Autumn in Albemarle

Fall is here and quickly turning into winter!

Just a short picture post today...Autumn in Albemarle County Virginia.  I am truly fortunate to live in an area that is bursting with natural beauty.

Just down the road from my house, the beauty of autumn is everywhere to be seen in picturesque Albemarle County Virginia.

Here is a map of peak dates for fall leaf-peeping in Virginia:

Fall foliage map for Virginia

O is for Over It, and other expressions

I realize it is past April and the official challenge is over, but hey, I don't like to leave things half-assed so I've decided to finish the alphabetical postings.  Here we go with O.

"Over it."  Probably my new favorite saying.  It can be used in a variety of ways too.  Versatile little shit, huh?

Examples:

"I am SO OVER dating men!"
"Relationships SUCK.  I'm so over it!"

Pretty much anything I'm fed up with, I say I'm over it.  It's really pretty positive too when you think about it. Sure you're cussing and yelling, but you're not focused on the problem, you're OVER IT!.

 A similar word I like to use is "Done."  As in, "F*ck it, I'm DONE with men!".

I also use "done" when I'm ready for bed.  "Goodnight y'all, I'm done."

Sooooooooooooooo, goodnight y'all, I'm DONE.

D is for Diary; Blogging A to Z Challenge

D IS FOR DIARY

I've always kept a diary of some kind as far back as I can remember. I've always loved writing, so jotting down my thoughts, feelings, and personal experiences on paper just felt like second nature to me. I suppose its obvious that I chose "Diary" as part of my blog title. This diary is open to all of you to read. It's not private and that's my choice. I want to tell you about a different diary and how it felt having my privacy invaded and that choice taken away.

This is me in 8th grade, one of four students chosen to learn on this new thing called a computer. #atozchallenge

That's me on the flute, Christmas 1985, post-diary tragedy. #atozchallenge

It was the summer of 1985. I had just graduated 8th grade and was preparing to start high school that fall. I was almost 15. We were living in an old farm house, complete with barn, so I decided to have a good old-fashioned barn dance party and invite everyone from my eighth grade class. To my surprise and teenage delight, many of the "popular kids" showed up that afternoon. (I was, and always shall be, a huge, proud, nerd-band-science-math-geek!) We had Cokes and snacks, hung out in the barn, and I was thrilled when my best friend Sherri showed up.  There was music and lots of innocent fun until...

Sherri was dancing, spun around too fast, tripped and fell right on her face. Blood everywhere. I wasn't embarassed, I was concerned for my friend. My mom called her parents and herded my party guests into the house to hang in the kitchen. That was the idea anyway. While we were busy tending to Sherri and waiting on her parental unit to arrive, my "friends" decided it would be fun to go upstairs and sift through all my belongings. (Can you see where this is going?)

Once Sherri went home, I went upstairs to get my friends and try to salvage what remained of the party. My mom was making snacks downstairs in the kitchen. I go upstairs, turn my doorknob, and...IT'S LOCKED. I knock on the door. Someone asks, "Who's there?" I tell them it's me. There is much whispering ang giggling, then silence. I kneel down and look through the keyhole. I can see everyone sitting in a circle on my bedroom floor and one of the girls is holding my diary and reading it quietly to the group. I am mortified. Shame, fear, then anger wash over me. I start beating on the door, yelling at them to put the diary away and unlock the door. They laugh at me. Finally, I am so humiliated and sad I just cry. This makes them all laugh even more. My mom hears me crying and comes upstairs. She asks me what is going on. When I tell her I am locked out of my room and they are reading my diary and laughing, she changes. Quietly, her face turns red and she goes to my door. With three powerful bangs she pounds on my door with all the ferociousness of the FBI on a raid.

(Thanks to my dad, a police officer, for showing us how to do the "triple knock of terror".)

After the power knocking, my mom shouts to all of them to open this ******** door RIGHT NOW! Someone runs over and quickly unlocks it.

My mom marches in, looks around, and tells the whole room, "You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Everybody downstairs right now. This party is over. Take turns and call your parents to get a ride home or I will be happy to call them for you. You're not welcome in my house again, none of you. Go. Now!"

I have to admit, I was pretty proud of her. I was glad she threw them out. I don't know why I thought they were so cool to begin with. Real friends wouldn't behave that way and I knew they were only at my party because, well, it was a summer party.

Since that incident, I've been paranoid about what I write on paper and where I leave my journals. It didn't help that I later dated a man who routinely went through my things and afforded me zero privacy (his own insecurities). Today, I'm happy and confident (and happily single!) with what I write and where I leave it. It's taken me many years to get to this place of confidence and ease.

I could try to summarize and moralize this story but I'm not. It was just my memory of a time when some really selfish kids did a sh*tty thing to me at my own party.
I'll end by saying the most important part of the whole story:

My mom rocks. 

Thanks Mom.

I LOVE YOU.

