So long, 2018. Time to look anew.

I am thankful that Christmas comes at the end of the calendar year.  December is full of lists and events, and we get a nice week reprieve after its zenith to collect ourselves and deconstruct the Christmas shrines we have built.  Then, after a night of debauchery and greeting a new day and new year, we begin again.  

For many years of parent life, my "year" began in August.  Kids ascended to the next grade with (sort of) hopeful anticipation of checking off another big task on the way to adulthood.   Its culmination occurred in June, when there were graduations of one kind or another (since when does kindergarten survival merit a graduation?).  After that was a 3 month sabbatical from organized anything, then we were off to the races again come fall.  

Now, it's back to January through December for marking off years.  I liken the end of December to a cereal box with less than a bowlful of  fruity O's left.  You want to open the new box (it's fresher! new! full of potential!), but you really should wait until you've exhausted the usefulness of the first.  A conundrum.  

The calendar of my mind is longitudinal, like the 12-month vertical one my dad had on the wall of his office.  You start at the top, having jumped up from the previous year, and work your way down through the maze of Monday through Fridays and an occasional mid-week vacation day.  In the middle, you see circled brightly the summer holiday, met with anticipation and excitement of its potential.  As fall drizzles into winter, Christmas and its functions bring the year to a close, while the last week in December leaves you peeking over at the next year to see what its linear time chunk may hold.  

I don't usually curse the departing year.  I've had a few years that evoked some New Year's Eve "good riddance!" exclamations, but not many.   2019 will be rich with events and changes for me, nearly all of them welcome.   Since my planner/calendar is of the school-year variety (just can't boot that habit), I have already logged many things in 2019's blank pages.  Graduations, holidays and other happenings call to me with prospect.  

While I consider my goals for the coming year (resolutions are dumb to me; I can't "resolve" to do jack shit), I also reflect on accomplishments.  This way, if I didn't meet a goal I set 365 days ago, at least I can look at my positives in summation and not feel like failure is tapping me in the shoulder, glaring critically.  Well, I didn't do that, but hey! I did do this!  Yay me! I suspect there won't be a year when I can look back and check off each goal as completed, so as long as there are a few checks, I feel successful.  

A few months ago, I had a short but unplanned and undesired hiatus from work.  You know how we get up on Monday, lament that it's another work day, and trudge off to toil because bills beckon?  I've done that for nearly 30 years, I guess.  During this unexpected leave, I was reminded I actually LIKE my career and what I have always done (take care of sick people).  I missed being connected to what is an integral part of me.  I felt adrift, and I was eager to get back to what I do.  On days when I find myself endlessly eye rolling at my frustrations at work, I remind myself that I CHOSE to spend my days this way, and I felt sad and useless when I wasn't fulfilling my career destiny (it was just a few weeks, but it felt longer in my dark brain).  

As you look on the horizon of 2019,  try to see it with eyes that remind you why we go to work or spend our days doing whatever it is we do.  For me, I tend to dread January in pediatrics, because the month is long and the waiting room is full.  If I have to say ONE MORE TIME that Junior has a cold and yes, it will get better without you getting a prescription, I think I'll lose my mind.  But I won't.  Because it's what I have been doing for years, and I will keep doing it.  The calendar tells me so.  

One day, I will miss those years in the trenches.  Each passing day/month/year is a gift, even if you want to return that gift because it sucks.  Financial strain sucks.  Illness sucks. Death sucks the most.  2019 may give us all these things.  But the vertical calendar is before us, inviting us to downhill slalom through its Mondays, its long weekends, and its days bursting with joy and celebration.   Try to savor those last few fruity-O's before you open the new box. 

Be Still.

The title here is lifted from/inspired by my friend Mark Love's blog.  He is a very talented woodworker as well as writer, and you should check him out here and his Be Still story.  Meanwhile, here is mine as inspired by Mark.  

Confession: I am far from a minimalist runner.  When I head out for a training run, I first have to don the appropriate shorts and sports bra.  I braid my hair, because if I don't, my scraggly mess gets all sweaty and sticks in my armpits.  Sometimes a headband too, so the fly-aways don't get in my eyeballs.  

