Observations – Coffee With Paula

Marriage and Term Limits

I have said a couple times lately that I think the fine institution of marriage needs term limits; like at year 15, you both could yell “SWAP”. Ha! What that vision would include is that somewhere during year 12 when you fantasize about pinching their nose clean off their face because they continue to leave their crap all over the house for you to clean, you could just tell yourself, “don’t do it, just a few more short years”. Ha! (I feel the need to insert “just kidding” right here. Hopefully that wasn’t necessary, but either way, just wanted to be on the safe side. Ha!)

I do have something on my mind though about this very topic. Picture this. You’re sitting at your desk when a new co-worker comes around to meet you. The both of you hit it off nicely and after a week or so of brief office chit chat, you go for a quick lunch one day. After several quick lunch dates that go fairly well, you decide to go out for dinner and a movie one Friday night. It gets to where you start noticing increased heart rate; a little excitement when you see this new interest round the corner to your office or when you see their name pop up on your phone; you feel your cheeks blush with certain eye contact or simple touches and just the thought of a kiss makes you giddy with anticipation. You begin hanging out more and more, determine that you are now going steady and get to the moment of saying those precious three little words, “I love you.” After that, you are attached to the person…feelings of possessiveness come into play, they are yours…your special person. You feel safety when you’re with them and seek them out while in a crowd. You’re just naturally drawn to them.

Typically the next step would include meeting the families, later getting engaged and finally marriage…Lord willing and the Creeks don’t rise. Right? So which part is the love part? All those mushy feelings or the part where you say “I love you”…which to me signifies that you will love them or continue the act of loving them for an undetermined amount of time? With this comes the question of today…is love a noun or a verb?

I’ve come to realize that we have a very skewed view of love when we see love as the noun…those mushy feelings if you will. Let me just tell you, feelings come and go as quick as Aunt Sally’s Homemade Banana Pudding or Uncle Fred’s Scratch and Win Lotto money. (insert eye roll)

Marriages have been thrown away for the sheer fact that one or both spouses don’t feel like they love the other any more. If love is a feeling, then yes, you probably don’t love them anymore. If love is an action (verb), you can choose whether you do or not. I think real change happens in a failing marriage when you come to view love as an action and not a feeling. You can make that choice to “act” all day long, but feelings, you have no control over; they come and go with the wind.

When we vow to love someone for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, til death do us part, do we really know what we are promising? I’ve posed the question before…if we knew what til death do us part meant for us as a couple, would we still walk that aisle?

As a hospice Social Worker, my eyes are wide open as to what that phrasing means. We are saying that we will love our spouse until they take their final breath; that we will wipe their behind when they are unable to do so themselves; that we will make difficult decisions about nursing home placement; that we will spend some lonely years when the kids move out to live their own dream; that we will possibly lose our ability to help our mate when they experience a decline in health because we ourselves are experiencing a decline in health; we may look at each other from one wheelchair to another and chuckle at the fine situation you both find yourselves in this time.

Of course, all of this time from the aisle of the church to a spouse’s final breath is riddled with bad but also with much good. Funny memories are created from eating Ramen Noodles and dented-can-mystery-meat from the clearance bin because diapers and formula are super expensive; moments spent on the back porch after the babies are down for the night; sweet moments spent on the couch under a cozy blanket while you watch television…or while the television watches you cuddle and smooch; moments of pride as you see your children grow and chase their own dreams; grandbabies being born…just so many good times also.

I find myself back to the difficult question of how can one couple make it to the final breath and some make it only to ten years and a divorce attorney? I’ve decided it’s all in your perspective. You can make that choice to love or you can hit the road the moment the mushy feelings flee the scene. But I can assure you, the next relationship you run to will entail all of those same feelings initially but they too will finally dissipate. How many times do we change partners to chase those feel good mushy lovey dovey feelings that accompany new love? How many is enough?

Sipping some delicious warm soothing “muddy water” as a friend recently called it and thinking to myself that after 26 years of marriage…and no term limits…I might better view love as an action because those mushy feelings have been g-g-g-gone for a minute now. Ha! ~paula

For Whom Do You Sing Harmony?

I adore singing in the choir. I have some of my most carefree moments of each week…goofing, laughing, singing, harmonizing and practicing with my fellow choir members…who just happen to be some of my closest friends.

I sing alto, as did my sweet little mama. She managed to teach me that I would love choir…or else. Ha!

