Why has it been so long?!

Published March 18, 2013 by dixielongate

Ok, I have been busier than a Wal Mart Shift manager with a discount sticker gun.  I have been racing around this dang world helping people with their food storage solutions and I just seem to have neglected my blogging and story telling completely and for those kind souls who follow me, I owe you more than this.

I have a big new adventure happening so I will be blogging much more in the next few weeks, I promise.  I will have plenty to write about as I begin my journey with a whole new show to Australia.  Hopefully the kind folk down there will enjoy it, and I have every intention of blogging a hell of a lot more and telling y’all about the stories and craziness that is happening down under.

Wish me luck everyone!Image

Pub Pub Goose

Published June 21, 2012 by dixielongate

I can’t exactly figure out why there is so much hate in the world today, so much fighting, so much negativity.  I got this great email that showed various pictures of people doing heroic deeds that were completely unrelated and happened to be caught on cameras and then someone assembled them all into one email and sent it around.  It was meant to inspire hope and show that people are still good at their core, but then you turn on the TV or just look at any string of comments on any YouTube post and you wonder when people became so snarky and vicious.  At some point, we learned all of this stuff.   And somewhere, in a bunch of people’s minds, they linked up that all of this awful behavior is somehow appropriate.

Do you ever stop and think how we all got like that?  Do you ever yearn for a simpler time?  Do you ever look at a bunch of kids playing in a park and just see pure and total joy?

Before prejudice is taught, there is happiness.  Before our differences are pointed out, we are grateful to all be the same.  Perhaps it is just a basic need to have someone to play with during recess, but there is a simple truth in watching kids get along.

Some adults will say, “well, they just don’t know any better.”  I actually think they know a lot better than us.  How is it that when people start to be taught to judge and turn against one another that it can possibly be called “knowing better?”  That is pretty awful when you think about it.

I think sometimes we should all take the example of kids on a playground and try to live with that kind of excitement and that kind of laughter and that kind of joy.  Think back to when the worst thing that ever happened was you fell down and skinned your knee because you were actually having too much fun.  Remember those days?

Sometimes I wish the world leaders would take 15 minutes from their Summits and just play Kick Ball.   How about we tie the Senate and the Congress together and make them do 3-legged Races all over Capital Hill.  Instead of giving people parking tickets, let’s give them sidewalk chalk and encourage them to draw what makes them happiest.

 

Kids sometimes just have it so right.

 

So I’d like to propose something.  July 4th is coming up: a day of pride and pomp and booze.  People died for our independence.  They died in the pursuit of our happiness, so let’s honor them for that by actually being happy.  Let’s go back to being a kid but give it that adult twist.  I find that any time as an adult I do something that I did as a kid, I enjoy it even more.

Since many of us will be at picnics and barbeques, and I know I will end up at a bar or two, I propose we play a new game that I call “Pub Pub Goose.”  The rules are simple.  Go into a bar, start walking around smiling at people, and then tap them on the head.

“Duck.”

Walk to the next person, slowly, and make your move.

“Duck.”

And again to the person beside her.

“Duck.”

You can skip a couple of people if you want to mix it up a bit.

“Duck.”

Definitely go to the person sitting on their own.

“Duck.”

Continue

“Duck.”

And when you think you have a straight open path to get all the way around the bar or back to the Juke Box or to the DJ booth (please be careful of the dart board), then make your move.

“GOOSE!” and Run like hell.

If they don’t follow you the first time, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t play full out.  You should still run like hell.  Don’t look back.  Keep focused.  Navigate that path to freedom.  Stick your tongue out to one side if it makes you think better. Get back to the starting point.  And when you do, jump up and down and enjoy your success.  You made it.  You have won.  Phew!

Some people might be looking at you strangely.  Why?  What’s wrong with THEM?  They know the rules.  This isn’t the first time they have played this game.  So begin again with the same person.  They’ll catch on.

 

“Duck.”

This is fun.

“Duck.”

I can outrun her.  She’s wearing heels.

“Duck.”

He’s handsome. Maybe if I run slowly, he’ll catch me and I can get his number.

“Duck.”