I put on my shoes with orthotic-y things in one so my feet don't hurt (as much). Then the headphones, phone in the arm band holder, and fiddling with the playlists and Runkeeper app.  Finally, if I haven't lost them again, my running sunglasses because: Texas.  It's broiling out here.  

At last, ready to run.  Then when I return, I scribble down the mileage in a notebook and curse my glacier-like pace.  

Today, I read the blog I mentioned (you really should too, if you maybe skipped over my link).  I decided to try a more minimalist approach and be still. Ok, I couldn't actually BE still, since I was running, but I ventured out minus my usual accessories.  

No headphones, no mileage app, no braid even. It's cloudy, so no sunglasses required.  I decided to do my run and just be.  

I could hear my breath in sync with each footfall.  I wasn't worried about the distance - I run all the time, so I know exactly which houses to pass to do a 3 mile loop.  I didn't need to look at the time or even search the playlist for the Dixie Chicks.   

I listened to the sounds of the construction around the neighborhood, and yes, probably safer to NOT have headphones pounding out my pace, obliterating all other sounds.  I am always ready for a smackdown, should anyone accost me, but to be honest, I couldn't fight a first grader after 3 miles in. 

I could feel a misty pre-rain on my arms and face, all mixing with a sweaty humid mess we're famous for in Texas.   My ponytail was getting wet anyway, so a braid wouldn't have mattered.    

I wasn't still, but I did just be.  No fuss, a way more minimalist run than I am used to.  Time to think, or not to think at all and just hear my breathing (I'm not wheezing, am I?  Am I still alive?).

I'm not sure I can always run in silence, with no mileage tracker giving me cues in my headphones as to how far I have run.  But I realized I need to do it more often than I do.  I have often heard people say real runners don't run with music.  Music has dragged me through handfuls of half marathons and not-fun training days. I'll call myself an un-real runner if I have to.  But for some runs, I'll try to leave them at home.  I will just be still. 

Hazel's Story

Who is Hazel?  You're about to find out.  

Many years ago, perhaps a decade, maybe more,  I became fascinated (read: obsessed) with vintage camper/trailers.  I can't even recall the initial spark that fueled my flame, but I have gawked at and web-stalked and chased down nearly every vintage looking trailer I meet.

My house, albeit (allegedly) minimalist, even has a room with trailer decor.  Granted, it's the laundry room, because that was the only one the family permitted me to colonize with trailer-ama.   I have numerous Christmas ornaments that are little trailers: some are Shastas and some are silver twinkies, and they are all adorable.  

A few years ago, Marnie (Thelma, to my Louise) and I rented an RV and did a road trip about 250 miles from home.  It was a boring old 19 foot vanilla thing, referred to by the Airstream elite as "SOB" or "some other brand".  I had no idea what I was doing, but we hooked that RV up to my truck and hit the road. I could even back it up and figured out how to use all the hook ups at the KOA.   I was hooked.

My children are fairly weary of listening to me prattle about my someday - when my nest is empty and my road is open.  They won't even go to the RV show with me anymore, and they can't understand why I don't just buy something NEW and NOW, and quit yearning for old and someday.   If I can't have an Airstream or a Shasta, I won't have anything at all.

In 2015, Shasta (also my dog's name, by the way...) released a brand new version of its 1960's style 16 foot trailer.  I thought I had discovered the perfect solution.  New AND old!! It was very reasonable in price, but after I followed a few owners' groups online, I discovered many design flaws like leaks, windows falling out in transit, low quality air-conditioner, etc.  It was also tough to get warranty work done as there were only a handful of service places to manage all of these issues. So my dream solution wasn't to be.  

I couldn't justify spending what a house costs on a new Airstream.  I had resigned myself that I was never going to find the perfect vintage one, and I can't drop 100 large on a new one.   I've been busy with graduate school and kid life anyway, and RV life isn't on the docket right now.  

But then, Hazel...

Hazel is a 1970 Airstream Overlander Land Yacht and was parked on some property only a mile from the ranch.  "For Sale" called to me as I drove home from the grocery store only a day after returning from holiday.  I nearly drove off the road gawking at her.  I pulled off into the closest driveway and grabbed my phone to take pictures.  She was behind a barbed-wire fence, and I had to consider the likelihood of my hair or a shoe getting stuck in the fence if I lept over it.   I just took pictures from the safe side, then jumped back in the car to alert the family.  