During my early years in choir, she was my choir director. Let me just tell you, when your mama was the choir director…you sang in the choir. Needless to say, I can’t say I always had a passion for singing or harmony, but it is now as much a part of who I am as my skin color, eye color, hair color and my facial features. I LOVE TO SING.

But to say I love to sing, is not really the full picture of what I love about this topic. I do sing pretty much all day long…in between patients, on the way to church, in the shower, while I listen to music on the beach… I even have to school myself NOT to hum while I’m in a conversation with someone because it could be construed as inattentiveness to what is being said. I have it bad. Ha! But the truth of what I love about singing is the harmony.

When I sing to the radio, I’m full on harmonizing. I sing alto in the choir which is primarily harmony. I feel a little disappointed when the alto line has to sing the melody and the sopranos have to bust out the harmony.

Sidenote: I realized recently that Sopranos don’t typically like to sing harmony either…so music writers…stop that. Ha! On second thought, maybe you should keep doing that occasionally so we are forced out of our comfort zones more often. But that’s a whole other topic.

Google depicts harmony as a noun that is: 1- the combination of simultaneously sounded musical notes to produce chords and chord progressions that have a pleasing effect. 2- agreement or concord. Synonyms: accord, agreement, peace, peacefulness, amicability, friendship, fellowship, cooperation, understanding, unity, rapport, like-mindedness. Basically, in music, harmony is a note that compliments the main note, the melody.

As you have gotten to know me…you knew I wouldn’t be able to let this go, right? You knew I would have to take this a step further. I couldn’t just let the definition of harmony be the end, right? There are so many life lessons all wrapped up into this one little topic. (#deepthinkerprobs)

I think that in life, we have to be the harmony to our fellow man’s melody.

As a Social Worker, I must be the harmony to my patient’s melody as I work along side them as they make decisions. I absolutely can not be the melody for my patient or families. They are the melody. I am the harmony. I accompany them as they make decisions they will live with for the rest of their lives. They are the lead. I provide necessary accompaniment.

As a wife, I must be the harmony to my husband’s melody. In this day and age it is frowned upon to say this, but he has the task of leading and I have the task of accompanying him as he accomplishes that task. Do I always play perfect harmony with him? Like, a big hell no to that. He makes me angry and crazy and absolutely nuts at times and I purposely turn that harmony right into a ‘dissonant’ chord. (Fellow music folks, do you see what I did there? Ha!) But luckily, dissonant chords are a ‘thing’ also. When a dissonant chord resolves itself into beautiful harmony again, life is good, right? That means kissing, folks. And kissing is good, right? Ha!

Moving right along. As a mother, I must be the harmony to my children’s ambitions in life. They have so many decisions to make along the way. I can’t run their lives for them. As much as we want to stop them from making the same mistakes we made, they have to live their life on their own. We can educate…harmonize, if you will…but we have to let them be their own melody. At the end of the day, they are the ones who have to lie their head down on their own pillow at night and live with their own thoughts. Not us. We live with our own thoughts.

I should probably revisit my earlier comment “we have to be the harmony to our fellow man’s melody”. What does that really mean? If we are always the harmony for others, when do we get to be our own melody? Almost always would be the answer. If everyone learned to compliment other’s melodies, there would always be someone available to be your harmony as well.

“Your true character is most accurately measured by how you treat those who can do nothing for you.” – Mother Teresa

Just sipping some Vanilla Bean Crème Brûlée Coffee and thinking about puttin’ on a kitchen concert. Where’s my spatula mic??? I’m about to bust out some major harmony…whose gonna tackle the melody for me??? ~paula

Vanilla Bean Crème Brûlée

I got a snap from a good friend of mine that she left a surprise on my desk at work and it would be waiting on me the next morning. I, of course…since I hardly have the ability to be serious…suggested that I was hoping it might be a certain singer & song writer who I currently crush on pretty hard. But I mean, how would they have gotten Ashley McBryde to agree to come to my office and just sit on my desk and await my arrival until the next morning? Nope, that couldn’t be it. (But seriously, her lyrical ability that literally makes you question whether or not you are the one in the song coupled with her mesmerizing vocals…and amazing tats…who wouldn’t crush on all of that!)

