E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 43
May 25, 2020
Someone Compared Me . . . to a Tool!
Writing has shown me a lot about myself. Sometimes the topics that come to my mind are hilariously stupid.
Yesterday, one such topic hit me. I sat thinking about the greatest compliment I've ever received.
This is actually a tough question. What is the greatest compliment you've ever received?
I thought about it all day.
Would it be that someone said I'm a good mother . . .
no.
When Mike said I'm a great wife . . .
I LOVED that—but no, not that either.
When someone said I'm more stubborn than a mule?
Nope!
What about limitless faith. . .
nope.
Then it hit me! The greatest compliment I ever received was when someone said I'm better than MacGyver!
Before stating the obvious--that this picture doesn't have a great title--sit back down and read on.
On a side note: Can you believe they actually used this for an ad anyway? "The only tool you'll ever need!" They called my hero . . . a tool! What jerks.
The person said I was better than MacGyver because of this set:
Yes, the model (the Hippie when she was little) is wearing a stylish gypsy outfit, and YES, those are pantyhose that I cut the crotch and feet out of. MacGyver--not quite, but resourceful--maybe.
So, I thought about the answer to my own question. Why is this so important to me? Why did that "MacGyver comment" mean so much? I finally decided. It's because I want to be useful.
When everything else falls to crap, I want to stand at the end of the apocalypse. I'll traipse from the flaming destruction and think I did my best to survive--because I pulled a MacGyver.
Right now a lot of things are up in the air for me. I’m toying with the idea of starting up my old sewing business, even thinking of filming instructional videos. I’m two chapters away from finishing a new novel. And I still can’t figure out what I want. Despite ALL OF THAT, I know everything will work out because someone compared me to a tool and God is watching out for all of us.
It reminds me of when Zeke died. I couldn't breathe, my brain went fuzzy a lot and if it wasn't for my journal who knows how much of the experience I'd really remember. But reading back through my words, I think I made it through all right. I had an awesome God who'll never leave me, and a positive outlook just like MacGyver.
I am really curious, what is the best compliment you have ever received? Does it relate to what is— or you would like to be—your best quality?
Yesterday, one such topic hit me. I sat thinking about the greatest compliment I've ever received.
This is actually a tough question. What is the greatest compliment you've ever received?
I thought about it all day.
Would it be that someone said I'm a good mother . . .
no.
When Mike said I'm a great wife . . .
I LOVED that—but no, not that either.
When someone said I'm more stubborn than a mule?
Nope!
What about limitless faith. . .
nope.
Then it hit me! The greatest compliment I ever received was when someone said I'm better than MacGyver!
Before stating the obvious--that this picture doesn't have a great title--sit back down and read on.
On a side note: Can you believe they actually used this for an ad anyway? "The only tool you'll ever need!" They called my hero . . . a tool! What jerks.
The person said I was better than MacGyver because of this set:
Yes, the model (the Hippie when she was little) is wearing a stylish gypsy outfit, and YES, those are pantyhose that I cut the crotch and feet out of. MacGyver--not quite, but resourceful--maybe.
So, I thought about the answer to my own question. Why is this so important to me? Why did that "MacGyver comment" mean so much? I finally decided. It's because I want to be useful.
When everything else falls to crap, I want to stand at the end of the apocalypse. I'll traipse from the flaming destruction and think I did my best to survive--because I pulled a MacGyver.
Right now a lot of things are up in the air for me. I’m toying with the idea of starting up my old sewing business, even thinking of filming instructional videos. I’m two chapters away from finishing a new novel. And I still can’t figure out what I want. Despite ALL OF THAT, I know everything will work out because someone compared me to a tool and God is watching out for all of us.
It reminds me of when Zeke died. I couldn't breathe, my brain went fuzzy a lot and if it wasn't for my journal who knows how much of the experience I'd really remember. But reading back through my words, I think I made it through all right. I had an awesome God who'll never leave me, and a positive outlook just like MacGyver.
I am really curious, what is the best compliment you have ever received? Does it relate to what is— or you would like to be—your best quality?
May 23, 2020
I suffer from compression
In the middle of the night I had THE WEIRDEST dream. I've had some strange ones lately, but this took the cake.
A little man stood in front of me. "What you suffer from, my dear, is compression."
"Excuse me?" I said.
"Compression," he cleared his throat. "Everyone talks about depression. Well who cares if you're feeling a little lower than normal. Compression is what you need to be worried about."
In my dream I just gawked at him and even thought to myself, What in the heck is going on?
"Assuming you aren't completely nutty," I said. "What is compression?"
"I'd worried about that."
"What?"
"That you'd be as dumb as you look. Compression is far worse than depression. You feel as if everything is closing in. Too many worries; too much on your plate until you feel out of control..." He straightened his back, proud of himself. "Compression."
"And how am I supposed to fix this, oh mighty, SHORT one."
"Simple.” He smiled. "Become unpressed."
"Like a shirt that hasn't been ironed?! Oh this is rich."
"Laugh all you want," he said. "But there comes a time in everyone's lives when they can't do everything. Choices must be made. Things must be cut from your life, or you'll stay compressed FOREVER, until implosion occurs."
With that he vanished and I woke up thinking I need to stop going to bed so late and that there was a lot of odd truth in that dream!
A little man stood in front of me. "What you suffer from, my dear, is compression."
"Excuse me?" I said.
"Compression," he cleared his throat. "Everyone talks about depression. Well who cares if you're feeling a little lower than normal. Compression is what you need to be worried about."
In my dream I just gawked at him and even thought to myself, What in the heck is going on?
"Assuming you aren't completely nutty," I said. "What is compression?"
"I'd worried about that."
"What?"
"That you'd be as dumb as you look. Compression is far worse than depression. You feel as if everything is closing in. Too many worries; too much on your plate until you feel out of control..." He straightened his back, proud of himself. "Compression."
"And how am I supposed to fix this, oh mighty, SHORT one."
"Simple.” He smiled. "Become unpressed."
"Like a shirt that hasn't been ironed?! Oh this is rich."
"Laugh all you want," he said. "But there comes a time in everyone's lives when they can't do everything. Choices must be made. Things must be cut from your life, or you'll stay compressed FOREVER, until implosion occurs."
With that he vanished and I woke up thinking I need to stop going to bed so late and that there was a lot of odd truth in that dream!
