Nature is sanctuary to my soul.

As a child, East Coast crickets, fireflies, deciduous trees and schist hills were refuge from confusing early adolescent emotions. Walking warm, sticky Appalachian trails, losing my breath on the uphill and finding life croaking beside babbling brooks soothed the angst and promised that there was more to life than streets and sidewalks and social norms.

When I moved back to the Pacific Northwest, I was no less captivated. The Stillaguamish was my safe place, which was strange because it never stayed the same. Spring and autumn flooding promised chaotic change, but always it flowed; across the street from my nightmare life, my gestating addictions and night-time fears. I went to its banks, laid, eyes-closed, on damp, mossy logs and listened to the promise of nature.

The promise: life is steady and unstable and it will not stop. It changes; it is horrible and wonderful and sounds like birdsong and crashing rotten trees, it smells like mold and decay and roses and honeysuckle, and it always goes on… until it ends. And life, all life, all the time, always ends and leaves evidence of what once was and is no longer.

There is life. There is death.

My life ebbed and flowed and, like the mighty Stilly, its course changed over and over.

Then I was alone.

I was drawn to the woods. Day in and day out I walked up the mountain behind my house to read a Psalm, to be at peace, but never too far; because I’d never been too far alone. I asked people to take me further, the answer was no. I found courage and strength to do it alone. In my car, petrified to get stuck, I drove into the mountains and realized I’d forgotten to use my feet! I left the car… but never too far, and wandered and breathed in the air.

As always, the beauty of creation overwhelmed me! I was in love. I wanted more silent rugged trails and windy rolling ridges that stretched as far as eyes could see. Then sanctuary made friends with my real-life. There were people at my gym planning a hike.

Maybe I invited myself, maybe I was invited. I do not remember. Someone said Mt. Cashmere was a ten mile hike, and Mike said the top gets a little sketchy so if I was unsure, don’t summit. I was in! I ran half marathons, I worked out, I knew my body could handle it and I wanted to go to the mountains! The group would be my conduit to finally go too far!

I had no clue what to bring. All I knew were long drives and short hikes. The morning came. I tried to pretend like this wasn’t a big deal. We got to the trailhead and someone said the hike was eighteen miles!

EIGHTEEN MILES!!! I had never done anything remotely close to eighteen miles in my life! My insides were sick! I was scared: to make a fool of myself, to admit I’d never done anything like that, to be the slowest person on the hike, to not be able to do what I planned to do. Fear invaded me. Then we hiked.

Steve, Andrew and Marisol were the only people I knew, and these only slightly from the gym. Casey, Ana, Shane and Ed were strangers I walked the woods with. Ed was a runner training for his first marathon. Shane knew some of my favorite friends. Casey spoke of fires that scarred the hillsides. Ana and Marisol, ethereal beings of beauty, moved with strength and grace. I did my best to keep up, praying to the Lord that I didn’t embarrass myself. Steve had a hard time hiking that day. Now that I know how it all works and where I fit best in the pack, I would have stayed back with him, but that day, I didn’t know; and that moment in my life… I had a thing to prove to myself.

I needed to do it. We hiked, up and up and up, past beautiful lakes and forest trails, past burned trees that squeaked and hissed under my fingertips. The char and cinder of once alive trees leaving black evidence of death, reminding me I was alive... and as long as I wasn’t last, I wasn’t lost.

It took forever. I bouldered, I tested limits, I ached and I didn’t summit. I was unsure, so I waited in the bitter, cloud covered cold, in the cleft of a hard, rigid rock, on the spine of the mountain. They summitted; I waited alone… afraid. It was scary but it was perfect! Me and Jesus and a downloaded version of the Bible. They came down and the trek reversed. I thought I got lost. Andrew guided me to a trail I could see, then I sent him on, or he sent himself; it didn’t matter I wasn’t afraid anymore! I wasn’t last. I wasn’t lost. I wasn’t lonely. I was just alone for miles… in my sanctuary, streams and leaves and wood and rocks and one foot in front of the other; down, down, down.

Then it was over. I didn’t make it to the top but I did it! (here are the pictures to prove it!)

I go on to climb new heights figuratively and literally. I am grateful! I see God and His amazing design and skill and talent in creation. I am blessed that these, once, strangers allow me to hike with them. I am humbled at our collective ability and agility and know not everyone can move like we do.

A year ago this week they touched the peak of Mt. Cashmere and I summitted my fears. I am strong, I am brave, I am full of life! I will go too far into the woods, the rivers and the mountains as long as I can … I will be dead some day so I ought to live life well now!

