Faster Than The Egg Nog

The last blog post of 2014. 
Where does the time go?
Down the drain faster than the egg nog. 

I called Cody, just after hitting the road for work:
Me: YUCK! I'm going to PUKE! I just took the last of the milk for breakfast and I took a big gulp of it as I pulled onto the highway - IT WAS SOUR! And I couldn't spit it out because I was on the highway. BLAH! I need a toothbrush!
Him: It's funny you called. I saw that you took the last of the milk so I just chugged some egg nog on my way out the door. Definitely bad. DEFINITELY. BAD.

I laughed - and gagged - all the way to the office. 

That sums up 2014 for us. Week days drag on, then all of the sudden sour milk makes you realize just how quickly time moves: Faster than the egg nog. 

I'm generally not one for annual resolutions because...well, they're a part of my life only until March. But in 2015 I feel compelled to share a few big things I'd like to accomplish, ongoing throughout the year.

1. Take Care

I'm committing to taking better care of myself. Not only does this include eating better, it also entails flossing and not popping my knuckles. Also, exercising if there is time. Baby steps. 

I'm committing to taking better care of this house. I mopped with my Mr. Clean Magic Eraser this week and was so embarrassed by the dirt found on the sponge by the end of the task that I removed the eraser and wrapped it in a plastic bag then disposed of it, as if to hide evidence. It was as though I was disposing of a smoking gun. Momma would have been mortified. 

I'm committing to taking better care of my husband. No husband should be left to suffer through a breakfast of sour egg nog. I could have at least offered him some of that Dollar General Wonder Bread he kindly provided me................

2. Find Beauty

My friend Laramie (remember the gal who - for once in her life - was on time and it saved her life?) is my best example of finding beauty in every day. I don't know how much time in a day she spends taking photos, but if I had to guess  I'd say it may account for a second job. But she's damn good at it, and I'm grateful. Sunrise to sunset: She has a great eye and a trigger finger. Her ability to see things reminds me to open my own eyes. 

Photo by Laramie Smith 

How does she do that?

In 2015 I'm committing to finding beauty in the strange world around me. Everyday: To finding, studying and appreciating the beauty. 

As practice, I took these two shots as I wrapped up my evening:

I call the left one "Toothpaste on Faucet" and the right one "Dirty Dishes"

Move over, Laramie. 

There's a new Beauty Finder in town. 

Kind of. 

3. Communicate

In 2015, I commit to writing again. 
Not for work (though I will because my livelihood depends on it). 
Not for this blog (though I will because my sanity depends on it). 
But for the sake of connecting. Or, reconnecting. 

And to keep my handwriting in tact. I wrote a check two weeks ago and could barely decipher my own script. 
I'd hate for someone to try to cash my check for "Two Hungry and Fifty Six Daubers". 

58 Daubers are just too many. 

In My Life, B.C. (Before Cody) I wrote one letter a week to friends or family across the country without second thought. With an ink pen. The kind with no backspace. 
It was natural. 
It was easy. 
It was fun. 
I had time. 
I did laundry occasionally because I had four closets and no one questioned it. 
I didn't have a husband...or cows. 
But now I have grand responsibility and even bigger love. 

In 2015 I commit to starting again, to writing one hand-written note a week. The kind of letter - that - three decades from us will find in a shoebox tied with string. And they'd read in it in awe, trying to match my handwriting with a font. And they'll wonder what a New Years Resolution was. 

My Goals for 2015 Summarized 

(see, you could have skipped to the bottom and saved some time)

1. Take Care

What have you neglected?

2. Find Beauty

What have you overlooked?

3. Communicate

What words do you need to speak?

I hope that when I awake from the holiday haze in February I've stuck to my written words. I wish the same for September, when I'll wonder where the summer went. And next December, when I sit down to reflect again, I hope you can hold me accountable by thinking to yourself: I saw one of her letters. 

Or, you could think: She definitely looked 

thinner when I saw her in June. 

Whatever comes to your mind first. 

The Fiercest Competitor

There was a time in my life when I thought Eli Young Band's song, Guinevere, was written about me. 

