Brands and Boots I Identify With

Giving an answer to what brands I identify with is easy. Those that flash to mind are Ariat, Dan Post, Shyanne, and J. B. Dillon. These are bootmakers, and I love boots. Western boots, not fancy, swanky dress boots. No, I wear Western, cowboy, and cowgirl boots. Whatever you want to call them. Personally, I just call them boots, and I have 37 pairs. Not bragging; I realize that is a bit extreme. Facts are facts, though, and I do indeed have 37 pairs of boots. Actually, I brought home 2 more pairs yesterday after shopping with two of my dearest friends, who each bought me a pair of boots for my upcoming birthday with their BOGO discounts at a shoe store. Woot! My husband bought me a beautiful pair of Ariat boots for my upcoming birthday as well, but I have not worn them yet. They’re on a shelf smiling at me each time I pass them, and my feet cannot wait to slip inside them on my birthday.

Now that I think of it, and I’m not a mathematician, I may have 39 pairs of boots; I’m going to have to catalog them. First-world problems here. Not sorry, though. I love them. We all, well, maybe not everyone, but I’m going to say it anyway… we all collect something. For me, it’s boots. I have a variety of colors and styles, different toes and heights of shafts and heels. Every evening, I select my clothes for the next day and stand in my room, deciding which pair of boots to wear with my chosen outfit. Sometimes, there’s a pair of boots I really want to wear, and I plan my outfit around them. I love it. My husband spoils me … he has just as many cowboy hats as I have boots. Our house looks like you’ve entered Boot Barn because hats hang all around, and we have shelving for boots as decorations when they’re not being worn. I never thought I could have a closet that decorates my home – but here I am living that boot life. It is good.

There are other brands of boots like Circle G, Lucchese, Tony Lama, Justin, Laredo, Durango, Corral, Free People, Rank 45, Miranda Lambert, Twisted X, etc. – and they’re all fine and dandy for other folks, but not for this girl’s feet. I’ve tried. I worked at Book Barn when it was Drysdales and in the boot department. You better believe that when we were slow, I tried on boots. I found what fit, and I haven’t looked back. I did try to love Corral because they’re so dad gum pretty, but my feet do not love Corral. They’re made for looks, not comfort. Ariat, though … girl. Those are like walking on clouds. Ahhhhhh.

I highly recommend that if you haven’t tried wearing boots, get a pair. Give them a try, but make sure to start with one of my favorite brands first – specifically Ariat. You’re welcome. 🙂

What Would Life Be Like Without Music?

To honestly answer what life would be like without music, other variables need to be applied to the question. For instance, is this a life wholly lived without music? Never having heard it before? Or is this a situation where music has been a part of life but then suddenly ripped away for some unknown and horrific reason? Adding these qualifiers significantly alters the response.

If life had never known music, I wouldn’t know what I’m missing. That’s a simple response. Sounds of the ocean lapping, birds singing, fish jumping, and trains roaring past all make their own kind of music apart from “music,” and those sounds would surround daily life in ways we do not pause enough in modern life to stop and enjoy.

However, if life had been filled with music and it were suddenly gone, my hope is that the music would live on in my soul – and that in my spirit, I would hear it, sing it, and revel in it, even in silence or lost in a large crowd. I hope to have it so ingrained in my being that it will always be with me. In this moment, I feel panic, as if I need to listen to more music to ensure I know it deep inside, just in case that day without music ever comes. I should memorize every last note of “Kiss the Rain” by Yurima and Hauser’s “River Flows in You.” The opening to the “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves” soundtrack… those pieces rank among my favorite compositions, and I play them when I’m alone, when I’m writing, when my soul is sad. I must ingrain them in my soul so that I will always have music with me.

Vatterott College Taught Me to Work Harder Than You

When I hear folks who work in a community college environment or a state college/university environment complain about their workloads, I disingenuously smile; internally, I roll my eyes and think they’d have never survived at Vatterott College, a high-stress, high-stakes environment.

Big boy pants, people.

At Vatterott, we were expected, as faculty, to retain our students. Every one of them. Any student who missed class had to be called, messaged, and recorded in our data system until an actual connection with the student was established. All communications (including attempts to contact and actual contact with the student) were to be documented in CampusVue for all staff and administrators to access. If you did not contact each missing student (and in our general education classes, we had 30 students per class; most terms I taught 7 classes, giving me 210 students every 10 weeks), your position at the school became endangered. If too many students dropped your classes, your position at the school was jeopardized. Retain. Retain. Retain. Talk them into returning. Keep them in the seats. Make them stay for 4 1/2 hours each day and don’t sit down while you’re teaching. No calling 911. (One day, one of my students threatened to shoot the place up, and it was determined, after he calmed down, that he would remain in the classroom … I put my foot down on that one and said, No. I took a risk even after being told there would be consequences if I canceled my class that day. I canceled the class. Student safety was worth it.) We were to note all interactions with all students in the system. High expectations. Fear of losing your job. Negative critiques. Walking on eggshells around corporate-level employees. Always knowing you’re being watched. Convincing students who are just trying to stay out of jail that they can and are students and can achieve – partly so you can keep your job by keeping them in the classroom, but also because you grow to care about the students who have complicated, unbelievably hard lives and drama in their lives. I learned how to connect, engage, and reach students in that environment. I believe that those of us who worked there developed a trauma bond with our students and with one another. Those of us who stayed, anyway.