I breathlessly told the hubby and kids about her - after all, I had known of her for 5 whole minutes.  I phoned the number on the sign and made arrangements to visit with her that weekend.  Of course, I was about 98% sure I was going to buy it; no need to fuss with approval from the other family members.  

I went armed with my clipboard and eye glasses that Saturday,  inquiring about her windows (plexiglass or glass?), her axles (replaced recently or no), wheel bearings (replaced?), and ownership history.   I crawled underneath to inspect the subfloor, wondered how in the HELL I was going to get a new bathroom in here (there wasn't one), and finally considered my offer.  

The seller and I came to a mutual agreement, and he was going to deliver her to the ranch the following week (his truck bigger than ours).   Oh yeah, then I let the family know to help me clear a spot out here for her new home!  

Within two days I had already identified a restoration guy to do the work.  Sadly, his waitlist is up to two years, but I am prepared to wait.  I made the pilgrimage to meet him at his shop about 40 miles from home, and it was Airstream heaven.   He does great work, and I need the time to save the money and finish my doctorate anyway.

So now Hazel sits on my property, and she and I have worked out some details for her renovation.  Sometimes in life, timing sucks, but sometimes, it's just perfect.  I see her every day when I walk out the door, and I know that someday we'll share adventures (after I rip out the 1970's cabinets).  

Occasionally, I question my minimalist-ness a teeny bit, only because now I have acquired another thing that has wheels and requires money and attention.  But I will have my tiny house on wheels, and that's minimal, right?

Welcome to the ranch, Hazel.   

A Minimalist Abroad

I left Cowtown.  For my 50^th birthday, I embarked on an adventure.   It would be my longest trip away to date, aside from our annual pilgrimage to our Canada cabin.  That always seems like going home in its own way, since my things are there, and my family’s spirit embodies each board and stone. 

I went to Europe.  Because my brain knew I loved Paris.  Bearing in mind I haven’t seen Paris since I was a preschooler when I lived in the UK with my parents.  Preschoolers don’t give a shit about the Sacre-Coeur. But I would love it now.

I packed as sparsely as my Americanadian self would permit. I knew I could figure out how to buy shampoo in German and for sure en français, so I packed only my necessary things.  Of course, the laptop went too, because graduate school stops for no man. 

I learned many things.  I learned I don’t speak German.  Many Germans speak English, which I greatly appreciated.  But I couldn’t read signs or understand any conversation after please and thank you.  In the US, I don’t thing we appreciate the universality of our first language.  We expect things to be in English, people to understand us, and things to be in USD.  I learned I need to fluently learn another language.  I know enough Spanish to interview many of my patients and give medication instructions.  But I can’t explain a complicated treatment or speak with any semblance of fluency.  I will fix this, my linguistic inadequacy.

I learned we in the US don’t spend enough time marveling at things.  I have tried to appreciate sunsets, the perfect balance of lime, tequila and triple sec on a hot July evening, and the art that has visited our city from time to time.  Seeing things you haven’t seen before gives the opportunity for marveling.  I emerged from le métro and walked out in to the Paris sunshine with La Tour Eiffel in the horizon.  I stood, awestruck, and marveled.  I had to wipe away the watery stuff leaking from inside my sunglasses.  Can you imagine, going to work every day and the Eiffel Tower is just standing by on your route to the office?  Do Parisians marvel at it?  I presume no, because the stupid tourists are in the way.   

I learned to not need to be entertained, but to appreciate pleasure.  The Europeans sit in a sidewalk café, order alcohol any time of the day, and enjoy their food and drink.  There is no rush to consume, no urgent bucket list, and little watch-looking.  Just enjoy.  The concept seems so foreign to us in the States.

One thing I am doing right?  Photos.  Instead of clamoring to get a photo of the Mona Lisa (which is available in a zillion Google images), I stood in her presence.  Even with the scrum of knuckleheads obstructing my view with their iPads (good thing I am tall), I breathed in the life of the room, Lisa’s aura, the majesty of being in La Louvre and seeing Da Vinci’s work that evolved after many years into Paris’ top tourist attraction.   It was spiritual.  I did same while standing on the beaches of Normandy, conjuring up visions of young men staring down death amid gunfire and waves of the Channel to liberate the world from evil.  Only one or two pictures; just experienced the moment. 

