great-uncle, all dead. He really had seen “too much death.”
She also told me she was proud of me and my choices. She loved me. She loved Dave. She wanted us all to know that at the end of day she loved us.
For three weeks, I wished she’d said those words 15 years earlier. I wished that I’d had that relationship with her during my childhood.
But, I also knew that only a strong, dying woman, would say those things. She never regretted anything. She lived on her terms; therefore, so did we.
I loved her even though I didn’t do the greatest job expressing it. And she loved me for the same reasons. Since her death, I’ve realized we were much more alike than we were different.
I disliked her for telling the reality of life and for never mixing words. But, as I grow older, I realize that what I liked most about her was that she never made things better than they were. She told you what she thought and never held anything back.
It’s difficult to see it when you’re a child, and maybe even more so when you’re a semi-adult who has lost a parent. But now I see that she was the only person who said what needed to be said even when what needed to be said should have been kept quiet.
She was kind when we were children. Because she knew we needed a kind heart.
She was tough when we were teenagers. Because she knew we needed to know what it meant to love and be a strong woman.
She was hard throughout our lives. Because she’d seen hard times.
She lived to be 92-years-old.
She spent quite a bit of time angry, and she was well-deserving of that anger. She watched my father die. She watched my grandfather die. Yet, she lived.
I pulled away. I lost touch. But, in the end, I saw her; I made my peace; and I will never forget the lessons she taught me:
Always be a strong, vibrant woman. You will be disappointed. You will lose many people you love. But, many people you love, who also love you, will be standing right next to you when you go. And when you go, there can be…
There should be…
A smile.
L.
Monday, January 19, 2009
I Miss You
The picture is blurry and about six monts old, but it doesn't diminish the fact that, Turner, I already miss you.
L. 
Monday, January 12, 2009
Hey Good Lookin' Watcha Got Cookin'?
I absolutely love to cook. The outcome of my cooking excursions don't always turn out so great, but I love the process.
Whether it's a recipe I follow line by line measuring like a maniac to create something really tasty, or a random assortment of things I fling from the refrigerator to the stove I love taking an hour (or two, and Rachael Ray you cannot cook your recipes in 30 minutes no matter what you say) to myself.
I love it like I love to mow the lawn. You spend a bit of time doing something and when you're done you can actually see what you've accomplished.
So many times our lives are full of doing things that must be done, and more often than not there's no discernible outcome.
For example, I can take a full Saturday to run errands. I'll go on my daily trip to Walgreens, then it's the weekly stop by the dry cleaners, after that I make the mandatory stop by Stein Mart to see if something is on sale, then it's the grocery store, which as much as I like to cook and eat, I absolutely despise the act of actually purchasing groceries.
When it's all said and done, I know I have shampoo, clean clothes for work, a new shirt and a fridge full of food, but I don't feel like I've done anything but spend money.
Cooking, on the other hand, is good for my soul. I pull out every spice, every pan, every utensil making a crazy-assed mess in the kitchen and in the end, if all turns out well, have a good conversation with a lovely man or a group of friends while eating something delightful to all my senses.
All this leads up to the fact that two weekends ago I made my first cake from scratch. The cake itself was quite yummy. The frosting? Not so much.
Lesson learned. You cannot substitute Hershey's bars for milk chocolate. Even if your local grocer is out of milk chocolate do not think that a few Hershey's bars will create the same flavor.
They don't.
But, if you like Hershey's bars and think you'd like to make a cake that tastes like it's covered with 10 of them. Boy, do I have a recipe for you.
L.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Your Life Was One Long Emergency
Hold the presses! We have an emergency!
It's a milk emergency!
Hide the women and children! Starbucks is perilously low on lattes! Kroger is running out of 2 percent!
L.
It's a milk emergency!
Hide the women and children! Starbucks is perilously low on lattes! Kroger is running out of 2 percent!
L.
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