The magic of Christmas is alive and well in our home. Our
oldest loves reading the advent calendar daily to her brother and our youngest
enjoys squeezing the empty stockings each morning to monitor a change in
weight. I am trying to relish in every moment. Even the weird ones.
Like when Cyrus woke up in hysterics one night because there
was a Christmas fish swimming in his humidifier. Cyrus claims he was red, and
Caroline is convinced the room has smelled like fish ever since. The magic of
Christmas.
Last week the elementary school hosted a Holiday Shop, where
students had the opportunity to bring a small amount of money to school and
shop for loved ones.
I worked in Indianapolis that day, so Cody managed the
morning routine. This worked greatly in the childrens’ favor because I planned
to send them each with a five-dollar bill.
Caroline went to school with $20 (!!). She came home with
three gifts for people she loved and $12.50 in change.
Cyrus went to school with $10 (!!), feeling like a king. He
came home with one gift for someone else, a toy jet for himself and $.25 in
change.
He went on to tell us that his buddy bought the same toy jet for his father (what a thoughtful little boy) and Cyrus let him know that if his dad didn't want the jet, he could just bring it back to school and Cyrus would add it to his fleet. The magic of Christmas.
We made our annual trip to Kansas to share the holiday with
my in-laws. The stomach bug and strep were both running rampant through the
elementary school, and Cyrus recently fell victim. In an effort to curb
anything that may came come Caroline’s way, I made a preparedness kit including
Tylenol, ibuprofen, two trash bags, washcloth, towel, wipes and spare clothes.
Still, just before leaving the house I had this nagging feeling that I was
forgetting something.
We made it three hours into the trip before I had my own Home
Alone moment. You know the one, where Kevin’s mother sits straight up on the
airplane and screams, “KEVIN!!” after realizing the one thing she left at home
was her son.
Well, I didn’t do that. But it was at a Love’s truckstop in
central Missouri that I screamed “AMOXICILLIN!!” In a quiet home in the
refrigerator sat half a bottle that Cyrus still needed to ingest. But don’t you
worry, I remembered my five pairs of earrings and two lipsticks. 2023 Mom of
the Year!
Cyrus makes a game of observing semis, guessing what they’re
hauling (95-percent of the time his guess is candy or toys) and then turning around
to check out the grill to determine the manufacturer. I assumed by the time we
reached the Greenfield exit his back would be sore from the break-neck action,
but that wasn’t the case.
His personal favorite is “Fra-gee-lee” trucks, which he is
certain are hauling leg lamps such as in the movie, “A Christmas Story”. It
will be a big day when he does learn to read and realizes “Fragile” is actually
pronounced Freightliner. The magic of Christmas.
Caroline hasn’t mentioned a Barbie Dream House this year,
but she hasn’t given up on the campaign for a horse. Cyrus is relentless about
a new bulldozer with greater horsepower. Been a tough argument explaining that
the one he currently has is run solely on the force he uses with his own two hands.
We’re less than a week out and need to finish and practice our
Christmas reading for church, go see the lights, bake cookies, go to the
grocery and finally wrap gifts I remember buying but cannot find.
The magic of Christmas. May we never forget that the real
magic happens when we forget everything I wrote above, and focus on what’s in
the manger.
Newton’s theory stating, “What goes up must come down”
certainly applies to gravity, but I have my own experience with that idea. In
our family, when my husband goes up (in a plane) the temperature must come down.
Hard.
Inevitably, when Cody is home, it’s 40 degrees and clear.
When he leaves for an extended work trip to the wild west, the temperature
drops drastically, and everything freezes. His last out-of-state trip did not
disprove my theory; it was 37-degrees while he packed his suitcase and a mere 3-degrees
four days later.
The good news is I love cold weather; the best news is our
kids are very patient. They whine very little when getting bundled up, even
with sticky Vaseline on their dry cheeks and hot chocolate in their plastic cups.
We drove north to check a pasture that about 25 cows are
wintering in, only to find that the automatic waterer was completely empty and frozen.