May 22, 2020
Why Sluffing Sucks: The Table Scam
This is a continuation from yesterday.
"Get under the table now! We'll block you with our legs. He'll never see you."
I slid right under, not questioning their logic at all. I'd sluffed from school. My dad stood at ten o'clock and I refused to get busted in front of everyone at Burger King! It was a good thing four of my guy friends were on my side and there to save the day.
"Oh my gosh! He didn't even order and now he's coming this way," Dave whispered above me. "Everyone act natural."
So, my dad sauntered up to the table. I knew because he wore these huge cowboy boots which put fear into my heart. He didn't have spurs, but for some reason I imagined what spurs would have sounded like if we lived in the Old West. I think my dad knew a skunk hid in his midst and that skunk was me! Maybe he wanted to call me out of that place and either play a high stake game of cards or ground me for a month.
I think my friends imagined a gun-slinging contest instead, because Dave's knees started shaking next to me. The whole thing was sucky, plus getting kneed in the ribs, is not what Heaven is made of!
"Hey, boys," my dad said. "What are the odds of meeting you here?"
Who was he kidding--there were no odds! When you get caught one-hundred percent of the time, chance is out of the question. I shouldn't have sluffed school--it was asking for heartache.
"We're doing . . . fine . . .," Dave said in a small voice.
"Sir," Jim added, then pushed me with his leg so I had to crawl closer to the wall.
"It's strange seeing you here, without my daughter. The five of you are always together lately."
"Yeah . . . yeah, she's a live wire that one."
"What do you mean?" my dad asked and I watched as one of Dave's feet kicked another guy in the shin.
"Ow . . . She's just . . . well, she was meant to be a redhead. It's like God gave her a warning label or somethin'."
What was that? Enough with the small talk! Those tiles were nasty and I hated putting my hands where millions of shoes had been. I could smell someone's feet too. I wasn't quite sure who I smelled, but I had my suspicions.
"Uh huh. You wouldn't happen to know where she is. Do you?" Oh, my dad toyed with us! He toyed with us bad. Where was my white flag to wave in surrender? Maybe he'd be easier on me if I just crawled from under the booth and gave up, got away from the stinky feet and took my hands off that greasy floor.
"She's probably at school, Sir. That sounds like Elisa, always getting good grades, studying and picking the coolest friends in school."
How sweet of Jim, to compliment . . . himself!
"Well, it's nice seeing you here."
"Bye, Sir."
My heart beat faster than eggs in a blender. I wanted to get out of there. I'd only kissed two guys and being surrounded by a bunch of male legs, well it wasn't my style. "Can I come out now?" I asked.
"Shhh. No."
After a moment Dave handed me a napkin. "Your dad just finished ordering and now he's sitting RIGHT behind us," the napkin said.
What the hell?! I didn't want to stay there forever. What was the point of sluffing if I couldn't sit ABOVE THE TABLE and eat!
It sucked. I couldn't write back; I didn't have a pen. Maybe that's what Helen Keller felt like, unable to communicate with most other people. I felt bad for Helen then, really bad.
After a moment, Dave held another napkin by his leg. "Your father," the napkin read, "keeps looking at us."
Well what was I supposed to do? Looking wasn't a crime even in Texas!
Another napkin. "He won't stop. Hang tight and we'll tell you when he leaves."
So, they WERE terrified, just like me and my greasy hands. But men (especially boys) seem to forget about things far too quickly and before long the napkins stopped coming and the guys started laughing and joking about some girl they had all kissed. There I was UNDER THE TABLE and those "friends" thought they were at a Sunday picnic!
That made me angry. Plus, the girl they joked about was my buddy. I had to get revenge. But what could I do? I was stuck under some stupid table.
Then a thought hit me; I know it's the oldest trick in the book, but it's old for a reason. Since I was already down there, I started tying their laces together. No one forces me to hide (under the guise of protection) and then forgets about me. I smirked, almost sniggering as I tied all of their laces together except for Jim who had Velcro skater shoes AND was nice to me--he got off easy that day.
After A LONG TIME, Dave said in a regular voice, "Your dad's gone. You can come out now."
I crawled over the web of laces, pushed their legs aside and stood at the end of the booth. My hands felt yucky. My jeans had gross spots on the knees and I bet I smelled like feet.
"I never want to sluff," I said in a low voice, "ever again."
"But he didn't catch you. You got your ninety percent."
"You don't think he caught me? Seriously? That was my punishment. Since when does my father sit down at a fast food restaurant? NEVER, that's when. I'll be out waiting by the car. And I'm not riding in the back this time. I get shotgun."
They held their breath--shotgun was a sacred thing. They didn't even argue, though--I was a woman on the edge. I turned fast after that and hauled butt out to the car. I knew they were about to stand and their laces were still tied together. I didn't want to be around when they hollered and yelled about the new member of their clan who didn't like hiding under tables.
So, my dad never told on me; he didn't even call me out. But I will never forget waiting under a booth forever. I definitely got my ninety percent that day, exactly what I deserved.
My dad took me out a few years ago and I finally got some guts. I told him this story and after he finished laughing I asked, "When I was fifteen and sluffing, did you know I was there under the table the whole time?"
"No," he said. "I used to go eat there quite a bit."
"So of all the places for me to sluff, I picked your favorite place?"
"Pretty much." He laughed. "That's life for ya."
"Get under the table now! We'll block you with our legs. He'll never see you."
I slid right under, not questioning their logic at all. I'd sluffed from school. My dad stood at ten o'clock and I refused to get busted in front of everyone at Burger King! It was a good thing four of my guy friends were on my side and there to save the day.
"Oh my gosh! He didn't even order and now he's coming this way," Dave whispered above me. "Everyone act natural."
So, my dad sauntered up to the table. I knew because he wore these huge cowboy boots which put fear into my heart. He didn't have spurs, but for some reason I imagined what spurs would have sounded like if we lived in the Old West. I think my dad knew a skunk hid in his midst and that skunk was me! Maybe he wanted to call me out of that place and either play a high stake game of cards or ground me for a month.
I think my friends imagined a gun-slinging contest instead, because Dave's knees started shaking next to me. The whole thing was sucky, plus getting kneed in the ribs, is not what Heaven is made of!
"Hey, boys," my dad said. "What are the odds of meeting you here?"
