Name Change

Ten Minutes On 127

I figured since I had a name change it was time to change the blog name.

Ten Minutes On 127 references the conversations that occur on the morning drive into 

work with my love, Mr. Clean (formerly Mr. Z).

Topics and opinions will vary.

Please join us on the ride. 

The Finger of Judgement - A Poke In the Eye

Over the last few weeks as I have scrolled through my social media reel I have been regularly bombarded with comments, quotes, news threads, memes,  and videos. 

Some are uplifting. Some, not so much.

This week we followed up a trip to the zoo with a night of dancing and Disney World.

Each of those outings should be joyful. Adventurous. Educational. Exciting. Memory bubbles.

Each ended in loss. Deep, painful loss.

Memory bubbles that people involved or who witnessed want to burst.

However it appears we are all now award winning specialists in parenting, corporate business, guns, political science, zoological studies, Photoshop and meme creations. 

Yet as I scroll...I continually remind myself I admire and respect the diversity of my friends. 

I have yet to hide or unfriend someone because of their posts.

But I think we need a little eye exam. 

We keep blaming people. 

People we have never met. 

We judge people we don't know. 

We unfriend someone because their posts annoy us, rub the wrong way. 

Or tell people to unfriend us if they don't agree with us.

We keep pointing our finger at someone. Anyone. 

We are all crammed in here. 

Someone is going to get a finger in the eye. 

I've been judged since I was little. Poked in the eye you could say. 

Here is a list I started of the times I recall someone making a judgmental comment. 

My freckles. 

For saying "aunt" instead of "ant".

In middle school when we were learning about WWII and the Nazi involvement. My maiden name is Weitzel. My great great grandparents came over from Germany. A kid asked me if I was a Nazi...in the 70's in rural Ohio. 

I participated in band and drama in high school.

During college I was called a N lover because my boyfriend was black. Some of you just judged me. Either because I dated a black man or because I referred to the N word or because I didn't say the N word. 

Then I converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. LDS. Mormons. 

I was judged for choosing to have three babies instead of stopping with the American nuclear family. 

Not coloring my hair.

Wearing my hair short.

My physical size. 

Leaving the LDS church.

Online dating. 

I post too many pictures about ice cream and #foodporn. 

There are those of you who would say it's more along the line of teasing. But teasing means you aren't comfortable with something or someone different than you. 

The judgment isn't new. We have all experienced it. 

It's public now. It's on a larger scale.

It's not just about freckles anymore. 

Social media means we can do it behind the keyboard.

We don't even have to respond. We just blindly post...point our finger...and walk away. No responsibility for our verbal or meme actions. 

We are cyber bullies. 

Even if it's for LGBT rights. We are bullies. 

Even if it's for religious freedom. We are bullies. 

Even if it's for animal rights. We are bullies. 

I fully believe in the freedom of speech. But if all you do is talk, shout, yell, scream... 

We..the adults... have become nothing more than a nation of toddlers having a tantrum and won't take a breathe long enough to listen to the adults around us who might be willing to compromise...or just ask a clarifying question.

Here is the thing.

Mr. Z. If you know him. Friends with him on social media. You know he is pretty conservative when it comes to his political views. 

I, on the other hand, am not as conservative. More of the bleeding heart, give the money to the children, but can we repair the USA before we go trying to fix other countries? Patriotic down to my toes. And yes, I think we should have guns...with limits. 

As you can guess Mr. Z and I do not see eye to eye on all things political. 

You ask, How do we do it?

We talk. Actually talk. And...get this, we listen. Listen with the intent to understand. 

We listen so we can explain to others what makes our love tick. 

Also. We clearly understand, accept, feast and revel in the mere fact that our political views are not what make us...individuals or a couple. 

There is SO much more to know, learn from and love about a person.

My goal?

“...people change, even good people, if they get the wrong thing in their head. And not everything is always what it looks like and sometimes just because one person looks weak, they might be very strong, and another person might look like a spooky freak but he might be one of the kindest people you'd ever meet. And I guess I learned that time is slippery...We have to enjoy every second, love with all our hearts, all we can, while we can.” -Lee Thompson

Personally I think there are better ways to express our thoughts, beliefs, opinions.

First, if you don't like what you see. It irritates your eyes? Scroll on. 

Second, open your fists.

Third, breathe.

Fourth, truly make a heartfelt attempt to listen with understanding.

Fifth, make educated decisions about what you post. Post to cultivate.