She don't hold onto nothin' new for very long
Yeah she writes you in as just one more tale
and then you're gone

But then something changed. 
I found something I didn't want to let go of. 
I found something that completely captivated my attention. 
I found something that I've actually held onto - quite closely - since it came into my life.

A Fitbit.

Yep. A a small rubber bracelet with a tiny chip inside that daily tracks my water intake and  steps, all while basically gauging my self perception and appreciation. 
I'm serious. 
It's come to that. 

Maybe we should rewind. 
I've never been a really competitive person. 
I know what I want, I go after it and all works out in the end. 
I also believe this to my very core:

I think my lack of competitive spirit began in third grade when Torri Richardson and I agreed to race across the gym and the first to reach Jason Ward was his girlfriend (unbeknownst to him). I got half court and realized 1) I was out of breath 2) I had too much to live for rather than have a boyfriend. I lost interest and moved on to the next third-grade-amusement. I think it was lunch. 

But then Fitbit rolled into my life three weeks ago and I've found myself doing crazy things to compete with it, to beat it, to conquer it, daily. You see, a Fitbit tracks your goals for exercise and activity, so each morning I wake up with a blank slate and a bazillion steps to take.
Maybe not a bazillion, but pretty darn close. 

On the weekends I can fly right past my activity goal. Building fence, chasing cows, running errands...all contribute to a gal on the go. 
But come Monday morning I'm as sedentary as a headstone. A heavy, ugly one, going nowhere. 
So I've found ways to increase my walking during the day. 
Working out, you ask?
Using the Cardinal Greenway, you ask?

Nope:

Two weeks ago I got into the habit of eating my lunch in shifts:
Walk down to the break room, get out my hard boiled eggs, take them back to my office, eat them. 
Walk down to the break room, get out my string cheese, take it back to my office, eat it. 
Walk down to the break room, get out my yogurt, take it back to my office, eat it. 
Walk down to the break room, throw away all of my trash.
= 311 steps and comfortable shoes
(I really hope my boss doesn't read this entry.)

For three straight Sundays I've walked to the mailbox to get the mail, then had to act surprised when there was nothing there. 
=284 steps and some good acting

When we're together, Cody now has to park in the farthest parking spot from our destination. Annoying for him, especially when we got to church late Sunday and someone was in our familiar pew. I guess that's the problem with a service full of back row Baptists? We went up to the balcony. 
= 210 steps, stairs included (which should count for double)

Last week we had lunch at the local Mexi joint and Cody was on the phone when we arrived. He stayed in the truck to finish his conversation. I hopped out of the truck and proceeded to walk circles around it; circling the truck like a shark waiting for a canoe of kittens to capsize. By the time we got into the restaurant I was so dizzy Pedro seated us in the handicap booth. 
= 437 steps and an annoyed husband

But the problem with this strange obsession isn't with my newfound commitment to taking the long way. The problem lies in how often I check my steps. Last Sunday I checked my Fitbit three times during the one-hour service. Turns out standing and sitting for hymns doesn't count towards steps. Dang. 
I've even checked it while riding as a passenger in a car, and while my steps didn't increase with each mile traveled (dang) I did catch myself daydreaming at the thought of turning the miles into steps...

Just imagine how bright 

those little lights 

of approval and success 

would twinkle

As the song Guinevere says, I generally don't hold onto anything new for very long. I move on. But I have yet to get there with my Fitbit. Being down 7 pounds from the day I began using it may have something to do with it, despite still eating pork rinds for breakfast. 
FACT: I'll stick with anything that cancels out pork rinds.

Now, if you'll excuse me...I'm 417 steps away from beating my personal goal for the day and all of the chores are done. This means I'll need to make 138 laps around the coffee table before I'm allowed to sleep tonight. 

When A Good-Hearted Woman Marries a Good-Timing Man

Maybe last week's blog was a bit premature; we hadn't yet been married a year when I wrote it.
Nothing much changed to affect the accuracy of the things in which I journaled.
I gagged Saturday morning cleaning the bathroom and Cody's starched jeans still adorn our bedroom floor.

"Are those your jeans?" I asked (again). 

"Why do you keep asking me that??"