I’m a survivor. I navigated 8 years and 2 months at Vatterott, collecting various positions (instructor, program director, member of the interview committee, registrar, retention officer, and subject matter expert) and recognitions (2013’s Most Innovative Instructor) until Vatterott closed its doors forever on December 17, 2018, at 4:00 p.m. I’ll never forget going home at 4:00 that day, sitting on my couch, and staring at the Christmas tree. What now?

Had it not died that day, I’m sure I’d still be in the Vatterott family; I grew to love it – probably that trauma bonding. I’m privileged to know so many wonderful people from those days. Bobby, Sam, Colleen, Brandi, Katie, Marcy, Shane, Ric, Craig, Scott, Virilyaih, Cheryl, Rhonda, Patrick, Maria, Charles, Al, Keegan, Cody, Melanie, Gonz, Rich, Jessie, Suzanne, Julie, Juan, John, Michelle, Velma, Velma, Celeste, Melanie, Barbara, Beth, Casey, Veronica, Brian, John, John, Rich, Jeff, etc. I’m smiling as memories flood my mind as I just write their names down. Strong people. Tough environment. #survivors #grateful #vatterottcollege

The opportunities since those years have been a blessing of ease; it is normal to hear me say that people who complain about their workloads should be required to spend a minimum of 2 years in a trade school environment. Then, they can come back and hit the ground running with gratitude for environments/schools/campuses that give autonomy and do not have the red-tape expectations that for-profit education places on their employees/teachers. Perspective is essential. Sometimes I think that colleagues who have only worked in a particular type of educational bubble don’t realize how blessed they are, how free they are, and, really, how spoiled they are. Me? Puh-lease. I know exactly what I have now and how blessed I am, and I could not be more thrilled to be an Assistant Professor of English at Tulsa Community College. It is a beautiful school with a beautiful mission, and I’m two feet in – Community Unites Us!

Two of my former Vatterott coworkers and I get together from time to time, and we laugh about how ‘easy’ our current positions are in comparison to what life was like before. We swap stories of the types of complaints we encounter in workplaces since our time at Vatterott and try to imagine those complaining folks working in the environment that the three of us survived—and not only survived, but thrived in. We know that the majority of these complaining individuals would not have lasted long in those roles we held and grew in. We are strong women, tough women, who can handle adversity and rise above it, who will work harder than most – we have proven this. And speaking of strong women, sometimes I think about reaching out to our former CEO and saying, “Thank you for being tough on us all.” Actually, the language I joked that I’d use was, “Thank you for being a tyrant.” I know, though, she was doing what she believed was best for the entire Vatterott system, and I’m beyond grateful for the lessons I learned there. I am the employee and the professor I am today because of my time at Vatterott College.

Some people say they’ve been to the school of hard knocks. Others attend Universities. Some choose state colleges or private schools when they desire higher education. Me? I attended a private Christian college for my bachelor’s degree, then a private University for my second bachelor’s degree and my master’s degree. But the school that taught me the most was the first school that took me in as an instructor, Vatterott College. I am grateful for a demanding work environment and a CEO with high expectations. I think everyone should have at least one experience in a place like that.

A Vatterott reunion would be ‘tops.’ Does anyone say ‘tops’ anymore? Probably not. A Vatterott reunion would be welcome. Good to have some trauma-bonded hugs. Perhaps one day.

“[Charlie Kirk] Wasn’t Even Mentioned at My Church”

“Thank you for talking about it,” a young man said to me after class yesterday. He meant Charlie Kirk’s assassination. He went on to say, “It wasn’t even mentioned at my church, and that really bothered me.”

What do you mean it wasn’t mentioned at your church? What kind of church do you go to? That’s what went through my head, but I didn’t voice it out loud. I said, “You’re welcome,” and went on about gathering my things – lanyard with keys and school ID, my clicker, my water bottle, my phone. As I did, I thought how I could not imagine not discussing the death of Charlie Kirk, the reactions to it that are happening globally, and what this means for us on personal and big scales. For me, this entire conversation is the very essence of what my Comp II courses are about. Critical thinking and true argument.

A true argument is calm and courteous. It is supported by evidence. It is curious, and it understands the value of the audience and their opinions. The point of true argument is to be prepared, know why you believe what you believe, have evidence, but remain open to the understanding that every other person on this planet has the right to their own opinion. It is on you, the arguer, to hear them out, to weigh their thoughts, and, like Charlie, to poke holes when the evidence is thin. This is to encourage the “opposition” to do more research and establish their argument more fully, or to ask them to consider, if even a little, what you have to say. Then, after that, it’s not your business what they do with the information you shared or whether they study up more. Move on. Argument is never about who is right or wrong, not when it’s done healthily. It’s about sharing ideas and allowing others to come to their own conclusions. You continue to stand by what you believe, never forcing it on others. Patrick always says, “Never by force,” and he’s right. That’s an AA principle, and I’m a fan of it. Go on with your day.