But I digress. (Clears throat and gets back on task.) What was awaiting my arrival this morning was a bag of Vanilla Bean Crème Brûlée, Ground Coffee by Archer Farms. This coffee is described as “Sweet vanilla and burnt sugar flavors with a light body”. I wouldn’t have been able to come up with that choice of words if my very life depended on it. I didn’t actually read that description until I had already tasted the coffee which was preceded by me smelling the coffee as it brewed. Man. All I could think to describe the coffee was “damn”. Ha! See what I mean? The level of delight experienced by my happy little taste buds decreased my literary skills by about 37.9%. I went sort of neanderthal…just grunted “damn” and kept slurping. Ha! But that description was spot on! Delicious!

So delicious that I even took a picture of the moment and decided there was something that should be said for good friends and thoughtful gestures. It just needed to be shared.

My mind considered the Random Acts of Kindness movement that was so prevalent for a while. I definitely hopped aboard the proverbial band wagon and dished out a few little unsuspecting niceties. They definitely made my heart smile as I hoped it did for the recipients of my kindness. I just wish the movement had truly swept the nation and made a lasting impression. You know, reached every single corner of the entire globe…nice people everywhere…waiting, watching, ready to pounce with a nice gesture the moment the opportunity presented. This would have resulted in so much sugar dripping from every street corner that you wouldn’t have been able to breathe. Ha! Not likely though, right?

Nice gestures and sweet friends are only two tiny pieces of the enormous puzzle that make this life pleasant. There are a lot of things that make life lovely and pleasant and worth it. Closing your eyes as you get lost in a slow kiss, refreshing rain showers enjoyed while rocking on the back porch, the first sip of morning coffee, slipping under clean sheets with freshly shaved legs, the first long drag of a cigarette while you stress smoke, a long icy chug of a 20oz Mountain Dew straight from the cooler, the aromas that waft from your mama’s kitchen, watching and hearing the waves crash onto the beach while the breeze blows your hair, your teeth squishing into the juicy sweetness of a summer sun ripened watermelon, listening to babies belly laugh with no inhibition, kicking your shoes and socks off and plopping down on the couch after you come in from work. Aaaaaah! I could literally go on for hours of all the nice little things in life. Things that are often overlooked, discounted…taken for granted…but can’t be bought.

My pastor used the word content recently in a sermon and communicated how we should learn to be a little more content in life; stop wanting so much stuff. The word content is so integral in making or breaking our perspective on how life is treating us. If we only look at the things that are missing; your car isn’t as cool as your neighbor’s, you don’t have enough money for that new house, can’t find your second fuzzy sock, your television is broke; we will miss out on so much of the “good stuff”.

Sipping my new favorite coffee tonight which was such an unexpected sweet gesture and learning how to be content in life…looking for the good in everyday situations. What did you enjoy about your day? You had to have something you could consider “nice”. What makes you content? ~paula

Haiku! Bless You! I Didn’t Sneeze.

I have always secretly loved a good Haiku. You know…5-7-5? I’m not so much in love with reading Haikus as I am with writing Haikus. I come up with these little suckers in my mind if I’m bored or if I see something funny or if I’m especially impressed with something or if I’m especially annoyed with something. I do this pretty much all the time. I have never once written one down nor have I ever shared this with anyone. Some things are better left unsaid. (Ha!) But seriously, the more I write, the more I realize I am definitely a literary geek…and I’m okay with that…so I decided to get a few of these on paper. Hope you enjoy!

HAIKU

To write a Haiku.

Lines 1-2-3, 5-7-5.

Syllable counts, rock!

>>>————>

<————<<<

COCKROACH

Oh cockroach, oh roach.

I ate you when I was three.

Your legs were crunchy.

>>>————>

<————<<<

BEACH

Waves, larger than life.

Your sound clears all of my thoughts.

Breeze, therapeutic.

>>>————>

<————<<<

CAT LITTER

Thank God for your help.

But I hate your smelliness.

These cats gotta go.

>>>————>

<————<<<

HALLMARK CHANNEL

You let me space out.

Love will always win on here.

No stress for my brain.

>>>————>

<————<<<

SKITTLES

So sweet in my mouth.

I love colors of rainbow.

Happy when with you.

>>>————>

<————<<<

GIRLS

We smell super sweet.

“The taste of cherry chapstick”

Katy Perry likes.

>>>————>

<————<<<

COFFEE

Warm deliciousness.

Trickling into my throat.

Keeping me happy.

>>>————>

<————<<<

DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY

You make me so sick.

I wish you would go to hell.

You make me so sick.

>>>————>

<————<<<

TO KISS

You can close your eyes.