Who was he kidding--there were no odds! When you get caught one-hundred percent of the time, chance is out of the question. I shouldn't have sluffed school--it was asking for heartache.
"We're doing . . . fine . . .," Dave said in a small voice.
"Sir," Jim added, then pushed me with his leg so I had to crawl closer to the wall.
"It's strange seeing you here, without my daughter. The five of you are always together lately."
"Yeah . . . yeah, she's a live wire that one."
"What do you mean?" my dad asked and I watched as one of Dave's feet kicked another guy in the shin.
"Ow . . . She's just . . . well, she was meant to be a redhead. It's like God gave her a warning label or somethin'."
What was that? Enough with the small talk! Those tiles were nasty and I hated putting my hands where millions of shoes had been. I could smell someone's feet too. I wasn't quite sure who I smelled, but I had my suspicions.
"Uh huh. You wouldn't happen to know where she is. Do you?" Oh, my dad toyed with us! He toyed with us bad. Where was my white flag to wave in surrender? Maybe he'd be easier on me if I just crawled from under the booth and gave up, got away from the stinky feet and took my hands off that greasy floor.
"She's probably at school, Sir. That sounds like Elisa, always getting good grades, studying and picking the coolest friends in school."
How sweet of Jim, to compliment . . . himself!
"Well, it's nice seeing you here."
"Bye, Sir."
My heart beat faster than eggs in a blender. I wanted to get out of there. I'd only kissed two guys and being surrounded by a bunch of male legs, well it wasn't my style. "Can I come out now?" I asked.
"Shhh. No."
After a moment Dave handed me a napkin. "Your dad just finished ordering and now he's sitting RIGHT behind us," the napkin said.
What the hell?! I didn't want to stay there forever. What was the point of sluffing if I couldn't sit ABOVE THE TABLE and eat!
It sucked. I couldn't write back; I didn't have a pen. Maybe that's what Helen Keller felt like, unable to communicate with most other people. I felt bad for Helen then, really bad.
After a moment, Dave held another napkin by his leg. "Your father," the napkin read, "keeps looking at us."
Well what was I supposed to do? Looking wasn't a crime even in Texas!
Another napkin. "He won't stop. Hang tight and we'll tell you when he leaves."
So, they WERE terrified, just like me and my greasy hands. But men (especially boys) seem to forget about things far too quickly and before long the napkins stopped coming and the guys started laughing and joking about some girl they had all kissed. There I was UNDER THE TABLE and those "friends" thought they were at a Sunday picnic!
That made me angry. Plus, the girl they joked about was my buddy. I had to get revenge. But what could I do? I was stuck under some stupid table.
Then a thought hit me; I know it's the oldest trick in the book, but it's old for a reason. Since I was already down there, I started tying their laces together. No one forces me to hide (under the guise of protection) and then forgets about me. I smirked, almost sniggering as I tied all of their laces together except for Jim who had Velcro skater shoes AND was nice to me--he got off easy that day.
After A LONG TIME, Dave said in a regular voice, "Your dad's gone. You can come out now."
I crawled over the web of laces, pushed their legs aside and stood at the end of the booth. My hands felt yucky. My jeans had gross spots on the knees and I bet I smelled like feet.
"I never want to sluff," I said in a low voice, "ever again."
"But he didn't catch you. You got your ninety percent."
"You don't think he caught me? Seriously? That was my punishment. Since when does my father sit down at a fast food restaurant? NEVER, that's when. I'll be out waiting by the car. And I'm not riding in the back this time. I get shotgun."
They held their breath--shotgun was a sacred thing. They didn't even argue, though--I was a woman on the edge. I turned fast after that and hauled butt out to the car. I knew they were about to stand and their laces were still tied together. I didn't want to be around when they hollered and yelled about the new member of their clan who didn't like hiding under tables.
So, my dad never told on me; he didn't even call me out. But I will never forget waiting under a booth forever. I definitely got my ninety percent that day, exactly what I deserved.
My dad took me out a few years ago and I finally got some guts. I told him this story and after he finished laughing I asked, "When I was fifteen and sluffing, did you know I was there under the table the whole time?"
"No," he said. "I used to go eat there quite a bit."
"So of all the places for me to sluff, I picked your favorite place?"
"Pretty much." He laughed. "That's life for ya."
May 21, 2020
Why sluffing sucks: The Ninety Percent
I always got caught. I couldn't spit without my parents seeing me.
"Why am I always in trouble?" I asked my mom once.
"Because, I've caught you doing some bad things. They say parents will only see ten percent of the mischievous stuff their teenagers do. Imagine the ninety percent I'm missing."
There was no ninety percent. There was only one hundred since the woman caught me EVERY TIME I did something bad, seriously. There must be something about Italian mothers--she knew stuff before it happened! The time I battled in a spray paint war and got my best friend in the eye, my mom knew about that right before we went to the doctor. The time I accidentally started my friend's driveway on fire, of course my friend's mom saw the smoke. The time I made holes in the bookshelf since it made a nice waterfall with all my mom's fine glasses angled just right and water flowing down--she found that too--what were the odds?!
I was a pretty good kid, who never got to experience the other ninety percent, but I hoped change hung in the wind. That's when I decided to sluff. I put it in my planner because I refused to get anything less than a "B." I was on track to graduate two trimesters early and earn a scholarship. I wouldn't screw that up for anything.
Anyway, some of my best friends at the time were four boys. We drove around town, singing loud and being ridiculous. I remember worrying that at any moment the car behind us would be a cop--after all, I never got the ninety percent.
It wasn't until a really old lady looked at us suspiciously since we were too young to be out of school. She started gawking at the license plate and pulled out a pen and paper. "NO!" My friend and I screamed. She just jotted down the numbers and looked serious.
Dave floored it after that. And I swear the woman followed us for a bit because if old ladies know anything, it's how to drive fast and make good tea!
We finally did lose her and I turned to one of the guys.
"Do you think she called the cops?" I asked after a moment.
"Maybe, but we're under age. We have a few more years to live things up and have the time of our lives. Don't worry so much. Today is about having fun. This is Dave's car; he'd rather die than rat any of us out. Concentrate on not getting caught, and you'll finally get away with it."
So we went to Burger King and I felt pretty neat. I was the lanky prankster-chick, like Harley Quinn; who probably got to experience ninety percent.