I told my students yesterday that when I was a kid, there was a saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” Yes, absolutely. Where has that gone in this world? Now, you hear people say, “Words are violence.” No, they’re not. They’re words. AA has taught me to be emotionally sober. In control of my emotions, which are fleeting. Words are just words. How I react to them reveals my character. Personally, I intend to be a woman of character, and therefore, I will control my emotional nature as best I can. I will have thick skin and not allow words or ill intentions to hurt my feelings. I will stand ready for actual conversation, though, if an individual wants to step into that arena. Yes, let’s discuss our differing perspectives. Bring your evidence, and I’ll bring mine. I will also bring a smile; don’t forget yours, please. Let’s talk, then maybe grab a coffee and change subjects – discuss a favorite book, or if you prefer, fall or spring. There are many sides to people with whom we disagree – finding commonalities is another key to success in argument and understanding.

Yesterday, we discussed how Charlie Kirk is a man who is interested in discussing hard topics. His mission was to encourage young people, specifically Gen Z, to think for themselves and not succumb to narratives and politicians who seek to establish and maintain their own power. For every claim that he was racist, homophobic, and all the other terms circulating now, there is evidence to refute those claims. He was not a racist, nor was he homophobic. He was in alignment with what he believed Jesus taught about all people – that all can be children of God, no matter their skin color or what they do in the privacy of their rooms. I discussed with my students the dangers of listening to brief clips of information on the internet without considering the entire context of a conversation. They’ve been challenged to go and listen for themselves, to read, to research Charlie Kirk’s message. Yes, he was a Christian, and much of what he did was directly influenced by those beliefs. He talked on them unapologetically, but if someone refused to accept what he had to say, he did not call them names or say ugly things; he said he’d pray for them or wished them well. It’s wild to sit back and look at the big picture here, and to see that Charlie Kirk’s assassination is a martyrdom – he was murdered for his words and for faith, truly. Because he stood up for what he believed, and he set about sharing the ability to think and draw conclusions with a young generation. He had a dream for the future and followed his heart. For this, he was assassinated.

In the United States of America. The supposed bastion of free speech.

A church that doesn’t want to ‘offend’ by talking about an event that is right here, right now, in our faces and not going away anytime soon, an event that is about a present-day martyr for his faith, and they can’t/won’t talk about that, is no true church of Jesus Christ. It’s a feel-good palace, not a place where truth is spoken and conviction occurs, where lives are changed for eternity. The CHURCH, the body of Jesus Christ that meets together in places of worship or in homes, must move forward boldly proclaiming His Love and His Salvation despite the world and its trappings and the snares of the devil, who is alive, and his greatest resource is blinding the eyes of “believers” – those who are too afraid of what the world will think if they take a stand, so they don’t. They stay quiet, they say nothing, and the devil rejoices.

My student was upset that his church had not spoken on Charlie Kirk’s assassination; I am, too. Where are our young people to receive direction when they’re seeking it if the churches and their leaders do not understand or act on the mandate of Jesus? In Matthew 10, Jesus spoke these words to his disciples, which remain applicable to us today.

⁵These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: “Do not go among the Gentiles or enter any town of the Samaritans. ⁶Go rather to the lost sheep of Israel. ⁷As you go, proclaim this message: ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ ⁸Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy,^[a] drive out demons. Freely you have received; freely give.

⁹“Do not get any gold or silver or copper to take with you in your belts— ¹⁰no bag for the journey or extra shirt or sandals or a staff, for the worker is worth his keep. ¹¹Whatever town or village you enter, search there for some worthy person and stay at their house until you leave. ¹²As you enter the home, give it your greeting. ¹³If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you. ¹⁴If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet. ¹⁵Truly I tell you, it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment than for that town.

¹⁶“I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves. ¹⁷Be on your guard; you will be handed over to the local councils and be flogged in the synagogues. ¹⁸On my account you will be brought before governors and kings as witnesses to them and to the Gentiles. ¹⁹But when they arrest you, do not worry about what to say or how to say it. At that time you will be given what to say, ²⁰for it will not be you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.

²¹“Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child; children will rebel against their parents and have them put to death. ²²You will be hated by everyone because of me, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved. ²³When you are persecuted in one place, flee to another. Truly I tell you, you will not finish going through the towns of Israel before the Son of Man comes.

²⁴“The student is not above the teacher, nor a servant above his master. ²⁵It is enough for students to be like their teachers, and servants like their masters. If the head of the house has been called Beelzebul, how much more the members of his household!

²⁶“So do not be afraid of them, for there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. ²⁷What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs. ²⁸Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. ²⁹Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.^[b] ³⁰And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. ³¹So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

³²“Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my Father in heaven. ³³But whoever disowns me before others, I will disown before my Father in heaven.

