Easter…not just about eggs.

love-decorate-eggs-easter-ecard-someecards

 

Truth be told, I loathe decorating eggs. Just not a fan of boiled eggs, unless they are destined for devilry–complete with pickles and paprika. And I don’t like those stupid plastic ones either. Mostly because I find them all over my house for months to come, filled with rancid jelly beans and crusty chocolate footballs. You probably call them eggs, but face it…they look more like footballs, don’t they? I am rather fond of the mythical, cotton-tailed, candy bearing critter who leaves baskets full of sugar for The Beans to rip into before church services on Easter Sunday. Okay, really….I just enjoy wearing my crafty hat while embellishing the baskets to the point of embarrassment.  What can I say? I’m a creative soul who is really good with her hands.

Seriously though, Thank GOD…literally…Easter is not just about eggs or candy.

Now, to be fair, we as a family, have only been attending church on a very regular basis for about 3 months. The Man was raised in the Catholic church, but never really adhered to it, as far as I can tell, and I being Protestant, don’t quite understand a lot about Catholicism. So, when Sugar Bean was small, we decided to attend church as a family, and settled on an amazing Episcopalian church. Catholic enough for him, Protestant enough for me. We both got it. However, we moved far from that church in Beverly Hills, and enrolled our kids in Presbyterian school, because it was the best one around, and public was not an option at the time. Soon after, we began attending the church affiliated with the school, and really liked it for several years. Then, another move forced us to find another place to worship, where after just a short time we feel like part of  the church family. You know, like regulars at “Cheers”—where everybody knows our name…lol. It’s obviously meant to be our church home. And now, at 41, I am grasping the importance of deep faith along with an understanding of The Bible. Although I grew up in a Christian family, who attended church regularly when my brothers and sisters were small, by the time I came along….I assume my parents were just plain tired. Which meant we went on holidays mostly, and I don’t ever remember attending Sunday School as a child. And my knowledge of the Bible? Skeletal at best. But I am making an effort to educate myself so I’m prepared for the questions The Beans will inevitably have when they reach that point wanting to know “If God made us, who made God?”  Which, of course, I won’t know the answer to, but I want to at least try and communicate effectively.

My most vivid childhood memories of Easter involve the exquisite dress my mother would make for me to wear each year. Of course, I have carried on the tradition in my own girls, complete with gigantic satin bows in their hair to match. In fact, they have each worn some of THE very dresses I wore, as I cherish them dearly and have taken good care of them. But I am also doing my very best to make them understand that it’s not about big baskets of goodies, or eggs, or fancy dresses. And I was reminded of my efforts quite exquisitely, when I picked Butter Bean and Sweet Pea up after school on Good Friday.

Butter Bean said, “I’m sooo excited for Easter!” “Me too,” squealed Sweet Pea. Expecting the answer from both girls to be “Because the Easter Bunny comes,” I asked why, and beamed when Sweet Pea said she was excited for church, and then elaborated on why. “There are good friends there, and we learn about Jesus. I love Jesus.” In true Butter Bean style, she still hailed the Easter Bunny, but I know she understands. She just LOVES chocolate.

As a family, we are going through a bit of a difficult time. We need our Faith now more than ever, to lean on, and turn to, as guidance towards light overshadowed by darkness….albeit temporary. The Man is making huge strides at developing a Faith similar to mine, and we are discussing attending classes at LCPC in order for us to learn and solidify our knowledge together. Now, that’s not to say we will agree with everything we’re taught. I  mean, I am, after all….a liberal Christian. WHAT?!!! Yes, I said it. I firmly believe that Jesus LOVES EVERYONE, and to quote my favorite blogger/author, Glennon Melton, ” Jesus is forever tries.” He never gives up on us, and we shouldn’t give up on ourselves. I just pray he’s prepared for the Minklers…because I’m pretty sure I’ll be blowing up his shiny white, straight line to Heaven phone more than once over the next few years. Probably forever. He died for us. I really owe him A LOT of attention.

 

Anyway, here are The Beans, with some precious friends after church this morning.

Easter Angels in their Sunday Best

Easter Angels in their Sunday Best

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10 Reasons I’m a Bad-Ass

well, there's #1

most important reason

(If I knew whom to credit this photo/saying to, I totally would. Unfortunately, Mama Google left me hanging.)

Judging by the fact the last list I posted here sucked 499 people in to read it…in one day...I thought I’d give you some more fat to chew on. You can thank me later. Or never. I’m cool with that.

Let me start by saying that given the festive and colorful life I’ve led, I should be a DEAD ASS. So that, folks, begins the list:

#1…I’m alive.

And have been called a force of nature by at least 2 people, who aren’t related to me and don’t know each other at all.