Back Roads and Life Lessons

Photo courtesy of "Traveler On the Backroads" 

http://www.facebook.com/TravelerOntheBackroads

I wrote a brilliant post last night which was inspired by this photograph. Somehow, between "Publishing" and "Posting" it got lost in the ether.  So, now it is morning, I have fresh, hot coffee, and I'm attempting to resurrect a bit of last night's wit and genius.  I may not recapture the exact phrasing, but I think I've been able to express my overall train of thought. 

Life lessons and back roads.

LIFE LESSONS

I've lived in many different places over the years.  Some were good, some were great, and some were downright atrocious (Arkansas comes to mind immediately!).  Through it all, I've always retained my love for rural Virginia.  I'm originally from the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia and if I were a Theist I'd call it "God's Country".   For various reasons, I've moved away and come back home several times in my adult life.  I've never really been happy living anywhere else but here (Boston was a close second.).  Each time I moved somewhere outside of Virginia, I felt extreme homesickness.  At first I thought it was just an adjustment period.  When it didn't pass, I knew deep in my heart that I was longing to be home again.  I'd move home and be oh so happy, then fall into complacency and begin to take everything for granted.  Life would happen and I'd find a new adventure to carry me away again.  The last time I went on a "Grand Life Adventure" was 2009.  I won't get into the details here and now (maybe another day) but I will say that I moved from a rural area of the Shenandoah Valley to the suburbs of Little Rock, Arkansas.  Ugh.  I had lived in the mid-west back in the late 80s up in Kansas City and HATED IT.  Perhaps time erases some of those memories or perhaps I was just blinded by love.  Whatever the case, I KNEW BETTER and did it anyway.  I had multiple alarm bells going off in my head but I pushed them aside, buried them, and continued on in my blind pursuits. While I was in Arkansas, I was happy for the first three months and miserable for the last 14 months.  When the relationship tanked, I became insanely homesick.  I cried buckets of tears of Virginia.  It was so bad that when I watched Virginia Tech college football, I'd gaze at the screen hoping and waiting for the camera to pan up for a shot of the mountains.  I'd watch YouTube videos see video here of the Valley and break down sobbing.  I knew then that it was time to go home.  I'd taken for granted all the wonderful beautiful things I had grown to love about my home.  The changing of the seasons, the friendliness of the people, the local markets and shops, the smell of the earth after it rained, snow, winter, see video here wood stoves, history, the mountains.  All these things made me immensely happy and I didn't realize how much they truly meant to me.  

While I was in Arkansas, one of my hobbies was doing my family genealogy.  I got very involved in it and enjoyed looking up my heritage. I learned a lot about both sides of my family.  I was sad because I wanted to go to all the places where my family had lived, loved, and died.  I found out we even have our own mountain and cemetery in West Virginia.  (Scott Mountain if ya must know.)  

So now that I'm home, I've vowed to appreciate everything around me and to NEVER take anything about Virginia, or my life, for granted ever again.  Also, I've promised to always be true to myself.  I will never compromise who I am, what I believe, how I feel, or the way I dress, talk, worship, or vote.

I try to view everything in life as a learning experience and to take life lessons from each event.  The lessons I learned while living in Arkansas were as follows:

1.  Never EVER ignore your intuition.  If you hear warning bells, STOP.  Think. Re-evaluate.

2.  Never compromise who you are for ANYONE.  It's akin to selling your soul.  Actually, that's just what it is.

3.  Treasure your home, your ancestry, your customs, your traditions.  Be proud of who you are and where you come from.  (I fought this for many years but I am now proud to say I am a Daughter of Appalachia!  More on that later, perhaps its own blog post?)

4.  Speak your mind.  You don't have to be hateful or rude, but always be honest.  Don't suppress things that hurt you or bother you.  If you're unhappy, say so.  I wasted too much time trying to pretend I was happy when I knew I wasn't.

5.  Family is everything.  Love them and cherish them while they are here.

6.  Take NOTHING  for granted.  Ever.  I mean NEVER.  

BACK ROADS

Back roads are like the veins that carry my life blood.  Back roads represent everything that is pure and good and honest.  Back roads are my Broadway, my Beale Street, my Ventura Boulevard.  There is kindness to be found on a back road.  There's a spiritual connection with Nature to be found on a back road. 

Imagine you're walking down a country lane.  It has recently rained and there's a nice breeze blowing. The wildflowers on the sides of the road sway in the wind.  The flowers are an explosion of yellow, purple, blue, and fuchsia. You can smell the rich aroma of dark damp earth.  A butterfly flutters in front of you.  Birds sing in nearby trees.  The sun comes out and caresses your face.  The gravels crunch with each step you take.  Are you there?  Can you feel it?  These are things that move my soul.

Whenever I'm faced with a choice of taking the Interstate or taking a back road, I will choose the back road every time.

So today, I challenge you:  Take a detour.  Go smell the flowers, literally.  Find your own back road and savor it.  

Blessed Be to all.

Namaste.