³⁴“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. ³⁵For I have come to turn

“‘a man against his father,
a daughter against her mother,
a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—
³⁶ a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.’^[c]

³⁷“Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. ³⁸Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me. ³⁹Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.

⁴⁰“Anyone who welcomes you welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. ⁴¹Whoever welcomes a prophet as a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and whoever welcomes a righteous person as a righteous person will receive a righteous person’s reward. ⁴²And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.”

We are here on this earth to be of service to God the Father – to love people and to draw as many as possible to God so that they have the opportunity to spend all of eternity with Him and with all the saints who have gone on before – like Charlie Kirk. That is all. We are not here on this earth to bring pleasure to ourselves and to amass power and wealth. Those things are fleeting, but oh, how we see people chase them. No, thank you.

We have a sign hanging in our dining room, and all who enter our home see the words of Joshua: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” – Joshua 24:15

The entire verse says, “¹⁵But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served beyond the Euphrates, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

Amen and yes. So be it.

Holidays at Our Home Always Include Passing the Trash

Around these parts, we spend most holidays in exactly the same way, and I don’t want that to change, at least not in any significant way. Our extended family, which includes both family and friends who are like family, comes together at either our house or my sister-in-law’s house to share a potluck, buffet-style meal. Depending on the holiday, the foods change. This past weekend, we hosted a birthday party at our house, and everyone came. Three different ladies showed up with foods but also with paper plates. We laughed because we know all of those plates will get used in the next three to four months.

There is always a lot of laughter and cigarette breaks. Our front porch is the smoking zone, and it is perfect for the activity. Three buckets for butts are out there, along with soft lighting and plenty of seating. At my sister-in-law’s house, the smoking crew goes to the back porch, where there is plenty of seating, and a crazy dog that runs circles around the yard.

At either home, my task is bustling around in the kitchen, which I love to do. Playing hostess-with-the-mostest is my ‘jam.’ Cooking for large groups makes me happy, happy, happy. My sister-in-law is the grill-babe. Anytime there’s grilling involved in our holidays and birthdays, she’s on that. Indoors is my domain.

Once the food is all together, the table expands from a 6 seater to a 10 to 12 seater with the addition of two leaves, and we all crowd around with over-full plates and extra chairs – pushing the table to the limits of up to 16 hungry and chatty family members. There’s a kitchen bar nearby, and 4 barstools, so the younger crew tend to hang out there with their plates. Most holidays and birthdays, we have anywhere from 15 to 30 people crowded in either home. Lots of good food and plenty of fun.

On birthdays, there is time for cake, and the family birthday song, which I cannot explain to you because you’re most likely not part of our family, and you must be in the circle of trust to know the family birthday song. After cake and singing, there are gifts. Often, there’s at least one gag gift, and the laughter continues.

Once the cake and gifts are done, the kitchen is cleaned, and the table is cleared of everything. The women hit the kitchen and all the dishes are washed and put away. We are a well-oiled machine. The container of pennies comes out, and two decks of cards hit the table. Everyone crowds in, razzing each other about who sits where and who is a cheater, and we settle in for a rousing game of “Pass the Trash.” I’ll include the directions at the end of this post. It’s the BEST game, and it’s our family game; it’s what we do. Newcomers tend to have wide eyes at the beginning of their experience with us in this game, but they settle in and start the name-calling and card-stealing with the best of us. My 84-year-old mother-in-law is the one you have to keep an eye on … she hides pennies, she hides cards, and she’ll cheat with twinkling eyes and a smile on her face.

After the game, the smoking crew moves outside, and conversations begin. Solving the world’s problems is often the basis of our talking, and we all love each other, and these evenings are the best of our days.

It is the same for holidays. Those might be earlier in the day, but the format is essentially the same, and we all love it. The routine of our get-togethers. There’s something beyond special about them, and newcomers to our crew always want to experience it again … and well, we will decide if they can. Sometimes we have additional ‘games’- mostly at Christmas. Though this crew of folks, blood-related and chosen family, will get together for any reason at all – holidays and birthdays are a given. My birthday is in 8 days, and the next party is in the works already. I’m not necessarily supposed “to know” about it … lol. But, I do. Patrick and I have a terrible time keeping secrets from each other. And that’s a good thing.

Generally, the evening winds down around 10:00 p.m.; sometimes, stragglers stay til 11:00 p.m. When parties have been at our home, that’s when Patrick and I sit out on the porch and talk about how much we love our family and how grateful we are.

Here are the directions for “Pass the Trash.”

A fast-paced and competitive card game that even kids can play.

Written down by Dacia Cunningham. Not official directions, but this is how we play.

To begin, each player receives 4 pennies.

Then, the dealer of the round passes each player one card face down.

Each player reviews their card and decides on what to do with said card because you do not want to be holding a low card at the end of the round – anything from Ace to even a 4. They’re trash.