Nothing was in the tank but a 3-inch layer of ice. The pump house (a cinder
block hole dug into the ground) was about 100 yards away, so we walked over to
investigate. The heat lamp, which should have kept everything thawed and
running so water would continuing filling into the tank as cows drank it down,
was burned out. Everything was frozen. Even the hydrant wouldn’t produce water.
I called Cody to explain the situation, he asked many
questions to diagnose the problem and find a solution from time zones away. I
told the kids it might be a long while before we got into the house that
evening and that didn’t bother them a bit. Cyrus was made for mechanics and
Caroline just wants to be a helper.
We drove back to the home farm and got a ladder, an
extension cord, a heater out of the calf box (a wooden box we would put a
newborn calf in if we were experiencing sub-zero temperatures to save it from
freezing), a spotlight, a socket set (no idea why, it seemed like a good idea)
and two popsicles. You must always feed the help.
“Guys. We have a big job ahead of us and I need you to be
helpers,” I told them in the truck.
“What do we get to do?” Caroline asked.
“Hold the spotlight when I crawl down in this hole so I can
see what I’m doing. The light burnt out and it’s dark down there.” I left out
the part where I’m scared of the dark and super anxious in tight spaces.
“Can we bring popsicles?” Cyrus asked, clearly unconcerned
by the situation.
“Sure, Cyrus. But if Mommy gets into trouble I need you to
call Daddy.”
“What’s Daddy going to do? He’s not here,” the empathic
child reasoned with me.
“You’re right. Don’t touch my phone. Unless I scream. Then
call 911.” I was starting to freak myself out. It was getting dark, I was going
down in a hole that housed a lot of electrical and I didn’t have much
experience in any of this.
My view from the hole
For the next twenty minutes I asked (commanded) Caroline to
move the spotlight to the left, Caroline complained that her hand was getting
tired, and Cyrus asked repeatedly, “Now can I call 911? Mom? Can I?”
“No! Put my phone down. We’re fine. I’m fine. We don’t have
an emergency!” I repeatedly shouted up from the hole.
“But the cows are thirsty,” he responded with a burning
desire to get a fire truck and a lot of tax dollars on the scene.
We got the heater set up in the pump house, the burnt-out
bulb removed so I could go to the hardware store and buy a replacement, the
cords all re-strung so they wouldn’t melt, and I climbed out of the hole without
a broken hip or torn ligament. Small victories win battles.
My view from the hole as Caroline continued to help and Cyrus had lost interest
The kids earned two more popsicles upon our return home and crunched
them down quickly, despite complaining about frozen hands. The next morning, we
drove up to find the heater had worked! Kind of. The hydrant was working, but
the electric waterers still were not. We hauled a tank to the pasture and ran a
long hose from the hydrant to the tank, so the cows had something to drink.
As I pen, this my husband is packing another suitcase and
talking about the approaching temperature drop in Rapid City, South Dakota. He
believes that by the time he lands there, that cold snap will arrive in
beautiful Economy, Indiana.
My grandma passed away more than two months ago, and I still find myself waking and wondering if I can fit a trip across the state line to see her on that day. She left a void that will never be filled.
Throughout the years Grandma gave me many things that I’ll forever hold close to my heart. Her cowboy boots, Granddad’s cowboy boots, and old love letters between the two of them written in the 1940s. Since her passing, our large family has worked to clean out her homestead, each family combing through years of memories, collectibles and “stuff”.
Three generations have gone through closets, looked under beds and cleaned off bookshelves. We’ve taken oak dressers, beloved toys from our childhood, photos of champion Holstein heifers from the 1960s and record players with Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys still in the play position.
I took shells and soap.
One day the kids and I drove to Grandma’s and began sorting through things that we might want to keep forever. In Granddad’s old room, Caroline dug eagerly (we were on a treasure hunt of sorts) through a filing cabinet and found a bag of seashells. She was elated; I was confused.