As minimalist as I could be, experiencing unfamiliar cultures, foods, and languages, I realized I didn’t need much at all (Google maps, however, is a life-changer for the foreign traveler).  What a gift for making it through a whole half century.  One more half to go...

Running from My Problems?

I have started running again.  Half a dozen years ago I decided to run, then run a half marathon.  Then a couple more.  I never thought I could run that far, especially starting in my 40s.  I did, and the euphoria of crossing the finish and sporting a medal as proof was indescribable.

The last Half I ran was pretty crappy.  It was 40 degrees and rained the entire 13.1 miles.  I actually considered bailing the morning of the race, because the forecast was hideous.  But it was an out-of-town race,  we already had the hotel, and I had already picked up the packet.  So I was gonna do it.  It was my son's 19th birthday, and he was courteous enough to rise out of bed during finals week to watch me run past his dorm.   My worst time to date, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

I quit running after that.  Not because the weather was frigid that day and it turned me away from running, but more because I needed a break.  Running is a time of solitude.  Just you, your thoughts, and (in my case) the Dixie Chicks.  I was not in a place where my thoughts and I needed to spend a lot of time together.   Too much was banging around inside my brain: the loss of both mine and my husband's dad within 16 months, personal strife, shame and vulnerablility among other things.

I definitely needed to clear up some stuff before I wanted to be alone with myself for an hour or three.

I started doing yoga, as many of my faithful readers know.  I did classes, taught classes, and ran a studio at the ranch.  Yes, you have to be alone with your thoughts in yoga too, but with it, you practice mindfulness.  Mindfulness was just what I needed.  It's a practice, meaning we don't win it, accomplish it, or finish it.  We just try.  It taught me many things: acceptance, forgiveness, and strength to name a few.

This year I turn 50.  As I welcome in the second half of my life, I decided I should mark it with some milestone accomplishment.  I always opined I could never run a marathon.  It takes too long to train, and it's the distance from Fort Worth to Dallas, for crying out loud.  Why would someone run that far?

So, I signed up for one.

I've made it through the first year of working on my doctorate, and I didn't die from that.  So why not a marathon? I figured, what the hell, other old people run 26.2 miles, why can't I?  I am a month or so back into training, still slower that the internet in the 90's, but I have spent the time on my legs.  That is what will get me across the finish.

Why is this part of the minimalism thing, you ask?  I like to think running is minimalist.  All you need are some shoes and a road (and a sports bra probs).  No membership or machines needed, although I did invest in some bluetooth headphones because I always run with the Dixie Chicks.   I remember doing a training run a few years ago in West Texas when I was there on a trip.  I couldn't see the end of the road, so I just kept running. I guess I would stop when I got to the border.  It was great.

My head is clearer now, likely thanks to yoga and therapy.  I am good with running with my thoughts and letting them bounce around in there, reminding me that you can run with your problems, and not from them.  I'll let you know how the last 0.2 miles of the marathon feels in December.  I know the finish will be magic. 

Minimal Travels

Ah, sweet summertime.  Here on the ranch, we sent one of the kids off to Europe for study abroad.  We haven't heard from him much, but have proof of life thanks to Snapchat and Instagram.  It looks like the time of his life is being had.

He's also learning about minimalism.  He had to pack his worldly goods into one backpack and suitcase, leaving him nimble enough to lug his life on planes, trains, and through teeny living spaces.  He found that the Europeans do not live in 3000 sf places, nor do they thrive in the excess we do here.  And guess what, they and he are doing just fine. 

I'm about to do the same. Can't send the kid off to see the world without seeing a bit of it yourself.  Traveling with less is a challenge for me, despite my minimalistic tendencies.  I tend to plan for the worst.  Travel guru Rick Steves said most Americans do that, but he reminds that they DO sell umbrellas and bandaids in Europe.  You don't have to plan for every eventuality.  Just go live.

I plan to do that. I figure, armed with my laptop, good walking shoes, and my Visa card, I should be just fine.  I don't buy souvenirs on trips.  I used to be all about the shot glasses and t-shirts, but now I only want to carry around my memories on my hard drive and in my brain.  NOT to my retirement home.  Souvenir, as you may know, is French for "to remember", and I don't want to remember my travels with tchotchkes.   I'll stick with pictures. 

