Unfortunately, though I took tons of pictures on my phone to post on here, my computer won’t save them.   Perhaps there are still a few bugs on here that need to be worked out.

————

I went to the rodeo tonight with my dad, my grandpa, and my two lake cousins.

It was a really great time.

It was refreshing to put on the ol’ cowboy boots and my cowboy hat from last summer’s rodeo.

Naturally, I glanced around every so often to see if my future husband was there.  I don’t think I saw him.  And to my knowledge, I don’t remember feeling anyone tap on my shoulder.

We arrived at the complex a few hours before the rodeo started, so we had plenty of time to look at all the booths, eat dinner, and see some of the actual “stock” that had been brought from around the country to compete or to be auctioned off to other ranches or farms.

The first animals we saw were some little sheep.  I think it was the first time I’d ever seen a sheep that close in person.  I loved their beautiful wool coats.  Some of the sheep, as we walked through, were actually being sheered so that their wool could be judged in a competition.  Men or women were kneeling beside the sheep and gently using clippers (that looked exactly like the electric clippers/razor my dad uses to trim his facial hair) to shave the little sheep clean.

As we toured the livestock, I kept my eyes open for the pigs and the sheep and the cows and bulls, but I also figured this might be a great place to run into my future husband.  If anyone was hanging out down here–especially caring for some of the animals–it would have to be a real cowboy, I figured.

As we came towards the end, I saw more animals being groomed for show with animal-like blow dryers and fur being trimmed and cows in a separate room being showered.  I noticed that I wasn’t looking quite as closely for my future husband.  See, inside my mind, I was putting a theory together.

The theory went something like this:

If I married a cowboy, I would have a heck of a lot to learn.

As we walked up the concrete stairs that led to the retail booths, I imagined myself kneeling next to a sheep with clippers or spraying pet hair spray on the coat of a beautiful black cow.  The only problem is, I don’t really know anything about animals or how to care for them or how to cut their fur or how to make a sheep not run away as you spray water on him.

I am eager though, I said, clicking my heels on the concrete.

That’s my answer to a lot of things.  I’m young and I don’t have a whole lot of experience, but I’m eager to learn.  At least in theory.

Then I thought of all the other things my future husband could be.  Maybe he’s not a cowboy.  Maybe he’s a builder or a landscaper or a businessman or a truck driver or a salesman or an author or a private investigator or a teacher or a mechanic.

And come to think of it, no matter who I marry from that list, I won’t know much about what they do.  So I suppose it makes no difference.  Either I’ll have to learn to sheer sheep or groom cows or I’ll have to learn about blue prints or construction costs or how not to kill plants (which I haven’t been able to do on my own yet) or how to fix a carburetor or a hundred other things I haven’t yet thought of.

I’ll be in new territory.  I’ll have a lot to learn.

I guess it’s kind of like the pioneers I enjoy reading about, that came westward and had to press on and learn so much–just in order to survive.

Except I’m not sure my future will be quite that risky or daring.

I do pray it’s unlikely though.

Unless, of course, you watch the game objectively–being totally content no matter who wins or loses.  (My sister is like this and it inspires me.)

I was so excited for the game all week long that I forgot to think about anything other than what time it started.  About 40 minutes before kickoff, my sister and I figured it would be fun to have a couple of snacks for the game.  I jumped up and grabbed my purse and ran to Walmart and as I searched through about the 7th aisle for Velveeta, I remembered that I hadn’t really eaten lunch yet.  I had a late breakfast and a big bag of buttery popcorn at a matinee movie around lunchtime, but then I forgot to eat actual lunch.  As I picked up the phone to call my sister for help, I started staggering.  You know that lightheaded, weak feeling you get when you miss a meal by a few hours?  I hate that feeling.  As I made my way down the ice cream aisle, my stomach really started growling.  By the time I made it to the check out line, my cart was pretty full.  With everything I wanted to eat right there in that moment.

I might need to find a few more football games to watch to finish it all up.  And maybe invite several neighbors.

I couldn’t wait to see the Broncos beat the pants off the Patriots.  I was really looking forward to that.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go exactly like that.

At half-time, while my sisters and their husbands and the four little ones were standing around eating mint chocolate chip ice cream, I told them that I felt I should go upstairs to watch the second half.  “I just really need to concentrate,” I told them.

