Inside every 30 something year old female is a 90’s  and early 2000’s rapper. We grew up riding the main drag (for me-Highway 80) or back roads in our 1990 something year old car listening to words that would make your grandmother blush. And yes we knew all the words from listening to our favorite rap song on repeat, and we still know every word. I think now it is as much as an act of rebellion as it was then. Aw, look at this sweet, innocent 16 year old girl; wait she knows the lyrics to Get Your Roll On by the Big Tymers? Aw, look at this wife with her cute kids, but wait she knows all the words to Magic Stick?

My inner rapper does not always come out but every once in a while, I hear a certain song like No Diggity, and I am transported in time to my Toyota Corolla with the CD player I scrimped and saved for and had installed. My vehicle now doesn’t even have a CD player but it does have XM so I can find some of all my old jams from time to time.  Of course, I reserve this for when I’m alone in my car. It’s great for “me” time.

Ladies, just admit it, you know all the words to your favorite rap song. These songs make me not only reminisce but make me feel powerful that I have not completely changed since becoming a wife and mother-that somewhere deep inside there’s still a girl that can conquer the entire world.

Although you may not find me In Da Club anymore, you can still catch me riding in car occasionally thinking that I’m Still Fly.

 

 

 

 

I’ve always had a plan for everything that happened in my life. When I met Will (10 years ago on April 7), I knew I was going to marry him that night. I have an album on Facebook titled “1/4 of the Plan” from back then dedicated to my plans with Will (don’t worry, I didn’t make this until AFTER we started dating). Good thing that didn’t scare him off, lol! The fall of my senior year in high school, I had been accepted to the University of Alabama; I had always known I would attend. When I was in DECA in high school I competed in Travel and Tourism, and I knew I would get a degree in Hospitality Management. Okay, so you kind of get the idea, I’m an extreme A-type personality that likes everything to go according to-you guessed it-plan.

However, I find myself in my 30’s in unchartered territory. I feel as though up until my 30’s, life was pretty much a dream (I’m very blessed for that fact).  After my grandmother passed in late 2017, I realized just how short life is. I also now see that my parents ARE getting older. My child is going to Kindergarten in the Fall. There is NO plan that can change or stop any of this. So now how does someone with my personality manage these changes that don’t come with a list to scratch off?

I’m learning ever so slowly (think slower than the a snail), to take life as it comes-literally one day at a time. I’m also learning how to say no to things that I don’t feel I can give 100% which allows me to say yes to more things I love, such as, spending more time with WM and Will, traveling, writing, etc.  I’m learning to be the best version of me. By being the best me, I can be a better mom, friend, daughter, sister, co-worker, etc. The younger me had a huge list that had to be scratched off in order to feel successful. The younger me also felt I had to be everything for everyone. I’m glad to see I’m finally shedding a little bit of her now. A part of her is still there but I just have to keep her at arm’s length.

I’m also learning to trust myself more and be confident in my decisions. It’s a struggle since I am a people pleaser (guess that’s why my jobs have been what they are). I’m going to try to live my life more in the moment and less by a list.

No, I AM going to LIVE my life more in the MOMENT and LESS by a list.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part of my heart lives in downtown Demopolis. I have always loved downtown Demopolis, from the time I was a kid participating in the Heritage program as an elementary student to more recently when I gave walking tours as part of my previous job as the Chamber Director. There’s something about these old buildings that warms my heart. From the details to the names still on the buildings (think George or McGrath) hinting at the former life of the building.

 Occasionally, I will take my son to the park to see the fish underneath the fountain at the Public Square. If I have a little bit of cash on hand, we stroll over to the Bigbee Humane Society for William Michael to find a toy. Supporting a good cause and making a small child happy equates for a pretty good day. When we cross Walnut Street and walk down Washington Street, I envision what downtown might have looked like when it was booming. Ladies dressed in their very best (in my mind they all look like Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s) with gloves on their hands holding their children’s hands as they visit shop to shop. If it’s anything like going to Wal-Mart on a Sunday, I imagine shopping downtown Demopolis was quite a social event.