I think travel is the best gift you can give yourself.  Seeing the world's largest ball of string or the statue of the David or Mount Rushmore are all magic moments.  I'm not a fan of travel "bucket lists" (see my blog on Kicking Your Bucket List ) because I don't try to focus on checking off what I want to see so much that I am not focusing on the beauty of the visit.  But to be clear, my children will see the Mona Lisa if they have to stand behind 50 Asian tourists holding iPads up to take her picture and prove her presence.  We aren't going to Paris and missing that opportunity.  It's a must.

Travel light and travel often.  Your brain will be so much more awakened than if you spent your money on something you can touch, like a TV or a newer car.  You'll meet people you can't understand (even if you only travel domestically!) and eat things you can't identify (again, just go to Louisiana) and your life will be better.  In the words of Boy Wonder's professor who is supervising the study abroad trip: "If your life isn't changed by this trip, it's your own fault".

Happy Trails, minimalist friends... the world is out there. 

Body Confidence -- College Style

I have broken away from my minimalism topics these last few entries. I guess I just had other things I wanted to share.  Today's post is about bikini bodies.

Are. you. serious. you're probably saying.  Why would she write about that? 

Humor me over your morning coffee.  I learned something here. 

This week I was with my college boy helping him clean out his house after finals since he will be away over the summer.  We stopped by to see some of his friends while we were in town.  Picture the scene:  college apartment pool the last day of finals.  It's clear skies and 90 Texas degrees.  Cans of beer are cracking open and volleyball is underway.  Lots of teen and twenty something kids are joyfully hanging out with friends and reveling in their no-more-finals selves.

And wearing bikinis.

You're probably thinking, well, they ARE 20.  Probably never had a baby stretch your gut to oblivion or even a glimmer of cellulite.  If they push a size 8, they're morbidly obese.  Enough to make an almost 50 year old mom cry.

Nope.

There were skinny girls, athletic looking ones who could squat a small car, and some bikini model looking ones too.  But there were bigger girls who in judgy-er environs would feel self-conscious in a two piece suit, especially standing near the tinier ones.  But you know what?  They were wearing their swim suit, tanning, volleyballing, posing for their instagram stories, and having (from what I perceived) a ton of fun.   Happy, not hiding under a big t-shirt or in their apartment, but just enjoying the perfect college afternoon.

How great is that?  Didn't seem to be a cloud of body shaming or self-loathing hovering over anyone.  There were even guys there who looked like they were NOT spending the majority of their day in the gym agonizing over "macros ratios", whatever that is.... One guy had a large scar, either operative or trauma - I couldn't tell,  parallel to his entire spine, and he was no-shirting like all the rest.

They probably would think uh yeah, no big deal, old lady?!  We always are half-naked here - it's college!  I decided I would learn something equally if not more valuable than what I learned when I was studying for finals.  What we are is good.  Not just "good enough", because that implies an interval scale, where one lies between this and maybe better.  But good.  And we good people are meant to enjoy friends and sun and beer and the joy of the terminus of a college semester.

I am going to wear my bikini.  I do anyway, because I have to pee all the time, but now I am going to recall the girls I saw on a May afternoon and their confidence and joy and channel that.  I will endeavor to stop the comparison, and enjoy the sun and life I have.   Comparison is the thief of joy, according to Theodore Roosevelt, and I am not letting mine be stolen.

Happy Summer, friends!

My Royal Mom

May flowers bring me lots of memories.  I lost my mom 12 years ago today.  So many of us have lost our parents, and it's the way nature intended, them to leave before their children do.  It's still hard.  Every day that I think of her or recall a childhood memory, I wish I had her to phone and share.  After my Daddy died in 2014, I felt very alone for the first time ever, really.  An orphan, as someone heartlessly reminded me after his death.  My guiding stars were extinguished. 

May is Mother's Day, which doesn't make me sad to have lost mine because I have two children who make me who I am to them: Momma.  I don't put that on my facebook profile however, or list it first in my twitter bio, because as Mom always reminded me, I am way more than just that.  Being a mom is one of my most important roles, but it's not that simple.  We mothers have a zillion more facets than that.  I love thinking about my mom around Mother's Day.  I always plant lavender, because it was one of her favorites and it blooms around now.  Just a stroke of the blossoms with my hand evokes thoughts of my momma. 