Why is he alone at the bar?  Maybe he needs a friend.

“GOOSE!”

Run and run and really mean it as you dash as fast as you can, being mindful of the pool table and the peanut shells on the floor.

 

Did you beat him?  Since people are still dusting off their old “play mode” you might want to acquiesce for this first round and buy that guy who didn’t catch you but actually attempted a shot.  Nothing lethal.  This game might go on for a while.  Just something nice and delicious with a sugar rim that will start the ball rolling.

Now they know.   The loser has to buy a shot for the winner.  Nice reward.  Who wouldn’t want to play that game?

Buy him the shot and give the game over to him.  It is now his turn.  You take your place next to the cigarette machine and watch as the afternoon changes.  Let people play for a while and just see how the smiles start to reappear on people’s faces.  These are the smiles that people honestly forgot were inside of them.   These are the kids that got locked away sometime around 5th grade and told never to come out again because we were learning how to judge and how to look tough and how to buck the system instead of realizing that we were just shutting down part of our capacity to have fun.

If the game falls short, start another round.  If people don’t catch on, keep playing it yourself.  And if they keep staring at you like a freak, remember, you are the one having a great time playing a game.  It just sucks for them that they are getting in their own way and preventing themselves from having a blast.  They are stopping themselves from actually being Free.  And isn’t that what July 4th is all about, Freedom?

So be free this July 4th.  If it makes you feel better, get some friends to play it with you at the bar.  Enlist people to help it grow.  Make it a regular thing.  Go from bar to bar and just make people smile.  Leave all of the judgment and crisis outside in the parking lot.  If you are worried about making a fool of yourself, rest assured that several people at the bar are way ahead of you judging by the empty beer bottles sitting in front of them so just figure that you are getting the party started early.

Go back to that time when you couldn’t wait for recess.  Think back to when playing jacks was actually interesting and you dared to eat that awful stick of gum that came with your trading cards. Go back to the time of “not knowing any better.”

 

And I bet skinning your knee won’t seem like such a big deal this go around.

Adrenaline

Published September 23, 2011 by dixielongate

You know that feeling after your second round of shots when you start to feel that little tingle?  You are not always sure if that tingle is in your gut or in your mind, but either way, you sort of feel invincible.   You get that feeling that you could take on anything or anybody and come out victorious.   It’s some sort of adrenaline I guess.   It’s that part of you that gets a taste for the crazy and wants more.

I was at my favorite place about 10 miles from the Police Station that makes this drink called a Mustang Sally that will peel the lead paint off of about anything that is Chinese-made.  Two friends of mine had flown in from points west to meet up for a Girl’s Weekend of craziness; southern style.  Mary lives in Denver and has shown me all the ways to have fun in the Mile-High City when I have visited.  She’s opinionated, smart, funny, loves her Soaps, and is one hell of a grill master.   And then there is Adele.  Outside of being a spy for a living, she has the coolest job title in the world, Parts Modeling.  She’s one of those people whose hands you see in a magazine opening a box of cereal or grabbing a bottle of Pepto.  She’s the only person I know that can turn down an offer of staying out all night because, as she puts it, “I’ve got to be up at 8 AM for a hand job.”  And she’s being serious!

At this outing though, the three of us ended up staying for the better part of the afternoon eating fried foods and playing darts.  As the night came on, we decided that shots were in order.  Adele was telling us all about her bumpy flight and admitted that the knocking about got her so jumpy that she had started drinking about 5 hours earlier.  Amen, Jesus!  She got to talking about the adrenaline rush she had while she was on the plane.   On the one hand it scared the stuffin’ right out of her, but on the other, she kind of liked that sensation.   We started talking about what really gets our blood pumping.   Well, she has kind of a fun life, so she said things like traveling and seeing new places gets her excited.  You can read about hers on her blog thing here.   Also, Mary took the challenge and wrote down a list of hers here.   I won’t go into them cause you can read them yourself, damn it!  Here is Mary’s and here is Adele’s craziness.

Then came my turn.   What gets my heart pumping?  What butters my biscuit?  What makes me want to throw on my superhero heels and scoot my ass across the old dirty floor of a Honky Tonk?