The holidays are always magical time, and I am sure downtown Demopolis at Christmas was no different. I can almost picture children peering into stores downtown with their breath fogging up the windows. I am not sure what it is about downtown Demopolis that tugs at my heart but I imagine part of it is the yearning of a simpler time, before cell phones, internet, and social media.

Yet, I know that this was not a simpler time for everyone. My grandmother would always disagree with someone if they referenced “the good old days”.  The good old days were quite harder in terms of living. However, what I believe the “good old days” to be and what downtown Demopolis represents for me is a time in which we spent more time having conversations with each other face to face. Now, as I write this, I can hear my inner voice saying “But you are on social media Ashley.” Yes, I am and have found being on social media can be valuable in doing my job and as a way to share this story, but I guess what I crave is more face to face interaction.

Today, I got to attend a grand opening of a business in downtown Demopolis. It was wonderful. It gave me two things: a new place to visit downtown and face to face human interaction. For an hour, I got to visit with old friends, hug, and have meaningful conversations face to face. Not for a minute did I miss my cell phone or social media.

I guess for me downtown Demopolis for me will always be a place I can forget all my troubles and my cares.

 

My concert t-shirt from my first concert in 6th Grade

You may be wondering based on the title of the blog what in the world does the band Bush have to do with Easter.  Does the band Bush even exist anymore?  For me, Easter and the band Bush go hand in hand with my childhood. At the age of 11, I got to see my first concert on Easter and as you guessed it, it was the band Bush.

The Easter Bunny delivered not only eggs and candy that year but tickets to go see one of my favorite bands, a very popular one in those late 90’s. I was excited. I had saved a picture of the band out of one of these teeny bopper magazines and had memorized all the band names (don’t ask me now, lol). I had a small crush on Gavin Rossdale.

I remember distinctly that we went as a family and with our neighbors; they had two children around my age. I listened to Bush’s CD Razorblade Suitcase on the way to the concert on a portable cd player that I had to place on the seat ever so carefully to minimize the potential skipping of the CD (my vehicle doesn’t even have a CD player now). I also read over and over again the tiny information that was printed inside the CD sleeve. I was familiar with their first album Sixteen Stone even though I didn’t own it. I think I actually like it more than Razorblade Suitcase.

When we finally arrived at the BJCC, the opening act was Veruca Salt. Quick-what is this band name after? Hint: Spoiled Brat on Willy Wonka. Sorry, I love trivia. When it was finally time for Bush and the lights dimmed, I was excited. I loved seeing the light from the lighters fill the room.  I loved every single minute of their performance. It is something I will never forget and thankful for my parents love of music despite that they probably didn’t like Bush. It was something we could share together. After the concert, I purchased a concert t-shirt to commemorate the experience.

Upon returning the school, I proudly wore my Bush t-shirt with my duck heads and Teva sandals. I felt like the coolest 6th grader for the moment. Now when I attend any concert, I like to think back on my first. I love the power music has to bring all ages and walks of life together.

I’m never alone
I’m alone all the time
Are you at one
Or do you lie
We live in a wheel
Where everyone steals
But when we rise it’s like strawberry fields
If I treated you bad
You bruise my face
Couldn’t love you more
You got a beautiful taste

 

 

 

 William Michael came home from the school the other day and said that one of his girl classmates told him “boys don’t have magic.” I wondered what their conversation had been leading to this conclusion. I’d love to be a fly on the wall to listen to their innocent 4 year old conversations.

This came up again as I was loading the car with groceries from Wal Mart. This time I replied, all kids have magic and are magical. My niece Sidda was with us and she said, “Adults don’t”. I agreed; adults don’t have magic and told her we were boring.  This conversation led me to start thinking about when it is as children we lose our magic.

The magic I am referring to is the ability to use our imagination (making pasta out of dirt as William Michael and Sidda are doing at the moment) or to not have a concern in the world (even when I’m relaxed, there’s always something lurking in the back of mind-maybe that’s just my personality but I think most adults are some what this way-with different extremes). This magic also disregards what others think of us, and we are truly able to be ourselves.