#2…I can bleed for 7 consecutive days without dying, or showing visible signs of injury.

All bets are off for others showing signs of injury, either physical or emotional, if they happen to be in close proximity during those 7 days. You’ve been warned.

#3…I can pitch a tent, start a fire, rig a pole, bait a hook with a LIVE worm, cast a line, reel in a catch, and then clean, fillet and cook it. Oh, and I can forage greens to sauté as a side dish. In other words: I know how to camp…low-impact style. Don’t mind squatting to pee in the woods either. Yes, I’m a happy camper!

But to be fair, I enjoy 5 star hotels and room service too. I’m flexible like that.

#4…I can say my ABC’s backwards in less than 6 seconds. It’s true, I swear. My daddy taught me how when I was 6 years old, and Sugar Bean timed me about 3 months ago, after I taught her and my other 2 Beans.

Useless, stupid human trick, I know. But try it…it’s fun.

#5…The very first time I ever played Texas Hold ‘Em Poker was with 2 of my older brothers and 3 of my 20-something nephews at our family Fourth of July shindig one year. I took all of their money. One of them even had to write me a check. Could have been beginner’s luck, but was likely because I’m a bad-ass.

FYI–I didn’t cash the check, or keep their money. I’m a bad-ass, not a bitch.

#6…My homemade chili won 3rd place fin the Beverly Hills Chili-Cook Off one year. Didn’t take the top prize, but I cooked 6 gallons and there wasn’t a drop left. So the crowd liked it, which is so much better than winning.

Friends sometimes call and ask me to make it for them, because they crave it. Now THAT’s bad-ass.

#7…I have a Smokey and the Bandit t-shirt, and know the words to the theme song, because my sister let me watch the movie when I was about 8 years old and I’ve never forgotten them. She also taught me the lyrics to a famous Jimmy Buffett song around the same time, so now…

I like mine with lettuce and tomato
Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes
Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer
Well, good God Almighty which way do I steer for my Cheeseburger in Paradise

#8…My alma-mater holds 15 National Championship Titles. Enough said, except ROLL TIDE ROLL.

#9…I was in the cast of HAIR! at the University of Alabama the year it celebrated its 25th anniversary on Broadway. We sold out every performance….and yes…I participated in the nude scene. BUCK NEKID. Even during tech/dress rehearsal under full-flourescent lighting with about 15 people seated in the audience whom I’m certain had zero interest in seeing me naked.

I assume, once word got out that dancers were taking off clothing on stage, all the campus frat boys voyeurs stormed the box office, & bought a ticket. That would explain 8 sold-out performances, huh?

#10…Without hesitation, I would trade places with the one person in my life whom I know is struggling the most right now if I was sure it would end all the pain, anxiety, stress and hurt.

Why, you ask?

Because God thinks I’m a bad-ass too, and I can handle it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Juggling bubbles

perfectly round and delicate

perfectly round and delicate

Somedays I feel like I live in one of these. A clear, perfectly round sphere….ready to shatter any moment, under the pressure of the slightest brush against another object. Other days, I’m not living in one, but rather juggling a bunch of them, desperately trying to keep them aloft, so they don’t burst if they hit the ground. Why, you ask? Because The Man and The Beans live in them, and…

I AM THE KEEPER OF THE BUBBLES.

That’s a lot of pressure, in case you were wondering. Bubble juggling, that is. And along with the constant fear of spontaneous bubble eruption, comes the quiet panic of wtf am I going to do if they all disintegrate? AGAIN. Oh yes. It’s happened before.

My entire life has been an endless quest to maintain images, trapped inside bubbles ready to burst at any moment. Even in childhood I learned how to compartmentalize my life by carefully encasing each facet in it’s own protective, gossamer layer.

The Image of Reality I allow people to see. 

The Image of Reality as it is–mostly shielded from view. 

The Image I Hope My Reality Becomes. 

The Image of Reality as it should be if not for all the branches, scratches, windstorms, rocks and other disasters that have spun the bubble around and left it broken, lying in a slimy pool of soap….in the dirt. 

I must confess, 2013 started off like a dream….launching me and my bubble juggling self into a very comfortable, seemingly bubble popping proof place with a giant fan underneath, to keep the bubbles up in the air. So if you’ve  seen me lately, I’m sure I looked  fine. Probably even smiling, and genuinely relaxed. Perhaps even today. But it’s all about perception, isn’t it?

I’m here to tell you, an engine in that damn fan has weakened and my bubbles have lost some altitude. They are hovering just above the fan now, and I’m lying on top of it shielding them from the blades which would make them all disintegrate. AGAIN.

God, what should I do now? I don’t hear you laughing.