Since She Left

This beautiful lady, Ruby Astor Mabes Weitzel, would have been 91 years old tomorrow. She left us five years ago next month. Some days it seems as if it was yesterday we were going to doctor appointment after doctor appointment, playing charades to figure out the word she couldn't recall from her memory, and playing hide and seek with the hearing aid batteries. And other days it feels as if she has been gone a lifetime.

I know many of us fear hearing our mother come out of our mouths...or turning into our momma's...for all the reasons we despise. Not all of us are blessed to have a "she's my best friend" relationship with our mothers.
I came across this picture a couple of months ago. For the first time, I discovered myself physically in my mother. I saw my beauty in her young eyes and smile. I noticed my daughter and niece in there too.

I came to the conclusion that today would be a good day to pass along some Ruby-isms I have come to cherish in the last five years. I believe they enhance my beauty. Some she embodied, some I wish she had cultivated to a different level, nevertheless, lesson learned.

-If you have southern roots, honor and revel in them.
-Have one, failproof, homemade ice cream recipe.
-Good shoes make a woman.
-Always have lipstick on hand...I prefer lip gloss, it does the trick.
-Go to church.
-Moisturize. Daily.
-Plant flowers.
-Plant flowers to attract birds.
-Appreciate the beauty of creativity.
-Listen to music....I'll add, all kinds. Open your mind to talent.
-Read. Read. Read.
-There is nothing like a bushel of freestone peaches from North Carolina.
-Walk on the shores of a beach. Collect God's treasures.
-Please and thank you go a long way.
-Show and tell your children and grand babies you love them.

Happy Birthday, Mema.

Sciamachy and a War Cry

My last two posts addressed my celebratory entrance into the battle of 50th year of my life.
Now it's time for a little war room conference with you, dear friends...warriors.

Let's start with Mononucleosis...at 50?!
I have often said I'm a deep tissue learner. Well this one cuts to the bone.
Forced rest. Forced to take care of me. Me?!
Yes, me.
The only treatment for mono is rest and fluids. The doctors note said "work half days for two weeks". What was I supposed to do with four extra hours?
Yes, Silver...I come home and nap immediately...purely because I can barely move at that point.
But then what?
I headed to my bookshelf. Playing It By Heart; Taking Care of Yourself No Matter What, The Happiness Project, The Red Tent, The Alchemist...they leapt off. I needed to go back into each book and find the message they held for me. They are taking on new roles. Daily devotional scriptures have provided guidance and ample space for lessons.
How am I to use all of this information in my battle? Looking out for myself, work/home/life organization tools, building a community of women, and "transforming the power of our dreams and the importance of listening to our hearts".

Over the last five years I worked to forgive myself and Ed so that we could be an abnormal/new normal family for the kids. I chose to have a positive outlook, solely because the weight from weapons of negativity was too heavy...and I wanted to share the freedom from my shoulders. I have selected my soapbox skirmishes based on my passion for itty bitty people, their need for quality care and available resources for all families. I chose to battle for and with my adult children. Letting them know I was fully behind or beside them as they took on their own war.

Now I have to reflect on the path I engaged in. I wouldn't change a thing.
I have released, grown, flourished, and downsized my life.
But I have imaginary enemies, that I created.
Here is the time to end the fight.
It isn't a loud war cry. Just me.
It's not intended to cause fear.
My prayer is to inform, to open doors of conversation, to soothe disgruntled minds and hearts, to put another face on a story.

A woman leaving the Mormon church.

I didn't make this decision lightly. Those who know me understand that I rarely make rash decisions. I ponder, pray. I look at things from all sides. I considered how it may impact those close to me. I make a step by step plan. A flow chart, you could say?...because the best people in my life make flow charts or lists, and follow them to remain focused and grounded. Back in 2014 I began to inspect my relationship with Christ. Where and how it began. Why did it feel like it was lacking something? Had it been replaced? Or was I not looking to Him? Was I short changing the grace that had been provided? Nearly a year ago I made a plan to slowly "sneak" away from the LDS church. I prayed for guidance. I prayed for a church where I would be fed, engaged, called to glorify Christ and challenged to look in the mirror. Up close.
Now, I don't advise the "sneak" process, because it doesn't feel good on the inside. Just like "sneaking" that last roll of Thin Mints isn't good for your insides.
In April I was invited to visit a church. That first Sunday I felt the Spirit through words that were spoken just for me, words to soothe my wounds, words to challenge me to make changes. To be brave.
Mr Z. has sat beside me, prayed with me, read scripture with me, taught me, listened to me.
Slowly and with that prayerful plan I talked to the Gooseberries, Peanut, Bean, Iam, Steinway, Ed and Silver.
I know in those conversations a few hearts were bruised.
We still speak of church. Of faith. Of prayer. Our conversations haven't changed much. Peanut tells me of her callings, I support her, I will attend blessings and eventually baptisms. Bean and Iam know that I desire for them to have a belief in a higher power. To find a place of worship.