I had been keeping one eye on the game the whole night, eating Cheez Its with Mady on my lap and Guy next to me and running back and forth to Ella and Curly to fill up their bowls.  I loved it.  But when they all left me to go sit at the table and eat ice cream, I felt torn.  My team needed me.

In retrospect, with as tough a game as it was, I suppose they needed more help than what I could offer.

But I’m glad I gave it a try.

And you know what?

I like football.  Which is something I maybe didn’t think that much about 4 or so months ago.

I’m glad I sat down and watched some games these past few months.

I had a lot of fun (even if I still don’t know what “blitz” means).

It makes a small part of me wished that I had played a sport (the other, larger part of me knows that it might not have worked out very well since I’m not athletic).

The teamwork, the sportsmanship, the determination, the agility… the rugged, brave men.  It all inspired me.

Most of all, I’m glad I got to see Tim Tebow firsthand.

He’s pretty cool.

—

Since my computer still isn’t too pleased about uploading pictures from my camera (it had some viruses a couple weeks ago), I figured I’d throw in a few pictures from my phone.  It’s hard for me to imagine someone listening to me ramble on about nothing without some sort of picture or glimpse into real life.  Actually, it’s hard for me to imagine anyone listening to me ramble on and on period.

So if you’ve made it this far, you deserve this!

Try not to be jealous of my photography skills.

Some amazing cheese dip my sister made using only Blanco Velveeta and Rotel.  It might be the best cheese dip I’ve ever had.

Has anyone ever had these babies?  Yum!  I would be a great Wisconsin fan.

Next time, I’ll try to blog about something other than football.

Unless I think of something else over the next few days that I absolutely must share.

I have no idea how to play football.

What are the rules?

What’s a turnover?

Is it an interception?  Or a fumble?  Or both?

When I watch football, my dad sits in his recliner and I sit on the couch that’s closest to him.  I prop a few throw pillows behind my back so I can sit upright.  After 15 minutes or so, the pillows slide down and I find myself practically laying down, my head resting on the pillows.  Then the other team scores a touchdown and my heart starts racing and I sit back up, patting the pillows flat and propping them up behind my back again.

The announcers’ voices get louder and their words get closer together and all I know is that my team (which is only “my team” because of where I live geographically) is down by 14 points and it’s almost the fourth quarter.  I lean closer, trying to make sense of it.

The referee throws a flag out on the field.  The crowd starts cheering.  I clap and say, “Yep.  Mmmhhmmm!  That’s right, buddy.”  I lean back against my pillows.  I notice Dad isn’t smiling or leaning over to give me a high-five.  No one else looks too happy either.  The referee turns on his mic and starts talking.  “Holding.  Defense.  10-yard penalty.  Repeat first down.”  My dad keeps his gaze intently on the TV and I hear him sigh.  “Oh.  Are we the defense?” I mutter.  But I think I already know the answer, so I let my words trail off.

I don’t know about blitzing or prevent defense or throwing a hail Mary.  So I keep my eyes glued to the score. 

“Oh, man.  This is not good.  We’re losing by 14!  But we could totally still win.  And I think we will.”

Also, I talk to the players.  I tell them that they’re doing a good job and not to lose hope.

I pitch in where I can.

Which makes losing even more painful.

If I would have done less talking and cheering, would this loss hurt less?  I wonder, as the winning team pours a water jug of Gatorade on their coach and our team files hesitantly across the field.

The part that gets me is when the opposing quarterbacks shake hands.  The winning quarterback is always so humble and kind.  Maybe he just whipped our hineys, but he doesn’t let it show.  He doesn’t smile too big and I can’t see any hint of gloating in his expression as he shakes our quarterback’s hand.  Sometimes he even swings his other arm around for a pat on the back and a few words spoken into his ear.

I’m not sure I have it in me to lose as gracefully as they do.

And I’m not sure I have it in me to win as humbly as they do.

There’s nothing like seeing a win.  When they win, I know I have to tune in next week.  They might need my encouragement again, I say to myself.

And when they lose, there’s nothing like it.  And I know I have to tune in next week, because if they lose, I would hate for them to have to lose alone. 

So, basically, I’m in it.  As long as my team keeps playing, I have to keep watching.