We sat down and I ate a huge Whopper. Life never tasted so good. "You know, having the ninety percent, well it feels real great."
The guys chuckled. "Yep, and you're practically one of the boys now. You passed our initiation."
Another one nodded. "Plus, it's nice having a girl around. So Dave isn't the softest one around."
I glared and Jim knew he should shut his mouth; plus I think he had a crush on me even before I started wearing makeup.
We told jokes and laughed. I was the luckiest girl in the world...until my dad walked into Burger King!
"Oh crap." I whispered and felt my ninety percent fly out the window. "Why do I always get caught?!"
"I told you we shouldn't have brought a girl. They're bad luck," Dave said. Jim was right--Dave was a pansy.
Meanwhile, as we fought at the table, my dad looked as happy as ever. He's one of the most amazing people, who never goes INSIDE fast food restaurants.
"Did he see us?" I asked Jim.
He shook his head. "I don't think so. But like I said before, you're one of the boys now. We'll get you out of this. Here's what we're gonna do."
To be continued tomorrow . . .
"Why am I always in trouble?" I asked my mom once.
"Because, I've caught you doing some bad things. They say parents will only see ten percent of the mischievous stuff their teenagers do. Imagine the ninety percent I'm missing."
There was no ninety percent. There was only one hundred since the woman caught me EVERY TIME I did something bad, seriously. There must be something about Italian mothers--she knew stuff before it happened! The time I battled in a spray paint war and got my best friend in the eye, my mom knew about that right before we went to the doctor. The time I accidentally started my friend's driveway on fire, of course my friend's mom saw the smoke. The time I made holes in the bookshelf since it made a nice waterfall with all my mom's fine glasses angled just right and water flowing down--she found that too--what were the odds?!
I was a pretty good kid, who never got to experience the other ninety percent, but I hoped change hung in the wind. That's when I decided to sluff. I put it in my planner because I refused to get anything less than a "B." I was on track to graduate two trimesters early and earn a scholarship. I wouldn't screw that up for anything.
Anyway, some of my best friends at the time were four boys. We drove around town, singing loud and being ridiculous. I remember worrying that at any moment the car behind us would be a cop--after all, I never got the ninety percent.
It wasn't until a really old lady looked at us suspiciously since we were too young to be out of school. She started gawking at the license plate and pulled out a pen and paper. "NO!" My friend and I screamed. She just jotted down the numbers and looked serious.
Dave floored it after that. And I swear the woman followed us for a bit because if old ladies know anything, it's how to drive fast and make good tea!
We finally did lose her and I turned to one of the guys.
"Do you think she called the cops?" I asked after a moment.
"Maybe, but we're under age. We have a few more years to live things up and have the time of our lives. Don't worry so much. Today is about having fun. This is Dave's car; he'd rather die than rat any of us out. Concentrate on not getting caught, and you'll finally get away with it."
So we went to Burger King and I felt pretty neat. I was the lanky prankster-chick, like Harley Quinn; who probably got to experience ninety percent.
We sat down and I ate a huge Whopper. Life never tasted so good. "You know, having the ninety percent, well it feels real great."
The guys chuckled. "Yep, and you're practically one of the boys now. You passed our initiation."
Another one nodded. "Plus, it's nice having a girl around. So Dave isn't the softest one around."
I glared and Jim knew he should shut his mouth; plus I think he had a crush on me even before I started wearing makeup.
We told jokes and laughed. I was the luckiest girl in the world...until my dad walked into Burger King!
"Oh crap." I whispered and felt my ninety percent fly out the window. "Why do I always get caught?!"
"I told you we shouldn't have brought a girl. They're bad luck," Dave said. Jim was right--Dave was a pansy.
Meanwhile, as we fought at the table, my dad looked as happy as ever. He's one of the most amazing people, who never goes INSIDE fast food restaurants.
"Did he see us?" I asked Jim.
He shook his head. "I don't think so. But like I said before, you're one of the boys now. We'll get you out of this. Here's what we're gonna do."
To be continued tomorrow . . .
May 20, 2020
A home video from decades ago
I found this home video from the 90s. I’m laughing so hard right now. You have to get to 1:11 in the video and then it gets pretty hilarious.
So glad my parents decided to help me with this science project/science musical. Just watch and you’ll know what I’m talking about.
So glad my parents decided to help me with this science project/science musical. Just watch and you’ll know what I’m talking about.
May 19, 2020
The beauty of learning to live under constraints
Lately I've been thinking a lot about thriving in different situations.
I'm a free spirit and I like to do things in my time, my way. But as I look back at my life, I've seen beauty in obedience and living under constraints. This isn't always popular in Western culture,
so let me explain: when I first began playing the violin as a kindergartner, my bow arm would fly here and there as I learned to fiddle and "Bile Them Cabbage Down." I thought I excelled until my teacher said I needed to start playing the violin in a corner, with both elbows against the wall where they couldn't be free.
Fiddling in a corner, is not the best thing ever. I played like that for months, even when I
practiced for hours each day at home. Slowly though, I learned to move my right arm fluidly, so the bow would stay on the "string highway." My left arm gained proper form too; the violin's sound even seemed to change.
One day, my teacher smiled during my lesson and said, "Elisa, your elbow didn't smack the wall at all! You're playing perfectly!"
"Really?" I stepped from the corner and played. At that moment, the sound emanating from my fiddle, completely captivated my soul. My violin became an extension of myself. The sheer power and volume, the rich sound ... the way the very notes cried out or sang with joy, all because I'd learned to perfect small things while living under constraints.
It seems Americans so value individuality and unique endeavors; that's beautiful, but there's also something to be said for obedience and understanding the basics so we can build on foundational knowledge. Maybe this is a moment for some of us to focus on the small things so we can excel with complexities.
This photo was taken at a gig I played in Park City with Ryan Kirkpatrick and Johnny A. Hickman (of the country band Cracker).
I'm a free spirit and I like to do things in my time, my way. But as I look back at my life, I've seen beauty in obedience and living under constraints. This isn't always popular in Western culture,
so let me explain: when I first began playing the violin as a kindergartner, my bow arm would fly here and there as I learned to fiddle and "Bile Them Cabbage Down." I thought I excelled until my teacher said I needed to start playing the violin in a corner, with both elbows against the wall where they couldn't be free.