Skinny-dipping.  Lord, have I made some of the best memories of my life in 10 feet of water with my clothes a few dozen yards away on a dock.  There is that thrill of throwing my bra on the ground and slinking out of my shorts and racing off the end of the platform landing with a cannonball splash that rivals any of the Stevenson boys.   And when I am lucky enough to come up to the surface and find that someone with a handsome smile has jumped in right after me who I may or may not have just met, that is what keeps me coming back again and again.

Mechanical Bulls.  When Ruby’s Diner in Magnolia Springs took out its mechanical bull named Winston in favor of one of them stuffed animal machines with the claw arm inside, I about had myself a come apart.  Nothing helps finish off one of them Super Stack Pancake breakfasts breakfast combos like 8 seconds on a bucking bronco between the bathrooms and the soda station.  And I found that if I was real nice to the waitress, she would turn it up a notch so that I really had to hold on if I didn’t want to end up thrown into someone’s lap when they were enjoying their all-you-can-eat brunch after the 11:00 Sunday Service.

I stopped visiting Ruby’s when they took him out.

Storms.  If you know anything about the map of the US, you know that Mobile, Alabama, my hometown, is on the Gulf Coast.   While the rest of the US has the regular 4 seasons, we get an extra season that lasts way too long called “Hurricane Season.”  It runs from about June till about the Thanksgiving and by then has really outstayed its welcome.  Some seasons we get the crap beaten out of us.  Although the news don’t much care any longer, we in the south are still recovering from Katrina.  That level of storm isn’t all that common, but even the little storms pee buckets of rain and toss our homes around quite often.  It is the little ones, the Tropical depressions as they call them, that I really enjoy.   The winds’ll sting you but they wont blow you over.   The rains will splash you, but you wont see anything larger than an old Big Gulp mug get swept up in them.  The storms are enough to get your blood pumping, but they don’t leave behind anything but a rainbow when they’re done.

I could’ve easily come up with 100 more, but Adele caught the waitress’ attention, and sometimes what gets my adrenaline up the most is one more round.

Of course that leads me to ask what gets your adrenaline racing?

R’member?

Published July 24, 2011 by dixielongate

Sometimes I look back at the 70’s and wish that I was born just a wee bit earlier so that I could have experienced the things that I only see in old commercials that I frequently download from YouTube.  It is a riot.  Sometimes painful, but always Way Too Enjoyable to realize that some of the worst concepts in the 70’s made some people a lot of money, while it made other people just amass a collection of photos that as adults they pull out now and think, “Wow, that was a really bad idea.”

Recipe Cards.  You could order them from TV and they would come C.O.D.  for only $9.99.   In those days, everything was only $9.99.  And it came with a “attractive organizing case FREE,” because it was vitally important to sort your meal ideas by category so that you could flip right to the salad section if you were only having friends over after tennis or jump right to the heavy duty steak section if you were throwing a Key Party.   The front of the card has a picture of the finished meal while the back had the ingredients list, the preparation instructions and the cook time.  Was it a fish or was it a fried root of some kind with homemade pickled relish on it?   Who cares!  The prep time was only 20 minutes according to the card, and your mom had that amount of time between feathering her hair and picking out leg warmers for her Jazzercise class.

Sun In.   Incredible.  Meant to give you those summer-blond highlights, It was bleach in a spray can.  Ordinarily used in your laundry room, this little stroke of genius was what on-the-go teens did during beach season because the practice of foiling your hair at a salon was both expensive and unheard of.   The smart alternative?  Spray bleach directly on your head!  If you were smart enough to comb it through and not get a blistering chemical burn, you might achieve something resembling Farrah Fawcett’s iconic do, if you had a personal set of hot rollers and 4-5 hours each day to blow it all out after shampooing with Herbal Essence Shampoo. (This was of course before the “orgasaming in the shower commercials” that are their trademark today.)  But if you either didn’t own a comb or you were a brunette, watch out!!  You either achieved something that resembled a leopard after a fresh kill or  Oompah Loompa Orange which was the natural chemical reaction of bleach on brunette.