And also, I have to root for Tim Tebow.  Because we need more like him.

Last night, after an evening of indoor swimming at my nephew’s 5th birthday party, I came home and sat on the floor with my hair still wet and my damp swimsuit soaking through my sweatpants and I held this little 3-inch by 6-inch device in my hands.  This miracle.

Who created smartphones?  Who created the touch screen?

Did this start with the dream of one man?

Lately I’ve been dreaming of what it would be like to be part of the first group of pioneers that settled the west.  I’m really not that strong or physically capable (and furthermore, could I get around without a GPS or being able to call my dad for directions?), so I’m not sure I could actually be one of those pioneers, but if I could just stand off in the corner and watch it all take place?  I would like that.

I finally peeled myself from the floor last night just long enough to take a shower and change into dry clothes.  Then I got into bed and cradled that little black screen in my hands until 12:30am this morning.  Downloading apps, marveling, and learning how to turn the screen this way and that.  But mostly just marveling.

And this afternoon, after I went to have my hair darkened back to my root color (which ended up being almost black–woops!), I sat down and marveled some more.  And then, as I was trying to figure out how to delete emails, I had this thought hit me out of nowhere:  If living back then meant that I couldn’t have this phone, then never mind. 

The creativity…  the ingenuity… the brilliancy…

If iPhones and Droids and Blackberrys are possible, what else is possible?

If a tiny flat little box can store songs and maps and movies and phone numbers and emails and a zillion other things I haven’t yet discovered, what else is possible?

If the Broncos can beat the Steelers tomorrow, what else is possible?

I’ll get back to you on that last one.

It was a tough, last-minute decision to go.  I already had all of my movies picked out.

But in the end, I’m really glad I went.

I sang on stage!  I sang karaoke!

—-

Halfway through the evening, I was sitting off to the side of the room with a bottle of water and a plate of shrimp, watching my brother-in-law and lake cousin sing Achy Breaky Heart.  On his way back to our table, my brother-in-law brought my mom and I small plastic cups of wine.  You see, my cousin works for a wine company and had some of his company’s wine out for everyone to enjoy.  We were excited to try some.  I had just popped a cough drop into my mouth and after my brother handed me the cup of wine, I took a swig with the cough drop still in my mouth.  The mixture of the two made the white wine taste like delicious, bubbly Cherry 7-Up.  I took a few more big swigs, perhaps a little too eagerly.  My dad was on stage singing Jackson with my cousin, Jody.  I was singing along and holding my nephew on my lap when suddenly, something felt a little strange.  I blinked my eyes and looked around the room.  I rested my hand on my sister’s shoulder and leaned towards her.  “The room isn’t moving, isn’t it?” I asked.

After my dad and Jody got off stage, my cousin, Ken, entertainer and host, handed out cards with song lines on them.  Then he called us all up to the stage.  All together we sang a song, each of us singing our lines one person at a time.  I was so focused on keeping my balance that I didn’t even think about singing out loud in front of a room full of people.  I just thought about standing upright.  And when it came time for me to sing my line, I opened up my mouth and words came out.  I mean, words that weren’t just said but sang!  I actually inflected my voice.

—

On December 31st, 2011, I sang a solo in front of a room full of people.

Ok, I sang a few lines that amounted to about 3 seconds.  But still.

And ok, the 10 or so people that agreed to play the game were standing in a circle by the stage and my back was to the room full of people.  But still.

And alright, it was without a microphone.  But still.

What I like to tell myself is this: I brought 2011 to a close with a bang, singing solo in front of a group full of people.  So I can’t imagine what’s in store for me in 2012.

—

I hope you had a wonderful, relaxing New Year’s Eve!

Holy smokes, this year went by fast!

In a few minutes, I’ll either grab my purse and go to my cousin’s house for a shindig involving Karaoke and Rockband and wine and champagne and shrimp cocktail, or I’ll go downstairs and make myself a comfy spot on the couch and gear up for a night of watching movies.

I’m 93% sure I’m going to the party.

But the idea of Karaoke makes me want to keep a small window open, just in case.

What if I got up to sing and my palms were so sweaty and my mind started racing and nothing came out of my mouth?

Or worse, what if something did come out?

I can’t sing.  Or carry a tune.

And yet, they will have shrimp cocktail.  And my two lake cousins will be there.