My grandparents were not regular vacationers because they had livestock. When hundreds of animals depend on you for their food (or, their milking twice a day), you do not often leave. You can’t often leave. But there were occasions when Granddad would come in from the barn and tell Grandma to pack a bag, they were going on a trip tomorrow. Sometimes they went to Virginia to visit Charlie Potter, a man they ran cattle with on the rolling green hills of the Shenandoah Valley. Once they drove to western Nebraska and showed up on the ranch house steps of a college friend of mine, only because they wanted to see how farming was different in Nebraska compared to Ohio. And apparently, at least once they went to a beach.
I was surprised to find seashells amongst farm paperwork in a filing cabinet, but I was relieved.
Because seashells meant he – and grandma – took a break from the work of the farm to enjoy themselves. Seashells meant that he traveled far enough to see new land and meet new people that would become a part of his life’s story. Seashells meant that at some point he rested in between the hundreds of decisions it takes to operate a farm, and maybe even put his feet in the ocean. I hope he at least took off his boots.
That afternoon, I also took soap.
I have a habit of taking the unopened hotel soaps (lotions, shampoos, coffee…..what is wrong with me?) home with me when I travel. I figure if the Wagon Wheel Inn outside Lusk, Wyoming offered the goodies, I might as well return home with a souvenir. I get this habit honestly, and while cleaning out Grandma’s house I also found a bathroom drawer (maybe two) full of hotel soaps. Pony Soldier Motor Inn, Urbana-Lincoln Hotel, and one bar that didn’t have a name, but did advertise “wall to wall carpet” and a “24 hour switchboard” – whatever that is. Each ancient bar represents places she’d been, while out on a great voyage off the farm. She kept those soaps, and now I will, too.
To me, these petite hotel soaps represent the exploration of unfamiliar places where she need not cook for the family and hired help or wash milkers. She simply had to be open to the road, likely interpreting the map, and ready for the next adventure. At some point in her 89 years, these soaps represent her courage to leave the farm – and trust me, it takes courage to leave the care of your livestock up to someone else – and see another part of this beautiful country. Even if they did sleep at the Pony Soldier Motor Inn.
Grandma and Granddad left many legacies, but today I think about the lesson they’ve taught in soap and shells.
No matter how hard you work, how little quit you have in you, or how hard you find it to disconnect – everyone deserves to rest. To step away. To take a break. To explore. Maybe it is a morning walk in the fresh snow when you can’t seem to focus on graduate school studies. Maybe it is a Sunday afternoon drive to see someone you miss. Maybe it is getting back to a hobby you’ve abandoned because life keeps you too busy. Or perhaps, it’s a cross-country adventure just to discover new land and unfamiliar faces.
Go.
The work will be here when you get back, but experiences don’t wait.
And if you do find a place that has something worth packing home, do so. You never when those tokens will serve an entirely new purpose.
In writing this, our daughter asked what the tiny bars of soap were. I told her they were part of her inheritance. She appeared confused, but hopefully one day she'll get it.
I’ve had many aspirations over the years, and in my mid-twenties I loved the idea of being a travel journalist. At that time the only thing I had to spend money on was a mortgage for a small home in Greens Fork, dog food, gas to the airport and airline tickets. I traveled often during that phase of life, always with a Nikon camera and journal.
In my mid-thirties I travel with a lot of dry Cheerios, plastic grocery bags for any sort of urgent disposal and a smartphone that typically always runs at 23% battery.
We went to Kansas last weekend, and I often get asked how long it takes us to travel to the family ranch. We’ve made it there in anywhere from 10 to 12 to 24 (the unbelievable Christmas trip of 2016) hours. This trip was fun because we made the voyage for a family wedding in which Caroline was a flower girl.
Facebook Caroline
Real Life Caroline
She cleans up pretty well for a tot who prefers mud over make-up. She did wonderfully in her dress and fancy shoes, but once we got back to the ranch she found mud and actually lost a shoe in the muck. It was good to have her back.