Saturday morning television was completely awesome.   A mix of toy commercials from Kenner convincing you to buy everything from Hungry Hungry Hippos to 3-inch plastic action figured that could be swallowed by an infant, but were still so engaging that it would have kept a 2nd grader with as-yet-undiagnosed A.D.D enthralled for literally months at a time, and a multitude of  shows produced by the drug-addled minds of Sid and Marty Kroft that mixed live actors like Bob Denver and Ruth Buzzy with costumed characters that would have made you run screaming if you saw them at an amusement park.  A friendly sea monster, a mad scientist with a shrink ray, Diedre Hall in orange and yellow spandex fighting off evil-doers, a sort of cross between a mushroom and a dragon that was trying keep a witch from stealing a boy’s magic flute who’s only power seemed to be to never shut the hell up.  What were the network executives thinking when they bought these shows?

But I wont completely indict the 70’s.  Like I said, if I was a little older, I would have gotten to participate in all of this craziness.

They didn’t breathe, but polyester bell-bottom pants which were so wide that walking became an event you had to practice for seemed like a challenge I would have loved to tackle.  And if you were young, they usually had a pocket sewn on them that was in the shape of a strawberry that made these sexually exciting times seem way more innocent than they actually were according to some of the movies I have seen on late-night cable.

Overalls!  Overalls!  And you didn’t even have to own a goat or live on a farm.   This was just what people wore.  Remarkable.   Of course that look was hijcked in the early 90’s by gay men who would wear them with one of the shoulders unsnapped, but sorry, the 70’s introduced that look.

But I think the coolest thing of all that will never fade from my childhood memory was the onslaught of soda commercials (or  “pop” depending on where you live in the country) that were basically people singing and dancing in show stopping musical numbers where they took over large open fields and parking lots outside of major metropolitan malls to sing out joyously about how happy they were to “Be a Pepper.”

The sheer level of refreshment that soda drinkers had in the 70’s have not been seen again.   Maybe it is because they have replaced real sugar with aspartame that then was replaced with Nutrisweet that was then replaced by Splenda only to now have real sugar re-introduced back into them.

Maybe this summer, I will shake my hair in the sun, pull off the cap to a glass bottled soda and dance on the hood of an old Pontiac.  Maybe I’ll screw off the bottle cap to find that I won a prize or I can collect the whole set or get a pair of tickets to “Corvette Summer” or whatever else the soda manufacturers promised you back in ‘78 to get you to guzzle record-breaking amounts of their caramel-colored liquid happiness and to feel like there was nothing that you couldn’t accomplish.

I wanted to “Have a Coke and a Smile.”  I longed to enjoy “The Real Thing.”  I thought the fact that Diet Pepsi came with a squeeze of lemon was more ground-breaking than the cure for Polio, and Lauren Hutton as their spokesperson sporting that gap between her teeth that she could stick the straw between was somehow sexy.  Hell, she drank soda through a straw.  How glamorous was THAT!!!

And I wanted to be 5 years old in my bell bottom pants and unable to stand up because a dozen little golden puppies were climbing all over me by a metal swing set somewhere.  I wanted to grab my friends, cover a mountain top, join hands and “Teach the World to Sing!”

What happened to those days?  All the recipe cards, Ginsu knife sets, and cases of Sun-In in the world couldn’t dissolve that lump in my throat that I used to get at the extended 60-second Coke commercial that showed nations and cultures and races all getting along simply because of a carbonated beverage.

Was it true?  Was it really that simple?  That is why I really wish I could have experienced the 70’s.  I really want to know if back then you could really open up an Igloo Cooler and peace would prevail?  And more importantly, is there any chance that we would be able to do that today?  Can love and harmony and understanding really be achieved in 16 oz. increments?

Maybe that will be my summer resolution.  Maybe that will be my entire life’s goal.  It’s an ambitious one; maybe too ambitious.  But at the end of the day, perhaps that is what I would like to be remembered for.  Maybe that is really what I’d like to do.

I’d like to teach the World to Sing,

In perfect harmony.

I’d like to buy the world a coke,

And keep it company……

Definitely while wearing overalls.