Passion and fiery desire.

Never kiss too fast.

>>>————>

<————<<<

CHRISTMAS

Lights that sparkle bright.

Children’s smiles are everywhere.

Family gathers.

>>>————>

<————<<<

MY HOUSE

It never stayed clean.

Minimalist lifestyle now.

Keep the clutter gone.

>>>————>

<————<<<

WEINER DOGS

They love to burrow.

Quirky personalities.

Annoying but great!

>>>————>

<————<<<

MUSIC

I can’t live without.

It speaks deeply to my soul.

I get that from Mom.

>>>————>

<————<<<

TELL IT LIKE IT IS

I speak my own mind.

Can I use cuss words sometimes?

I get that from Dad.

>>>————>

<————<<<

KETO

Bake, bake, bake bacon.

Omelettes and yumminess.

Shrinking fat rolls now.

>>>————>

<————<<<

MARRIAGE

Can be wonderful.

Can be very annoying.

Make me a sammich.

>>>————>

<————<<<

RAIN

Rain cleanses my thoughts.

I am a pluviophile.

Rain showers are nice.

>>>————>

<————<<<

Sipping coffee and assuming this attempt to entertain myself has you guys pretty bored right about now. (Ha!) But writing Haikus is totally mind clearing. I encourage you to try. ~paula

When You Just Need a Minute

If there is anything that I’ve learned through this stupid grief journey is that sometimes I just need a minute. A minute to breathe, a minute to think about my sweet little mama, a minute to think about what things would be like if Cancer hadn’t reared it’s ugly head, a minute to think about all I wish I could tell her, a minute to just feel the pain, a minute to rip off the peel-n-stick smile I use daily and just cry.

Often lately, I’ve noticed that I wish I had the capability to wiggle my nose and instantly be on the beach for whatever time necessary to clear my head and then wiggle my nose to get me back home. I’m pretty sure I just had an epiphany while typing that sentence. It ain’t rocket science, move to the beach, Paula! (The beach is my most loved place on the earth because I think so clearly there…incase you didn’t know.)

But truly, there are a million instances during this thing called life that require us to regroup, reevaluate, redetermine who we are and who we want to be; you know, take a minute to “settle down” when something turns our world upside down.

So many things can manifest our own personal definition of “world upside down”. To one, the loss of a parent; to another, the loss of a job; an unexpected pregnancy; a car accident leaving one debilitated in some way; a house fire; a spousal affair. I could keep this list flowing for ten hours and still have more things to list. So many things have the ability to rock us to the core.

Why? Why are we so easily knocked on our behinds when things go wrong? I think we go along in life and constantly have these ideas and notions that are our own personal goals in life. We so easily let the words slip from our mouths that we want God’s will to be done, yet we keep making plans and arrangements on our own. We have ideas about what our lives should look like, what our kids’ lives should look like, how our neighbors’ lives should be looking. Goodness. For the most part, we can’t control anything and we just have to figure out how to deal with our new situation; even when it doesn’t fit into our well thought out plans.

I’m not saying that when bad things happen it’s because God wanted them to happen or He wanted us to have a less perfect life than we wanted to have, or even that He wanted to give us a wake up call. I’m just saying that this life isn’t ours. It is supposed to be His. He will not place you in situations that He doesn’t have the ability to walk you through.

When our children make decisions we hate. When our spouses make decisions we can’t tolerate. When things happen that are big, that you just can’t seem to accept, what are we to do?

The most simple thing to do is just take a minute to realize, the world hasn’t actually stopped turning. You are indeed still breathing. You do actually still have the ability to feel true joy, it just might be a minute before you can notice. There is very little in this life that is truly the end of the world.

When my sweet little Mama took her final breath, my heart stopped along with her’s. The problem was, mine started back again. For those few minutes directly afterward, my world was quite literally spinning out of control and I couldn’t catch my breath or have a coherent thought. I saw talking all around me but could only hear the screaming inside my head. I had held it together for so very long and the screaming inside my head was the tears and gut wrenching heart ache that had been waiting for the moment I would finally allow them out. The revelation came…I didn’t have to be strong anymore. When that realization hit my mind and soul, to say I absolutely lost my shit, is quite the understatement. I let a million loud, rushing tears go and it was not pretty to say the least. A solid year’s worth of withheld tears and despair flooded out of my weary and exhausted body. I could hold them back not a second more.