Ace is the lowest card. You do not want to keep an Ace. A 2, 3, or 4 can also be questionable as the game progresses. So … if you have an Ace, 2, 3, or 4, pass that trash.
The player passing the trash slides the trash card to the person on their left and TAKES that person’s card. The person must comply UNLESS that player has a King. The King is the trump card, and that person can flip the King right up and say, “I don’t think so.” Or “Nope.” Or “Not today.” Or whatever comes along with the feeling of …. Haha, I won (for now)!
If a player has a 7 and higher on his card, he may feel confident that someone will have a lower card than him, so it is appropriate not to pass the trash – as the 7 or higher is not a trash card. This player says, “I’m good,” or “I’m satiated,” or “I am pleasantly content.” Whatever floats your boat. 😊
Here’s a point to ponder … Let’s say you have a 3 in your hand, and you think that 3 is probably trash, so you pass it to the player on your left and take their card. When you look at it, it is a 2. At this point, that player looks at the 3 you passed to him, and he can, with confidence abounding, smile and say, “I’m good,” because that 3 trumps your 2. The one you took from him. Trust me, this is fun to do … for that player, not you. You’re probably sunk.
Passing the trash is not always a good idea … but how do you know??? Ah, the stress of it.

The play continues around the table with players passing the trash (and sometimes a trash card makes it all the way around the table and back to the dealer!) Players either pass the trash or say, “I’m good,” and keep their cards. Also, play that King with a flourish if you have it.

When the play comes to the dealer, the dealer of the round can either use the card he has (which now may be a passed-to-him trash card) or turn over the card on the top of the deck. The dealer says, “Flip,” and all players turn over their cards.

The players with the lowest card (and there can be more than one who has an Ace) put one penny in the middle of the table.

The next round begins – the player to the left of the first round’s dealer becomes the dealer of the round for round 2 – and the process repeats itself.

Each player has 4 pennies and a bonus life called “On Your Honor.”

Rounds continue, and players lose pennies. Players will begin to get bumped out of the game because “They have no honor!” (and no pennies). Play continues until ONE player remains. Crowned the King or Queen of “Pass the Trash.”

Inevitably, you will all want to play again.

When an Argument Has No Leg to Stand On, Name Calling Begins.

“I always cheer up immensely if an attack is particularly wounding because I think, well, if they attack one personally, it means they have not a single political argument left.” – Margaret Thatcher.

Thatcher’s words ring true. When name-calling begins, the argument is over – or at least an opportunity for a valid argument is over. Name-calling indicates the ‘arguer’ has nothing left to stand on, no evidence to validate their side, at least nothing that sticks, so the ‘arguer’ resorts to getting loud, getting emotional, and name-calling. I put ‘arguer’ in quotation marks because, at this point, the individual becomes a fighter; a real argument is, in fact, a calm, courteous process. Name-calling is no longer calm, nor is it courteous.

Once name-calling begins, I shut down; I’m no longer listening. This has been my experience many times in life. I’ve been called names – ugly ones, silly ones, intentionally hurtful ones; I’ve heard others called names. I may have called my little brother names from time to time in much younger days. Once the name-calling starts, those who enjoy a good fight jump in and have at it, but those of us who realize that name-calling waves the foul play flag know that there is nothing left to listen to in what the other ‘side’ has to say; they’ve lost control. There is no reason to stay in that ‘conversation’, which is no longer a conversation once the first word jab is thrown.

It’s wild that name-calling is so pervasive in life. I see it on the news; politicians do it daily. I see and hear it on social media every day. And I do my best to combat this lack of compelling argument tactics by instilling in my students that name-calling indicates you do not have a leg to stand on in your argument, that your argument is actually over. There is no longer a conversation. Fighting words begin.

We must rise above that. Invest research, thought, and energy into producing and organizing an argument so that you can maintain an open mind and your audience remains open-minded as well. Name-calling shuts down the audience and closes the door on compromise and consideration.

At this point, I’m repetitive, and I realize it. I’ll just end where I began – with the words of the late-Charlie Kirk:

“When people stop talking, that’s when you get violence.” – Charlie Kirk

NYC Pizza in Tulsa, Oklahoma. You Gotta Try It.

Greasy New York-style pizza is my go-to comfort food, specifically from NYC Pizza in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The man who opened the restaurant years ago came directly from Brooklyn, NY, and before that, Sicily. Before marrying my husband, Patrick, I’d never had pizza at the little shop on Harvard before. I supposed I’d seen it but had never even thought to try it. And then, I married a half-Sicilian, half-Scots/Irish man with a penchant for good, authentic Italian food, being that it is his “mutha” that is Sicilian. Every time we go to NYC Pizza, we order a large pepperoni with extra cheese, and as you eat the giant slices, folding them in half (as is the customary way to eat New York-style pizza), grease flows down your hands. You know you have a good slice when two or three napkins are needed to get through the one slice. Yum. Now, I’m thinking I need some of that good yumminess in my life. Today.

Other favorite foods … Olive Garden salad. Braum’s Mix with heath bar. Cheerios Oats with Almonds. Dark Chocolate. A perfect meal … Olive Garden salad, NYC pizza, topped off with Braum’s mix for dessert. Oh yeah. Always with the NYC Pizza.

