The Day After Yesterday

Because yesterday pretty much sucked.

(Editor's Note: Yes. I can say "sucks" on this blogspot because I haven't told J.L. & Betty Morris there's a place to read their granddaughter's unfurled heart and its secular thoughts. Until then, I can cut loose.. Wooh! Crazy Aunt Joy...)

Great Intro. Too bad I have nothing to deliver except lots of godless chatter on How To fix a flat tire (bike or 4runner... Dad swears by AAA), apply for Commercial Use Authorization permits in our nation's national parks, handle a broken heart, why sunscreen should be considered and Botox avoided, How to get free upgrade at the car wash (sometimes the guys will throw in an overwhelming citrus scent...

What I'm really thinking about this minute: Isaiah 30 (which would totally be Grandparent-approved)

In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.

The LORD wants to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the LORD is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.

Today was better than yesterday. For one simple reason: I trust you again. Tomorrow, who knows? Dammit I'll try though (sorry, G's).

More to come on that fine line between trusting you, doubting me, the upsetting flipflop that results as the moments unroll...

Meanwhile, thank goodness for sushi, Pandora Radio, UPS and the McDowell Mountains that I lovve (Hmm..I see a theme in those blessings: texture and rhythm...I like that...Read a secret to getting over heartbreak written by Kris Kristofferson the other day: Write a song. something there that has all the potential to be a pop sensation....

That's all this last day of April. I have a GREAT HOPE for May. Maybe it's the cooler weather, my fixed flat, a peaceful conversation with Johnny Jack Junior, scripture...who knows....

(Grandparents: Dad doesn't really swear. He just really believes in AAA. Historically, I've never done anything he thought I should. These days I drool over his wisdom. But, because I am my own person, I held strong to one stupid principle: I rebelled against his financial planning wisdom and opted to not spend the $15 bucks a year to renew my membership. Since then, I've locked my keys in the car once and had a flat tire. The Murphy's Law is that NOTHING happens to the people who actually have Triple A. The sad thing is I still haven't called to renew. And I won't. for the same reason I won't sign up for FREAKING FACEBOOK. Yes. FREAKING. I said it. I should stop writing before things get REALLY crazy and I lose all credibility as a lady...)

Flantilation

I dream big these days.

Sharks and dragons last night, grande hotels and prisons last week, saving Hannah, convincing Jesse to tell the truth.

And then someone told me my problem:

Flantilation, he said, which of course means "severe restlessness."

Of course. So I googled it.

It's not there. Or anywhere.

Friends and family are piping in on the matter, holding strong opinions on the fate of this new word and its' well-timed birth in this Ecclesiastical world where nothing is new under the sun.

Except flantilation.

One can be a flantilate, flantilizing between decisions and those blessed forks in the yellow wood. Flantilates are also prone to wandering while others wonder when and where all of this flantilizing stops. Or will it? Is flantilation chronic?

This has all the marrow of a really great kids book. Some Seussical rhyming and puffy dragons could make bank on a concept about some quizzical little blonde girl running around a big, scary world asking each soul "Are you my mother?" kind of questions, wide-eyed and confident. Red shoes.

Sigh. I'm glad I'm not that girl. I'm glad my life is put together and my biggest conundrum is making sure I don't pick up bicycles from the Four Seasons before the guest is finished using them. Not that I would EVER make a mistake at such a simple job. Never. Ever.

I screwed up today.

Thank goodness for big dreams.

Learning How To

Rain might be moving in tonight. A welcome surprise.



The stately cactus bracing himself for the coming storm is a Saguaro cactus, a Sonoran Desert gem because this is the only desert in the entire world where he survives. The name Saguaro, I learned today, comes from the Spanish term for Sentinel of the Desert. That's cool, huh.

What is it, Joy, dear child, you ask? Why are you listening to sleepy old Baby James and reflecting on rain and dying plants?

Well, what is it ever? It's just that feeling that comes with life. It's stinking hard to persevere. It's easy to read Paul's words about fighting the good fight and forgetting what's behind. It's a whole nother thing to push through these days with gusto, with true zeal, with profound intention to live well.

I'll say it again: I love my job. I love these mountains. I love having my family near. I love snakes, even, and the country radio stations and bicycles and whatever activity is happening at West World (I know - West World?...



Oh yes. It's so much more than a horse arena. This place has rodeos and Harley rally's and classic car shows and rich cowboys and dirty diesel trucks and loud music and I get to bike by here every morning. My favorite snapshot of Scottsdale is held in this one sweeping view overlooking this magnificent pocket, a corner of the globe not very many sociologists have discovered yet: coming around the hill, the early sun behind me and the McDowell Mountains, long shadows following horses loping around the freshly smoothed pens, the trainers patiently flicking a long officially-named rope thing that Johnny Jack Junior probably told me about some time ago...).

It's beautiful.

Maybe that's the feeling today. OVERWHELMED by beauty. Heavily aware that I miss the point of an ordinary day sometimes entirely. And now it's gone. And I have all night to think about how I can redeem Tomorrow.

But The Point: The Bottom Line: I'm tired. So in need of refreshment, even though I know whatever weariness I feel is totally my fault. I'm a sinner, dammit. A modern-day cowgirl wannabe living my own Lonesome Dove sage out in this one-horse town of a million people.




PS. just looked up the name for that fancy horse trainer tool: it's called a Stick. You can buy it with String. Then it's called a Trainer's Stick and String. That's funny, huh.