Trying to be the Change . . .

Sorry about Monday. I actually did blog on Monday but had to remove the post. It hurt people’s feelings. I shall not expound and say only this about it: It has been said that my writing is a gift. If that is true then it is God given. Therefore, I cannot use it to do evil. And hurting others is evil, intentional or not. (It was not my intent.) But I took the story down because of this: No matter what happens in this life there’s always two sides to everything. I’ve lived long enough to know that much. So I took it down. And I’m not saying that because I want applause. I liked the story I wrote on Monday. It was honest and raw. And I used some good metaphors (I am all about the metaphors). But if it hurt someone? Then it’s a bad story. No matter how clever it was written. And no matter how affirming everyone is in their commentary.

Too often in this world we want to say, “Yeah but he did this!” or “Yeah but she did that!”

Karma is definitely real but the cyclical motion of it is something all of us have the power to halt to “Be the Change you want to see in the world.” Isn’t that beautiful? Be the change. None of us are truly victims, empowerment is much more accessible than we realized.

Yes it is. But I think it’s a lot easier said than done. In fact, I think with my strong personality I probably fail at that one every day.

Because truly to live that philosophy you would have to do the following:

When you are wronged. Ignore it. When you are attacked. Retreat. When you are ridiculed. Pray for your enemies.

It is the only way we can ever bring true love into the world.


I have a very hard time with all of the above. When I am wronged I tell the person who wronged me why they’re wrong. When I’m attacked I send a strongly worded text message. When I am ridiculed I pray that person mistakes Nair for shampoo.

It’s a good thing my prayers are rarely answered. If they were half the people I know would be bald.


An approach I heard once that helps me calm down in my more diva-like moments is to imagine someone you strongly dislike as either an infant or an elderly person. Doing so can provide the ammunition to extinguish those negative feelings. Imagining that person in a more vulnerable state of life allows you to see the whole person and almost, do I dare say?, look upon them through the eyes of God.

For God sees our whole story. From beginning to end. Our entire life is stretched before Him. He knows why we do what we do, why we think the way we think, why we act the way we act. He sees a side of us that honestly few other humans will know of us.

None of us can ever have an omniscient perspective but we can at least try to forgive the humanity of others and simply acknowledge our own.

So.

That’s that.

Let us all be more cognizant of our thoughts, words, and actions and how they ripple through the world around us. Spread waves of humility.

And be a barrier to waves of anger, resentment, ridicule, and misunderstanding.

YOU.

Be the change you want to see in the world.

When you hurt others apologize. And when they hurt you? Well, as for me I will simply try to refrain from future Nair hair prayers.
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Since I removed Monday's post I won't do a Thursday post this week. Wednesday will have to do this week blogarama fans. Happy 4th of July everyone...and happy 38th birthday to me this weekend. The original firecracker. Well, not the "original" . . . I'm getting old but I wasn't born in 1776!

Although somedays 1876 might seem plausible . . .

Muah!
~Audra

Today's Post . . .

Will be up tomorrow, thanks for your patience!
~Audra

Naomi the Nut

I really should just follow Naomi around and record every word she says. It would make blogging easier for me because every time she talks I pee my pants.

Some Naomi-isms from the week.

On her teenage son learning to drive:

"I told my 14 year-old son he could get a driver's permit and put it in his wallet. Sure, that part's fine. I did not tell him he could put me in a car and drive ME around in the car. I draw the line."

On my venting about how I want more communication from someone I dated once:

"It's not like you're asking for much. The guy never talks to you. I mean really, what you're asking for something is more than zero. Like one. Or even half of one. Since when is a percentage high maintenance?"

Her response to her kids asking her for money:

"What do I look like? The Bank of A-Mom-ica?"

A petty reason she gave for not wanting to go out on a second date with a guy who clearly was concerned about her well-being:

"He said "drive safe. It's not "drive safe" it's "drive safely." I can't be expected to date someone who wants me to "drive safe."

And finally, the reason she actually did date someone with poor grammar for far too long:

"What can I say? He passed the orals . . . "



Thanks for the laughter, my dear friend. I'm off to buy some Depends now because I just can't hold it in when you're around . . .

~Audra

Do you love this or what?

Blogger has some new template designs, so of course I thought I'd take this one for a test drive. It's so girly . . . so full of estrogen . . . so pink to the bone. Whatdayathink? Too foofoo? Too Paris Hilton? I tried some edgy black "I read poetry and think about the meaning of life" ones but I just looked like a wannabe. (Although I do love a good mysterious Poe bit time and again, The Tell- Tale heart just pulls you right in, I'm tellin' ya.) But it just didn't work for my blog.