This isn’t a self-discovery post, this is a request post. If you know of any training to convert a “freezer” to a “fighter” or “flee-er,” please share! I’m not quite 40 so, I’m sure there will be other times in my life when I need to be able to DO SOMETHING instead of freeze!

Something happened this week that scared me. I’m not talking the scared I get when a spider eases her way down a spindly line of silk (which also happened this week) and surprises me and makes me scream hysterically. I’m talking the, in-your-face, primal, adrenaline rush kind of fear that blindsides you when the unexpected happens and pushes you up against the core of everything that makes you, you. The kind of fear that sticks in your lungs but won’t let you scream, the kind that sees every thing in slow motion… over and over and over again. The kind that jolts you awake every half-hour in the middle of the night and won’t let you fall back to sleep. You know the fear... we all do.

It’s happened to me before: in a nightmare, in a closet, in a spinning car on a sheet of ice, with a gun drawn and a yelling SWAT officer in front of my car, in the rushing water of unforgiving early summer rapids. I know this feeling and every time... I freeze!

I hate it!
I don’t scream, I don’t yell, I don’t run, I don’t fight (OK maybe I fight a little) but mostly I … just… freeze!
I HATE this! I hate myself for reacting this way! What is wrong with me?! Everything inside me screams; DANGER! RUN!!! FIGHT!!! SCREAM!!! Instead... I turn into an idiot opossum and do nothing! My skill set, when faced with the things that scare me on a primal level includes…

1) Doing nothing...

2) Staring dumbly...
3) Letting bad things happened….
4) Watching wide-eyed as the bad things happen...
5) Pretending to sleep…
6) Or unwillingly playing the reluctant accomplice...
What the heck?! I am a strong, intelligent human being. I’m quirky but I’m smart. I process differently than most but I problem solve excellently. I’m resilient! I’m quick! I figure things out! I am a woman of action! But in every situation where I feel threatened at the core of my being I cease to function and freeze!

I HATE IT!

How do I fix it!?

“They” say we have two primary reactions to fear: Fight or Flight, BUT “they” say, if you face fear as a child, with limited experience, strength and support, “Freeze” (or disassociation) is the typical response to fear. “They” say the body always releases endorphins but in the case of a freezer it serves as an analgesic to make the trauma less horrifying since the brain has decided that it cannot realistically either fight or flee. “They” say once you identify as a “freezer” or “disassociative” that becomes your fear response.

Well, I reject what “they” say! It’s stupid and I want to fix it! I’m a smart, strong, capable adult now… I am no longer a child! I am no longer weak! I am able to resist fear… so…

How do I fix it?!

I don’t have an anxiety disorder but, statistically speaking, if I live an average life span… I have yet to face a handful of traumatic situations where I need to Fight or Flee! Instead my stupid reaction is to disassociate because of trauma in my past. I can’t anticipate a traumatic event or debilitating situation. All I want to do is figure out how to do something when it happens! I’ve taken first aid courses in case I’m ever in a situation where I need to know what to do to treat someone in physical distress. What about when I’m in distress? There has to be training for this, right?! I’m not talking EMDR/ Sensorimotor processing mumbo-jumbo… I know all that. I’m talking about what do I do to avoid freezing and fight when water is pouring over my head in a river and I’m sure I’m going to drown? What do I do to avoid freezing and flee when hands grab me and hold me down, then let me go and I have a split second to run? In those moments… what do I do!? How do I learn to not disassociate but instead use the chemicals rushing through my body to give me the strength to get me out of a dangerous situation?

I NEVER want to feel like this again. I want to analyze a frightful situation and say with confidence I fought my way out or ran my way out, or at least everyone at my funeral can say I died trying. I’m tired of being an opossum… they’re ugly and dumb!

For the first time in my life I love my body! This is ironic because signs of age are creeping in and they won’t disappear. Scars, stretch marks, extra skin, and damage of years gone by linger. I had a beautiful body as a teen. I hated it. I remember looking in the mirror and poking the ugly parts and hiding the parts that might get me noticed. I used my body to turn heads and often did, but I didn’t like it when the wrong men looked the wrong way.

I’m a product of a culture that tells me #1) A woman’s body shouldn’t be objectified and #2) A woman’s body should be objectified. We yell at our men for looking at us inappropriately and then dress in such a way as to sell, food, cars, clothes, you name it, with it #3) I ought to love/celebrate/enjoy my body just as it is… #4) I ought to ridicule the overweight or too skinny #4) I ought to dress professionally to command respect #5) I should be able to show my bra, midriff, thigh if I want, wherever I want and shame the man who looks.