And yet, what if the coerce me to sing with them?

I fear that degree of embarrassment.  For them and for me.

And yet, I don’t recall ever being embarrassed while watching movies.

Shrimp cocktail… or laying on the comfy couch watching all my favorite movies, one after the other?

I think I’ll go brush my teeth and find my slippers and my favorite movies.

And then if I decide to risk embarrassment and go to the party in the next 14 minutes, at least my teeth will be brushed.

It’s the first day back after having four days off for Christmas.  Four days with my head in the clouds, surrounded by family.  Four days of dreaming.

I turn the keys in the ignition and take them out, dropping them into my snakeskin purse.  And then I see him.  Right from my seat and out through the windshield.  Through the other buildings.  Through time and miles.

He can’t be more than four years old.  The snow isn’t quite knee-deep.  It’s a brisk morning.  The sky is clear and blue and the mountains are full of white.  We’re out in the snow.  He’s wearing his jacket and boots.  I’m wearing a tan sweater (I’m not that tough–did I forget my coat?).  His little hands are in mine and I’m lifting him up and then dropping him down into the snow piles.  He cheers.

My heart flutters and I press my eyes tighter, trying to zoom in on his smile and his face.  The scene changes.

Now I’m inside a simple house with wide-plank wood floors and a rustic wood table.  It looks like home, but more the size of a cabin.  Simple and just right and full of warmth.  I reach up and open a cabinet and stand there quietly looking through the shelves.  Did I lose something?  It’s hard to tell.  There’s such stillness.  No hurrying.

I blink and now I’m standing in the doorway.  Watching him.  Him.  His coat is medium brown and made of suede or leather or some kind of similar material.  I can’t tell if it’s 100 years old or brand new.  It’s worn and warm and fits exactly who he is.  He’s working.  Bending and lifting.  Chopping into the stump of a tree with an ax.  I stand there, silent and smiling.  I can’t see his face or his eyes, but as I stand there watching him, I get this photograph that can’t be summed up in words.  This feeling of respect.  The kind that comes from being around someone so opposite of you.  Someone who talks and thinks and prays and walks and listens so differently than you.  And whose love silently teaches you to feel at-home around yourself.

I feel a rush inside of me and swallow hard as his brown coat fades.  I reach for the door handle of my car.

I smile as I walk across the parking lot.

I look for him.

Ben:  “How the heck did we get old?

Maggie: “Hell, I’ve always been old, Ben.  You know what though?  I don’t mind.  I mean, if my muscles ache, it’s ’cause I’ve used ‘em.  If it’s hard for me to walk up them steps now it’s ’cause I walked up ‘em every night to lay next to a man who loved me.  I’ve got a few wrinkles here and there but I’ve laid under thousands of skies on sunny days.  I look and feel this way, well, ’cause I drank and I smoked, I lived and I loved, danced, sang, sweat, and screwed my way through a pretty damn good life.  Gettin’ old ain’t bad, Ben.  Gettin’ old, that’s earned.”

—-
I like to talk.  I like to think deeply about things and share my thoughts.  But I get this amazing feeling inside me when I listen.

I want to learn to be comfortable enough in my own skin to listen to people no matter what they have to say.  I want to learn to smile and stay relaxed and keep listening even if they have a political opinion that I don’t agree with or if they dislike someone that I like or if they have an opinion that I think is ridiculous.

I’ve been realizing something: Sometimes the lie or the untruthful opinion that someone holds isn’t actually believed by them.  Sometimes, subconsciously, something in them wants to disagree just because they’re afraid.

Sometimes the most hurtful words or the most ridiculous, untrue opinion needs to be heard with tender eyes and a faint smile and a nod–not for the sake of the opinion being heard, but for the sake of the person being heard.

Sometimes, I wonder, if maybe all a person needs in order for the walls to come down is for someone to hear their mean words or their painful secrets or their untruthful opinion.

—-

Today at lunch, my dear friend told me about her weekend and about Christmas and some cooking foibles she had with her mom.  On the way back up to the office, we chit chatted in the elevator and then she kindly paused and said, “I’m sorry for complaining earlier–about cooking and my mom.”  For a few moments, I probably just stood there with a confused look on my face until the elevator dinged and the door opened.