Who knows what all happened after that. Those immediate days following are such a blur to me now. I just know that I was surrounded by so much love and concern and tenderness from friends and family. I’m certain my little mama was orchestrating it all to make certain we were cared for during a time she tried so desperately to prepare us for, because she knew she couldn’t be there to physically help us herself.

What I do remember was the overwhelming need for time to stand still for just a minute. I NEEDED A MINUTE! And I was angry that no one was giving me that minute. I needed that minute to get my mind wrapped around what had occurred but there was no minute to be had. Time marched and I sort of just flowed with it. Had no choice.

But what I was being taught during that time was that there is an amazing God who was still on His throne, who kept His arms around me the whole time and never allowed me to slip under the currents for more than I needed to be under. He didn’t give me more than I could bear…with His help. THAT’s the key. He will not give us more than we can bear…with His help.

There is such a valid lesson in this for every aspect of life. Our kids don’t always choose for themselves the things that we want them to choose. They make downright stupid decisions sometimes; as do our spouses; as do we. Our spouses aren’t always capable of meeting the standard we think is required. Promotions at work don’t always happen when we think they should. Life gets messy! But God is always on His throne…no matter what rocked your little world to the core.

So take your minute when you need it. But don’t stay there. You have to get back to “keepin’ on”. You have to figure out how to keep moving and growing. I saw on a church sign one time, “If God brought you to it, He’ll bring you through it.” Right? Right.

Sipping coffee tonight and being so very thankful for parents who taught me that nothing that happens to make our life messy or troubled or rocked-to-the-core is the end of the world. Nothing. ~paula

Mr. Man at the Rest Area

The other day I was working my way through the work day when I realized I probably just attended a Divine appointment.

The day began as a typical day would in the world of Home Health and Hospice Social Work. I finished up documentation from the day before, faxed last minute details regarding an inpatient rehab stay for a patient that was no longer improving at home, discussed a case with our Occupational Therapist and made arrangements to retrieve items ordered to increase a patient’s independence at home, reviewed a case that had possible caregiver breakdown; all while sipping cold but yummy coffee like a boss! (Wait, if I was a boss, someone might have heated it up for me. Ha!) Four patients awaited my arrival and I was ready to get on the road to see them.

With the length of time in the office and all of the coffee sipped, I knew to potty before I left because one thing for sure was that a bladder was not designed to hold an entire pot of coffee for very long. So. All tasks completed…it was time to hit the road.

I put all of my Social Work paraphernalia in the car, walked around to the driver’s seat but noticed just how disgusting my ride looked. The mud from south Alabama dirt roads after rain was accompanied by the routine road filth that builds up week after week. My guess was that the thick layer of filth on the outside of my car had to be effecting my gas mileage by now. So the next stop was the 5 minute automated car wash.

Finally the work day was back underway as my sparkling ride veered into traffic and cruised toward the first destination; music, of course, set just right. After numerous miles were made and several sets completed of the travel concert that was a constant while in the car, the first destination was getting close. It then became evident that another potty break was necessary. Damn coffee slowing my roll again!

In perfect timing, I noticed a blue rectangular suggestion beside the 4-lane that a Rest Area neared. I traveled the distance, whipped into the parking spot, shut off the engine, jumped out, locked up and sprinted through the rain that had begun to drizzle with the expectation to dash in and dash out.

Wrong.

That was when Mr. Man at the Rest Area (MMRA) entered my day.

Brief pleasantries were exchanged as I entered and walked past the man behind the counter. When I walked to exit the rest area though, I mentioned that I hoped the rain would stop soon because I had many miles to accomplish before the work day was done. He commented, “I know what you mean. By the way, can I ask you a question?”

With that small question, my inner spirit cringed such a deep cringe that the professional poker face I own almost let me down. I didn’t have time for a long conversation. I didn’t want to answer any long nursing questions. (I wear scrubs and sometimes get the most in-depth nursing questions before I can get the phrase out of my mouth “I’m not a nurse, I’m a Social Worker.”) I just didn’t have time. I had patients. But with my most interested upbeat voice and accepting facial expression, I exclaimed, “certainly”.

MMRA proceeded to ask if I was a nurse, to which I explained, I was a Social Worker for a local Home Health and Hospice. This prompted MMRA to share of his grandmother who passed last year, his grief journey through the last few months and that their family used a competitor of ours who he thought did a wonderful job taking care of his beloved grandmother. I assured him that there are several wonderful hospice agencies in the area who mostly employ the same general types of people; ones who are compassionate, have a deep rooted love for all people as well as the genuine desire to help their fellow man. MMRA voiced agreement that it must be true.