No one wins. Men lose whether they look, keep their eyes down or “bounce” them. Ladies lose whether they dress modestly, professionally, sexy or trashy. I lost. I hated this thing I had to move around in.

Then I started working out. All of a sudden my body wasn’t a thing to look at it was a thing to do stuff with. Run, lift, climb, squat, jump... My body became the best, most wonderful tool I’ve ever known. I didn’t care what it looked like but I was amazed at what it could do!

I am a sensuous single woman looking to not be single long. I expect my body to be one of the first things noticed. I hope it’s appreciated. For me, there are a couple physical features I am supremely attracted to. I will notice big arms no matter how a man is dressed. They’re my thing; my eyes notice them. A man doesn’t have to do anything, dress any way, move at all for me to see them. It’s just how it is. I would never choose a man solely based on physical features BUT I would like to be with a man that turns me on. I do not resent or hold it against men that there are features about the feminine form that are attractive to them and that their eyes just see. If it’s natural to me, I can only assume how much it happens to them.

I like to feel pretty. It’s overwhelming to hear nice things about how I look, but yes, I like it! It’s quite nice to know people think I’m pretty and that my look can turn a head. A big part of sexuality comes from how we move and carry ourselves within our bodies. Whether it’s right or wrong, I want to be pleasing to the eyes. But I don’t want to be “that” lady…

Here’s where it gets tricky. I am proud of my body, God gave it to me and for the first time in my life I’m exploring and appreciating it for what it can do not how it looks. I have hidden my body because I was ashamed of it; because I didn’t take care of it and I wanted to minimize the “bad parts” or because I didn’t want “bad guys” to see it and take advantage of me.

I want to dress and carry myself in such a way as to say, I am a good steward of the body God has given me… feel free to observe, but don’t be rude. I don’t want anything so low my nipples say hello, or high my vagina can carry on a conversation because, I think, that gives an impression that my body is my only asset (but even if I did wear something like that it’s no reason to be used or abused). I think dressing “like that” gives a negative impression and invites a lower quality of men to notice, and touches the more depraved parts of all minds.

I want to be recognized as fit/classy/beautiful, I want to be able to dress in such a way as to feel comfortable working out in the gym or professional at the office or beautiful for a night out on the town and not have to stress that MY choice in attire might lead a man to lust or assault me. But then again, I want to be noticed for my beauty. Yes, I want to honor God and men and not be a source of unnecessary temptation but He’s the one who gave me this body and part of the reason it looks the way it does is because I made an intentional choice to take better care of it.

So, I love my body, I am not ashamed of it, I dress mindfully, to keep myself safe from monsters, to keep from provoking depraved or negative thoughts in good people and to look as beautiful as I modestly can to honor the one and only material thing God has guaranteed me on this earth.

I have only loved one man. I have slept with more. I have said it to more. But truthfully, I’ve only loved one.
I realized it after I’d been married to he who left me for about seven years. I was memorizing 1 Corinthians 13…

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to be burned but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

It’s simple to say “I love you.” It’s fun to make love. But it's hard to DO love every day… To not be easily angered, to be patient, to be kind, to rejoice in the truth, to protect, to trust, to persevere. These things are love.

I thought of the people I said it to and not meant it. I never loved my first husband. I lusted him. I liked my high-school boyfriend, until I didn’t … I was only a clanging cymbal. I didn’t love.

Now I’m here. Praying for love, hoping for love, waiting for love and I realize... I am afraid of the thing I want.

I loved a man once, I felt hands on my face, stared into piercing blue eyes that promised they’d never leave, this was and is my biggest fear, and here I am … alone.

I miss the touch of a man on my skin; fingers caressing me, tongue tasting me, intimate movements and moments that can bring my body what it desperately craves but I have pledged my life to the One who saved me. I choose Him and His way says to wait. So I will, but it means getting to know men on a deeper than physical level. I know leading with sex and seduction. I know foreplay, arousal, attraction but I have never lead with emotion or intellect or, thought of thoughts, God at the helm of a relationship!

I can give a man my body. I mean seriously men have been taking me sexually since before I was 5. My body means nothing, although I’m learning what a precious gift it is and I have come to a place of honoring it more than ever before. For me, there’s no danger in giving my body, for him there is, but not me. The danger for me is letting a man in again to the rest of me, the heart of me… that is oh so frightening!

I know singles that escaped relationships with addiction, abuse or infidelity. That’s not my case. He was a good man, but flawed like we all are. He let it consume him and destroy our family. I’m not exchanging bad for better. I’m looking to replace good with great. I don’t want to screw it up! I don’t want to jump too fast!