Fiddling in a corner, is not the best thing ever. I played like that for months, even when I
practiced for hours each day at home. Slowly though, I learned to move my right arm fluidly, so the bow would stay on the "string highway." My left arm gained proper form too; the violin's sound even seemed to change.
One day, my teacher smiled during my lesson and said, "Elisa, your elbow didn't smack the wall at all! You're playing perfectly!"
"Really?" I stepped from the corner and played. At that moment, the sound emanating from my fiddle, completely captivated my soul. My violin became an extension of myself. The sheer power and volume, the rich sound ... the way the very notes cried out or sang with joy, all because I'd learned to perfect small things while living under constraints.
It seems Americans so value individuality and unique endeavors; that's beautiful, but there's also something to be said for obedience and understanding the basics so we can build on foundational knowledge. Maybe this is a moment for some of us to focus on the small things so we can excel with complexities.
This photo was taken at a gig I played in Park City with Ryan Kirkpatrick and Johnny A. Hickman (of the country band Cracker).
May 18, 2020
A wild animal broke into our house
We've had some strange experiences during quarantine like the wild animal that keeps sneaking through our doggie door. We aren't sure if it's a squirrel, or a raccoon, but what we do know is that it LOVES dog food. The other night everyone woke up as our doberman growled. Then this flash of black matrixed out the doggie door into the night! I swear, I've never seen my daughters' eyes get that big. And all of us were a bit freaked out! Normally I like visitors, but don't put this evil on me! I don't want visits from the Grim Reaper OR the dog-food-lovin' bandit.
Another time, the Scribe (my 18-year-old) left a sack of Burger King food by her door. She'd planned to throw it away the next day, but fate had other plans. When we woke up, the dogs were still asleep in an enclosed room, but someone had shredded the Burger King sack and thrown it around like confetti! We decided later that a racoon either learned the tango or got into a fist fight with one of our cats because fur from both of them littered the floor.
But the thing that freaks me out about this is that we've seen dangerous creatures where we live: a bobcat, a bear, a moose.... They caught a huge mountain lion a few blocks from our house. And yes, I know a moose isn't going to fit through the doggie door--I'm not a COMPLETE idiot! But this sort of thing gets you thinkin'.
So I did the next logical thing! I wanted to see how big of a creature could fit through the doggie door. But how? I'm a tall, lean sort of gal--and it hit me; I bet I could fit through that doggie door. That was preposterous--or was it? If I could fit, that's terrifying, and we should get a new door!!! Plus, how fun would it be to tell my pre-teen son that I fit--and then immediately tell Mike we're getting a new door that humans can't fit through!!!
My kids are always telling me what I can't do: I can't skateboard. I can't dress cool. I can't hug them in the school drop-off zone! And I can't look young. Well, I just knew they'd add this to their list! I looked in the mirror. I'm a size 3--okay 5 after quarantine--about the size of a medium mountain lion!
With all the skills I've learned from Twister, I was able to origami my upper half through the doggie door, but then my hips got stuck. I would have called out to the kids, but they didn't need to see their mother stuck in the door--legs kicking as if I was swimming in the Atlantic. We have a wild animal breaking into our house; they've been traumatized enough.
This made me realize a couple of strange things: I need to stop showing my kids that I'm cool AND I don't know how magician assistants lie in those boxes where they're about to get cut in half. That's what it felt like squirming in that door--a modern-day Lucille Ball! #facepalm
I got closer to God that day, praying He'd send an angel of mercy to help me. Thank God it wasn't my husband--Mike would have laughed about this for days! No, God sent a dog who licked my feet. I was able to practically shoot from the door sideways, finally making it to the other side.
Well, I didn't tell anyone about this...until now. Long story short, there's an animal breaking into our house whenever we leave the doggie door open, but my scientific research shows it could be anything smaller than a medium-size mountain lion.
I laughed out loud when I found this picture of myself because the window is about the width of the doggie door. *Whispering* This is how I trimmed plants when I was a single mom--who didn't own a ladder.
Anyway, we will be getting rid of the doggie dog ASAP! Welcome to life in the hills of Idaho. #GoodTimes I still think a raccoon is invading our house, but it would be nice to know for sure!
Another time, the Scribe (my 18-year-old) left a sack of Burger King food by her door. She'd planned to throw it away the next day, but fate had other plans. When we woke up, the dogs were still asleep in an enclosed room, but someone had shredded the Burger King sack and thrown it around like confetti! We decided later that a racoon either learned the tango or got into a fist fight with one of our cats because fur from both of them littered the floor.
But the thing that freaks me out about this is that we've seen dangerous creatures where we live: a bobcat, a bear, a moose.... They caught a huge mountain lion a few blocks from our house. And yes, I know a moose isn't going to fit through the doggie door--I'm not a COMPLETE idiot! But this sort of thing gets you thinkin'.
So I did the next logical thing! I wanted to see how big of a creature could fit through the doggie door. But how? I'm a tall, lean sort of gal--and it hit me; I bet I could fit through that doggie door. That was preposterous--or was it? If I could fit, that's terrifying, and we should get a new door!!! Plus, how fun would it be to tell my pre-teen son that I fit--and then immediately tell Mike we're getting a new door that humans can't fit through!!!
My kids are always telling me what I can't do: I can't skateboard. I can't dress cool. I can't hug them in the school drop-off zone! And I can't look young. Well, I just knew they'd add this to their list! I looked in the mirror. I'm a size 3--okay 5 after quarantine--about the size of a medium mountain lion!
With all the skills I've learned from Twister, I was able to origami my upper half through the doggie door, but then my hips got stuck. I would have called out to the kids, but they didn't need to see their mother stuck in the door--legs kicking as if I was swimming in the Atlantic. We have a wild animal breaking into our house; they've been traumatized enough.
This made me realize a couple of strange things: I need to stop showing my kids that I'm cool AND I don't know how magician assistants lie in those boxes where they're about to get cut in half. That's what it felt like squirming in that door--a modern-day Lucille Ball! #facepalm
I got closer to God that day, praying He'd send an angel of mercy to help me. Thank God it wasn't my husband--Mike would have laughed about this for days! No, God sent a dog who licked my feet. I was able to practically shoot from the door sideways, finally making it to the other side.