Traveling with two under three has its own challenges, but nothing that prohibits me from suiting up to go again; we have airline tickets bought for June. This trip I introduced Caroline to the I Spy game and that was a big hit. Except she would tell me the color she wanted to find, already having her item spotted. It somewhat defeats the purpose of the game, but certainly doesn’t ruin the fun. We found the same orange ink pen clipped to Dad’s visor six times in thirty minutes.
Somewhere in Illinois we passed three school buses full of children and would you believe none of them were on electronics? They actually waved to us as we passed by and this was definitely a trip highlight for a toddler. She asked me where they were going and I told her probably a field trip. This started the “Why” game that lasted until St. Louis. I’ve never been so glad to see the arch.
It was outside Columbia, Missouri that we stopped in the pouring rain for double diaper changes. I’ve mastered the art of in-truck changes for little Cyrus while he’s still small. Caroline is still curious about this process, but this particular change almost knocked both she and I out. So there I was: a belly-laughing, half-naked 9-month old across my lap, a 2 ½-year-old gagging out the window with the rain coming in our truck and a mess up to my elbows…literally. I wrapped it all up and asked Caroline to sit back so I could throw the mess out the window. Cody was still inside the truck stop, and I’d have him throw it in the trash upon his return. I tossed the 45-pound diaper out of the back seat window of our truck, and then looked across to see a man at pump five watching in disbelief. I wanted to explain myself and that I wasn’t littering, I was trying to save my daughter from throwing up on her brother, but I didn’t have the energy to do so. I just rolled up the window and hoped Cody would return before the judgy guy left.
We stayed in a beautiful hotel in old town Wichita that was previously a cannery in the 1920s. Both kids slept well and filled up on all the junk food and toys that travel with grandparents they see four times a year. The grandparent’s room was like walking into the aftermath had a tornado hit a toy store and candy store in one swipe. There was a lot of candy wrappers and miscellaneous parts to toys we’ll probably never see again.
I forgot my razor and had to get one at the front desk. Talk about a massacre. Despite my best efforts, I went to the wedding wearing a leopard print dress and my legs looked like I had to kill the actual animal I was wearing.
The wedding was beautiful, the flower girls were cute as can be and the reception was a ball. We got a family photo that didn’t show my legs, both kids were well behaved and as I write this column, we’re sitting in traffic on the west side of St. Louis. We should hopefully be home by the time the blog goes live on Wednesday. I consider all of these things signs of another good trip west.
I don’t travel much with the Nikon anymore because it just won’t fit in the diaper bag. And I never did see my writing in the magazines they stuff in the airplane seat backs, but sometimes I get into the local Nettle Creek Gazette, so that is something.
Last weekend Cody and I traveled to Ft. Worth for the 2017 Angus Convention.
Two people.
Two suitcases.
No diaper bag.
You guys - I darn near had an anxiety attack traveling without Caroline.
It was during those brief three days that I remembered why, now that I'm a mother, I no longer leave home. Unless we're out of milk.
1. I updated our will.
I'm serious. After retrieving Caroline from daycare to take her to my sister's, we took the updated will to be notarized at a local business. We were flying to Texas, not Tonga. This is the state of mind I was in.
2. I found the best sitters money can't buy.
My sister and brother-in-law, Laura and Scott, watched Caroline for the weekend. Let's talk about the list of instructions I left for them. I put a lot of thought into the instructions on how to love our child, and I have a really bad feeling that they never even read the document before throwing it into the trash.
I also continued to think about all of the guidance two grown adults - who have fantastic children of their own - would require when managing Caroline. So, as the weekend progressed, I sent more instruction. Least I could do.
3. Airline travel is ridiculous.
Cody and I split ways when we got to security because he goes through TSA Pre-Check where he just bypasses all lines and walks through, iPad, laptop, boots and all.
I, on the other hand, still mingle with the snow birds. I was moving along the security line quite well until a line of 5 (FIVE!!!!!) wheelchairs scooted up to the podium. There, the snow birds had a heck of a time remembering that they had to have their license (the one that was revoked four years ago) to go further into security.