I am jealous of this magic and there are only a few times I thought I was experiencing it but that was only after a number of glasses of champagne. I paid for that magic the next day. I’m not saying that we don’t experience magical moments as adults; what I am saying is that we no longer possess the magic.

When we become parents or even blessed to be around children, we get to witness the magic again-seeing life again for the first time through their eyes. However, I sometimes think we hurry our children along to the next step in life too soon. This leads to a gradual loss of the magic. I could hear myself today in Wal Mart calling after William Michael and Sidda-slow down, pay attention, echoing the sound of a magic-less adult.

Sometimes it’s best if we adults slow down, let them be little (as someone wisely said today). Jump in the mud puddle with them. Be part of the magic show because sooner or later it will disappear.

 

 

I rode past your old house today. The yellow house you lived in when I was a kid. I knew you wouldn’t be there but I just wanted to be back for just one more day with you.  I visited your grave the other day and remembered that it had not been that long ago, we walked together discussing your plans to buried there. At that time, I thought  how much time we would have together before that EVER happened. Boy, was I wrong.

I dreamt I walked passed a woman that looked just like you. I turned around and it was not you. I talk to you in my head willing for a sign from you. I know you are there, watching from above, but I’d give anything for a gust of wind, a butterfly, or something that indicates your presence.

At night, during my routine, I sometimes stop and inhale my jar of Pond’s before applying it to my face while picturing yours.  When I visit Paw Paw and go to the bathroom, I take a squirt of Jergen’s lotion and inhale. I look around at all of your things still in the same place and sigh.

I will be forever grateful for the stories you told me; they keep you alive. I know you are glad to be home with your sisters, mother, and the rest of your family. I can’t help but think about that Tom Petty song Southern Accents.

For just a minute there I was dreaming
For just a minute it was all so real
For just a minute she was standing there, with me

 

My niece’s picture of her with my grandmother and son. She drew this about a month after my grandmother passed.

I have never been good at failure and sometimes the expectations I place on myself are unrealistic.  I find myself getting in my own of way.

This past week something did not go as I had planned. For two nights, I tossed and turned- replaying the situation over and over again in my head. See that’s part of the problem- I like to be in control and when things don’t go as planned-as it happens in this life-I tend to freak out or worry. On the surface, I may appear to have it together but there are times on the inside, my inner voice won’t shut the hell up.

This cycle can be exhausting and does not leave room for growth. If you don’t make mistakes you cannot grow. I wonder how many times I missed opportunities to grow because of fear or worry.  I also wonder if I am reaching my full potential.

This also takes the joy out of  experiencing the important things in life; you become too consumed with your issue. I am also ashamed to admit that most of these things that keep me up at night are not major issues. There are plenty of people out there with major struggles and here I am stressing over something that won’t matter in a month, year, or 5 years.

What’s also interesting is that if someone comes up to meet with a similar problem, I can easily give them advice. Why can I not do the same for myself? Why can I not give myself a break or the benefit of the doubt?  I know it can be exhausting to those closest to me. As much as they try to make me feel better, the only thing that can make me feel better is if I learn how to relax and be okay with failing. Why does failing paralyze me?

As a Christian, I struggle with putting God in control completely.  I prayed before going to church this morning for an answer.  Well, he listened and provided several scriptures that have really hit home today.

One of the biggest things that stuck with me today was about Jesus. Jesus knew his fate but had complete faith in God when he said,

     Abba, Father, he cried out, everything is possible for you. Please take this cup of  suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine. (Mark 14:36)

  I cannot let the littlest things of go but Jesus, who knew he was going to die on the cross, was able to turn it all over to God. Wow!

Another scripture from Matthew 6:34 also stuck with me:

Therefore do no worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

  Relinquishing my “perceived” sense of control and turning it over to God will be the key. I don’t believe that this will happen overnight or in a month’s time.  However, I do know that I am tired of not treating myself with respect and truly giving myself room to make mistakes-just as I do for others.

 Well, I guess, I better be like Red in Shawshank Redemption, and Get Busy Living because if I continue to allow small, insignificant things to rule my life, I’m going to miss out on all the wonderful things God has blessed me with.

I put this picture of my son here as a reminder of what’s truly important.