Honesty Saves Pain

As I went through the steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, I came to a deep understanding of myself that rocked me; it shook me to my core. My entire foundation had been victimhood for most of my life, and that platform no longer existed. It was no longer a ground I could stand on in defense of my behavior, my actions, my words, my dependency on alcohol, men, shopping, rearranging furniture, etc. I came face-to-face with a level of dishonesty in myself that, deep down, I think I had always known, but I had never admitted to a single person. Not one.

I cannot remember a time in my early life when I shared my honest thoughts or opinions; I kept those to myself. I was not taught to participate in debate or conflict; instead, I learned to keep my mouth shut and my head down, and I proceeded forward a “good” little Christian girl who knew Scripture, did what she was told, could answer all the Sunday School questions, and was the apple of my parents’ eyes … until a certain boy came along. I was 14, soon to be 15. He was 17. My father put his foot down and said, No, I could not date this boy. I did, though, behind their backs for over a year. This boy was unlike any person I’d known up to that point in my young life. He listened to me. We talked. I shared my thoughts and opinions with him. He didn’t take my virginity because, in his words, “I don’t want to do that to you; I want you to be my wife.” I was beyond confused as to why this young man, who respected me, was, in a sense, the ‘devil’ in my church-going family’s eyes. Our meeting in secret was discovered, and, at the age of 16, I found myself grounded indefinitely. I broke it off with the boy, but my heart broke too. There were lots of fish in the sea, right? I would find another boy – one like the first one – one that my parents approved of, one that my preacher-filled, extended family would welcome with open arms. And so, the first love became the standard by which I judged all other future prospects. None was him – not for another 33 years, but I pushed forward. Never honest. Never telling anyone how I truly felt and what I wanted. I tried to be who I perceived everyone wanted me to be. Long story short, I found myself married to a man, a Bible College professor’s son, who fit the ‘bill.’ He was a sort of ‘bad boy’ with a solid Christian family. He was looking for someone to be like his mom (which I portrayed that I was, but I was not, and he could not have known that, as we dated long distance before the days of everyone having a cell phone), and I was looking for someone to check off my boxes. We were oil and water. Volatile from the beginning. Two weeks in, we were fighting, and over the next 23 years and 6 children together, that escalated and became dangerous. I took up drinking, and I will not speak for him – his actions and behaviors are his story to tell in his own honest appraisal of himself. Never in all those years was I fully honest about why I married him, what my expectations were. It’s not that I didn’t have love for him, but, in retrospect, I was much more in love with what I perceived I wanted and needed. Never did I admit that I had never let go of the boy from high school in my heart, who had grown to be larger than life in my mind – a completely irrational perspective, though I had no idea I’d put him on such an unrealistic pedestal – he was godlike to me. Never had I even told a friend these things; I had ignored them, pushed them away. I tried to focus on the life I had chosen and make the best of it. I tried to control it all – make it all into the ‘perfect’ life I wanted everyone to see that I had.

I took up drinking at 32 years old. Out to dinner with our preacher, actually, and he informed me that I wouldn’t go to hell if I had a strawberry daiquiri. Oh, it was delicious, and I found that I could relax around my husband. I could stand up a bit, say what I thought here and there. Soon, vodka was in our freezer, and bottles of wine were in the cabinet. I shopped the alcohol section at the grocery store with all 6 children in tow – clinging to the basket and in car seats – praying no one I knew would see me. Only recently, my 26-year-old daughter informed me she used to sneak drinks of my vodka. Man, I had no idea.

I’d become so self-involved. All I was concerned about was my broken life and poor me … unloved, unwanted were my perceptions, and so I painted my then-husband as the bad guy when I sought advice from people about what to do about him. Never looking inward beyond Christian counselors telling me I should pray for him more and that I should greet him at the front door with a smile. I even read a book on submission and tried to be a dutifully submissive wife, though inside I boiled and hatred grew. I never spoke of the hatred – that would discolor the good little Christian girl perspective people held of me. The mom of 6. The perfect little wife. My reputation and how people looked at me were important. I certainly never told a counselor about the alcohol. I was not giving that up. My bravery. My courage. My sleeping “pill.”

Social media made it possible for me to do the unthinkable. And to protect others as the Big Book directs, I will only admit to my own dishonesty and behavior. I found validation in other men. This became addictive and set me on a destructive course that destroyed what did exist of that marriage, damaged six children, and hurt the extended family that was unaware of the depths of my hate and disgust because I was so good at living a double life. I ran away. I left that life and fled to my parents; I holed up, drank, and cried. We “tried” to work on the marriage, but neither of us was honest in that venture; it was a ruse, and it landed me in the psych ward for a second time, suicidal, perhaps homicidal. We divorced, and I understand it was devastating to a large number of people who had no idea how volatile that relationship was. The children only knew the life we led – the fighting, yelling, spewing hate on the other side of our bedroom door where they listened; I know this now. Some of my children possess a quality that their mother lacked for nearly 50 years – they are brutally honest, and I am grateful for that. On the outside, however, back in the last days of that marriage, in all the days of that marriage, we could put on a show. Some knew something wasn’t right, but they never knew how much of its demise was my responsibility because I was so good at being the victim.