Because of the wheelchairs, they were able to bypass me. This took several minutes. Then, a TSA employee called for attention and loudly asked this simple question: "Do any of you have metal in your body?"
Some people just like to hear themselves talk.
It was then that all five raised their hands and the interrogation proceeded quite quickly. The snow birds went on their merry way to head south and I jumped back in line to throw my iPad onto the security belt.
4. I like my personal space.
I'm not sure if it was the furry vest or the fact that the tray table was not down, but my row partner had a burning desire to rest her sleepy head in my lap. For the entire flight. I tried bouncing my leg, faking a sneeze, and reclining my seat, but girlfriend must have needed some serious rest. I get it, girl.
5. Look Ma, No Hands
I had no idea what to do with my hands all weekend. I didn't have a kid on my hip. I wasn't carrying buckets. I wasn't pushing a stroller. I wasn't picking up sticks or toys. I was basically a big bag of skin and mascara, wandering around a massive crowd of Anderson Bean boots and Bar None hats, hearing to people ask me: Where's the baby?
"Well, good question," I constantly replied in my head. "I should probably call home immediately."
Which leads me to #6.
6. My phone rang off the hook.
I thought.
I cannot count the times I thought I heard my phone ring, beep or buzz.
Caroline needed me.
She had swallowed a sequin.
She had developed a rare and severe allergy to beef.
She was trapped in the car seat because technology had changed so greatly since Laura had kids, that Laura could not figure out how to remove her.
I think I checked my phone something like 697 times throughout the weekend.
My phone actually rang four times. Total.
However, there were four great successes of the weekend:
1. I spent really good quality time with my in-laws who I see every couple of months.
2. The event I was there to help facilitate went quite well and I'm even better prepared to do it again 2018.
3. I learned that Caroline can survive for several days and have a wonderful time without me. This made me smile and cry. Roots and wings, right?
4. Lastly, I had four (4!!!!!) strangers approach me and tell me that they read and enjoy this blog. I wanted to hug them and visit with them and ask them how they stumbled upon my writing.
But then I had to excuse myself because I thought I heard my phone ring.
Last Friday Cody, Caroline and I headed west for Christmas
in Kansas. When we pulled out of the driveway – an hour later than hoped and loaded
down with BSG sale cattle in tow – we had no idea what lied ahead. Had I known,
I would have packed more snacks. Or, any snacks at all. The first thirty
minutes into our trek set the tone for the entire adventure. I forgot three
gifts in the back compartment of my Edge, so we had to turn around and get
those, putting us even further behind.
11:15 AM: we hit
the road – again.
I’m certain that Cody has an app on this phone that directs
him to the dirtiest truck stop restrooms in the history of the world and
because he’s a curious guy, he likes to experience them. We hit one every 3
hours, or so.I killed 17 trees making
sure no part of Caroline’s body would touch the plastic changing tables at
every bathroom we entered. Point of reference: The Pilot in Terre Haute,
Indiana has the coldest bathroom I’ve ever been in. Caroline would agree.She went through two outfits just trying to self-regulate her body temperature.
I don’t remember much of Illinois. It's probably better that way.
Between St. Louis and Columbia, Missouri a freezing rain
moved in and completely crippled the interstate system.Our truck came to a screeching halt, but we
didn’t think too much of it because the roads had gotten noticeably slick. Two
hours later we were still crawling westbound in stop-and-creep traffic.
By hour 4 Cody was getting quite uncomfortable. First he
took off his belt, which was pushing on parts of his body that didn’t need any
extra pressure. What made this noteworthy is the fact that he forgot this minor detail
each time he got out of the truck. Have you ever seen Cody Sankey jump out of
a truck without a belt to hold his pants up? Noteworthy. Secondly, he got a leg
cramp so bad I was sure we’d have to amputate, but he couldn’t get out and
stretch because we were sitting on pure ice. Then, somewhere in the dark
between Wright City and Warrenton, Missouri these simple words cut through the
dark, idling truck cab:
“You’re not going to like this, but I need you to dump this
cup as soon as it’s full.”