For you, whom this is a surprise or consider it a wound to our relationship...I ask that you look at my heart. It hasn't changed. I don't want a change in where I sit on Sunday to be the reason friendships end or are diminished.
If you have questions...come to me. Please don't take second or third party communication. The fact that I have openly discussed this with a limited number of people should tell you that not everyone has the full story.

For all of you, dear friends.
Have a new battle plan. I was advised to make my circle larger. Part of expanding the circle is removing this imaginary enemy to allow others to take it's place. Allowing the light to come from above so there is no shadow to fight. We can look up into light and together create our new war cry.
Personally I'm working on a commandment from the book of John. Would you care to join me?

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.  By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

War cry...

I'm 50 and I won't apologize.

A young friend reposted a blog the other day that questioned the Happy Life we often post on social media and if it is a false representation of what we really live. A sugar coated life to present to others so they don't see what lies beneath the surface.
I commented that I had been entertaining the thought of apologizing to all of you for all of my pictures with Mr. Z, or the food, or the positive quotes, or the sappy music that makes me dance...but then I thought...

I'm 50 and I won't apologize!

We live in an in your face, hide behind the key board world. On one side I agree that we have our right to do (within the laws) and say what we want. In essence that is the beauty of our freedom in this country. Yet on the other side because we now live in a society where we have instant access to news; just add hot water and wham! everyone can become a commentator, celebrities are heroes...good or bad, your phone video could capture history. Thing is? Everyone can become a commentator! Everyone Tells Something. We are constantly bombarded with information. Buy this. Drive that. Go to this store. Only cheer for this team. Be scared of them. Hate them. If someone looks like this, be very afraid.
Rarely does that information ask questions.
Cause you to pause and reflect.
Question.
Discuss
Why?
Why dislike them?
Am I happy?
What really creates happiness?
Does anyone know how to have a discussion? Or only shove their opinion down a throat.
Possibly why children don't know how to problem solve? Hmmmm.

Kids. Get ready.

The day I turned fifty a co-worker sent me a video of Sally O'Malley. I had never seen Sally...but I sense she might be my mascot for the next year.
So friends. For your viewing pleasure...Let's start with.

Moving on. I won't apologize.

I won't apologize for my pictures with Mr. Z. I am truly happy. I have found my needle in a haystack. I found my Mr. Incredible who wants to plan adventures with me. Who loves to cook and explore new foods. My man who listens. He listens to learn. Listens to give back to me. A man who can discuss our differences. Really talk, not argue his side. Politically we do not see eye to eye on every topic. Yet we can spend hours on how we each came to our view so we know where each other stands but also so we can explain or defend their view to someone else. I would much rather someone see that Z comprehends my political view and than him trying to tell them why he hasn't "changed" me. It shows respect and cohesiveness as a couple. My man with an unshakable deep faith in a loving God. Who upon one of our first dates said he was looking for a woman who he wouldn't have to convince or coerce to sit by his side at church as they grew old. A man who prays with me. Reads scripture with me daily. Then...discusses that scripture with me, as an equal. This man who makes me laugh and giggle. Who holds my hand, kisses the back of my neck and keeps me safe by his side.
This is why I show you my pictures of me with Mr. Z.
To show you faithful deep silly love.

I won't apologize for all the pictures of the food. It means I have been blessed with plenty. I am fortunate. With this I will take note that I need to give in some way. I need to provide to others. So if anything I should apologize for not being charitable with my bounty.

I won't apologize for the pictures of my children or posts of their accomplishments. My closest friends know my kids are not perfect (sorry Peanut, Bean and Iam-I had to let them know) and that there have been some real life struggles at times. I have shared portions of the struggles here within the blog as way to move forward and celebrate the success in overcoming a hard trial. But while we are in the moment it is not for viewing pleasure. Something not all families have come to understand. While I loved the Brady Bunch I am not ready to have you all watch us play out our version of Her Sister's Shadow (Marcia! Marcia! Marcia! fame) on Facebook. So I will share posts and pictures of my kids so we can all link arms to create a strong safety net for them. But also so we can be closer for each others kids and whisper those words of encouragement into their ear when they think no one understands.

