the meaning of Bife…..

While texting my friend the other day I was at a loss for an adequate term that described my relationship with her.  I’ve known her for over half my life.  We have been there for each other for graduations, 4 babies, two divorces, job losses, losses of family and friends, illnesses, performances, triumphs, and failures.  We seem to know what the other is thinking and feeling and can express ourselves freely without any concern of being judged, misread, or misunderstood.  Many times my friend has looked me square in the eye and told me I was wrong or given me that much needed reality check when no one else would.  And while my husband fills the role of “completing me” he does so in a very male way.  He is the yang to my yin, filling the void left by my complete inability to fully understand the male race.  My friend completes me on my female side.  She is the one I go to when I need to bitch, moan, cry, laugh, or just chat.  When we are out of touch, I feel dysfunctional, I feel lost, I feel incomplete.  I would also feel that way if I was out of touch with my husband, but luckily I live in the same house as him, whereas my friend, we don’t even live in the same state.

Calling her my “friend” never seemed to really cut it.  It just didn’t sum up the extent of our alliance.  It was time to create something unique to her, to me, to us.  I was calling her “my non-marital life partner” for a while. It is a tad long and too hard to text. So, since she is 1/3 of what makes me whole, I deemed her to be my “bife.”  Bife… my best friend wife.  Now, realizing that there is also the connotation of “bi” in there and how it can be construed that we share some sort of bisexual relation, it makes the term very multi faceted.  Although we have never taken our friendship to a physical level, I think that bife could become very popular with those that do.  I could have just gone along with the hugely popular BFF but that just didn’t seem to sum up the depth of our friendship.  BFF should be reserved for reality shows, teenage girls, and glittery myspace profile icons.  A BFF will hold your hair  when you puke, a bife holds your hand while you give birth.

Bife, to me, is more than a friend.  It is the woman that I have chosen to be my partner without the messy business of a wedding.  She is the Thelma to my Louise, without the messy business of a horrific car crash at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  We have gone from fresh-faced 7th grade classmates to 30 something women with many, many miles behind us.  We’ve grown together, grown apart, grown up and grown tired but all the while we’ve been there for each other, laughing and drinking wine till death do us part.

If you have a bife in your life, you are lucky. Let her know you love her.

P.S.  Happy Birthday!  You are still older than me.

Lake Powell, a cruel mistress

5 days on Lake Powell will remind you of how rewarding it can be to spend a little time in nature and revel in it’s power.  There is something about water that has always commanded a deep respect for me.  Maybe it’s because I’m a water sign and I’m cosmically connected to the stuff.  Maybe it’s memories of being pulled under by waves at the beach, or facing a near catastrophic end in the Verde River.  What ever the cause, I have utmost reverence for the sheer force and beauty of water.    Plus, being around power of that kind has a special way of bringing you closer to yourself and those around you.

Lake Powell is special in it’s massive size and it’s unparalleled beauty.  If you have ever had the pleasure of spending time there, you know what I am speaking of.  Being a small part of the human and natural community that makes up the lake is humbling.  I have first hand seen the results of a bad mix of a late summer storm and ignorance.  Spending 4 hours resurecting a friends boat from near sinking will teach you to be more careful on the lake.  Our family trip last week claimed my sunglasses, our E-Z up tent, and my son’s shoe.  All three losses could have been avoided, if we had remembered to respect the water.  The lake also holds claim to my husbands first wedding ring and several other assorted items that we have sacrificed over the years in pursuit of a good time. I consider these losses small in comparsion to the rewards we get from braving the sun, storms, waves, and ants.  I always return from the lake with a fresh new glow of health, compliments of the relentless UV waves and copious amounts of sunblock.  My hair has gained subtle highlights that make hiding the gray a tad easier.  My muscles are toned and sore from trudging around in sand, swimming, riding wave runners, sleeping on sub-par leaky air matresses and trying to wake board.  All in all my body feels good.  Despite the pain, I feel alive again.  The little stresses that litter our daily lives dissolve into a mix of morning coffee and bacon, sand between the toes,  sun, water, and gooey marshmallows around the campfire at night.  Hearing my kids squeal as we splash around in the bathtub temperature water is music to my ears.  My oldest screaming at the top of his lungs, “MOM, look, look” as he reels in a huge catfish with as much pride as his 7 year old heart can muster is something that you cannot buy at Walmart of find on the TV.   No, camping at Lake Powell is good for the body and the soul.   I always feel closer to my boys and my husband after we have endured a trip together.  Weathering storms in our tent huddled together creates bonds that cannot be broken.  Looking up at night, trying to spot shooting stars and pointing out constellations to my boys is sheer magic that weaves it’s spell around us for months and years following.