Well, I didn't tell anyone about this...until now. Long story short, there's an animal breaking into our house whenever we leave the doggie door open, but my scientific research shows it could be anything smaller than a medium-size mountain lion.
I laughed out loud when I found this picture of myself because the window is about the width of the doggie door. *Whispering* This is how I trimmed plants when I was a single mom--who didn't own a ladder. Anyway, we will be getting rid of the doggie dog ASAP! Welcome to life in the hills of Idaho. #GoodTimes I still think a raccoon is invading our house, but it would be nice to know for sure!
May 16, 2020
Only one negative thing
I have made the executive decision...to only say one negative thing a day. Throughout the hours, I’ll catch myself getting ready to say something negative, but it’s not quite good enough for the only bad comment of the day. Sometimes I’ve used it early--about 8 a.m. and then I have to be positive the rest of the day! Other times I’ll forget to say something because I didn’t find something quite bad enough.
The other afternoon, I spoke with a businesswoman who spoke quite negatively. Although she was working in a warm, cozy office--and drank a coffee--she talked about how terrible her job is and how much she hates the weather. No matter what I said, she flipped it negative. “Isn’t that lady darling,” I whispered, motioning to a lady who had walked in.
“If you like the 80s.”
It went on until I became almost mystified with how artfully she changed good to bad.
“Isn’t it terrible here in Idaho? Don’t you agree?” she finally asked.
“Ma’am, I only use one negative comment a day, and I’m not going to waste it on this.”
Her faced paled a little before reddening. I really didn’t mean to offend her, but I didn’t want to waste my comment on that.
Anyway, I had to visit her office again yesterday. She was helping someone else and didn’t see me by the door.
“I know you’re upset,” I heard her tell a customer, “but I only use one negative comment a day, and I’m not going to use it on this.”
When it was my turn, she didn’t act overly excited to see me, but I had to inwardly smile. Even when you don’t know you’re making a difference, you just might be. Positivety wins out every time.
The other afternoon, I spoke with a businesswoman who spoke quite negatively. Although she was working in a warm, cozy office--and drank a coffee--she talked about how terrible her job is and how much she hates the weather. No matter what I said, she flipped it negative. “Isn’t that lady darling,” I whispered, motioning to a lady who had walked in.
“If you like the 80s.”
It went on until I became almost mystified with how artfully she changed good to bad.
“Isn’t it terrible here in Idaho? Don’t you agree?” she finally asked.
“Ma’am, I only use one negative comment a day, and I’m not going to waste it on this.”
Her faced paled a little before reddening. I really didn’t mean to offend her, but I didn’t want to waste my comment on that.
Anyway, I had to visit her office again yesterday. She was helping someone else and didn’t see me by the door.
“I know you’re upset,” I heard her tell a customer, “but I only use one negative comment a day, and I’m not going to use it on this.”
When it was my turn, she didn’t act overly excited to see me, but I had to inwardly smile. Even when you don’t know you’re making a difference, you just might be. Positivety wins out every time.
May 15, 2020
My day at the ranch
By Yellowstone
I ran into Lee Hammett, which was awesome since he’s one of my favorite people in the world. And I immediately told him, “I’m a cow professional now; so, if you ever need my help, let me know.” I realized my faux pas since “cow professionals” actually call themselves cowboys…or cowgirls.
“Oh, really?” he asked. “And how much experience do you have?”
“A day,” I boasted. “But it was a loooong day.”
He raised an eyebrow before breaking out laughing.
“But seriously, I got a 30-percent raise my first day!”
“They paid you to be there?” he asked.
“Well, no. That’s why giving me 30-percent on nothing was so easy.”
As I drove away, I thought about my day on the ranch a few weeks ago…and the whole memory made me smile.
____________________
I always knew I’d be a great rancher after watching John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. I’d be amazing, as long as I didn’t have to actually touch…a cow. But if I ran a ranch, somehow everyone would respect me because I’d be the only one wearing heels without falling – AND the job would still get done. So, when a chance finally came along last week I thought I might die of pure joy. I’d shown up on “immunization and branding day” (of all things) to interview Steve Blaser for his upcoming birthday.
“Can I talk to you?” I asked as he ran cows through a chute. “It’ll just take a second.”
“I won’t have time until five o’clock,” he said nonchalantly, and my eyes grew wide because it was only 11:30!
As I watched him, I decided ranchers aren’t in a hurry to get interviewed mainly because they must live off a different clock than the media.
“Oh…five o’clock. Well, all right!”
Someone next to Steve told me I could help out if I wanted to.
If I could help in the way Maureen O’Hara did, then great!
“What can I do?” I asked Andrew Blaser, Steve’s son. “I’ve been to a cattle auction...and I saw a cow die once, but that’s it.” Other than all the westerns....
“Do you want to give the calves shots?”
I paled, looking even more the redhead I am.
Number one: I am not a nurse, a vet, or a phlebotomist.
Number two: I thought I’d be terrible at giving shots and probably hit a calf in the eye or something.
In fact, if the apocalypse were actually here I’d probably die first from one of those weird things you see on the movies — like not being able to give shots or perform brain surgery....or whatever strange thing they had on “The Walking Dead.” Maybe I should be glad the current apocalypse involves corona and not zombies.
As I stood there, thinking about how I couldn’t do anything – and maybe I was a useless city girl in high heels – I studied cowboys and cowgirls branding, tagging, and immunizing. Steve Blaser also eyed me like I was simply good at writing, but wasn’t tough enough to get out there.
With pent-up aggression only a redhead can feel, I took off my coat, purse, and keys. An obstinate fire lit my veins and I asked Christie Oleson – one of the best nurses EVER – to “show me the ropes.”
Inoculating cows sounds fancy, but it isn’t always easy – trust me, I know. Sometimes the syringe is tough to shoot and the skin can be thick too! There’s one thing I know, you need skin thicker than a cow’s to work on a ranch!
I gave shot after shot, getting faster and faster. Some of the cowboys were hilarious, fun, flirty, even mean. But, one thing was for sure, they were ALL nice after I inoculated myself. I looked down at the blood dripping from my hand. It happened because a calf, about ready to kill me, reared its head back and stuck its giraffe tongue out! I paused in pure fear...and the needle meant for it, jabbed deep into my paper-thin skin.
Someone jokingly asked why I shot myself. I said, “I better be willing to use my own product!”