Here’s the part that’s blowing me away…

I don’t want to lose the life I have. I love my life! It is a good, blessed, happy life. Sure, yes, I am lonely. I wish for the masculine presence of a good-hearted man to grow old with. I want to start as soon as possible creating history with he who will not leave me, but not at the expense of how good things are. I feel bad saying it but… I don’t want to give up anything. I want to add intimacy and, of course, intercourse. I want a rock to crash into and to be his soft place to land after a hard day. I want to know and be known, physically, sexually, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually.

But I am a dog run over. I have been hurt deeply. It will take time to build trust. I fear that in our fast-food, hurry now – offer won’t last, instant gratification, society, time is a foreign concept. But… time is what I need, to be sure, to be safe, to fall... again. But for a man looking to grow old with a companion, time will be worth giving, so I shouldn't be afraid, but I still am... So I carry on, acknowledging the fear but, I am brave, I am courageous and I am open to love again, in due time.

Hedonism
1.the doctrine that pleasure or happiness is the sole or chief good in life
2.a way of life based on or suggesting the principles of hedonism

Heroism
1.heroic conduct especially as exhibited in fulfilling a high purpose or attaining a noble end
2.the qualities of a hero

I hope I’m known as a godly woman. I’d also like to be known as; kind, loving, empathetic, compassionate, joyful, fun, artistic, enigmatic, happy, fit, loyal, dedicated, energetic, hardworking, spunky…

OK I’d like to be known as a lot of things but mostly for honoring God, doing good and loving life. If that is how I do life, doesn’t that bring God glory? I’m grateful for what He’s given me; this body, this earth, these friends and family. I embrace the blessings I have and reach out to make the world a better place.

Fun and service. It’s biblical: “So I commend the enjoyment of life, because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany them in their toil all the days of the life God has given them under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 8:15. King Solomon’s whole ecclesiastical meandering is; respect God & love life because there’s really no other point.

When I think about it, if evil were eradicated, if the kingdom of heaven were here, if we all operated on God’s principals what more would there be to do than to love God, have fun and do good?

God is love and God is good… and God is fun! Look at the mountains to climb, lakes to swim, animals, plants... the sights, smells, sounds and feelings all around us. It’s good!

There’s my justification.

Here’s my confession: I most definitely tended toward hedonism. In its purist form, as long as I took God with me, honored Him in my pursuits and loved others, I didn’t see wrong in that.

And then something happened…

A squishy feeling started to wax like the moon inside me, slowly night by night, until it was full. It was like watching an old Batman show...

There I was, having fun, loving God and… “Meanwhile somewhere in Gotham a little girl was being molested, a little boy was starving to death… TO DEATH! A man beat his wife and a woman shoved a needle in her arm…”

But I was having fun, and I was a good person, and I was honoring God. Besides, every time I thought about the evil in the world it overwhelmed me. There’s so much evil! How can I make a change? Evil is too big, my heart too small to handle the pain. Better to look away and … maybe say a prayer for that little girl, whom I identified with so deeply.

But I said a prayer when I was her. I remember my prayer... Help! Why God, won’t anyone help me? believe me? listen to me? see what’s happening and stop the bad guy!?

I wondered, could I help someone? I mean, I’d still have fun but maybe help a little too.

First I gave money. Just enough to make me feel better. I could support a Paralyzed Vet for a one-time donation of $5 and hold my head high. It started to feel like a pay off. $5 here, $10 there and I could do what I wanted and not feel guilty about that elderly shut-in who hadn’t seen another person in five days, but it’s OK because their adult grandchild would bring them groceries and sit with them for an hour on the weekend.  

I decided I ought to give time and talent too. But then… Oh, the horror! A thought occurred to me… I think I have a Savior complex! I figured I better not do anything than do something because I wanted to save someone. I cannot save a single soul. I’m not Christ and even He gives us the choice.

Still it didn’t feel right turning my head away when I had time, money and ability to do something.

I found ways, not to save but to serve, in the name of Jesus, and to ease the squishy in my heart. I believe in advocating for abused and neglected children. I focus on kids as much as I can.

Serving has become a way of life. Not because I can save the world (although I think all good people like the idea of being heroic) but because it feels good, and it makes sense to ease the pain of others.

What gets me is wasted opportunity to help… Why doesn’t the Watershed festival take 15 or 20 minutes to talk about the Wounded Warriors and ask for donations? Those country-loving, beer-drinking cowboys there would be happy to throw $5s or $20s by the thousands in that plate! Why can’t entry into a run include a donated pair of shoes for kids in parasite infested developing countries? Why don’t restaurants give a portion of their proceeds EVERY week to charity… and why don’t we (or me, hedonist, me) patronize them on that day? Can’t I have fun AND make the world better? Can’t we profit AND bless? Shouldn’t we, the most blessed people and country in the world be the most kind, loving and generous?