This is where I post a happy photo before lose my head: 

Since last August I've been asked surprisingly often why we didn't post wedding photos or an album onto social media.
Frankly: We didn't want to.
Cody and I don't enjoy looking at photos of ourselves and it's strange to think of promoting our day of sacred vows in that very public, impersonal way.
We have two photos of ourselves in our home: both were very kind wedding gifts.

The other day I saw where someone posted their wedding video to Facebook.
What a very personal event to share with 3,000 folks, 560 of whom you actually know.
I couldn't bring myself to watch it, though I'm sure it was an incredible day for that couple.
We just didn't get an invite.
I'd post our wedding video, but our videographer never gave us our wedding video.
Just kidding.
I'd never share that amazing day with strangers.
Though, I'm very serious when I say we never got our video back from the videographer...

I do think Cody and I experienced some interesting things in 24 hours of wedding that may be blog-worthy.
Our wedding will never be on Pinterest.
There will never be a movie or book written about our story.
But our wedding day was remarkable, and it encompassed so much our of heritage.
My hope today is that you'll see some of that - and perhaps incorporate ideas into your own life.

Life's Good Stuff: Pass It On.

Grandma's Dress

Preparing for the wedding, Grandma said she was “too old” to go shopping and try to fit into a new dress. So that afternoon, we raided the old closets in her farmhouse. When I saw the dress she’s wearing, I knew it was the one: it matched our colors of ivory and white perfectly. 
Grandma Jean smiled and said, “I haven’t worn that dress in such a lonnnnnng time…since the day your Mother married your Dad.”
Thirty-five years later, she still wore it well.

All Things Green 

We kept the flowers and centerpieces simple, remembering the strong sense of heritage and appreciation for things that get better with age. Both ferns and The Growing Tree were incorporated throughout everything.

Have you read about The Growing Tree?

Harvest Jar

Unity candle? Not us. Cody's family brought Kansas wheat to the wedding that weekend and my Uncle Steve brought us corn directly from Granddad and Grandma's home farm. Rather than light a unity candle, we combined the two crops, symbolizing our passion for production agriculture, the love for the (very different land) on which we were raised on and those places that we still consider "home".
I actually saw this idea at a wedding a photographed two years ago - Happy Anniversary to the Shepherds!

All Your Mama's Love

Cody's grandmother Barbara Laflin married us. What a remarkable service. The closest I've ever come to meeting Jesus was the day I met Mama, or Barb Laflin. 
Words can't describe the power in her faith.

A Wish Come True

It was a few months before our wedding day and I was having a glass of wine with momma at BSG.
We were discussing music for the wedding.
"If you could have anyone sing at your wedding, who would it be?"
"Anyone?" I asked.
"Yep," she responded, sipping her perfect soft red from Oliver.
"Ryan Wotherspoon......Hands down."
"Well....let's get him. Or try, at least."

Having beautiful music at the wedding was one of our favorite details. Ryan beautifully incorporated family favorites into our ceremony and made a few songs so personal to Cody and I.

Ryan sang the Lord's Prayer - among other songs - during our ceremony:

You can buy Ryan's album here. 

Surely Goodness and Mercy

Sadly, I had no Bowman grandparents alive to see Cody and I wed. But there is certain verbiage that runs through a family. These words span generations and create a familiarity that covers time. 

On the Bowman side, the words that have traveled decades and generations come from Psalms 23:6. We sing the chorus of Surely Goodness and Mercy at every gathering of my large Bowman family: reunions or funerals. The music and harmony bring a certain peace to my heart. We included that verse in our ceremony, though few folks - outside of our Bowman family - understood the meaning. 

To read what the other side of my family lives by, Read This. 

A Photo (Really) Is Worth A Thousand Words

That cliche is right. 
I believe it to be so important that you know, understand and like your photographer.

If we didn't have that - by the incredible Christine Boake - this shot of Dad's medicine cabinet would not have been documented. 
For years I've left dad notes in his medicine cabinet. My dear friend - and idol - Christine Boake knew this, and documented these from-daughter-to-father loves notes in this photo. I'll keep this forever. 
Dad will, too. 