May is also Royal Wedding month!  When your family is Canadian and subjects of the Queen, well, ya just adore a royal wedding.  When Wills and Kate got married (yes, we're that close we call them by their nicknames), Cameron and I got up at 0430 to have tea ready and watch the ceremony, just to install that memory into forever.  And we'll do it again 19th May this month for Harry and Meghan.  My beloved went to the UK for business last week and thoughtfully brought me a coffee mug celebrating the royal wedding, knowing both my mother and I would love it.  Momma had china representing all the weddings she lived through, refusing to retire the Charles and Diana (Chuck and Di to we familiar) plates even after Camilla entered the picture.  When Momma died, I couldn't keep it all (because minimalist), but I presented her precious heirlooms to her Daughters of the British Empire sisters who were thrilled to care for them. 

I hate that my children didn't know my mom as well as I wish they had.  But I tell them whenever the opportunity arises, "Nana would have said..." or "when I was a kid _____."  When we go to the family cabin in the summer every year, memories of my parents are in every whistle through the trees and every wave in the lake.   It is there, I can always see my guiding stars, bright in the northern sky. 

Happy Almost Mother's Day and Happy Wedding Harry & Meghan!

My Roomie, My Hero

Not about minimalism today, but about something far more important.

I realized when I was telling some people about my friend Kim and her accomplishments that she deserved more than just a mention to strangers.  Her success deserved a public forum, replete with the love that is justified. So here is her story. 

Kim and I met in August of 1986.  We were both freshmen at Texas A&M University and eager to meet our “potluck” roommate.  I remember looking at the assignment sheet for roommates, seeing her name, and thinking “Kimberly Ivy sounds like a pretty normal name...” After I moved my stuff in, I inspected her cassette stash and was joyful to see similar musical tastes. We even had the same middle name!  Best of all, we wore the same size clothes.  Jackpot!

We had some great times in 338 Krueger.  She was an accounting major, and I had about 3 majors before settling on biology.  She met her future husband at TAMU, and after our sophomore year, I wore yellow and carried daisies in her wedding.  Kim and her husband moved to Amarillo where she finished her degree, not letting the birth of her first son deter her school schedule and graduating right on time from West Texas A&M.  Shortly after, Kim moved back to the Dallas area where she had attended high school, and near where I was living at the time.  When her first daughter was born in 1992, I had the privilege of handing her to Kim for the first time out of the nursery after delivery.  That handsome son and beautiful first daughter would be my ring bearer and flower girl in my wedding a few years later.

I had two children, and Kim had just a few more, six more to be exact, yet we were never pregnant at the same time!  During those years, Kim and her family moved out to east Texas to Alba, population: not much til the Reeves clan arrived.  Kim felt called to bring a child into their home and went through enormous paperwork and red tape to adopt her daughter Rena from Serbia.  Rena has special needs and has thrived in Kim’s loving home, embracing her life with her wonderful siblings. 

A few years later, Kim and her family realized they wanted to complete their household by adopting one more. They were in the process of adopting Lyric, who also has special needs, when a social worker asked her a question she couldn’t refuse.  “I have a little girl who needs a home.  She may have some delays, but would you consider her, too?”

Kim said yes, and Lucy Love became the caboose.  The family was complete (that's eleven if you're counting).  The children were busy on the farm in Alba, and Kim home schooled her brood.  Her eldest left first, heading to his parents’ alma mater at Texas A&M where he also met his future bride.  Her first daughter, my flower girl, attended Texas A&M as well, studied in Brazil, and is now completing her degree in Dallas.  Her next-in-succession-sons are studying at Texas A&M and Texas Christian University, both with nearly two years’ credit under their belts before entering as freshmen and scholarships galore.  Her next three daughters, aptly named Faith, Hope, and Joy, are also homeschooling and doing dual credit, excelling in every arena.  The younger four all attend public school now, which as you read on will make logistical sense!