And now the call out...

To my Christian brothers and sisters, having fun, doing good, loving God and maybe not pulling your weight. I’m not trying to judge, but if I do judge, it is you, my family, I have right to judge. If you feel that squishy inside… you know you ought to do something! You are light! If you know the good you ought to do and do not do it… you sin! GO, be light, be salt, be real, relevant ambassadors of Christ! Find your ministry, give your money, time and talents to serve God and serve others… and have fun!!!

To the rest, you are blessed! Pay it forward! Fight for those too weak to fight for themselves! Be a hero! Find a cause you care about and participate. Use your money, your time and your talent to make the world better.
​
Go ahead, be a hedonist… and while you’re at it, be a hero too… 

#1) Waterfalls in the middle of very urban settings are strange to "hike" and count, but I counted two of them (and tried to make the pictures look 'not so citified' to make myself feel better about the city "hunt").

#2) Sometimes nearly the whole morning, two hours drive, and gas supply are wasted on a locked steel gate even a 4WD like Guinevere can't maneuver around.

#3) Clearly a sign that says, "do not cross the fence," is intended to keep people out. The admonishment that people have fallen to their death is further reason to stay behind the fence. BUT, oh, the falls on the other side were screaming to come to them! I understand why people would cross, but I stayed on the right side!

#4) When Aaron, of Aaron's Waterfall World (http://aaronswaterfallworld.tripod.com/), classifies a hike as "medium" with a "bushwhacking" approach, he means it's medium... if... you're ... RAMBO!!!! Since I'm a novice hiker and do not typically carry a machete, and like to live, I went close to what I thought was the 500' to the first fall in the series, snapped a photo and left the rest for the more hearty souled hunters.

#5) Sometimes you hike DOWN, waaaay down, steep down, so down you know UP is gonna suck breath, sweat and pain from you, to a Lost Lake only to find the waterfall is lost due to lack of water supply. However the lush ferny (pteridophyte) coverage, and holey sandstone rock cliffs still made for a beautiful hike in creation!

#6) I have officially renamed Chuckanut Falls ... the new name shall ever more be ChuckaNOT falls, yet another two falls lost to poor water supply. Lack of water, coupled with the burn ban makes me wonder... is the Wet Side of the state actually in a drought?

#7) I get hangry! I am not proud of this but it's a thing I do. I will work on minding my manners when I'm hungry.

#8) Park Rangers know stuff, like where to find the "hidden" waterfalls that are the best ever!

#9) Yes, waterfalls on the side of the road, if they're big enough, count in my hunt... and if I can boulder up to them, they become one of my absolute favorite waterfall finds of the summer (waterfall #45 I LOVE YOU FOREVER!!).

#10) I am embarrassed to admit I learned an ugly truth about myself. When my expectations are not met, thwarted or different than others I get irritable and surly and behave in a quite unladylike fashion (Ok, ok, the truth is; sometimes, when I give up my expectations to "please" another I tend to pout like a two year old long afterward). I'm glad to have had it pointed out to me so that I can assess, address and adjust my attitude and behavior in future situations. The introspective question becomes, how do I honor and respect the wants/expectations of others while also either allowing for my own wants to be met (and not feeling like I'm demanding my way) or not being a whiney baby when I give in to their expectations?

#11) The hilarity of the minor revelation that my waterfall hunts always seem to be on roads that follow rivers took me a few minutes to chew down. I'll let YOU take a few minutes to chew on it and then you can have that laugh on me, free of charge! Until the next round... Peace yo!

STATS: Waterfalls found: 47, plus 4 I passed while driving with no pictures and the 3 that were not!

So, I'm doing the online thing and THIS happened today... (full disclosure this guy and I have been talking for about two weeks, pretty superficial but nice enough... and then this!!! I cannot believe his nerve!) Just needed to share my rant!

... they say a picture's worth a thousand words, well he got NO picture but he did get nearly 1,000 words. THE NERVE!!!!

He says: "All women can clean, do laundry and have sex. What else do you offer your man??? Also its very rare not to test drive a car before you buy it, no sex before marriage. Do you plan on getting married within a month or max of two, or do you want to wait a few years before getting marriage? What about oral sex are you willing to do that daily while waiting for marriage?"