Is that a Pinto Bean in your hair?

Published July 9, 2011 by dixielongate

- Is usually a funny statement when you are asking someone else.  However, when the universe turns it around and some handsome man in the middle of the Food Court is asking you, all of a sudden two things happen.

1) He thinks you stole pinto beans from their moderately well kept salad bar.  And

2) There is actually a pinto bean in your hair!!!!

This is both embarrassing to admit and hard to determine how it got there.  But I am going to blame it on Mexicans and their delicious food at the food court in the mall.

It was a day like any other day where I have way too much to do and not enough time to get it all done before Oprah comes on.  And now that she has ceased to rule the mid-afternoon airwaves, the precious syndicated re-runs are all I have left, but I think her advice always bares repeating, so I don’t mind watching the bra-fitting episode or anything where a has-been celebrity bursts through that paper banner in the back of the stage like a high school quarterback whose chance to lose his virginity rest upon scoring at least 2 touchdowns at the Saturday afternoon game.

God, that makes me wish I had gone to high school.   I wouldn’t really have cared about the big games themselves.  It’s all that “You did so good, Johnny.  Now let me show you how I’ve been practicing the splits” stuff that I really think I missed out on.

Anyway, back to the bean.

So I hadn’t eaten for the better part of the morning except for the Pop Tart half that I found on my bathroom sink that I hope was left there by my son, but can’t really be sure, but it’s safer to go with that story.  It was brown sugar/cinnamon, which really is on the top of the Pop Tart flavor food pyramid.  I was ready to chew my own arm off when I saw the half-dozen options for relatively unhealthy but terribly convenient fast food to tide me over till I could get back to the trailer to make myself something scrumptious.  Since I was planning on having chicken later that evening, I passed up that option, blew right past the salad place because although it was the healthiest idea, it is hard to walk and eat a salad at the same time unless you are an Olympic gymnast that can twirl a ribbon and throw those medium sized balls up in the air and catch them between your legs.  But then if you can do that, I’m sure that salad isn’t the first thing on your mind.  Chinese – No.  Curry – No.  Vegan – Hell no!

Mexican – well, since to my knowledge most of their food is made up of some combination of rice, beans, and corn, I figured I could convince myself that it was healthy.   And they had this “Jr. Burrito” which, being smaller was probably only half the calories.  So I ordered 2 of them and found a table in the food court.   There was a large glass ceiling that let the sunlight of the afternoon come streaming in which not only was beautiful, but made me sweat just a little more than I had hoped.

So there I was, “Jr. Burritos” in front of me, mild salsa for my few meager chips that came as a side dish, and a stack of napkins at the ready.   And then, it happened.  I gazed up to see this very handsome man at the “fake hair on a banana clip” kiosk that was right in front of me.   He was something else.  Forgetting the fact that he worked at a hair accessory kiosk, he was probably quite a catch.   Nice arms, curly hair, and judging by how fast his fingers were twitching on his cell phone, a sizeable data plan.  And he was showered in sunlight from the glass ceiling above him.

Now I don’t know if this happens to you, but when I look at the sun, I tend to sneeze.  Hard!  Sometimes I am lucky enough to have a bit of a warning, sometimes, not so much.  This time, I felt it coming on, but I was trying to still look adorable in case Renaldo  (that turned out to be his name) came over and wanted to color-match my hair to anything he had on his “$20 discount wall.”  I instinctively scrambled for a napkin to cover what I was sure was going to be a doozie of a sneeze.   And BLAM!  It was unleashed with so much force that the better part of the first “Jr. Burrito” launched, NASA-style into my hand.  It ricocheted and shot back at my face

The last bite of my burrito before the incident was a good-sized one, what the Snickers Company might call “Fun Sized.”  It was a pretty big mouthful, now half-chewed and mixed with saliva.

When it flew back at my face and hair, it was a collection of rice bits, sauce, and several pinto beans, that if I was at a spa with a Japanese name, would have cost me about $150 and been labeled “ a treatment.”  Today however, it was just a really horrible accident.