Sounds like a complete life, doesn’t it?  A beautiful life.  But Kim had and still has more story to tell.  Kim’s mother was stricken with Parkinson’s disease, which robbed her of many years with her children and grandchildren.  She had care nearby, as Kim’s parents had settled on a contiguous piece of farmland.  Three of Kim’s children have complex medical problems which require frequent trips to Dallas for specialized pediatric care.  Throughout this journey, Kim realized she should be a nurse.  She would go back to school.  So, amid home schooling and managing farm life, she tackled the pre-requisites and then was accepted to nursing school at the University of Texas at Tyler. Straight A’s, amazing clinical skills, and mom life. 

In November of 2016, results of a mammogram derailed the plan.  I remember that call.  “I have cancer”.  No. Not Kim.  Not SuperMom of the Universe who had breastfed eight babies?  How could this be?  In true Kim fashion, she announced, “I will take my finals and have surgery the next day.  I told them to hustle up because school starts back in January, and I need to be recovered”.  Ok, consider yourself on notice, Dr. Surgeon!

Kim had her surgery and was derailed a bit more when the doctor told her she needed a follow up procedure to hope for clear margins and then radiation.  Crap.  “How will I fit radiation in between clinicals?”  Well, she couldn’t.  Radiation took priority and school slowed down with some online work and no clinical rotations.  When she completed her radiation, the mostest stubbornest Kim said “I’m not ringing that bell.  I’ll let Lily Jane do it or not at all”.  Lily was glad to bang the gong to symbolize Mama was done with that cancer nonsense.  She had school to finish.

To complete the trifecta, she had one more surgery before she jumped back in to classes in August, all to ensure a good outcome for the next 40-50 years of her productive life.  Then back to school full steam ahead. 

She blew away her classes as per usual, but just as she regained her footing, she and her family suffered the loss of Kim’s mother.  I remember her mom Terry from the first day of college.  She was a respiratory therapist, and I know she would be immensely proud of Kim’s second career in nursing.

This winter she moved from the farm to “the city” of Quitman, Texas to be closer to schools and a future job in a hospital.  It was tough to give up the room for the animals, but there are more hurdles to leap in a single bound.

This week, I will have the honor, the privilege, and the tear-filled opportunity to place a nursing pin on my roomie and Lolly of 32 years as she graduates.  She will join me in the noblest and most fulfilling of professions, as I watch with so much admiration I could burst.  Kim will turn 50 this same month, and she will enter the second half of her life as a nurse, a grandmother to two perfect grandchildren, and a survivor.  I am humbled to be her friend and be part of her celebration.  She truly has a servant’s heart and determination like no other.  Just TRY to tell her she can’t do it.  Then hide and watch. 

I love you, Lolly.  #lollysforever

Spring Cleaning! (again...)

Happy Spring, Minimalists!  It doesn't really feel spring-y here in north Texas, because we're supposed to be in shorts for festivals and art shows.  Instead we're turning on the heater again and still wearing fleece.  

Alas, nothing says "clean out your crap!" like the calendar flipped to April! 

Why do we spring clean every year?  Do we accumulate THAT much stuff over the winter months that we need to do an overhaul AGAIN after the spring thaw?  It looks that way.  Perhaps we need to at least address this cycle.

Here are a few suggestions from your friends at Cowtown Minimalist, in no particular order:

1.  There is nothing wrong with buying something, whether it is a new sofa, a coffee mug, or a pair of earrings.  When you do, consider what already lives in your home, and decide if the new acquisition can take another's place.  Donate, Ebay, or give to friends what you are replacing.  

2.  Dying to "complete" a collection?  Ask yourself why.  Is it imperative you have each figurine in that Precious Moments collection (I always go back to those things because I just will never understand their appeal)?  Will you truly feel "complete" when you have found/purchased the last piece in the set?  Or will you be wandering off to find another thing to collect?

3. If it gets relegated to the the garage/attic/room no one enters, it's probably not that important, so consider eliminating its presence from your household.   We have such a hard time parting with things that were costly, were handled by someone who is now dead, or that held a dear memory.  Remember that physical objects only hold the value we have assigned them.  You can unassign that value, or take a photo and store that in the cloud. Permission granted.