MY RESPONSE:
OK here's the deal buddy... I'll be direct and to the point then fill in the details. The short of it is this... nope, I'm not having sex of any kind, and I'm not sorry about it. I place a high value on my body, I've worked hard for it, I'm proud of it and it's mine! It's actually the one and only thing in this world that is mine! I don't do test drives, and am trying really hard not to be pissed that you think that's a reasonable request. I'm not a car! I am a human being, a body, a mind, a soul and spirit. I have thoughts, feelings and needs, I am a person to be valued and appreciated not a thing to 'test drive' on a whim to see if you prefer an Italian interior to an German one!

Here's the rest if you want it, but you have every right to move on. Probably I should but YOU pushed my buttons! So I vent with words, here goes...

Unlike you, I am not looking for a relationship at this time in my life ... I'm looking to meet good guys and do fun stuff. My profile sums it up.

It would be unbecoming of a woman (or man) of dignity and character to hook up, sexually, even orally, (thanks for making that distinction), with multiple partners when they know full well they're not looking to get serious at this time in life. For me a sexual relationship will come from knowing a man and being well known by him in mind, soul and spirit first. I am of the opinion that God's allowed for a little physical fun to see if there's chemistry but the sexual pleasures will be left for the man who has proven he's into all 4 dimensions of my being not just getting in my pants.

What else do I have to offer?! Here's what I have to offer to "my man"... not that I'm in any hurry to find him only to measure the character and metal of men right now. All of this is a future projection... I'm not there yet. I'm just answering your other question, which is actually a respectable one imho!

I'm a pretty cool chick. I'm not ugly, not a trophy wife, but certainly not one any man would be ashamed of. I'm fun, I'm smart, I'm really fit, I'm unique, quirky and full of spunk! I'll for sure keep my man guessing... and probably make him feel good about himself and that I'm his woman a few times a day. Oh and he will smile and shake his head in bewildered amusement a few times a day too. When the time is right, I can captivate and hold an audience with my wit and stories but I know when to hang back and let others take their time to shine. I can be the biggest cheerleader for a man (or anyone or anything) I believe in. I am proud of my people and I make sure my world and sphere of influence knows how awesome my people are.

Respect and honor are huge deals to me, so I will give my man utmost respect and honor, because he will be worthy of it. I will partner with him to achieve the goals and desires he has set for his life.

I'm a woman of strength and independence that will have no problem with my man doing his thing which gives me my time to do mine. Then when we come together it'll be all the better, yeah? But, with that said, family, faith and fitness are hugely important to me and I'll eventually partner with a man that I can share the same faith and at least some sort of fitness routines with (WODs, hikes, runs, yoga).

Domestically speaking, that's already summed up, house work, yes, I keep a clean house but would be pissed if someone expected me to be a maid and left messes. I'm a hiker, the whole "leave no trace" thing... goes for home too. I like a clean house for myself and will always maintain one. "My man" can enjoy my preference for order and cleanliness.

And if we're going to talk about sex, what I will say is this is the first time in my life I haven't lead with it. It is, admittedly, a novel concept for me, but one I am 100% positive I'm sticking with, I have a high value in myself and more than that, I trust that God wanted it that way for good reason. With that said I have a very high libido. I'm excited to partner with a man who is capable, adventurous, uninhibited and well skilled in and out of the bedroom. And yes, I believe open and honest communication before sex is had, says a lot about a person's sexual appetites, preferences and performance. I am mindful now, in this time of abstinence, to not get myself off in anyway that a man can't compete with because I want my man to be my primary source of sexual pleasure.

And as for the marriage part... right now I'm getting to know character, quality, and substance and I'm fooling around a little, tiny bit. When it's time, and it's not time yet... but when it is, no, it won't be 'a few years'  I imagine it'll be pretty quick, because we will have already established an intellectual, emotional and spiritual connection, compatibility by then shouldn't be a question to either of us.

So... if you're still reading, I'm sure you'll have your two cents to shoot back my way... Do share!

It’s review time! Let’s start with dating, shall we? Partly because it’ll be way more fun than my New Year’s Resolutions review (especially since that sexy truck came into my life).

Here goes the summertime dating review… What can I say? I am having fun! I enjoy getting to know good guys and doing fun stuff.

I think I’ve articulated my boundaries before but I’ll restate them so y’all don’t think I’m sleeping around with a bunch of guys. I am abstinent and have set a very conservative physical boundary. I can’t say too many people understand it, but they do respect it. What I can say about the gentlemen that I’ve actually been out with is that they have all behaved quite honorably and respected my line even if they thought it was a bit much. So, to any of those guys reading this… again I say thank you!

As I stated in the 90 day review in the spring, I am online dating. I have no shame in it and I think the culture is unique and amusing. I like it. I haven’t dated since high school, and that was simply horny boys in hallways, finding a guy then was super easy. I figured it would be more challenging to find someone out in the real world. Online dating makes sense, and I like that you can see a snapshot of someone at a glance. It helps reduce the time investment, and time, though I’m in no hurry, is also of the essence.