But as we chatted further, I’m not certain that he ever truly asked the specific question for which he stopped me; I was fairly certain he wasn’t going to just ask if I was a nurse.

He mentioned studying to be a youth pastor, driving the church van and that he wanted to share God’s love anytime he could. He voiced that he knew I must be a Christian due to my caring nature, which I confirmed. He later mentioned that it’s easy to say we’re Christians but it’s hard to truly act like one; to which I firmly agreed.

He talked of an aunt that retired within the last few years from an agency where I used to work. I reveled in an it’s a small world moment as I shared that I remembered her very well and had actually just driven by her home within the last two weeks working in an area that was not typical for my work day. How strange that I would run into the nephew of this lady after I had just passed her house in an area that I hadn’t been for over five years. Crazy.

Chatter died down and I really had to get to my four patients so I bid farewell and headed to my car. All I could think to myself was why in the world did that conversation happen? I had always been a firm believer that things happened for a reason; this random conversation would be no different.

Maybe MMRA needed a moment to honor his beloved Grandmother with shared memories to a complete stranger? Maybe MMRA needed to affirm his faith and his decision to become a youth pastor by sharing that with a complete stranger? Maybe MMRA knew deep down this complete stranger needed a reminder that being a Christian is more than just singing in the choir and doing churchy things; that it’s more about a relationship with a Heavenly Father, sharing God’s love to the world and making certain you are walking in His will? MMRA’s comment, “sometimes you’re the only Bible a person will ever see” played over and over. The reality sank in deeply; Paula does not always look like a Bible; Paula does not even look like a Bible most of the time.

Sipping coffee this morning and wondering if Mr. Man at the Rest Area knew he had an impact on my heart with that random…or maybe not as random as I’d like to think…conversation. ~paula

Paula, You’re an Idiot

We’re at the baby boy’s house for the weekend. He needed his couch and this mama needed out of town. So what did we do to remedy both? The baby girl and I packed up the truck, scooped up her bestie and hit the road.

As we Clampett’d our way through the journey, the back of the truck packed to the hilt with no cover over our “stuff”, we began getting texts from the hubby and from the baby boy that there was rain on the radar all around the couple of towns we were going through at that moment.

Driving through Ozark, the sky was darkening to the left and the term “makin’ tracks” became our mantra. Further into the trip as we neared Dothan the sky had gained pitch black status ahead of us and to the left of us. Ever on the lookout for gas stations with awnings or bridges to whip under if necessary, the rain continued its threat to engulf us, but still not a drop. I mashed the gas pedal more furiously. (Always love a good excuse to drive fast. Ha!) But man, all the slow moving vehicles who shared the road were clearly accomplices in the heavy clouds’ attempt to drench my son’s couch and the rest of our bags before we could deliver. The sleek and shiny Silverado fiercely weaved in and out of traffic until it finally veered south…bright sunny skies out of the windshield, dark threatening skies in the rear view. We just might make it!

The tension I felt from worrying about the couch getting wet had finally began to dissipate. The threat of rain was still there as we had another few hours to drive but the realization struck…If that couch gets rained on, it will wind dry before we arrive…all good. What specifically had been my worry?

We stopped to re-fuel, potty and grab a snack but we were determined to not let the rain catch us. Back to the truck as quick as possible and back to “makin’ tracks”. I knew to stay on task and not delay our arrival to get the couch inside and away from the rain, but the tension was gone. No more pressure.

I stuck the baby girl in the driver’s seat so she could gain some long haul experience and I kicked back and enjoyed the ride.

What happened to the couch? Did we make the delivery without it being touched by water? Yes. We arrived as the dark clouds caught up with us. We jetted to the door, the baby boy came out and the couch was hoisted out of the truck bed and whisked to safety. Our arduous journey to deliver a safe and unblemished couch (well, as unblemished as a 13yo couch can be, Ha!) was finally complete.

I’m just so crazy sometimes. My brain rarely shuts off so I started contemplating what lesson could be learned from that journey. Maybe the lesson learned was that worry was futile because worry had no ability to change an outcome? It would only impede your ability to think clearly when clear thinking was imperative in the middle of a storm. I could not worry those rain clouds out of the way or further behind us. Maybe the lesson learned was that those dark clouds were an example of the world trying to engulf and pour down on our Christian beliefs and as a Christian our version of “makin’ tracks” must include keeping the SON in our windshield and darkness in the rear view?