After lunch, as my eyes were narrowed on the computer screen, one of my co-workers passed by.  “How’s your day going?” I asked as he pushed through the front door.  He kept walking, but turned briefly back and said, “Not the greatest.”  My heart sank and the door closed and then my heart leaped.  I sat there, eager, waiting.  Once he walked back through the door a few minutes later, I looked up again from the computer and said, “So, that was a pretty long meeting you had this morning.  Was it good?”  I didn’t want to be too obvious, I just wanted to give him the chance to let out some words that might make him feel better if he needed to.  The conversation was only a few sentences, but he said briefly what was bothering him.  I have no idea if he felt better afterwards.  I hope he did.  I know I did.

Tonight before dinner, my dad told my mom and I in passing that he’d hurt his shoulder at work.  We both listened and within seconds, my mom was making a plan to doctor him up after dinner.  As we were getting ready to dish food onto our plates, my dad casually added, “Sorry for complaining to you guys…”  The rest of the sentence trailed off.  I felt frozen again.  I looked up at my dad and tried to search back through his words.  I couldn’t remember him complaining.

Today during work, a friend that we used to work with emailed to say that her current job wasn’t working out and she was going to search for a new one.  She shared some stories about her current boss and how they run things.  I sat back in my chair after I’d read the email and felt relieved and surprised.  I haven’t been near the friend that I could have been towards her.  And it felt undeserved that she’d been so honest.  I felt extremely grateful.  And honored.

I guess that’s how I felt during all of the instances today.  It’s always a risk for someone to be honest; to say how they really feel.  I hope I can make more people feel that way.  Especially the people closest to me.  Especially my own family.  I hope I can make people feel like they aren’t complaining.  Every word and every feeling matters.  They matter.

—-

Since I sit at the front desk, I get a lot of people passing by me throughout the day.  Whenever someone is out sick, I get the most interesting replies.  “Out sick?  Yeah, I’m sure they are… probably out partying too late last night.“  It’s no different when I’m out sick.  “You were out sick last Friday?  Yeah, I bet that was nice having a long three-day weekend.”  There’s usually a smile or a chuckle, but I still find myself getting irked inside.

I had this thought a few weeks ago that I always, always, always want to be extra kind and sympathetic when someone is out sick.  Whether or not they were genuinely sick is totally irrelevant.  Sometimes people are sick in ways other than a migraine or the flu.  They need to be taken care of.  They need to feel like someone believes in them.

Feeling like someone is suspicious of you or doubts you is the worst feeling in the world.  But the person that knows they are loved no matter what can live an exciting, free, adventurous life absent of fear.

By total accident (in other words, I wasn’t searching for it), I happened upon his Facebook page tonight.  Shortly after we went our separate ways, as far as I knew, he was no longer on Facebook.  But tonight I tripped on what appears to be an account shared jointly between him and a woman he must really care for.

I got butterflies in my stomach.  And I smiled really big.  There weren’t any pictures (unfortunately), but I saw enough to see that he’s happy.  Truly happy.  And that whoever this woman is, she’s going hunting with him.  I like that.

Before I met him, his life was happy… but it had a lot of sadness too.  I always wondered and hoped that I could be part of a happy ending for him.  Even though it didn’t work out, I’m really glad he’s found that.  A happy ending.  And a new beginning.

I’m glad our paths crossed.  I learned a lot from that man.

—–

I can’t see any sign of the man I’m supposed to marry [yet].  But I hope this is like the calm before the storm.  I hope this is me being totally unassuming and that just as someone once told me, when I’m least expecting it, I’ll stop by Walmart one day without my hair and makeup looking just right, and there he’ll be.

Just in case, I’m waking up early tomorrow morning and going to Walmart.  I need ingredients to bake a cake.  I’ll probably forget to put on make-up or look in the mirror before I walk out the door.  The conditions will be just right!  Whether or not he’ll be there is yet to be determined.

—-

Not much has changed in the past year.  And yet, when I look back at the thing I wrote a year ago, there has been one gigantic change.

I love this time of year.  I love Christmas.

Last Christmas Eve, I remember telling God that I hated Christmas.  It was nothing against Him or what this season represents, it was what was going on inside me.  I was busy and I felt stressed and obligated and unhappy.  I was thrilled when I woke up on December 26th.  Thrilled that it was all over.