I won't apologize for friends who are...in no particular order... white, black, Asian, Polynesian, Iranian, Syrian, Christian, Jewish, Zen Buddhist, Muslim, Atheist, Mormon, Northern, Southern, Canadian, gay, liberal, conservative, straight, married, single, divorced, with kids, without kids, curly haired, straight hair, bald, freckles or no freckles....even OSU fans.
Do you see how far this can go? (And I was teased about my freckles as a child.)
Because honestly?
I have friends in each "category".
Some can claim a few. Fist bump.
I love each and every one of you.

Because you make me...me.

I am told I have a large heart that gives great love. My compassion for others. It can get me in trouble at times. Hurts at times too. Especially when the news feeds are playing teeter totter with friends.
But here I am. I won't apologize for loving my friends for who they are.
Individuals.
Seeing goodness inside them. Witnessing a struggle they have overcome. Feeling the hug they gave me when I returned to work after my mom died. Tasting food they provided my family after an illness. The look of joy on their face as they celebrate their marriage.
Can you decipher who was who.
Does it seem like only my white Christian married conservative with kids and straight hair no freckles friend could hug me after my mom died?
Get a grip folks. Legally blind without corrective lenses.

I won't apologize for my faith in a loving God. This is ultimately where my joy comes from. A God who tells me I am worthy. Who hears and answers my prayers. He lets me rage. He comforts me. He celebrates with me.

This year I have decided to celebrate fifty. Whether it be a piece of jewelry that inspires me, activities that take me outside my comfort zone, people who engage me, or vistas, music, or prose that speak to my soul...I'll post...
This is 50... and you will know it is part of the celebration of life.

Does this life make me look 50?

Here I am on the eve of turning fifty years old. 

No need to pull out the Lawrence Welk reruns and Geritol yet.....

maybe I should say Brady Bunch and Swanson Frozen Dinner to align with my era. 

But does my life make me look fifty? 

Does it smell old? Has it seen better days? Does it look dated?

No. 

It is current and geared up for adventure.

So I'll hand out a few gems of wisdom from these first fifty years of childhood. 

I'll start with one that influences women and men.

Body image. 

How about my obvious physical characteristic. Silver hair. 

I started turning gray in my late twenties. When I was thirty three I was mostly gray and decided to "let it go" before it became a Disney sensation. 

Yes kids, I was the undiscovered muse for Elsa. 

As I settled into my graying and then silver hair I had to address the rest of the outward images that caused people to judge...or caused me to assume they judge. My freckles had long been a source of an impaired self image. Body shape...the hips don't lie. 

Throw in some glasses to correct that legally blind eye sight. 

I couldn't rely on the media or my mother to empower me to love...me. 

I had to make that decision. It was and is a hard road filled with detours, people who have better transportation and potholes...bread, tall friends, and gelato to start. 

But everyday I keep a gps with me and my eyes straight ahead. 

I am a strong, healthy, beautiful and worthy of great love. 

Dating in my forties...well I discovered many men were still looking for a body type. 

An image. A brand label. Someone to make them look younger, sexier, desirable, wealthy. 

 I became selective about what I was attracted to...hands, work ethic, shoulder width, smiles accompanied with good teeth and a hearty laugh. 

I also found that a real man had his own physical foibles and owned them. They acknowledged as we age...everything settles, grows, flops somewhere else. 

Therefore love comes from a deeper place within us. 

For ourselves and each other.

Let's move on.

The next sparkly gem is that ability to overcome obstacles in life.

Everything from teenagers to divorce to a family history of addictions to religion to the hospice care of dying parents to unemployment. I have taken it on. 

At first I would allow the event to overwhelm my life. I would blame others. 

 When you blame others for your problems...they typically aren't there to fix it or save you. 

Because it's not their concern. 

They are onto the next best thing, or drama, in their life.

It was up to me to seek solutions. To forgive myself. To ask for help. 

To get my hands dirty and do the work of cleaning out the mess of my life. 

Do you know what comes with that hard work? 

You unlock your own super hero. 

That. Is empowering. 

Yes, even asking for help can be empowering. 

This next jewel goes hand in hand. 

Once you are in your superhero cape? 

Don't apologize for your strength. Don't make excuses for your abilities. Don't look back. 

The last nugget of knowledge I can pass along from these first fifty years of childhood...

Those troubles. 

Obstacles.

Finances.

People.

Worries.

Give them away. 

The one constant in my life that my parents passed along was that there is a God greater than me and He loves me. 

He loves my silver hair.

He loves my kids when they are reeking havoc on my mind and heart. 

He loves my worries.

He loves the people that drive me batty.