I finally decided, Paula, you’re an idiot. It was just a trip we took to deliver the baby boy’s couch, have some absolutely wonderful fam time and splendidly delicious food that happened not to have rain. Must there always be a lesson?! Ha!

Sipping coffee at the baby boy’s house as I tell myself to stop overthinking everything…as I sit and overthink everything. Ha! ~paula

I Admit it. I’m a Pluviophile.

Are you satisfied now? I finally admitted I’m a pluviophile. I suppose all the years I commented negatively about rainy days, were the years prior to my epiphanous moment of “hey, I’m a writer”. I’ve observed that rainy days are my best days…the days I have the most creative thoughts…the days my fingertips are drawn intensely to the keyboard. And for a beach lover like me, non-rainy days are a must, or are they?

Collinsdictionary.com defines pluviophile as “a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days”. Yep. Sounds a lot like me.

Working as a Social Worker in Hospice and Home Health requires me immersed in the elements daily. Sunny days, rainy days, cloudy days, humid days, snowy days, hot days, cold days, just-right days. I’m one of the weirdos who gets much satisfaction from doing my job on rainy days. Why? I truly have no answer. It’s the weirdest thing.

What about rain gets the creativity flowing? I feel the same creative feelings when I’m at the beach. The roar of the waves and the roar of a heavy downpour absolutely irrevocably calms my soul and quietens my mind, making a clear path for good thoughts to take over and reign. Just the phrase roar of the waves or heavy downpour can jump start my mind to clarity. Maybe the recipe which creates a rainy day at the beach with a covered balcony on which to sit and observe is my absolute salvation, my holy grail, the utopia for my soul. That may have been a little too deep…it’s basically my happy place folks. Ha!

But I have gotten to a place in life where I want to truly know me. I want to know what makes me tick…what keeps my hamster wheel turning. Ha! I think that until a person truly knows themselves, they simply can not know true contentment. If you don’t understand you, how can you make decisions wisely and effectively of who you spend your time with and how or where you spend your time? You should spend some time with you this week! It’s your challenge, your homework if you will, from Coffee with Paula. You might be nicely surprised with who you find.

Sipping coffee this morning, wondering which Coffee with Paula fans are also pluviophiles and considering a move to Seattle…all while soaking in the sound of the rain. What have you learned about yourself lately? ~paula

Shut the “bleep” up and Reroute Already!

Has google maps ever sent you on the quickest route? But that “quicker route” required you to do 6 u-ey’s and 3 loop-de-loops into approximately 42 lanes of oncoming traffic? As in, it’s definitely going to get you there quicker…assuming you’re not killed in the process…but it may not be the simplest, least stressful route.

Often in my workday (Social Work) I find myself driving to crazy locations and needing some navigational assistance to get there. I don’t always want to follow the specific route google plans, so I may take a side street over to another side street to get back onto the specific path google has laid out. During that time, my google lady is repeatedly saying “make a u-turn”…”make a u-turn”…”make a u-turn”. I find myself saying so often during the work day, “Would you just shut the hell up and reroute already?!” (I say other things in traffic as well, but I’ll leave it at that for now as all of my other “traffic related” sayings are for another entry…another day…another more adult rating. Ha!)

But why is it necessary for us to always follow the directions to a T? Aren’t there always a few different ways to arrive at a specific destination? Some routes are more simple, more direct, more carefree, while others are more stressful, more lengthy, more difficult. You still arrive at the same destination. Right?

I must admit though that different days call for different paths. For instance, if I have only 3 patients for the day, I want to take the path of least resistance, the path that takes me down two lane roads where I can enjoy the scenery through open windows, radio blasting and hair whipping. (And quite possibly the occasional cigarette if the mood strikes, but I swear to God if you tell anyone I’ll deny it. Ha!) But for a day when I really need to see 62 patients, I want the interstate, 26.7 u-ey’s and a couple loop-de-loops to get to each patient in a super quick manner.

But as I ponder trips, routes and destinations, I can’t help but think of the many road trips I’ve taken since I was a child. Some with parents and grandparents, some with my parents and baby brother. As I got older, some with friends, some with the hubby and some with my hubby and kids. (I have a lot of trips under my belt folks because I quite literally always sit on ready.)