This year, I can’t seem to get enough.  Last night I turned the lights off and sat in front of my mom’s Christmas tree with a cup of hot chocolate and just stared.  Then I grabbed my camera and took pictures of the different ornaments.  And then I wandered around the house and took pictures of all my mom’s Christmas decorations.

Most of my life, when it comes to decorating the tree and the house, I try to fade into the background.  My mom is far better at decorating than me and to be honest, it overwhelms me.  I’ve always looked more forward to taking everything down.  Getting back to normal and simplifying.

This year, I’m trying to talk my mom into keeping it up longer.  January?  February?  I can’t bear the thought of taking it down after next week.

And winter:  I love it.  I love the smells, the snow, the chill in the air, the dark.

Who am I?

I still adore Summer.  But winter is wonderful too.

For instance, when we go for more than a week without snow, I start dreaming of living in Alaska.  Crazy talk!

————

Watching old Disney movies and children’s movies reminds me of something.

It reminds me to dream unrealistic dreams.

When I was growing up, this was not a problem.  I don’t think my feet hardly touched the ground until I was about 23.  I had such huge dreams and expectations.  And in a good way, around the age of 23, I started to embrace reality–and mostly, to embrace people as they were.

But when I watch Beauty & the Beast or a Hallmark Christmas movie, I’m reminded again of that perfect innocence that has no reason not to believe that something impossible is possible.

Especially when it comes to men and the man I hope to marry.

Sometimes I need to be reminded that princes still do exist.

Tim Tebow reminds me of that too.

(Sorry.  Had to throw that in there.)

After the game was over, I watched John Fox and Tim Tebow’s interviews with the media.  That was the first time I heard Tim Tebow speak (I need to get out more).  In fact, I think it may have even been the first time I saw his whole face–other than the picture they usually show next to his name during a game.

His speech surprised me.  It wasn’t just about football.  Or the last-minute victory that he pulled off.  He talked about what he believed in.  And he was humble.  And bold.

After we turned off the TV, my dad and I stood in the kitchen for a good 30 minutes talking and wondering.  About life.  About what we’re meant to do.  About things that Tim Tebow’s speech made us think of.

I sat at the computer this afternoon in my sweats and I thought again about that speech.  I tried to google it and instead found a video clip with Tim Tebow’s mom talking about the day when doctors told her to abort her son due to an illness she had.  Then the camera flashed to Tim’s father: “We already had four children and I just prayed and said to God, ‘If you want another preacher in this world, give him to me and I’ll raise him.’  We thought we had lost the baby about four times.  He’s a miracle...”

What a story.  That a baby that wasn’t even supposed to make it and almost didn’t make it would go on to become a quarterback in the NFL.

I’ve thought about that a lot today.

Since I’m living under the same roof as my sister and her husband and their two kids, I think a lot more about children and the job of a parent.  Especially the job of a mom.

When I see my sister and the patience and joy she has after cleaning up the same messes again and again, kindly reminding them of the same small rules again and again, washing the same stained shirt again and again, buckling and unbuckling the multiple straps in their car seats again and again, I think I ought to be taking notes.  As much as I want to be a mom or trade places with my sister when I head off to work in the morning, deep down, I know that her job is far harder than the hardest day at my job.

As a mom, I imagine the days seem repetitive and a lot of the cleaning and wiping noses and doing load after load of laundry may feel like drudgery.  But then blink one day and your child has grown.  And who have they become?

I wonder what Tim Tebow’s mom feels when she watches him give a speech like he did the other night.  Maybe she feels surprised and shakes her head and thanks God because she has no idea how he ended up where he is now.  Or maybe she nods her head and thanks God, because she remembers day after day of dirty diapers and endless messes and putting out fights and wondering where all of it was going.  And now, everything she sees coming out her son, she remembers sowing into him again and again and again, day after day.

I hope I meet my future husband on Monday.  I hope I marry him on Tuesday.  I hope we have kids on Wednesday.

And yet, deep down, I know that I need every second I have between now and then to prepare me for what lies ahead.  For having what it takes to have the patience of my sister.  And to say the brave words that Tim Tebow’s dad said.  And hopefully, someday, to look and see the harvest that has grown from the seeds that I’ve planted like I imagine Tim Tebow’s mom can.