The Story of Us

We made our programs worth reading, just in case anyone did. 
They showed the humor behind each of the (forced) participants of our wedding party. 

Two-Steppin'

We danced to Wade Bowen's "Who I Am" - 

When we dated, Cody would twirl me around my living room floor in Greens Fork, with this song on repeat. 

It was as this song played, that we fell in love. 

It was a month later when we truly found the other and realized that 

"Good Hearted Woman (In Love With A Good Timing Man)" may have been written about us. 

Or Chris & Sharee. 

Or Phil & Linda. 

So following our obligatory first dance, Cody & I two-stepped with our parents to our inherited  theme song:

As much as I appreciate the focus that folks put into weddings these days,

I'm here to tell gals yet to wed:

No wedding day will be perfect. 

I overslept. 

My parents barely spoke to me the day of our wedding due to emotion. 

We forgot to have a receiving line at the church. 

Cousin Josh twirled me around the wet dance floor only for me to face plant in my dress. 

We have no photo of the 5 Bowmans. 

At the reception, a dear family friend greeted me by giving me the biggest bear hug - from behind.....While I held a glass of Malbec...the entire front of my dress was stained red most of the night. 

We ran out out of cups. 

We have no wedding cake left, due to 2 a.m. hunger. Cody bought me a DQ ice-cream cake on our first anniversary, instead. 

We forgot to invite three very important families. 

But - Ya know what?

The wedding went on. 

Life went on. 

It was just one day, not a lifetime - which is what lies before us. 

Thank goodness. 

And We dance through this world -

hand in hand. 

Photography by Christine Boake and Urban Prairie at Bowman Superior Genetics.

The Greatest Institution In The World

If you ever want to be reassured there is still wholesomeness in the world, come with me to a county home extension club meeting. 
But wear a turtleneck. 

Growing up Momma avoided volunteering in the classroom on certain Thursdays because she "had Club" -
Had Club?
What kind of Club?
Babysitter's Club?
Mickey Mouse Club?
Super Reader of the Month Club?
I didn't know. I just knew it was a special Club because she always made cookies the night before the meetings and sometimes we had to clean like little slaves on the days leading up to the elusive "Club". 

"Did you dust the banister?" Momma would ask. 
"Are your friends going upstairs?" we would push back. 
"It doesn't matter. This is Club. These ladies invented the dust rag."
After that thought churned in our tiny little heads, we didn't ask questions. We just dusted the banister. With Pledge. 

Years passed and I learned that "Club" was Momma's county home extension club meetings. 
They sewed. 
They cooked. 
They shared cleaning tips. 
They read devotions and prayed together. 
They collected clothes and toys for families in need. 
They took care of their kids. 
And grandkids. 
And great grandkids.
And kids they'd never have the opportunity to meet. 

I later moved to college and became even more thankful for parents - Momma and Dad - who found immense value in such training. At Purdue I met young women who had mothers who wanted to be their friend, not their parent (whole other topic, read my thoughts here). Those who wanted to share their jeans, not mend them. Those who wanted to cut turkey out of Thanksgiving due to a vegan diet, not teach them how to use the turkey drippings in the gravy. Yum-o. 

When I moved home from Washington, DC one of the first things I did was join Club. 

I'm a fourth generation member of Harrison Extension Homemakers in Indiana. I'll admit that nothing I bring to the club is ground-breaking (I swear a few of these women taught Paula Dean how to cook), but I do really bring the average age of membership down. My great Grandma Ruby was a founder of the club, and periodically I wear her TOPS (Take Off Pounds Sensibly) bracelet to remind myself that any recipe I redeem from an extension homemakers meeting will surely go straight to my Moyer thighs. 
Thanks, Grandma. 

Annually we have a meeting (Gifts From The Home) where we bring gifts/recipes from the home, something we've handcrafted for someone else. Not only do we have to present our craft, we also have to share instructions on how we made it. You see, home extension clubs are like Pinterest before Pinterest (or the internet...or computers...or electricity) existed. These projects are actually feasible and already completed by a real person.   
Gifts From The Home night is a lot like Pinterest, except it's real. 
I brought personalized Jean's Boots Stationary. I dare you to try explaining how to operate a Cricut to a roomful of women who don't yet understand why you'd knowingly keep an "insect" in your office. 