But what was most important about all of those trips…the destination or the journey? Some, like my husband, might assume the destination is the highlight. He can literally only see two things on a road trip: point A and point B. Nothing, I repeat, nothing in between those points are important to him…so unimportant that I suspect he would be quick to debate their actual existence. He tends to be a stickler for departure times, arrival times and sticking to the discussed and pre-approved itinerary. Now don’t get me wrong, Disney World is phenomenal, the beach is divine, the mountains so majestic. But the most cherished part to me is the journey itself.

Intentionally driving through small towns off the beaten path just to try a quaint little locally owned restaurant with savory dishes that have never before graced your taste buds. Spending an afternoon walking the streets of a huge city you’re passing through to experience sub-cultures not your own that open your mind to thinking outside your comfortable little box. Gazing through car windows at scenery you’ve seen only in print. Laughing at jokes told by friends to pass the time until the next stop. Ragging whoever missed that last turn while determining whose fault…the navigator or the driver. Singing to the top of your lungs while an old favorite plays on the radio, taking you back in time to some other road trip…another set of shenanigans. And last but not least, the perfection of bladders syncing and all who are along for the ride needing to stop at the same time…the journey.

Make time to intentionally enjoy the moments given; force google maps to chill out and redirect already…it’s simply a must. We are each given one life on this earth. I choose to use each moment to savor the goodness…especially sips of this steaming nighttime cup…or am I cheating and drinking ice cold sweet tea? I’ll let you decide.

Til the next pot…or pitcher. ~paula

He said ‘Our Girl’

As I intently stared at the dusty diamond covered with sweaty, fatigued warriors, while my flattened, aching behind shifted from side to side on cold metal bleachers; my husband of 25 years (26 when June arrives) texted my phone and asked the question “has our girl played”? This happens to be baby girl’s first Varsity season and she has had her share of paying bench dues this season. She had actually played some tonight but I couldn’t text back right away. I was stuck in time sitting there as I tried to get my heart to calm to a slower beat. He said our girl.

I finally answered his question and shared of her getting hit by the ball and taking a base, but I was quick to also tell him I liked how he said our girl. He was of course baffled at what I meant because men can sometimes be oblivious to things of the heart. (No offense guys, you just aren’t as mushy as us ladies and we’re okay with that, trust me!)

But it took me only one quarter of a second to formulate my answer. “It’s endearing toward me and toward her and it made me smile”.

Why did my mushy female heart see that as endearing? Well, the phrase our girl was indicative of a relationship that was loving enough to share babies but also indicative of the deep love between a daddy and his girl. He acknowledged all of that in its entirety with that one simple text.

Marriages that have held firm for 25 years, (or 2 for that matter) are guaranteed to have rocky patches, moments when feelings are no longer mushy or exciting and it becomes imperative that the focus be centered on making the choice to love rather than to rely on “feelings of love” that are untrustworthy and flighty.

There is often confusion over love being a noun or love being an action. If you consider love a noun, what does that make love? It makes love the warm fuzzies of a first kiss, butterflies when you remember a shared and heated embrace, the increased patter of your heart when you see your love walk in the room. How long can all of that possibly last? This person you’ve vowed to love, burps and farts…sometimes at the same time; has morning breath; eats garlic bread; pisses you off; let’s you down; gets toothpaste all over the sink; forgets to start the dishwasher; doesn’t notice your new hair cut and accidentally on purpose forgets that you really wanted to see that new movie at the theatre. How can the warm fuzzies continue after all that?

It’s simple. They can’t; they won’t and you newly weds and young adults who are about to enter into wedded bliss, don’t need to think they will.

But when you view love as a choice, the possibility of this thing called marriage making it for the long haul, increases tremendously. Choosing to love this person that you vowed to love is the bare minimum of what is required. Choosing to keep on keeping on; even when things are less than stellar, don’t smell as sweet as you remember and emotions trick you into believing what isn’t real. Keep on keeping on.

The warm fuzzies aren’t gone for ever. They simply come and go for seasons. I certainly wasn’t looking for warm fuzzies tonight after 25 years of marriage, the last 3 of those filled with enormous struggles; but I received one. My husband; who can be into his own world, his own things, his own to-do list, his own struggles; had a moment when he thought of me as his and wanted to know everything was right with our girl.

Smiling as I plan to partake from a fresh pot of coffee after these beautiful warriors are done defending their diamond; choosing to wait for the next warm fuzzy; ain’t giving up. ~paula