I went on living with my parents. Working. Pursuing validation in men. Drinking myself into oblivion every night. Never honest. Always the victim. Miserable. Trying to control my life.

In December 2020, a conversation occurred with an individual from the past that severed that invisible thread of the ‘perfection’ I thought I’d missed out on in life. Two weeks later, I met Patrick. My now-husband. A man who told me from the get-go that God is first, and I will always be second. He is now 38 years sober; he is authentic in his faith, raw in it, and people tend to shy away from his brutal honesty. Not all people appreciate his manner of speech or his directness, but there are those who do. Like me. Honesty was not something I ever had the capacity for, and I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He led me through the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous after some time together; I internally fought it because taking a deep dive inside of myself and my motivations was uncomfortable and not something I welcomed. I could ‘pretend.’ But that was never good enough for him because he saw straight through my facade, and he called me out on it. He led me through the 12 steps without taking me outside of the Big Book of AA. No workbooks. No outside sources. Just was Bill and Bob and the first 100 recovered alcoholics wrote down in 1939, and I saw myself. I looked in the figurative mirror – my words and my life were all written down on paper, and I saw the pride, the anger, the greed, the fear, the envy, the lust, the dishonesty … levels of each that were vile and overwhelming, and it broke me.

I saw that the double life I had lived for years – portraying the good little Christian girl on the outside but being fully proud, angry, greedy, envious, fearful, lustful, and never honest on the inside. I hid the true me from everyone. Always. Even trying to hide from myself, which resulted in drinking and affairs, and it nearly destroyed me. I’m saying “it” but let me clarify that I know “it” is the devil. See, he did not want me to learn the truth about myself. He wanted me confused, lost, and dishonest – double-minded and unstable in all that I did.

I used to be told that I was crazy a lot, and I took offense at that – you know, out of pride. Now, I laugh at it. Yeah, I’ve got a touch of the crazy, and I’m okay with that because I understand what was going on for years in my head and my spirit and my heart. It was a spiritual battle for my life and my soul, and I, in trying to control it all myself, followed the wrong voice. I followed the voice that told me to only be concerned about myself and what I wanted, and I festered in it, and I was lost and broken. Now, I understand that had I not had so much pride, anger, greed, envy, lust, or dishonesty, my life would never have gone down the path it did. Had I learned at an early age to speak my mind, say what I wanted, and what I thought instead of trying to be someone everyone around me would be pleased with, my life would have been entirely different. So much of the pain I went through and that I caused others, including God, would NOT HAVE HAPPENED.

But it did, and I cannot change the past. I do pray for my ex-husband, and I encourage our children to maintain a good relationship with him. We both love them and our grandchildren wholly, and for that, I am grateful. My daughter tells me that he is a great grandpa, and my grandchildren talk to me about him, and I’m glad of it.

So now, I spend my time encouraging young people to think for themselves, to find their voices, to be true and authentic, to understand that they are unique and special – that every person is. That we are all valuable. That there is a reality around us that we often cannot grasp because we are so consumed by self. That every person has their own values, their own thoughts, their own opinions, and that we have the right to express those – at least in this country. That we are all capable of a good life, a peaceful life, despite our circumstances, if we can but learn to let go, be honest, and step into each moment as if it is the only moment. Personally, I know this is accomplished through an honest relationship with Jesus. And understanding that a battle for our souls wages around us, and the devil is a liar. He wants our eyes on ourselves in pride, anger, envy, greed, fear, lust, sloth, dishonesty, and not on God, and he, the devil, is good at mucking things up, and we – humans – fall into the drama and chaos of his ways. I fight this now. I am pushing back, and I am teaching young people to think for themselves, to get their eyes on others, and to be of service to one another, for it is only truly in serving others that we find purpose in this life. I tell my story at every opportunity, and I live an honest life. I am no longer double-minded, and I am a grateful woman.

I wish I had learned this level of self-discovery and authenticity when I was young. I wish there had been someone in my life who would have encouraged me to be honest and authentic – to have given me the tools to debate, to experience conflict, and to not be afraid of failure, life, rejection, of being alone, and of being so focused on me, me, me, me. I can’t live in wishes though, so I take the opportunity now to be an influence in the lives of the young people I encounter because honesty saves pain. It keeps us from unnecessary pain.

Let us be open to opposing perspectives – discovering why people believe as they do and allowing them to have their opinions apart from ours.

Let us be honest – about ourselves and our experiences – our failures and our struggles – how our values conflict – how we wrestle – how we grow – what we believe and why.

Let us be compassionate – to all. Each person has the capacity to step into the light. Not all will choose it – and that’s their prerogative, but speaking for truth and holding respect for debate and opposing perspectives will never be wrong in the eyes of God.

Let us be willing to serve others – get our eyes off ourselves and onto meeting the needs of others. The exact opposite of a devil-driven, self-absorbed nature is where we find purpose and peace.