I come by camping naturally. My family has a long rich history of going outside and testing our muster. My fondest memories of growing up are surrounded by family, dirt, fish, tents, scrapes, burns, bugs, and campfires.  Families need wild places to stretch out, play and grow.  So, before the weather turns too cold and the responsibilities of our lives comes back to take us over again, get outside and go camping.   Weather you are on a lake or in the middle of a sand dune, find a place where you can sit, relax, and do nothing.  And the simpler, the better. A sturdy tent, some food, a few camp chairs, and sleeping bags will provide you with your basic needs. You don’t need all the fancy gear.  To be honest, you’ll probably end up losing it in the water anyway.

shop locally, save a community

I was venturing out today and decided I wanted to eat lunch.  In Prescott I have many wonderful choices for lunch.  This is, after all, a lunch town.  A  high population of people who do not drive after dark mandates that there are several places for red hats atop of blue hair to gather.  With my mind set on Chinese cuisine I found myself heading towards Panda Express.  It was in the same shopping center I was running some other errands in, and you cannot beat the convenience of drive- thru Chinese food.  However, as I approached Panda’s parking lot and seeing several groups of teenagers “hanging out” out side and in, I kept driving. Not that have a problem with that particular age group, I was just not in the mood to deal with them today.  Instead I headed back to an old favorite of mine, Chi’s.  A small, family operated business with great food and even better service.  I walked in, got what I wanted and was out in about 1 minute.  I paid the same as I would at Panda and I have kept my money in the downtown area and in my community at large.  Sure, I know that the employees at Panda are also local and their paychecks would be spent here.  However, as a small business owner I understand the importance of the choice people can make as to where to spend their money.   Not only does our business survival hinge on people choosing us to purchase art, but our family uses that money as well.  When you buy local you can be happy knowing that there is no CEO  in an office or a golf course is earning a bonus because you bought an egg roll.  Shopping locally means that I put dinner on my family’s table every night, that we can make donations to local charities like Habitat for Humanity and local schools, and that you are buying quality goods from your neighbors.

Next time you are out to lunch, please consider trying a local hole-in-the-wall, mom and pop place.  You will be glad you did.

Open Letter

Today’s rant is about ex’s who try to reconnect with you after many, many years have past.  I’ll start with a disclaimer that I am not a soul less wench, but I”m not a bleeding heart either.  Outside of my ex-husband that I must talk with because we have a child together, I do not communicate with anyone else I seriously dated.  And by that I mean slept with.  Just because at some point in time I had deep feelings for a person does not automatically make them some one I need to stay in touch with for the rest of my life.   I am a fiercely loyal partner which has sometimes been to my folly.  But, nonetheless, my staunch allegiance to my husband keeps me from being comfortable with maintaining a friendship, however casual, with an ex.  I always ask myself how I would feel if I found out my husband was chatting, e-mailing, or  otherwise communicating with an ex.  The answer is what prevents me from doing the same.  So here is a letter to the few, the proud… the exes.

Sorry I had to hit the ignore button to your friend request. Sorry your message went ignored for days then weeks finally to be deleted.  I know at one point in our lives we shared something that is worth remembering, and I do.  I remember all the excitement, the fun, the laughs, and the quiet times.  I also remember the tears, heart ache, dirty looks, and the gut wrenching act of breaking up.   It may seem that I don’t care.  I may come across as callous, flippant, or down right indifferent.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  When ever I receive a reminder of your presence and the space you once occupied in my life and heart it stays with me for days.  I think back to why I should write back, my I should put you on the “friends list”, or why I should send you a letter.   But would your electronic persona on my screen do anything other than just remind me of a failed attempt at love?  Would my status updates connect us again?  If maybe we knew what the other one was doing by watching for new pictures, tweets, or invites for silly apps we could feel like we didn’t really fail, that we just were trying for the wrong thing.  We were really destined to just be on-line acquaintances.

But the past will not change the fact that our lives have grown apart.  We may have  things in common now, kids, house, dogs, coping with being 30 something.  We probably could be good friends.  But the fact remains, that I don’t want to.  My family means the world to me and my husband has my heart.  My respect for him is more powerful than my need to let you know how I’m doing.  I am fine.  I am great, in fact.

Know that you are thought of when reminders of you pop up.  Know that no one can replace what our relationship meant to me or what I learned about myself through you.  But please be happy with the fact that I consider you a friend, even if I don’t send you a lil’ green patch gift.

Coming soon….. open letter to my former students who send me friend requests

Making money, the old fashioned way

Today I am in my booth selling Watkins products.  I do this every Friday, Saturday and Sunday at a local indoor market.  Fridays tend to be slow which allows me time to come in and blog, chat, facebook, twitter, etc.  However, my main goal in being here is to make money.  I have been selling Watkins products for two years now and love it.  I love the products, I love the company, and most of all I love hearing all the stories people share with me about their childhood memories of the Watkins man coming to their house.  Long gone are the days of the door to door sales man.  The only people that come to my door these days are people wanting to save my soul and shady characters who claim to have a surplus of meat in the back of their truck and need to unload it for cheap.  Now, I don’t know about you, but I was raised to not buy meat out of the back of a truck.