Recently a young man with a huge heart for God said it this way.

Christ is standing there with open hands just waiting for you to put those concerns into his hands. When you do he will say "Thank you, I have been waiting for this."

Sometimes I have to be on the floor in tears with white knuckles grasping the problem. 

I have been trying so long on my own that I can't imagine a life without that pain or heartache. 

When we place our kids, our worries, our battles in His hands we can receive peace. 

Grace.

I know this to be true. 

I handed over Ed. I handed over Peanut, Bean, and Iam. I handed over my love life. 

Without Gods hands all in my mess, like a child and finger paint, how could I have a Thanksgiving meal with Ed in Mr. Z's home? 

Without His hands in my mess how could I sleep at night while I have had teenagers with a prefrontal cortex that isn't fully developed? 

Without His hands in my mess how could I have been led to the man who is my needle in the ginormous haystack? 

So dear friend, does this life make me look fifty?

Possibly. Certain days I feel all fifty years. 

The majority of the time I'm ready to dance my next fifty out.

What I know? All those sayings that I love to share...

There is joy in the journey.

Everyday I choose.

All is well.

She took a deep breathe and let it go.

Even though she be but little, she is fierce.

They are all shadowed by this...

Flood Warning:..and I Am Standing In The Stream

This is about to get deep. For some of you the water may become a little rough, or too cold, or you might be concerned a frog or turtle is going to meander across your toes. Yet I know a few of you are looking ahead and hoping for some better rapids. Grab a swimsuit, or waders, or wet suit. One will fit your needs.

Keep in mind...This is only part of the journey.
What was one of my mantras for the last five years?
There is joy in the journey.

Last weekend I found myself in Montreat, North Carolina.  My home during my college years. A place where upon driving through the stone gate you feel a spirit that does not exist outside that gate. A place where, when I needed solace I would find a large rock in a stream, like the one pictured above, and I would sit.
Sit. Pray. Cry. Listen. Pray. Listen. Sit. Breathe. Repeat.
I also found myself smack in the middle of Flood Warnings stemming from rainfall the previous week and the backlash of Hurricane Joaquin while I was in NC.
Wanting to share "rock hopping" with Mr Z was no longer in our plans.
The streams were high and the water was running fast.

As our time of food, laughter, cloudy mountain views, and more food came too a close we went to church in the same chapel I had spent four years in during my early twenties. Years of youthful rebellion. Years of quiet repentance. Years of testing limits. Years of sweet grace.

Here is where the waters begin to rise.
Over the last year and a half or so I had been slowly doggy paddling at my church. Seems I was in deep water and needed some saving. Yet I'm not quite sure what would have been the best form of rescue. One friend described her own struggle as "drowning in the middle of strong swimmers, and that they could save me if they would! This gap between how deep my need was and how ineffectual the help was--as kindly and regularly as it was offered--proved devastating". This seemed to best explain my wayward journey...although it was not, and is not, a spiritual or moral loss. 
I was drowning, but I never became fearful of the water. 
I know it is a life source.

I started looking around. 
Almost as if I was walking around with a divining rod.
When I met Mr Z he asked about my faith, because his is solid. Has been since he was nine years old. It is his Life Guard blowing the whistle, reminding him not to run, keeping an eye out for him when someone else was jumping in, checking the water levels...all for him. 
I told him...I had water...but I was in search of water. 

Mr Z and I began to attend church together. It is not unusual for us to have an hour or more discussion on a spiritual topic. We start our days with a small devotional, via text. This, I know now, is our Anchor. It holds us firm in rough water. 

I continued my exploration. As an individual. 
I was reading daily from the best resource for water rescue. 
Sharpened my topographic map skills. 
Talking to the best Life Guard known, reaching out to him several times a day. 
I needed to be ready when I found water. 

As I sat in that chapel last weekend with Mr Z I realized I was standing in a stream.
The water was cool and clean.
Mr Z was there beside me. Hand in hand.
We have made it abundantly clear to each other that we can rock hop, or water ski, or skip stones, or go deep sea diving together.
The main focus will always be that we are in this water together.
To explore all the adventures and blessings it can provide.
To ride out the storms. To haul water to the dry garden. To provide a water bottle to the parched lips. To dance in the rain. To count the seconds between lightening and thunder. To see the rainbow and acknowledge it's promise.

As we rode home to Michigan we listened to a sermon focused on the book of Acts.
How "we come to understand that God writes his best words on human hearts and mundane lives."

The topic? Streams

I have found my source for water. I'm calling a Flood Warning.