Apparently, the sunlit dome was also a natural amphitheater for sound.  My rocket launcher sound effect made Renaldo look up from his phone long enough to realize that he wanted to engage in conversation with the now rice-encrusted red head 20 feet in front of him.   Quickly, I started wiping off the shrapnel as effectively as I could while trying to look like nothing had happened. Which is hard to do when you are wiping your forehead and cheek and chin at the same time.

“Hello, I’m Renaldo.”

“Dixie.”  I tried to get the sunlight to reflect the greenness of my eyes.   Oh God!  Bad move.   A-CHOO!!!

This is what I learned that day. There are risks with Mexican immigration.

And all their food might be delicious after an all night goldschlager taste-test, it has consequences.

So the next time someone with sexy brown eyes and discount coupons for wiglets asks you, “Is that a pinto bean in your hair?”

Calmly look at them in the eye, reach into your hair, withdraw the pinto bean, stick it in your mouth.  And say  “Yes.”   No explanation is needed, and you seem that much more mysterious.

Naughty Girls Really Do Need Love Too.

Published April 24, 2011 by dixielongate

You know that it is going to be one hell of an Easter when the alarm goes off and on the radio is none other than Samantha Fox with a blast from the way-too-distant past singing her denim-clad buns off, exclaiming one of the most relevant truisms of all times.  “Naughty Girls Need Love Too!”  Oh, a smarter phrase was never uttered by Congress, let along an 80′s pop star who was revered enough at one time to actually get her boobs insured.   I mean, you know you have arrived when you are bold enough to get your Boobs insured.  J-Lo doesn’t have that.  Marie Osmond doesn’t either.  I mean sure, both Marie and J-Lo can totally beat Samantha in a cage match when it comes to who has the bigger hair extension collection (I think Marie might even upset Jenny from the Block in that battle), but neither of those ladies can pack the wallop that Samantha’s 36 D hooters had when she was wowing stadiums in the 80′s with her string of average but catchy hits that stay in my head to this day.

And nothing says “Jesus has Risen” like the recollection of that accompanying video where Samantha had pink hair long before “Pink” did and was intently seducing the camera in front of a graffiti-sprayed playground in the projects backed up be a gang of gay men dancing in suspender pants trying their best to look tough as they lip synched behind her this simple coming of age tale of a slutty-girl-turned-doe-eyed-lover.  I mean, we have all been there before, right?  Just ask your mom.  Of course she might not have had the back-up dancers.  Or the graffiti wall.  Or the 6 thuggish black guys who are singing 1-part harmony back-up about 30 paces away from the rest of the action, but if there is any time of year that drives this point home, it is Easter.

Remember, Jesus was hob-nobbing with Mary Magdalene, and the word around the trailer park is that she too had seen her share of episodes behind the dumpster, not unlike Miss Fox.  Mary was the devoted type by all accounts.  She was one of these gals that you might see at the back road Honky Tonk on an off night.  Singing  just a bit too loud, and definitely off-key.  She’d have a row of empty beer glasses on the table in front of her and her fringed purse slung across the back of a chair with half its contents spilling out onto the floor.  But of all the people in that bar, she would be the one you would most want to hang out with.  Sure she was kind of a wreck, but doesn’t that make you look a wee bit better?  Plus, at the end of the night, she’d be the one who would make sure you got home safely.  And she probably would have paid for the drinks to boot.

And what did she want in return?  Not much; just someone to love her in a way that she hadn’t felt during any of a host of encounters she had with the Disciples and a few random Apostles after that Pot-luck supper that ushered in some terribly dry biblical summer.  Then along comes Jesus.  He said, “Mary, I know you have a reputation, but I’m going to love you just the same.”  It wasn’t love in the way we all have grown accustomed to on some of them afternoon stories starring Susan Lucci.  It was a different kind of love.  Not physical.  Just love.  It was nice.  It made her feel more respected than anything that Joseph’s 12 brothers might have tried at a barn dance.  It was that kind of adoration that makes you feel like a little girl inside.   And so she became devoted.