Justin Oleson, Steve’s oldest – and tallest son – handed me a bandana to wrap around my hand. “You want to stop?” he asked.
Who was he kidding? I wasn’t gonna quit now – not when I was getting a story. Plus, another of Steve’s sons, Shawn, had given me a nickname, “Yellowstone,” because of the show. When someone gives you a nickname…that practically means you have to see the thing through!
As Shawn tagged another calf, I put my high heel boot on a metal bar so I could position myself and inoculate another calf.
“You know,” Shawn said. “That’s Justin’s snot rag.”
It’s a strange moment, feeling your face contort after finding out your hand is wrapped in a cowboy’s snot rag.
Shawn laughed so hard then, grinning big and tagging another calf with practiced skill.
This is me on the ranch. The best day ever!!!
After the bleeding stopped, I folded the snot rag and gave it back to Justin. “That was really kind of you. Thank you.”
Then, I found a beer and dumped it all over my hand. I know it was wasteful, but that’s what thoughts of death can do to a gal. The snot rag was one thing, but I’d also just poked dozens of calves with the same needle that jabbed into my skin. Who knew what I might die of?!
My life flashed before my eyes then; it was a short life filled with mischief and calamities. Then, I heard my dad’s voice drifting through the memories, “Only the good die young.” That’s when, I figured I’d be all right!
So, I stayed for the entire day – did actually fall on my butt once – got a nickname, and learned something wonderful in the process.
At the end, I cornered Steve, hoping he’d give me a quote. The man simply said, “It was a perfect day.”
That was it?! My grand quote?
But as I walked with him a moment more, he talked about the simplicities of life and the beauties of nature. It was extremely thought-provoking, really. And as I listened to cows finding their babies, I wondered if the man had me stay because he knew the experience had the potential to change my life.
After jumping in my SUV, I didn’t leave for a minute. Instead, I gazed out, thinking about how dream-like the day had been, surprised by how much I loved it.
I visited the ranch to learn something about a man for his 72nd birthday, and in the process I ended up learning a lot about myself.
I can see why his kids and grandkids work so hard for him. They want to protect and preserve something he worked to build because it means something to him and now it means something pretty powerful to me as well.
I ran into Lee Hammett, which was awesome since he’s one of my favorite people in the world. And I immediately told him, “I’m a cow professional now; so, if you ever need my help, let me know.” I realized my faux pas since “cow professionals” actually call themselves cowboys…or cowgirls.
“Oh, really?” he asked. “And how much experience do you have?”
“A day,” I boasted. “But it was a loooong day.”
He raised an eyebrow before breaking out laughing.
“But seriously, I got a 30-percent raise my first day!”
“They paid you to be there?” he asked.
“Well, no. That’s why giving me 30-percent on nothing was so easy.”
As I drove away, I thought about my day on the ranch a few weeks ago…and the whole memory made me smile.
____________________
I always knew I’d be a great rancher after watching John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. I’d be amazing, as long as I didn’t have to actually touch…a cow. But if I ran a ranch, somehow everyone would respect me because I’d be the only one wearing heels without falling – AND the job would still get done. So, when a chance finally came along last week I thought I might die of pure joy. I’d shown up on “immunization and branding day” (of all things) to interview Steve Blaser for his upcoming birthday.
“Can I talk to you?” I asked as he ran cows through a chute. “It’ll just take a second.”
“I won’t have time until five o’clock,” he said nonchalantly, and my eyes grew wide because it was only 11:30!
As I watched him, I decided ranchers aren’t in a hurry to get interviewed mainly because they must live off a different clock than the media.
“Oh…five o’clock. Well, all right!”
Someone next to Steve told me I could help out if I wanted to.
If I could help in the way Maureen O’Hara did, then great!
“What can I do?” I asked Andrew Blaser, Steve’s son. “I’ve been to a cattle auction...and I saw a cow die once, but that’s it.” Other than all the westerns....
“Do you want to give the calves shots?”
I paled, looking even more the redhead I am.
Number one: I am not a nurse, a vet, or a phlebotomist.
Number two: I thought I’d be terrible at giving shots and probably hit a calf in the eye or something.
In fact, if the apocalypse were actually here I’d probably die first from one of those weird things you see on the movies — like not being able to give shots or perform brain surgery....or whatever strange thing they had on “The Walking Dead.” Maybe I should be glad the current apocalypse involves corona and not zombies.
As I stood there, thinking about how I couldn’t do anything – and maybe I was a useless city girl in high heels – I studied cowboys and cowgirls branding, tagging, and immunizing. Steve Blaser also eyed me like I was simply good at writing, but wasn’t tough enough to get out there.
With pent-up aggression only a redhead can feel, I took off my coat, purse, and keys. An obstinate fire lit my veins and I asked Christie Oleson – one of the best nurses EVER – to “show me the ropes.”
Inoculating cows sounds fancy, but it isn’t always easy – trust me, I know. Sometimes the syringe is tough to shoot and the skin can be thick too! There’s one thing I know, you need skin thicker than a cow’s to work on a ranch!
I gave shot after shot, getting faster and faster. Some of the cowboys were hilarious, fun, flirty, even mean. But, one thing was for sure, they were ALL nice after I inoculated myself. I looked down at the blood dripping from my hand. It happened because a calf, about ready to kill me, reared its head back and stuck its giraffe tongue out! I paused in pure fear...and the needle meant for it, jabbed deep into my paper-thin skin.
Someone jokingly asked why I shot myself. I said, “I better be willing to use my own product!”
Justin Oleson, Steve’s oldest – and tallest son – handed me a bandana to wrap around my hand. “You want to stop?” he asked.
Who was he kidding? I wasn’t gonna quit now – not when I was getting a story. Plus, another of Steve’s sons, Shawn, had given me a nickname, “Yellowstone,” because of the show. When someone gives you a nickname…that practically means you have to see the thing through!
As Shawn tagged another calf, I put my high heel boot on a metal bar so I could position myself and inoculate another calf.
“You know,” Shawn said. “That’s Justin’s snot rag.”
It’s a strange moment, feeling your face contort after finding out your hand is wrapped in a cowboy’s snot rag.
Shawn laughed so hard then, grinning big and tagging another calf with practiced skill.
This is me on the ranch. The best day ever!!!After the bleeding stopped, I folded the snot rag and gave it back to Justin. “That was really kind of you. Thank you.”