Then go on to explain why, instead of hand-mending a pair of ripped jeans, you'd cut them into strips for denim on said Jean's Boots Stationary. 

There were gasps of disappointment and confusion. Some even geared towards my innocent mother. 

I did not win "best gift from the home" that night. 

A cross-stitched wall hanging of cats in Santa costumes won. 

They were holding hands dancing around a Christmas tree. 

Made of catnip. 

The caption: Meowy Christmas!

I'm not bitter.

...At all. 

I don't usually see the ladies of club outside  the home unless we're at the county fair, church or the funeral home. In fact, there was a time two years ago that we considered having our annual meeting actually at the funeral home due to the foot traffic we were giving the place. Sadly, we lost a couple keystone members that year. Shortly thereafter we had a great lesson on incorporating bacon into three meals a day. I had a strange feeling that lesson was a gift from our friends above. 

Though I may smirk at the interactions I have with members of my beloved home extension club, the truth is I desire to be more like these women. They're simple, self-sufficient, creative, God-fearing and kind. They successfully reared children and enjoyed marriages and  played an active role in giving back to their community. They know there is satisfaction in a more simple life. 
And they live by that. 
I desire to live by that, too. 

I've never left a Club meeting where I didn't learn something I'll incorporate into our home. At the conclusion of each meeting we recite the Extension Homemaker Creed. I don't know it by heart yet, but I smile each time we read it. 

We believe in the present and its opportunities, in the future and its promises, in everything that makes life large and lovely, in the divine joy of living and helping others; and so we endeavor to pass on to others that which has benefited us, striving to go onward and upward reaching the pinnacle of economic perfection, in improving, enlarging and endearing the greatest institution in the world, The Home.                
Mrs. C.W. Horne

I sincerely hope that home extension clubs will be around for generations to come. Far beyond the words that I can type, there is value in those programs and lessons. Today's world needs them, craves them. 

The next generation needs to know how to tend a garden, prepare a healthy meal, sew on a button and help a friend in need. 

Besides, where else would I find the determination and time to learn how to cross stitch for next years project for gifts from the home?

My current project is a wall hanging of the Easter Bunny with his arm around a St. Patrick's Day leprechaun. 

The caption: Lucky Rabbit's Foot

Game on. 

--> If you're interested in joining a Wayne County, Indiana home extension club, contact me!

Lessons From The Dressing Room

If you need a confidence check, squeeze into a wedding dress that you hate, surround yourself with floor length mirrors and stand on a pedestal in front of complete strangers. 

I did it approximately 15 times last Saturday. It was worth it. I found the dress that I'll show my daughter one day - many, many years from now. 

But it was a journey to find "the dress". 

We were in Indianapolis where I had one of those encounters worth passing on. Once I barreled out of the dressing room, I didn't take time to explain to Momma or my bridesmaids what had just happened. I simply held my hands in the air, grabbed my coat from the coat rack and said, "BLOG!"
They didn't ask questions. We had been in the store a total of twenty minutes. 

You know that saying, if you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans? 
I believe that. 
I also believe if you want to hear a bridal consultant laugh, tell her your budget. 

I was skimming the window displays when a gal approached me and introduced herself as Shonda, my "personal bridal consultant". 
I should have known then that I was in over my head. The only personal consultants I've ever had were two older siblings, and they've both lead me astray more than once in this life. 

Shonda gave me a tour of the entire store then turned to me, head down, pen and card out. "Give me ya number." 
"My phone number?" I asked. 
"Amount you wanna spend on the dress."
Why do I always assume people need my phone number?
"Ohh, ha! Sorry," I apologized, then I gave her a number. 
She looked at me over her bifocals. "Girl, you serious?....You flexible?" Shonda's response worried me. 
"Well, no, not really. I mean, I'll go less....of course. But that's a pretty hard budget I'm trying to stick to," I uncomfortably told her. In a moment of awkwardness, I reached out and grabbed one of the dresses beside us while she wrote notes on the card. I grabbed the price tag: 4x my budget. I was crushed. But I knew how much I thought my wedding dress should cost and I was sticking to that.  