60 oz. and two minutes of gagging later I knew that love
truly knows no bounds.
Both directions of I-70 traffic were stopped for several
hours.In fact, we sat in a 7-mile
stretch for 8 hours and in park (not moving an inch) for 6 of the 8. We rolled
past one man who had fallen asleep behind the wheel, car still running. Cody
honked to wake him up as we slowly rolled past him, but we didn’t get the job
done. We later saw the guy back up and going; more rested than the rest of us,
no doubt. I forget what hour it was when Cody told me that if we sat there much
longer he would have to shut off the truck to conserve fuel and I’d have to
keep Caroline warm. It was then that I went from frustrated to worried.
It was an eerie feeling driving, or skating, past abandoned
semis and cars/trucks that had either fallen victim to the ice and landed in
the ditch, or those which had run out of gas from sitting idle in
single digit temperatures for eight hours. Those big semi trucks don’t seem so
powerful when they’re strung around like rag dolls and piled against guard
rails. Once up and going we also saw a lot of cups lining both sides of the
interstate. Cody found a bit of peace knowing he wasn’t the only one in such a
predicament. I felt empathy towards any co-pilots involved.
We saw only one MoDOT truck during our 8-hour stop, and he
kept driving back and forth across the over pass ahead of us. The local country
station wasn’t playing music, but rather taking calls from stranded drivers.
Cody called in once we “made it through the gauntlet” and told the DJ about the
conditions we encountered, how long we’d been sitting, etc. On the air the DJ
asked if Cody had a clean joke he’d like to share with the listeners:
Cody was quick to respond: “Do I have a joke? I sure do:
MoDOT.”
We were hauling six cows and three calves that had sold two
weeks ago at the Bowman Superior Genetics Form to Function sale. One buyer sat
at a truck stop in Kingdom City, Missouri from 4:00 PM (when we told him we’d
be there) until 1:00 AM (when we actually arrived) waiting on his investments.
We unloaded half of the stock in the truck stop parking lot on a sheet of ice,
used the restroom, bought coffee then kept on west. Had there been any available
hotel rooms there or the next three exits we would have stayed over night.
Every room along icy I-70 was already full at 2:00 AM. Our family has a whole new appreciation for the phrase "No room at the inn" this year.
For 370 miles – from St. Louis to Council Grove, Kansas –
Cody didn’t exceed 50 mph., nor did he take the truck out of 4 wheel drive. I
did my best to keep Caroline fed, changed and entertained in the backseat. I’ll
admit I broke many rules in terms of keeping her buckled in, but she stayed
warm, dry and fed and at the end of the day(s) that’s all we cared about. I
learned how to change a diaper in a single-seat space and how to feed a baby
while sitting amongst truck drivers in a well-lit Pilot fuel pump line.
Motherhood has a way of tearing you down and then truly empowering you in the next moment.
CJ praying outside a Topeka truck stop that we make
it to the 6N Ranch in time for Christmas
We left our house at 11:00 AM Friday and should have been to
the ranch by 9:00 PM that evening.
Instead we arrived at 11:00 the next morning: Almost 24
hours to the minute. To top it all off, Cody went to unload the remaining
Shorthorns (sold to Colorado) and the trailer door was pure ice and frozen
shut. He had to unload the cows and calves out the side door. That’s just the
luck of Cody Sankey, Ice Road Trucker.
I rolled out of the truck with spit up in my hair, my
fingers webbed due to the amount of formula caked onto them, my leggings so
stretched out that the crotch was between my knees, and a restless baby in my
arms.Cody was in serious need of a
stiff drink and stretch, but he settled for a shower and a nap before the
Laflin Christmas began in two short hours.