Let us be change-makers instead of miserable, insecure, and self-involved pain-makers like I used to be. For far too long.

Her Life Mattered.

Iryna Zarutska.

My momma heart is broken, and I cannot keep tears away. This young woman, younger than both of my daughters, was simply going home from work. She wore her work uniform, and she boarded a train in Charlotte, North Carolina. She sat down in front of a man wearing a red hoodie, and within seconds, you see him, in the train footage, open a knife, then he stands up and swings his right arm around and stabs Iryna in the throat … repeatedly. I watched the footage, and it is forever etched in my mind. He walked away as if nothing had happened. The four other people in the same car on the train did nothing. Not one. They sat there – not a one moved to help Iryna as she put her horrified hands up to her face, curled her legs up toward her chest, she noticed the blood, and within seconds, she was dead on the floor of the train. Her body crumpled between the seat and the barrier close in front of her. Further footage of the red-hooded man shows him walking through another car on the train, and he says, “I got that white girl.” He didn’t say it just once. He said it at least three times, caught on film. CNN tried to say last night that this wasn’t racially motivated. Okay, CNN. “I got that white girl.”

My heart is broken – for her, for her mother, for her father, for her siblings, for her friends, for my daughters, for the state of this world. I realize that evil has always been here – we live in a constant battle between right and wrong, good and evil. The devil is alive, and I will not capitalize that word; I’ll not ascribe more power to him. But JESUS is also alive, and HE will bring all things new and right in God’s time and in God’s plan. This I know. The Bible talks in many places about the evil in this world, and we are told time and again to keep our eyes on Christ – and that is what I will do. What comes beyond this world is far greater than anything this world or mankind could try to produce, and Iryna knows this now. She’s there, and in that sense, I am happy for her! But … her life on this earth did not need to be cut short in such a violent, graphic way – she had conceivably years ahead of her to be a light in a dark world – and as a Ukrainian refugee, I can only surmise that is exactly what she was – so happy to be here in the United States. I read a brief article about her life, and now, it is over in this realm. I have had Ukrainian refugee students, and each young woman has been lovely, kind, and intelligent, and I cannot help but see their faces too when I think of Iryna and her horrific death, which is etched in my mind.

I can’t help but see the faces of all my young students, both female and male. I told them … eyes open. Get your faces out of your phones. Make eye contact with the people you encounter – let them know you see them. I told my students that each of them is special, each of their lives matters, and I made them promise me that they would be aware of their surroundings. Everywhere they go. I told them I didn’t want to scare them, but that I wanted to scare them into awareness of their surroundings and their safety. Evil is in the world, and it doesn’t like for your uniqueness or specialness to shine or show. Be wise as serpents, innocent as doves. (Matthew 10:16).

And this was written the day before Charlie Kirk’s assassination.

I am heartbroken.

Me? A Leader? Heck, Yeah.

As a professor, yes, I see myself as a leader. In my classrooms, it is both my responsibility and my privilege to impart my insights, experience, and knowledge to students, with the hope of enhancing their ability to think critically and independently. I understand the gravity of shaping the minds of tomorrow, and I take my job very seriously, although I approach it with light-heartedness and a passion for the subject matter and the futures of each student. I like to call myself an “Edutainer.” I’m going to teach the subject, but I’m also going to provide respite and fun, a mini-vacation from the “real” world outside the classroom door. That’s important to me – for learning and for students’ state of mind.

Outside my classrooms, it is my normal practice to hang back and watch. I’m an observer, but if the situation calls for it or if an opportunity to step into a leadership role presents itself, I will step into that space and assume a leadership style that is conversational, interested in different perspectives, curious, inclusive, and kind. This is what I have seen work in previous work environments, and it flies in the face of other leadership styles, such as micro-management, which I have seen fail utterly and miserably. My favorite boss of all time is Bobby Donnell. He led our campus in North St. Louis with a Mr. Rogers vibe. He was kind, yet firm. His presence commanded (in the best way) respect from his entire team. He never demanded control; he worked alongside of us, he respected us, and he chose his battles. I’ll never forget when the CEO moved Bobby to a different campus and replaced him with a “leader” with a completely different vibe and leadership style. The campus fell apart. People complained.

Students were unhappy. Teachers were threatening to quit. No one enjoyed being at work. Eventually, the CEO moved Bobby back to the campus, and we fell back into rhythm within weeks. Smooth like butter. I like to lead like Bobby when given the opportunity. I might even change my sweater and my shoes before a meeting. Sing a song. Smile for everyone. Listen to opposing ideas but hold firm to ideals that need to remain unchanged. I’m so grateful to Bobby for his leadership, his encouragement, and his critique. He’s my #1 reference, and I’ll always be one for him!

For me, leadership is about working alongside my students and colleagues. It is about guiding and pushing toward the betterment of oneself and seeing life from a larger picture. I love to inspire people to think, to achieve, to know themselves, and to embrace differences of opinion.

So, yes, I see myself as a leader. Thanks, WordPress prompt. 🙂