 

 

Warmer and longer days always remind me of softball and watching baseball at Westside. I started playing softball when I was in 1st or 2nd grade. The first uniform I remember wearing was black with pink lettering.  I am not so sure black was such a great idea for playing softball in the summer in Alabama. I remember that first year I did not make the All Star team and being disappointed. I knew at that point, I wanted to be the best I could be.  I also decided I wanted to pitch. My parents have always been supportive of what I wanted to do so they helped me learn how to pitch, sling shot.

The next summer I pitched and my now best friend MC hit a line drive straight into my leg and left seam marks. She was a hell of an athlete and was naturally good at any sport she played.  I remember learning how to slide on a slip and slide with water and dawn dish washing detergent. I earned several strawberries in my softball career from sliding. I remember going to the pool and my knees getting wet and I’d pick off the skin from strawberries.  Winning a game meant you got to ride in the back of your coach’s pick up truck (because every coach had a pick up; we are in the South) and singing really loud at the top of our lungs, “We will, we will, rock you! Pick you up and drop you!” Riding in the pick up truck doesn’t seem so safe now. The trip concluded with dinner at McDonald’s. The thought of sweating and eating McDonald’s now grosses me out, lol.

I was number “10” for several seasons because I thought Chipper Jones from the Atlanta Braves was cute. How old is he now?  I also liked watching movies about baseball such as my favorite Sandlot. I still like to use lines from the movie when talking to my son- “You are killing me smalls!”  I also think of the DA Pool when the scene comes on when they are at the public pool.  Speaking of pools-no swimming on game day was a rule I can remember our coaches telling us. I wonder how many of us actually abided.

I continued to play summer ball up until I was 13. I was more interested in the opposite sex at this point and started playing tennis. I’d like to think I retired at my prime-shortstop and clean up. I was also a decent windmill pitcher at this point. The last summer I played I had braces and got hit in the mouth two days in a row by pop ups- my lips were extremely swollen. Battle scars. I’ve had a cracked nose, busted lips, a black eye, etc.  from playing softball. My tolerance for pain sure has changed.

Trips to watch the boys of summer were fun, especially at the ball fields at Westside. They had the best French fries-salty and slathered with ketchup. I also enjoyed a large pixie stick and a soft drink in a plastic cup with “Pepsi” written on it. There’s also something about the smell of freshly cut grass. We would walk around those fields several hundred times just for a chance to catch a glimpse at one of our crushes. We would sometimes sit in swings at the elementary school and watch practice. I broke a swing checking out the guys practicing and was so completely mortified that I cried. When this happened, I thought, my life as I knew it at 12 years old was over.

When I picture the Westside ball fields in my mind, I see a group of girls who loved a game, loved their teammates, and were serious about their sport (or as serious as a 9 year old can be).  I also see friends sharing secrets and French fries while stealing glances at boys who occasionally may have looked back- making these girls flush and giggle- you could live on a glance from a boy for a month at least!

Those days will be FOR-EV-ER (to be read as Squints would have said) etched in my mind. To my past teammates and former childhood baseball players, I hope this season of your life finds you well. Thanks for making my childhood pretty cool.

Officially, my last game of my summer softball career. This was a game we lost at state in All Stars.

  There’s still something special about going to a movie.We were fortunate that Marengo Theatre was open when we were growing up.

Marengo Theatre was only open Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with 2 show times- 7 PM and 9 PM. Usually the 9 PM time was a R rated movie or had more adult content. I can remember calling the theatre to wait for the recorded message to determine the movie listings. Thinking on it now, I wonder how many times it took them to get the recording just right. If you have ever tried to record a message on an answering machine then you know what I mean.

I remember when you entered Marengo Theatre, with it’s burgundy interior, there was a stand up front where you paid for your tickets. These tickets were more like raffle tickets with numbers on them (no fancy tickets with the movie listing). The stand also had a picture of the family that owned the theatre. For some reason, I remember this family portrait looking like it was from the 70’s. There was also a phone there that I used when the movie was over to call my mom to pick me up. I also believe there may have been a payphone outside (not sure). When I was a child, it had a bowling alley with 2 lanes. I don’t remember much about the bowling alley but know that my older sister attended birthday parties there. As you moved past the stand, there was a concession stand. I remember a water fountain and a clock above that fountain in that area. After making your purchases, you headed toward the theatre.  There was a door that led you to the balcony. I remember watching My Girl with my mom and wanting to sit in the balcony. Most of the time, I remember sitting in the main theatre area.