Watkins has been in business for 141 years.  Since 1868 they have been a rock solid American company and that is something that I can stand behind.  So here I sit, making a living by selling quality products from a company that has been doing this for decades, and didn’t need a federal bailout to do so.  Sell an honest product for an honest income.  Makes me feel good, puts food on my table, and I end up spending that money in my local community to support my neighbors.  I just wish more people would see the value in paying a little extra to make sure their neighborhoods stay safe and secure.

Check out our full line of natural products for you, your home and your family!

Will work for a future

To make good on my promise in my first entry I will go into my, ahem… how shall I put this…. “challenges” with teaching in Arizona.  Two years ago, after the birth of my second son, I left my teaching position.  It was my choice to leave and I take full responsibility for resigning.  However, my decision to leave was made easier by a complete lack of support from my school district for my program.  I taught Drama at the high school level.  A very challenging and time consuming position. I had asked if I could switch from working at two different campuses to just one.  I told them that I would be willing to take a part time job and forgo my benefits.  This was going to be a win win situation for both myself and the district.  My request was met with an answer of “I just don’t see how that would be possible.”  I graciously took my answer and did not renew my contract for the following year. I even brushed it off lightly when I learned that my position had, in fact, been split into two part time positions.  I joked that it did take two people to fill my place and only let a small amount of betrayed feelings sneek in. I had spent enough time dedicating time and energy to my students and it was time I devoted that attention to my own children.  At the time I expected that I would be able to return to teaching when ever I wanted.  Schools around here always had positions open every year.  No worries.

Or so I thought.  After 400 layoffs in our small rural community my prospects of returning to a classroom were dim. Still I am tyring. I have turned in applications in the hope that there might be one position I could fill.  I have done my due diligence, I am willing to work and work hard as a teacher.  Yet I still sit here with no offers.  There is still time yet.  Schools are going to find out their budgets sometime in the next 10 months or so.  Arizona still has yet to pass a budget for this year which started yesterday.  All is up in the air.  I have no idea what I’m going to be doing come August when the kids return ready to learn.  Will they find me in their class ready to teach them and teach them well?  I can’t say, but I can still hope.

It gets frustrating however, to be willing to work. To be willing to work for a offensive amount of money in exchange for the amount of work that teachers do.  Why is the teacher that all the kids hate and who obviously hates kids still able to teach while I sit and hope for a chance to help the future of our children’s  lives, to help the future of my family, to earn enough money to not lose our house?

I’m sure I am joined by thousands of unemployed teachers who feel the same way.  Didn’t we become teachers so we could make a difference?  We are told that ours is a noble profession and yes, we don’t get paid much, but that is not why we teach.  Knowing that my presence in the classroom can change a child’s life is more than I expected. I have as much pride when my students would reach an achievement as when my own children do.  I have cried many times at the joy of seeing a student “get it.”  So to be sitting here knowing that our state is too tied up in politics to get a budget approved so that people can move on with their lives is enough to send me into a rage.  I feel betrayed somehow.  I was encouraged to become a teacher, I was given awards for my excellence in the classroom, I have been told by many students that they decided to become teachers because of me, and now I can’t teach.

In time this will be fixed. I know the economic woes of our country and state are not permanent.  However, will I still be willing to put up with the frustration, the anger, and the anxiety that comes with being a teacher?  I guess only time will tell.

You really like me…..

Being new to this whole blog thing, please accept my apologies for any content that may be posted.  I have been rather reluctant to start a blog as I did not really want to add another responsibility to my list.  So you may better understand my trepidations here is a list of what I currently undertake;

Co-Owner of Ian Russell Gallery of Fine Art

Co-Owner of Wolf Masonry

Bartender

Watkins Independent Consultant.  I work a booth at the Red House Marketplace three days a week.

Mom of three boys ages 7, 2, & 10 months.

ACN Rep

And currently hoping to add High School English teacher to that list (but more on that later)

Minister (For performing wedding ceremonies, not to take religious advice from)

In today’s economy it has become crucial and necessary for many of us to wear several hats.  A friend of mine commented lately that I was a “Renaissance woman.”  I guess I am.  At first I thought it was a comment on my love for the Renaissance time period and our affinity for dressing up to go to the Renaissance Faire.  But then I realized that she was talking about the copious amount of things that I do and the vast array that these things cover.  However, I have never been one to sit on my laurels and do nothing. I am not happy unless I am doing 10 things at once.  And I have fostered a habit of eating and liking a roof over my head.  Working 3-4 jobs is how I accomplish this and I know I am not alone in this. 

To sum this short post up, thank you for stopping in a reading this.  If anything I can at least blow off some thoughts and steam and maybe find out that I am a lone Renaissance wanderer.

 

 

Renaissance Faire- I am the one in green