Screw it. I shop at Victoria's Secret, paint my toenails fuchsia and long for Jennifer Lopez's wardrobe. Therefore, I shall embrace my femininity and just go with one.

Like I always say . . .

Girl.

Power.

~Audra

Detour into Dating Land

I think I’m actually going to write about relationships today.

I know. I know. I changed the title of this blog from Dating Land to Chronicles of a Girl because I wasn’t writing about dating too much. I was still blogging under that title but the topics I chose to yak about were more like Celibate on the Farm. Hardly Sex in the City.

Now notice I said I wasn’t writing about dating too much. I never said I wasn’t dating too much.

Oh get off the floor and pull that wool off your eyes dear readers, of course I date. Well, kind of.

Don’t get too carried away with that notion. It just basically means I’m not home knitting every weekend. (Maybe every other . . .)

The truth is I do like writing about relationships. Because guess what? At our funerals no one reads our resumes. People talk about who we loved. And who loved us.

That is the essence of our stories.

Therefore, I haven't given up. And I never will. I get out there. And I try. Over and over again. Because I believe in love. And I'm never going to find it if I don't simply:

Look.

So here ya go. The chronicles of this forever inquisitive and eternally awkward little traveler in Dating Land and some highlights from three guys who stumbled into my path in the past year:

Guy #1: Justin Case

I met Justin last fall and we clicked on a level I’d never experienced. Work, interests, sense of humor. I truly had a fantastic time with him. He stated that he thought our connection was exceptional and unparalleled by any previous romantic experience and I agreed. But it turns out he was also having the same identical exceptional and unparalleled experience with another woman at the same time. To his credit he did tell me about her but he quickly qualified this as appropriate since I was ranked ahead of her. But he wanted to maintain contact with her because, well?
Just.
In.
Case.

(I am all for insurance but that was ridiculous. Adios, bub.)

Guy #2: I. B. Astalker

The next guy was very very nice. We didn’t really have a lot in common but I figured he was worth investing some time in to getting to know better. My definition of “more time” was a much longer timeline than his. After three dates he started showing up unexpectedly where I was and following me around town. Because in his mind I was his girlfriend.

In mine?

He was a stalker.

I’m all for hunting but not when I’m the prey.

Guy #3: Ivan Notdivorcedyet

And finally, there’s sweet Ivan. Ivan neglected to tell me when we first met that he was getting divorced. And wasn’t actually YET divorced.

Goodbye Ivan. Maybe call me next year when you’ve been single for a longer than the lifespan of a house fly.

I love basketball but I never was good at that rebounding deal.

So there you have it. See? I date. It’s true. Although all of these stories have a nice healthy time delay. I never write about the present. And don't even ask if I'm dating now! I may type with wreckless abandonment on the internet but I do have discretion. You’ll just have to keep wondering. Or wait for me to change the name of my blog again.

In fact, I think I already have a title picked out for that shockingly optimistic future time when I do finally meet "the one":

Happily Ever After Land.

Because no matter how many Justin Case/Stalker/Rebound boys cross my path one thing I am never giving up on is the belief in my very own.

Someday fairy tale.

I'll tell you one thing right now, no one is reading this chick's resume' at her funeral. (I don't care how many Pulitzers are on it!) When this life is said and done all I really want anyone to know about me is that:

I lived.

I laughed.

And I.

Loved . . . . . . . . . . .

Be Grateful. Be Rich.

There are big white billboards all over North Dakota with simple statements in large block lettering instructing passersby to, “Be Kind.” “Be Grateful.”

Or simply:

“Smile.”

Someone told me an anonymous millionaire pays for the signs. Definitely an impressive and inspiring way to spend some extra change.

I like how these signs sneak up out of nowhere as they rotate throughout the entire state. I never know when or where I’ll see one. One minute I’m cruising down the interstate noting that the Come On Inn has a new water slide or that there’s a Perkins at the next exit serving fresh French silk pie and the next I’m being reminded to basically count my blessings.

So I do. For as hilly and curvy as the road of life has been for me, I still find myself often stopping and just thinking to myself:

I love my life.

I really do.

I’ve made some tremendously difficult changes in the past few years but they were vital, for myself and more importantly for my children. Subsequently, life is unfolding in ways I once had only imagined possible.

And it is such a blessing.

But I do wonder sometimes about this mystery person when I see these declarations in the ditch. I wonder just how much money we’re talking. And if this person is taking heir applications?

Just kidding.

What I really wonder is what happened to make this individual want to share these simple viewpoints with the people on the prairie? Because obviously he or she knows that happiness has nothing to do with a bank balance.