We had three really nice Christmases, were gifted far too
much and spent hours watching Caroline and cousin Bayler interact. It was such
wonderful family time. But in no time we were heading east again.
The trip home was much more uneventful, thank goodness.
Although we did stop mid-Missouri for fuel and another
dirty Pilot truck stop bathroom experience:
I had just lined the changing table with 40 paper towels and
laid Caroline down when another mom came in with yoga pants, a thigh gap and
her two young kids.She looked at
Caroline sprawled out on the plastic table, then instructed her kids, “Do not
touch anything in the bathroom. Keep your hands off everything.”
As she led her Baby Gap models into the handicap stall, I
turned and looked down at CJ, batting her tiny hand against the wall, and began
to feel like Grand Champion Dirty Mom of Missouri. Meanwhile, thigh gap
continued to instruct her kids to keep their hands off everything. In an effort
to make more room at my workstation, I wrapped up the dirty diaper and threw it
approximately 8 feet across the restroom to the trash can. If you know my
athletic history (it’s brief), you won’t be surprised to know that I missed the
trash can, the diaper ricocheted off the side and rolled into Thigh Gap’s
stall.
SILENCE. I didn’t know what to say other
than, “I’m sorry about that! I never was much of a basketball player.”
No response.
Shortly after, she and her kids emerged from the stall, she scrubbed their
hands and they left without a word of encouragement or disdain. If I had a Snickers
bar in that moment I would have gladly given it to her.
In the meantime Cody had come into the travel center to get caffeine.
I took Caroline out to get her loaded up and heard water running? I quickly
learned that the diesel pump had dispensed 17 gallons over what our tank
actually holds because the pump didn’t shut off automatically when full. That
was a $39.00 travel lesson learned the hard way.
The best news: We’re home. We’re safe. We were able to
catch up on conversations that we hadn’t had in a while and I was given the opportunity to sit
next to Caroline Jean and study her for hours on end, uninterrupted. How
many other moms get that chance, especially during this busy holiday season? God doesn't always give us what we want, but rather what we need.
Speaking of needs.
Does anyone have a chiropractor recommendation in east central Indiana? 36 hours of sitting in a crew cab has really taken a toll on this old mom. I've considered doing yoga stretches but I haven't been able to touch my toes in 24 years.
Oh my gosh...I should go! But why? I shouldn't. But I can! But why would I? There is no time. But I'm so close. But why would I? What would I say? I'd be setting myself up for disappointment. Maybe even disaster. But what if I don't? This was the internal conversation I had with myself several times last week. You see, I didn't write because I was at a communication conference (I know, the irony); the National Agri-Marketing Association annual conference, to be specific.
As I took the stairs (and by stairs I mean elevator) to the 16th floor where my room for the week sat, I couldn't help but take in the Kansas City view. ...And maybe sing Kansas City Lights in my head.
Something caught my eye as a scanned the buildings, lights and old signs that dotted the historic stock town skyline. Only two blocks away, on the side of a building was a recognizable brand, and one of which I've been a card-carrying member since I got my license and could drive myself to the local Wooden Key.
Wait. WHAT?!
I'm this close to the Hallmark world headquarters?
How did I miss that when I planned my week?
I went to my room and opened my laptop. Before my mind plotted anymore, I needed to confirm that this was fact and not fantasy. It was fact.
Meetings. Engaging. Socializing. Networking. All things NAMA continued throughout the week and each time I went to my room, or a breakout session didn't hold my attention, my mind drifted to the thought that I was just two blocks from the institution that held my "dream job" - writing for Hallmark. The familiar tug-o-war conversation clouded my thoughts each time. Oh my gosh...I should go! But why? I shouldn't. But I can! But why would I? There is no time. But I'm so close. But why would I? What would I say? I'd be setting myself up for disappointment. Maybe even disaster. But what if I don't? I went back through the conference's jammed schedule and found one hour between sessions when I could sneak out and go to the Hallmark headquarters. To introduce myself. Give them a business card. Or two. Maybe tell a joke. At 3:00 I visited with a few industry colleagues and let them know I'd catch up with them closer to 4:00. I had an errand to run. I took the Heel-Toe Express out of the hotel and down the Kansas City sidewalks.