Shonda grabbed my arm and guided me to the discount racks. Fair enough. 

In a rush around the set of discount racks, Shonda grabbed two dresses and asked if I saw anything I liked. If I would have had time to let my eye focus I guess I could have found something, but she didn't give me an opportunity to search for a dress that fit my budget and my guidelines. Probably because Shonda knew better. 

She grabbed the two dresses and told me to follow her - into the dressing room. Momma, Laura and Betsy each followed this madness until Shonda stopped them, hand up. "You girls sit here. I got Lizzy (I didn't feel the need to correct her at this point) here in the dressing room." 

Until now, I hadn't tried on a dress that my sister hadn't zipped, buttoned or tucked. I was a bit concerned. I turned around and gave Laura a little wave. So long, sister. I followed Shonda into a land of white lights and mirrors.

"Miss Lizzy you just strip down and let me know when you ready. I stand out here 'til you ready."
"Got it," I replied as I closed the curtain behind me, set my purse down and unclipped my necklace. 

Approximately 13 seconds passed.

"You ready?"
"Not...quite....yet....." I responded while thinking, Ok, listen lady, I'm still trying to pry this second damn boot off. 

One minute later and Shonda was in the tiny dressing room with me, holding the first dress. 
This was the step-in kind. 
One leg at a time.
Shimmy it up. 
I had the routine down. 

Then, it was stuck. 
Right around my hips. 
Shocking. 

I tugged. 
Shonda pulled. 
The dress didn't move. 

"What size is this?!" I asked, bending my knees back and forth, trying to get the thing to move a centimeter. 
"Six. Can you believe they'd put a six on the clearance rack?"

Game over. 

Together, we worked in silence, shimmying, shaking, everything short of jumping up and down to get the dress past my Shafer hips. 
I started laughing. Out loud. 
Is this really happening? 
Is she really trying to stuff me - literally - into a size six wedding dress?
Why?

Shonda started laughing, too. Loudly, from the belly, deep down inside, laughing uncontrollably. 
"Girrrrrlllll, there is one thing we know....you ain't no siiize six! Pull it down. We ain't doing this."

And before I could even prepare myself, dear Shonda yanked the dress right down. 
To my ankles.
And the hook on the back of the dress get snagged on my underwear. 
And...you can only imagine. 
That's all I'm going to say about that. 

"I ain't seen nothing, girl, I ain't seen nothing!" Shonda said as she tried to unhook the dress from me and back herself out of the dressing room, head down. 

I was mortified, but still laughing. It all happened so quickly. 

In a rush to adjust myself, I tried to make small talk with the stranger who just had arguably the worst experience of her personal bridal consultant career. 
"Two things learned today, I'm not a size 6 and you don't get paid enough," I told her through the curtain. 

"Ha! .......I tell ya what. You found any dresses you like so far?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah, at a store this morning I found two that I really adore."
"Great. 'Cause we ain't even gonna try to stuff you into that other size 6. No way, no how!" she continued to talk as she left the dressing room, carrying both dresses. "And as for that number, good luck giiirl, Ha!" she laughed to herself. 

I laughed, too. Some crazy lady in Indianapolis just saw more of me than the law allows, she's thinks I live in a fairyland because of my frugal ways, and Momma, Laura and Betsy are sitting on the other side of this wall confused and awaiting my fashion show. Did that really just happen?

I learned a few things that afternoon in the dressing room. 

1. Stick to the budget. As with any big purchase, you know what you want, what you can afford and what is right for you. Don't let anyone talk you up or down. You'll find it. 
2. Self confidence is a great thing that fluctuates. Some days I have it, some days I don't. Luckily, I had it with Shonda. 
3. If you can't laugh at yourself, someone else will. Trust me.
4. Twenty minutes can last forever.

I did find the dress - under my budget, thank you very much. It is beautiful, so me and perfect for the day I marry Cody.

In fact, of the dresses below, can you guess which one I chose to wear August 10th?

 

You're right. None of them.