 

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10 Things I Hate About 41

It’s no secret that I’m over 40. Although since I live in Los Angeles, and I’m married to The Man who’s married to The Industry, maybe I should have stopped aging at 30. Yeah, a nice even number. That’s a believable lie, right?  {crickets chirping} FINE. I can’t lie about it now. But I CAN tell you all the reasons why it sucks giant, hairy and sweaty donkey balls, now can’t I?!

The photo below shows me being a hot mess….literally. Holding a beer, my phone, and my wallet all in one hand, while using the other to shoo a bug out from under my niece’s wedding dress. Yes, that really happened. Anyway, this photo is relevant because it was during this particular plantation wedding weekend that I began to really start hating the downside of 40, and the approach of…FORTY-ONE. The look on my face says it all, doesn’t it?  Not sure if I laughed or cried next. Could have been either. Seriously.

She really had a bug under her dress!

She really had a bug under her dress!

Over the past 6 months, things have begun to CHAAAANGE. Normally  I’m delighted to welcome change with open arms. However, there are a few key players in my physiological make-up that were just fine the way they were….when I was 35, 30, 20 🙂 Which brings me to:  

10 Things I Hate About 41

 

1. I’m not 40 anymore.  Yes, I actually enjoyed being 40. Something about that milestone birthday is attractive. Just like turning 18, then 21, followed by 30, 35 and FORTY. It’s the last best milestone, I think. Now, I’m just 41.

2. Phantom aches & pains—in my back, in my hip, in my big toe or my eyeballs—I could go on forever. Hello? My bones are old. I know. I know. But I really do not enjoy being reminded.

3. My hair is falling out For God’s sake, my hair was my best asset FOR YEARS, and now it’s thinning. I actually broke down and bought some of that ‘AGE DEFY’ shampoo and conditioner that I never even knew existed, until now. wtf…WTF?? I’ve always had great hair, like the Pantene girls. Now I am fully expecting to wake up one morning, rise from my bed, only to discover that all my hair is still lying on the pillow. Or worse, have it slip through my hands and down the drain while I’m washing it. I’m having HORROR HAIR FLASHES to accompany the other flashes (See #4)

4. One minute I’m freezing, the next I am burning up– Hot flashes my ass. These are like nuclear meltdowns, causing a chain reaction of unpleasant shit. Then, in seconds, I’m so cold my teeth are chattering, and I’m walking around wearing my bathrobe on top of my clothes. Even Mother Nature can’t keep up with the internal seasons I’ve got going on. Of course it doesn’t help when The Man says “You’re going through The Change“. Thanks, asshat. I’ll show you change. 

5. I’m thirsty all the time— I’ve never been one to consume a lot of liquids. Not a conscious choice, I just don’t get thirsty. Well shit fire, I am now apparently making up for all the years I forgot to drink. Just great.

6. Incontinence– To be fair, I’ve always had a somewhat weak bladder. I used to pee when I laughed in high school. Of course, childbirth times 3 made it much worse, and now….well…because of #5 above, I HAVE TO PEE CONSTANTLY. Go figure. Perhaps I can be a spokesmodel for Depends, just like Lisa Rinna. Whaddaya think?

7. Young people refer to me as “Mrs” or “ma’am”– Being from the South, I appreciate the reverence. But at the same time, it makes me want to punch the teenaged cashier at Von’s right in the face when she says “Here you go ma’am” as she hands my ID back after she cards me. Brighten my day by asking for my ID, and then burst the balloon by calling me ‘ma’am’. FINE. Be that way. You’ll be old one day.

8. My eyesight is getting worse–as if THAT were possible, right? I mean, I already have something stupid called Adie’s pupil–my right one is permanently blown–so it makes me look like Marilyn Manson, in bright light. Right one blown, left one pinpoint. Most of the time, if people actually look into my eyes and notice, they want to know what kind of cool psychedelic drugs I’ve dropped. It’s very entertaining. That problem aside, I can’t see shit now.

9. What short-term memory?–Sometimes, I feel like Dorie in Finding Nemo. I’ll walk through my house from one room to another, on a mission, and by the time I get there, I stand in the middle of the room wondering what the hell I’m doing there. On occasion, I’ve retraced my steps in an effort to jog my memory. Almost never works. So I guess it’s really true….I gave a 1/4 of my brain cells to each of my children. Thank God we stopped at 3. Otherwise, I’d be a vegetable. Oh, joy!

10. Sahara– This is what I have nicknamed my nether region, because of the dryness. Seriously, I am expecting The Man to saddle up on a camel the next time he wants to take a ride. All the while, I’m thinking “Hey…Eve…I hope that fruit was damn tasty!”

I just have one last thing to say. When I finally kick it, please bury me upside down, so Aunt Flow and her groupies, Bald and Blind, can kiss my tired, old, forgetful ass, will ya?

 

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