Then, I found a beer and dumped it all over my hand. I know it was wasteful, but that’s what thoughts of death can do to a gal. The snot rag was one thing, but I’d also just poked dozens of calves with the same needle that jabbed into my skin. Who knew what I might die of?!
My life flashed before my eyes then; it was a short life filled with mischief and calamities. Then, I heard my dad’s voice drifting through the memories, “Only the good die young.” That’s when, I figured I’d be all right!
So, I stayed for the entire day – did actually fall on my butt once – got a nickname, and learned something wonderful in the process.
At the end, I cornered Steve, hoping he’d give me a quote. The man simply said, “It was a perfect day.”
That was it?! My grand quote?
But as I walked with him a moment more, he talked about the simplicities of life and the beauties of nature. It was extremely thought-provoking, really. And as I listened to cows finding their babies, I wondered if the man had me stay because he knew the experience had the potential to change my life.
After jumping in my SUV, I didn’t leave for a minute. Instead, I gazed out, thinking about how dream-like the day had been, surprised by how much I loved it.
I visited the ranch to learn something about a man for his 72nd birthday, and in the process I ended up learning a lot about myself.
I can see why his kids and grandkids work so hard for him. They want to protect and preserve something he worked to build because it means something to him and now it means something pretty powerful to me as well.
May 14, 2020
Don't lose hope -- it's simply time to grow
I'm currently trying to decide what to do with my life. I know this sounds crazy, since I'm ancient--37 years old! But basically, I finally had my dream job as a publisher at a newspaper--and after I lost that job it's not even as if a window opened...someone knocked over a damn wall. There are so many choices and opportunities. And it's not just for me...it's for all of us. Do you have any idea how much is out there? It's amazing really. And for the first time I feel like the avatar in a video game, but there isn't any regeneration or plus-ones to get bonus lives. There's just one life--one chance. So I better pick something I want to do and that I love. Whether I need to make money, want to do something I enjoy...have more time with my family. NOW is my chance to make it happen.
You know, it's funny because right before what I'll call "the big buyout of 2020"--before another company came in and I lost my job...I think God tried to prepare me.
Side note: Don't think I'm some hoity toity religious person. I was in high school, but after life kicked me in the teeth a few times (especially when my son died), I'm not a snob now. It's strange that God still seems to reach out to me. I'm not the best Christian ever: I have the heart of a giver and the mouth of a sailor (when I'm not around my mom or my children). And if anyone has ever been a modern-day Jonah, running...that's me. It's not that I don't love God, because I definitely do. I'm just so innately flawed and honest about it. Being a Christian for me is setting myself up for failure. I don't want to say "I'm a Christian," then go hang out with a bunch of people who seem to be perfect when I'm clearly not.
Anyway, the week before my life changed, I sat on my front porch. For some reason I started studying all the trees in my neighborhood. They're all groomed and beautiful...perfect shapes like you'd picture seeing perched in the Queen of Hearts' garden. I suddenly felt every bit Alice, in some magical place where plants grow so beautifully and people care so much. That's when I spied the tree across the street; that tree is lumpy.
No one takes care of the tree across the street; it has Albert Einstein hair except one side is twice as long as the other. And as I discovered all of its strange intricacies, the thing suddenly became so beautiful. It was fascinating seeing which branches reached toward the sky, or those that extended near the house. I could hardly believe how gorgeous it is! And then I realized that by the neighbors letting that tree grow, they helped it become the most striking tree on the block.
(I hope they won't read this. They probably just don't like trimming the thing.) BUT seriously--it's gorgeous.
So, as I prepared to write my post today, I saw that tree across the street and felt that it's somehow me. I have room to grow now--NOW is my chance. When one door closed, God just didn't open a window, He knocked out a wall. I honestly have no idea what the future will hold, but I'm excited. It doesn't really matter what comes our way because a good foundation is what stands the test of time. I have faith right now despite unemployment, the coronavirus and a struggling economy; even chaos has a pattern that makes sense of everything--when we can't always understand. If anything, this is one for the history books.
I may be Jonah, but even I know that God has a plan.
Hoping a whale doesn't come to swallow me,
Elisa
You know, it's funny because right before what I'll call "the big buyout of 2020"--before another company came in and I lost my job...I think God tried to prepare me.
Side note: Don't think I'm some hoity toity religious person. I was in high school, but after life kicked me in the teeth a few times (especially when my son died), I'm not a snob now. It's strange that God still seems to reach out to me. I'm not the best Christian ever: I have the heart of a giver and the mouth of a sailor (when I'm not around my mom or my children). And if anyone has ever been a modern-day Jonah, running...that's me. It's not that I don't love God, because I definitely do. I'm just so innately flawed and honest about it. Being a Christian for me is setting myself up for failure. I don't want to say "I'm a Christian," then go hang out with a bunch of people who seem to be perfect when I'm clearly not.
Anyway, the week before my life changed, I sat on my front porch. For some reason I started studying all the trees in my neighborhood. They're all groomed and beautiful...perfect shapes like you'd picture seeing perched in the Queen of Hearts' garden. I suddenly felt every bit Alice, in some magical place where plants grow so beautifully and people care so much. That's when I spied the tree across the street; that tree is lumpy.
No one takes care of the tree across the street; it has Albert Einstein hair except one side is twice as long as the other. And as I discovered all of its strange intricacies, the thing suddenly became so beautiful. It was fascinating seeing which branches reached toward the sky, or those that extended near the house. I could hardly believe how gorgeous it is! And then I realized that by the neighbors letting that tree grow, they helped it become the most striking tree on the block.
(I hope they won't read this. They probably just don't like trimming the thing.) BUT seriously--it's gorgeous.
So, as I prepared to write my post today, I saw that tree across the street and felt that it's somehow me. I have room to grow now--NOW is my chance. When one door closed, God just didn't open a window, He knocked out a wall. I honestly have no idea what the future will hold, but I'm excited. It doesn't really matter what comes our way because a good foundation is what stands the test of time. I have faith right now despite unemployment, the coronavirus and a struggling economy; even chaos has a pattern that makes sense of everything--when we can't always understand. If anything, this is one for the history books.
I may be Jonah, but even I know that God has a plan.
Hoping a whale doesn't come to swallow me,
Elisa