4.  If you have children or a partner, consider them in your lifestyle choices.  If you died tomorrow, would they really care or want any of your stuff in boxes and crammed in closets?  I'm not saying to always live like you're dying, but once you're charged with sorting a loved one's life of belongings, you may be more prudent about what you leave after you're gone.  I have instructed my children what has some financial value, so they can sell that if they want after my demise.  Otherwise, hang on to my wedding rings and my Aggie ring. They don't take up much space and are tangible symbols of my life.  I am hopeful everything else is in your brain or in pictures. 

5.  If you have an object that you have assigned value, for heaven's sake USE it or display it.  A vase that your grandmother always had in her home?  Put flowers in it and look at it.   Your mother's wedding ring?  Wear it if you can.  Or put in on a necklace.  Stop hiding stuff in boxes. 

6.  Don't buy shit on vacation.  You don't need another t-shirt or sea shell to commemorate your trip to Destin.  You were there. Unless you've had a brain injury or dementia, you can remember your trip.  The talisman shell collection won't change that.  Just enjoy your adventure and skip the souvenir shops.  It will make your life more simple when it comes to next year's spring cleaning!


Remember, everyone's minimalist journey is different.  It's not about sparse walls or empty closets.  It's about mindfully appreciating what we bring into our lives, so we don't have to gnash our teeth over getting rid of it later. 

Enjoy your Sunday, Minimalist friends!

40 Bags in 40 Days 2018 is Almost Here!

It's that time again!  Mardi Gras, Valentine's Day, and yes: 40 Bags in 40 Days!  This is the 4th year that we at Cowtown Minimalist have participated, and we encourage you to come along!

Tomorrow begins our 40 days of Decrapifying!

Are you asking yourself what is 40 Bags in 40 Days? 

It's the 40 Days of the year where we commit to getting rid of a bag a day (maybe you skip a day and do 2 bags the next?).  It coincides with the lenten period of sacrifice, but we care not if you celebrate Lent, Easter, and any religious holiday.  We just care about de-crapifying.

The bag can be small, like de-crapifying your junk drawer at home or the office.  It can be getting rid of socks that have no partner.  Or, if you're feeling ambitious, do the whole closet in your guest room, and we'll give you credit for at least 3 days!

The cool folks over at whitehouseblackshutters.com made this cool printable (click here for a copy) if you're into that.  You can jot down whatever you decrapified that day.  If you skip a day?  There will be no punishment or consequence.  We just want you to feel supported and de-cluttered! 

Who doesn't feel incredibly satisfied with a dynamite looking junk drawer?  Many minimalists encourage purging the junk drawer all together, but we enjoy our scissors and binder clips having a nesting place and we're not ditching it.

Keep up with us here at Cowtown Minimalist, and maybe share your progress on instagram and tag us at #cowtownminimalist if that's your jam.  Good luck and happy decrapifying!

A Minimalist Double-Check

While pursuing my doctoral studies, I watched a documentary called "Living on One Dollar" about two filmmakers who spent their summer vacation living in Guatemala for one dollar a day and trying to understand the poverty and strife the citizens there face daily.  And it hit me like a brick ton. 

I am ridiculous if I think I am a minimalist. 

For before my Netflix viewing eyes, these smiling residents of Peña Blanca are subsisting on nearly nothing by our standards, and cannot even ensure their children attend school if they cannot afford school supplies or need the children to work instead.  I'm pretty sure I don't know minimalism. 

Getting rid of most of your $50 shoes is not minimalism.  Only having 3 beach towels is not minimalism.  Not having shit cluttering your garage is indeed, NOT that minimalist. 

I hope I haven't brought too much shame to the cause. 

I don't want minimalism to fall under the category of "Things White People Like" (an awesome Twitter - if you don't follow, you must).  Like, you can only be a minimalist if you're rich and can afford to have nothing?  And yeah, I get the irony. 

I guess I will try to make my minimalist journey incorporate more gratitude for what this country and my existence has given me.  My kids can go to school for free, and I don't worry that they won't have books or supplies or clothes to wear.   I can work and write and study important life changing things.  The grocery store has what I need.  Stuff comes out of the electricity plug when I want it to.

I don't want to be a minimalist farce.  I want to do it right.

And I am going to go learn from the people in Central America about minimalism and gratitude. And appreciate the privilege of de-cluttering that this world we live in brings. 


www.livingonone.org if you're interested.