Richness lies in our attitudes.

So when the road of life gets a little bumpy?

Smile.

When other people’s bad attitudes make you crash?

Be Kind.

And when the road detours unexpectedly?

Be Grateful.

Plant those signs along your own life journey and you’ll be wealthy.

In the ways that matter most.

Life Prevails . . .

I didn't blog yesterday. I lost a pet and it was a very difficult experience . . .

I'll be back on Thursday.

Love,
Audra

Are You Feeling My Mojo? And other True Tales of Dating Desperation.

“Do you have any dating advice for me?”

This question always cracks me up to no end. Somehow just because the URL to my blog has the word dating in it people make this wild assumption that I, well, know something about dating.

Hmmm. Maybe if I did I wouldn’t be so perpetually single?

Ok, pessimism aside, maybe my singledom is a sign that I DO know something about dating. After all, I didn’t run off into the sunset with a rebound right after my divorce, I refuse to compromise or settle, and I know exactly what my deal breakers are. (Meth habits and cowboy boots. Both equally appalling as far as I’m concerned.)

The guy who posed this question actually dated my friend, Naomi, ever so briefly. As in I’ve had colds that have lasted longer. Regardless, because of this minimal exposure I was pseudo aware of how this guy dates women.

I debated briefly what to say to him. And decided I should just do him a favor and rip the band aid off.

“Dude, don’t try so hard.”

Because really, with Naomi anyway, he did try too hard, way too hard. He texted her too much, he wanted to know if she was “feeling the mojo” about ten minutes after meeting (no commentary on his usage of the word mojo, that’s in a category all its own), and he asked questions that read like the email surveys I get from my Aunt Bertha. (Knowing a woman’s favorite color isn’t exactly the kind of information that’s going to really signify happily ever after, is it? Would the response really ever be, “Red? Really? You like red? This is so over. I really pegged you for chartreuse.”)

The guy is a great guy but he really just needs to chillax.

I told him: “Treat a romantic interest kind of like you’d treat a new friend. Let it flow. Get to know each other. And really, what is the rush? Last I checked an asteroid is not hurtling toward Fargo. No need to do the fifty yard dash to the alter. Stop trying to force it.”

After all, for as simple as it sounds, there is this complex mystical magic called chemistry that needs time to develop. You start with physical attraction, then you find out if can stand talking to this person for more than 20 minutes, and then you just . . . well? See. Discover each other. After all, it takes a hundred years for an oak tree to reach its majesty. I’m not suggesting you try for second base when you’re both in a retirement home, but I am saying:

Don’t rush.

And of course: be yourself. Don’t audition. Don’t try to be witty. Don’t try to be charming. Just be you. The right person will find you witty and charming. They will. If you have to construct it, then it’s not authentic and you’re just going to look like you're getting relationship strategies from email forwards when you start asking things like, “What’s your favorite winter activity and why?”

Instead, stick to something more like this: “How was your day?”

The beauty of my advice is found in its simplicity. Because really, the people you filter through when you are genuinely yourself, the ones you took time to discover . . . when those dating adventures didn’t go anywhere? Celebrate. You can know for a fact Jack, none were “the one.”

As for this guy? Yeah, that’s a pretty easy one if you ask me. My prediction is the woman he’s looking for will be the one who’s still voluntarily still standing there.

Long after he’s used the word “mojo.”
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The individual I used as inspiration for this story gave my perspective his blessing. I am very careful about not being too critical of others when it comes to matters of the heart. Thankfully, he's a huge blog fan of mine and he found this story humorous and didn't mind my using him as "material" at all. At the end of the day, we're all just doing the best we can . . . and to those of you who are single and hope to maybe someday fall in love? Well, I've been told that "He is out there, Audra, and he is looking for YOU." And I believe that's true for all of us. So just be yourself . . . and God won't let you fall.

Muah!
~Audra

In Honor of Memorial Day . . . In Flanders Fields

Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and blood. Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.

As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient.

It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:

"I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."

One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on May 2, 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.

The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry.

In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook.

A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."

When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:

"The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."

In fact, it was very nearly not published. Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915 . . .


In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place;
and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead.
Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved,
and now we lie In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

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I attended the Memorial Day services in my little rural hometown this weekend. As the poem, "In Flanders Fields" was read I looked around the sunny hall at the grey haired veterans and saw in their teary eyes the misty ghosts of fallen solidiers, hometown boys from years ago, who never made it back. I found the story of the poem on this site and thought I would reprint it here. http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/flanders.htm Let us not ever forget the sacrafice of the men and boys who never came home . . .