Heck, she even washed Jesus’ feet with her hair at one point.  Now tell me you wouldn’t just kill to have someone that was that devoted to you.   She was there at the end of it all.   When all the Disciples had run away because they couldn’t seem to get their Big Boy Pants on in front of Jesus, there was little Mary Magdalene saying “I got your back!”  And when that famous stone rolled away Easter Morning, who was sitting at the front of that cave waiting for some good news?  Well, it wasn’t Marie Osmond, that’s for damn sure.  It was Miss Mary Magdalene. And she was probably wearing a Samantha Fox concert t-shirt.  And she probably had a basket full of Candy and Easter Eggs just ready to make old J.C. hunt for them as soon as his eyes got accustomed to the light again after being in that cave for them 3 days.

I’ve heard that phrase, “those among us that are the hardest to love are the ones that need our love the most.”  It’s true.  There is no challenge in being neighborly to those people that you like.  It is the people that you look at in disgust that really deserve another glance.  I know, some people are just assholes!  But I bet if we all take a second this Easter Sunday, no matter what you believe in, and just look for that person in your life that is the least desirable.  Look for the one that pisses you off the most, the one that you never see eye to eye with, the one who says one thing to your face and then another behind your back, the one that borrowed your Samantha Fox LP and never gave it back.  That is the person this Easter that might need a little kindness.  That is the person who will be most surprised to hear from you and you might find becomes a little more devoted to you.  That is the naughty girl who just needs a little love too.

Let today be the day that you reconnect with someone that you intentionally tried to forget about.   Share a memory with them or a laugh or maybe a colored egg.  Bite the ears off of a chocolate bunny together.  Forgive a little.  It will do all of our hearts some much needed good.

And put on your Suspender Pants!  I hear they are making a come back.

XO

Dixie

A few more smiles

Published April 2, 2011 by dixielongate

I was running this afternoon.  Not from the law, like usual, but just running in general.  It is one of the carry overs from my New Year’s Resolutions that I made mid-February since I was so damn busy for the first few weeks of 2011.

As I was running, I passed dozens of people.  Most of them ignored me (if you can imagine) some glanced at me, then looked away quickly.  Seems that all this prettiness sometimes makes people not want to look me in the eye.  I had a few kind looks and a man or 2 rubbernecked me as I darted past them, hoping, I presume, for a little bit of post-work out cardio.  I passed an eager dog that was all tongue-wagging and tail fluttering.

And then I came up to this lady at a traffic light.  We were both standing next to one another for a few seconds waiting for the light to change.  There was this moment that we looked at one another.  And then she did something that almost startled me since I am in the north of the US right now, and not back home where being neighborly is just par for the course.   She looked at me and say “Hello there.”

Well, how can I not smile at that.  A warm rush of home came over me.  The crisp temperature of the late-afternoon seemed to shoot up to a warm 78 degrees and everything was still.

“Well, hello to you, gorgeous.”  I said.   “How are you today?”

And with a content smile on her face that seemed to be the cause for the sudden lift in temperature as well as mood on that particular street corner, she answered with one single word.

“Blessed.”

For the next mile, I had the biggest grin on my face as I let my mind apply that word to my own situation.   “Blessed.”  What a word.  Of course it means that someone is looking down on you and making sure that you are not only being taken care of, but moreover, that you are aware that you are being taken care of.  You fell it.  You see it in everything and experience it in every moment.  The standard has been raised.  The run-of-the-mill has transformed into the exciting.  The “damn, that’s irritating” has become the “wow, that is magical.”  And it doesn’t even have to be something divine that inspires it.
I think that is what stood out to me so much today.  She was “blessed.”  Maybe it wasn’t by someone upstairs.  Maybe it wasn’t related to a Sunday morning prayer session or a piece of good fortune in her life that had given her bragging rights for a week.  Maybe it was just because someone on the street that she never met before asked her how she was doing and shared a smile with her.  Maybe, just maybe, if every so often, I paused at more street corners and asked “how are you?”, I could find more people who are blessed just because I took a second to reach out and say “I hope you are ok,” and share a smile for no other reason than it beats the alternative of looking uncomfortably away from someone that I know is standing right beside me.

I think that is a great resolution to add to my pile this year.   “Hello gorgeous, how are you today?”

“Blessed”

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