Ironically three of the four gentlemen I’ve seen more than once have been real-life acquaintances first. My goal right now, in The Middle, isn’t to date exclusively (though I am not opposed to giving a man undivided time and attention), or to get serious, but instead to spend time getting to know the character and quality of good men.

Obviously the end goal is a relationship, but what I’ve learned about me is, the kind of trust and respect a relationship is built on is established over time. Some people tell me I can’t expect a man be OK with me seeing a couple guys at the same time. But I can’t make sense of investing undivided time and attention into a man I’ve A) never met before in real-life or B) have only had superficial passing conversations with in real-life. Other people can do that, but that’s not part of my personality. I need to see them, hear them, smell them and, yes, touch and taste them to know them better before being willing to enter into a relationship. I’m not being sexually intimate, I’m getting to know the character and metal of men.

So after eight months of dating, I’ve learned more about myself than any particular gentleman.

I’ve learned that my faith is the #1 compatibility factor for me. I want, more than anything, to share my soul, my questions and my spiritual beliefs with a man who doesn't just tolerate my faith but participates in it as well. I’ve had some wonderful conversations and kisses and evenings with a few guys that I honestly wouldn’t mind spending more time with but I struggle to see a future with a man who doesn’t share my spiritual beliefs. I think it’s disrespectful of their time, no matter how much I enjoy them, to lead them on if I know our spiritual differences affect me that much. What I’m struggling with now is dating anyone, even once, who doesn’t share my spiritual beliefs because we run the risk of getting attached, which, has happened, at least for me, once.

The #2 compatibility factor is their fitness level. Just like I can’t see myself with someone who isn’t of my faith, I can’t see myself with someone who doesn’t make health and fitness a priority. The funny thing is, though I've invested time hanging out and getting to know men who don't share my spiritual convictions, I haven't spent any significant time with anyone who clearly doesn't respect their body. I suppose it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t meet them but I can’t imagine a relationship with someone who doesn’t respect his body.

To sum it all up: I’ve learned that chivalry isn’t dead, good men are really nice and fun and cool to hang with and while the online forum is a good way to waste time (and I mean A LOT of time) it seems the best way, at least for me, to get to know good guys and do fun stuff is to just do life and let it play out… and maybe I ought not even entertain anyone who isn’t fit or a man of faith…

On this day eighty-six years ago the greatest man I ever knew, and likely will ever know, was born to an immigrant family of Italians in the tenements of Pennsylvania. Everything I learned about what a real man should be was learned at his feet.

He was a feisty boy, youngest of ten, born to parents who spoke no English. His dad worked the coal mines of Pennsylvania and probably died from black lung. Grampa remembered his dad coming home from the coal mines one day, dirty, exhausted and drinking milk. My grampa wanted it and… so he asked, and… so his dad gave him the milk.

As my grampa relayed the story, he stopped to collect himself. Seventy years later and he was still humbled about taking a refreshing drink from an exhausted man’s hand. Up to that point I’d never seen my grampa cry. I don’t know exactly why but I think that was a pivotal moment in his life. Not that he took the milk but that a man who had already worked so hard and done so much to take care of his family sacrificed his moment of refreshment for the simple pleasure of another.

I imagine my great-grandpa was as wonderful a man as my grandpa, but I never knew him, only Grampa.

And what a man to know!

Dignified… so dignified! Respected, admired and well thought of. He was no buffoon and yet he could make everyone laugh with his quick wit, magical tricks, stories and jokes. From the boat, classroom, pulpit, social event, dinner table or anywhere, he always carried himself in a way that commanded respect without alienating anyone or disgracing himself.

Faithful… so faithful, to his friends, to his congregations, co-workers, grandchildren, children, wife and most of all God. Never once have I heard anyone say anything remotely untoward about his character or integrity. His biggest downfall was believing others held the same standards.

Smart… so smart! He was a lover of learning; science, math, fishing, the Bible, technology. Always bettering himself, never letting moss to grow, encouraging everyone around him to know more. He would take it in and then share his knowledge, like he did the rest of his life, with those around him.  

Kind… so kind! He talked to the down-trodden and the most elite in society with the same affect and demeanor. He took time to pull nickels from a child’s ear or give them a piece of candy from his pocket or slowly, patiently help a little old lady up a ramp with her walker. He did not judge prostitutes, drunks, thieves or wayward prodigal grand-daughters when they decided to come home. He believed, through the cross, everyone was allowed forgiveness and that all men deserved kindness shown to them.  