This is not me.
You and I both know I have my mother's cankles.
Before I knew it, though maybe a bit further than the estimated two blocks, I was much closer to the beloved brand I'd seen in the sky days before.
I walked the long corridor to an entrance that appeared to be official. You know, because I'm a very formal person. Truly, if I wasn't there on business I would have likely pecked on the first floor windows until noticed.
A security guard, proudly still serving at the approximate age of 114, greeted me as soon as I entered the foyer.
"Can I help you?" the guard asked.
"Yes, this.....is a strange request. But for twenty years I've had the dream of writing for Hallmark. I'm in Kansas City this week on business and I saw your headquarters were so close. I just....Can I speak to someone in your Creative department?"
"The name of the person you'd like to speak with?"
"Oh, well, I don't have a specific name...." I was losing steam with gramps.
Blank stare. I'm not sure he wasn't blind.
"I have business cards....for my blog! Can I give you these and you see that they make it to someone in the Creative writing department?"
"I can't do that," he softly said, calmly crushing my dreams.
"You can't do that? They are just business cards. Just so someone can find my blog. Nothing dangerous. No white powder......," I continued. Anthrax was not what I imagined my joke would be about, but in this point of the charade I was running out of ideas.
"I cannot do that," he sternly replied.
Guess he was serious. I wondered briefly if I was something like the 187th street-wanderer he'd dealt with today?
I don't want to go to the museum. I don't even want a full time job! I actually love my job! I just want someone to read Jean's Boots. My thoughts stayed internal.
"Where is the museum?" I asked, deflated.
"You passed it walking in. Just at the other end of the corridor."
I thanked him and left, putting my cards back in my shoulder bag. Dang it.
I took the Heel-Toe Express back down the echoing corridor and entered the museum and gave it one last shot.
The gal behind the desk to me to go across the corridor and speak with the security guard. I reveled that he had sent me her way, and she was just as confused as I. She reached in a drawer and gave me the exact same piece of paper with the Careers link on it.
The communications geek in me was glad that they were at least consistent in the their message.
I quickly walked through the amazing Hallmark Visitor's Center and tried to digest as quickly as possible all the history and heirlooms meticulously displayed in one place.
Norma Rockwell's Kansas City Spirit
Even a Hereford made it into the history.
My visit to Hallmark was brief and unsuccessful. A lot like I envisioned the "disaster" in my pre-planning thoughts, in fact. I didn't get "inside", I didn't get a free-lance gig and I didn't get my blog business cards to Hallmark Creative.
But I did learn a lesson.
Home almost a week now I've thought of that strange experience and wondered what got me to charge over there with such expectation and slight confidence?
That question is easy to answer with another:
But what if I don't?
I knew that if I left Kansas City, within blocks of Hallmark, and never tried to promote my passion, I would have wondered for the rest of my life what might have been. The easy part happened: I got shot down. The hardest part would have been to wonder what if for the rest of my life.
So what if you did the same?
What if you downsized...everything?
What if you told her how you really felt?
What if you asked for forgiveness? And, what if you extended it?
What if you moved home?
What if you went to the meeting?
What if you started taking care of yourself, now?
What if you apologized?
What if you stood up for yourself?
What if you wrote the letter?
What if you left the well paying job for one that made you happy?
What if you were made uncomfortable, for once?
What if you made the phone call?
What if you registered for the course?
What if you admitted to it?
What if you didn't care what they thought?
What if you actually pushed yourself?
What if you told someone?
What if you did it? That one thing.
But what if you don't?
Let my story of two business cards still on my kitchen table be a lesson. Your greatest pain in life could lie in wondering what might have happened had you compiled the courage. Don't let that happen.
But don't just listen to me. Take it from this guy:
Side note: Anyone know anybody who works for Hallmark?