The movies was probably the only option you had to if you actually wanted to be alone with your boyfriend and/or girlfriend in Junior High. Of course, your parents had to drop you off but nonetheless, you had freedom! It was always important to have a pack of gum for fresh breath. Yes, I may have been kissed in the movie theatre and held hands, in case you are wondering about the gum.

I also remember going to see My Best Friend’s Wedding with my best friend Beth and us picking out the blue sweetarts (our least favorite sweetart; pink being the best) and throwing the blue ones on the floor. I apologize for whoever had to clean up those blue sweetarts. I would have gotten in trouble if my parents knew I had littered (still might, lol).  I also cannot tell you how many times my best friend Morgan and I went to see Titanic the weekend it came to Marengo Theatre.  I also remember watching the Spice Girl movie when it came out, as well as, some movie with Woody Harrelson about a guy losing his hand and bowling.

It usually took Marengo Theatre awhile to get a new release so it was a big deal when a new movie was showing. These movies were not in digital format. We were fortunate to be able to go to the movies as kids and return home safely.

I don’t remember the last movie I saw at Marengo Theatre and who I went with. I vaguely remember coming home from Tuscaloosa and my mom telling me it was the last showing.  When Marengo Theatre closed, it was though a part of my childhood had ended much like a movie with the credits listing all the people I had to gone to the movies with-family, friends, boyfriends, etc.

 

We got Indy (short for Indiana Jones) when I was 8 years old and in the second grade. He was a mutt (not sure a mix of what breeds). From what I remember, I believe we got him from a pound near a police station in Tuscaloosa.

From that day forward, we were inseparable; the neighborhood was ours! He tagged along with many of our adventures-from playing in the Old School yard to riding bikes to the river and back. He also napped with me upstairs in my old playhouse.

As you can imagine, he was loyal, like most good dogs. He seemed to smile at you. Once, when my sister was in a Christmas on the River parade, he followed her the entire parade route (if you’ve been to this parade, you know this isn’t a short parade by any stretch). When he came home after the parade, he had a sucker in his mouth (appearing to suck on it as we do-stick end sticking out and all).

He was also a companion for when times got tough. Two summers in a row (from the end of 8th grade and the end of 9th grade),  I had two best friends move away (a water boy and a spikey haired skater boy). Indy was there to comfort me on both occasions as hot tears streamed down my face as I hugged him as he sat beside me on our carport. After graduating high school, he was there waiting for me when I would come home from UA.

One day as I was about to leave to go back to school, I accidentally bumped him as I was backing out of the drive. He was not hurt (I was not going very fast, thankfully) but I was devastated. I could not stand the thought of hurting my best friend. It was then I knew he was getting old and tired. I knew it would be a matter of time before he would pass.  He continued to hang on for a few more years surprisingly, but then one day, I got the phone call from my dad. He had passed away peacefully underneath my sister’s home.  I was 23 years old.  The pain was deep, and it was though the chapter titled “Childhood” had been closed.

I still dream about Indy. I miss him. I know that one day we will meet again when it’s time for me to leave this earth. I asked my grandmother before she passed to take care of him. I know they are waiting on me. There’s an episode of “The Twilight Zone”, one of my favorite old shows from the 60’s, where a man and his dog go coon hunting and they end up drowning. The next scene shows them walking down a path when the man realizes they have died. He stops at one gate and the man welcomes him in what appears to be heaven but says only the man is permitted. The man refuses to go in without his dog.  They continue along the path and he meets another gentleman who welcomes both the man and dog. It is soon discovered that the first gate was actually hell, and the gate the man enters with his dog is heaven.

One of my favorite quotes from that episode epitomizes how I fill about dogs and heaven-

“A man can walk into hell with eyes wide open but the devil can’t fool a dog.”