Firm… so firm, never wavering from the tenants of his faith or a well-planned decision once he set his mind on it. Never giving in to popular opinion to keep a following or please a superior. Prepared to deliver a tough, honest moment of correction but always in a way that left the hearer feeling better for having been reprimanded or stronger for having been corrected or directed under his guidance.

Busy… so busy, being active, productive, mindful and intentional about life. Maybe he did work too much, but I never remember feeling like he didn’t have time for me, because when he was with you, he was WITH you! You mattered, he welcomed you with bright eyes that said, I have so much to do but, right now, “I am excited to see you!” Everyone was worth his time whether it was a moment of passing in a hall or a lazy conversation on a potluck Sunday or a story recounted from his squeaky office chair that somehow related to your own life, but you didn’t realize he was reading your mail until later.

Most of all godly… he was a good, godly man. He shared stories of frustrations, difficulties and trials with work and ministry and family. What struck me was that he filtered everything through what he knew of Christ’s character. He didn’t always hit the mark but he tried to serve Christ well in all his dealings with people, his intention was to be like Christ. That didn’t mean he was always loved, or his ideas were always chosen, or his family (particularly a stubborn grand-daughter hell-bent on figuring life out her own way) listened to his wisdom, but it meant his focus was on doing right, first by God, then by man.

He’s almost eight years gone and I still think of him close to daily. I’m grateful for having such an amazing man in my life. I miss him! Happy Birthday Grampa!

“They” say there is a fine line between genius and madness within the minds of creatives and artists. I say they’ve never felt the muse come to them, press up against them in a moment of mundane meandering and whisper gently in their ear, with a breath of inspiration that circles the auricle like a warm, wet tongue around the targus; plunging a lyric, melody, picture, cure, invention or string of words deep into their soul. Their heart’s have never quickened, veins engorged, blood flowed fast with images streaming, arousing a swirling build-up of ideas, inspiration, and creative desire simply because of a thought. They have never had an idea tease them like a sensual dancer on stage or invade their mind like a scent of fragrance and pheromones that is everywhere and all consuming. They’ve never grabbed the face of an idea, pressed up into it, desperately almost ferociously, needing, wanting, begging for the rapture that will come.

They don’t even realize the whisper or the frenzy of the initial inspiration is only the beginning! Fantasy foreplay, build-up, tension, singular focus on but one thing... Creation. A song, a perfectly lighted picture, an invention or story. These things that are not, with intimate connection and communion with the muse… become. That which was not, takes shape. The face of David, hewn from rock. The beloved Lenore’s raven given but one word, “nevermore.” The first shot of electricity through tungsten filament igniting a lust for containable light. What was not, like the tension between lovers builds into something bigger than either of them alone.

Creative juices flow, sounds blend, lyrics form, colors and shapes appear on canvas. Genius moments, like the cadence of lovemaking, come again and again and everything else is lost to the lovers, the Creative and the Muse. Passion, pleasure, desire and need, pushing, pulling, panting to a climax. A finished thought, a successful trial, a wave crashing up and out, and again it comes up and out in shutters of victory. Groans of pleasure, sighs of release, sweaty exhaustion. Ultimate satisfaction!

But… sometimes… “they” never know what torture it is to be wrapped up in the body of an idea that will not give over. It is maddening to pour all the thought, feeling and emotion inside into a thing that will not come! The artist or inventor learns the favorite points to test, taste, touch and tease. The creative senses when pressure needs to be applied and when only a breath to the neck or tongue gently brushing the lips of the lyric will do. Yet when rhythm and flow take over, climax still will not come. It’s a frenzy to make it happen, this thing that refuses to culminate. It is humiliation at the admission that it would not come. Not this time. And the muse, once so tightly entwined, fades away. And the creative, once so highly aroused, hangs head in frustration.

And the desire will come again. And the creation will be worth the climax or the risk of utter failure.  

“They” must understand it is impossible to stop. Because when it does come, it is genius! “They” must know that when it doesn’t… it’s always… almost… there, this thing that is not. This gift to the world itself, it is waiting and it will come.

Then the world, the real world, pulls at the Creative, this odd, strange, eccentric, uncommon, quite unorthodox soul. But the creative knows the creation is for the world. It is legacy, protégé, a gift to humanity. We must be mad in order to share beauty or innovation with a world of ordinary people. The creative soul must be free to embrace the muse. And yet must, or at least should, return, even if only momentarily to what is real.

It is genius. It is madness. It is obsession. It is the essence of a creative. We are souls caught up in our passions and the world is better for our madness, even if sometimes our own souls are not.