As I sat listening to my sister talk, I noticed how much we actually looked alike. We were also finishing each other’s sentences. In a lot of ways were are different- her – artsy and musical, me- preferring lists and structure. However, for whatever reason, I realized how much we were alike.

Rewind the VHS tape back to the 90’s and our parents bought an Astro Van for 2 rows of seating just to avoid us arguing. She is older but back then, she was arguably older- high school to my middle school, etc.

Magically over time, this person, who would purposely eat sour cream and onion chips in the morning and sing “Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls” to annoy my best and friend me, became my person.

Middle School Ashley, in her own “emo” phase or “hippy chic” (my preference to my then wardrobe) and High School Andi (cheerleader, popular) tolerated each other.

Now with time are close sisters who cannot be trusted if they partake in sushi and wine (wink wink Andi).

When you look at Ruth and Naomi in the Bible, Idgy and Ruth, Thelma and Louise, you will also find Andi and Ashley.

You know we used to practice softball in the back of the Old School. We also played football with friends. We also snuck out a time or too to with a boyfriend to hold a sweaty palm or receive a kiss. We rollerbladed up and down the sidewalk at the Old School. We rode our bikes down the hill, flying into Pettus Street. We sat in front of the amazing columns that flank the entrance and climbed the rusted, metal steps of the fire escape that flank the building to look out onto Walnut Street.

We hit countless tennis balls against the back wall and ended up with poison ivy retrieving them. The Old School was our solace and friend. She welcomed us. We walked from our house to see plays our friends were in (some that left us too soon but were so incredibly talented). The parking lot during productions is still full- in front of the school and in its backyard. Our town is talented.

I did a Social Studies project one time about the Old School. Her history fascinated me and still does.

You see, my mama and daddy bought our house with pride. It was the first home they had ever owned. He walked by our very house every day when he was a kid from Strawberry Street to go to school. I do not think he would have ever dreamed of owning it one day or any house for that matter; they did not have much growing up.

We didn’t know there were other neighborhoods with people with more means. If we did, I don’t think we would have cared. We had friends that lived in our neighborhood that we would play and play until the streetlight sent us home.

Mama and Daddy worked tirelessly making this house a home-removing the undergrowth that for years had been unattended where the fence now stands, tearing down the carriage house, planting trees, and painting. A lot of love has been poured into this house and property- a lot of love and time.

Daddy, he built that fence with his very hands, when I was in 6^th grade and then recently after a storm blew it down. You may see this fence and think of it as replaceable, but I see my momma and daddy painstakingly working and decorating it with Christmas wreaths in preparation for COTR. Daddy has Macular Degeneration and has had since has was 15. So, you see building that fence was not an easy task.

Every COTR morning, parade riders are in the Old School yard, floats are lined up on Pettus Street. There’s a since of excitement in the air. The Old School plays host and offers her yard for parking for families to gather to watch the best damn Christmas parade in the state or country even. As kids we would walk over to see friends or go to the float we were assigned. Our dog Indy was our escort.

I haven’t lived at home since I was 18 but every time I visit, memories flood back. Indy, my favorite dog, is buried in the backyard. He was the best. He’d hang out with us at the Old School.

There’s a lot lately that’s been going on surrounding the Old School. The old beauty is in question. I silently sit and watch-not sure to what to say. I mourn at the thought of the loss of her green space. I’m torn as I want people to have a place to live. I pray for careful consideration of her; she has been with this community for some time. Don’t take her for granted. Don’t take my neighborhood for granted.

You see, this is my neighborhood too and it could be yours.

A view of the yard before the undergrowth was removed.

But we Yooks, as you know, when we breakfast or sup, spread our bread, with the butter side up. That’s the right, honest way! -Dr. Suess

And now my friends, I understand why the Grinch was perfectly happy being alone with his dog Max. All the noise, noise, noise.

The discourse that exists today is at a dangerously high level. I am not writing this to say that I have all the answers. My blog is really intended to be my outlet. I am not asking for you to agree on anything except that we definitely need more love right now.

What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
No not just for some but for everyone

I watch the news and I am sad. I read comments on Facebook and I am sad. I go to church and I am sad.

When do we say enough is enough and just break bread? When do we start to value others as humans and agree to disagree?

I know naturally as humans we choose sides; we can’t possibly be friends with everyone. Everyone was made differently. I get that but I think we can choose to be kind.

I feel like I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone and Rod Serling soon appears in his suit, smoking his cigarette. Imagine in a world where no one got along and sides were drawn daily. Social media is the weapon of choice in this divisive world and it’s winning.

Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. -George Orvell

There was such episode where there was an experiment where the street lights were purposely controlled from afar and they were being turned on and off. Neighbors turned on one another and tried to decide who the “monster” was. In the end, the experimenters commented to something to this effect- it’s that simple. And indeed it is that simple, for us to turn to judgement and hate.

Dorothy was posed a question in Munchkin Land- Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Lines were already drawn. Maybe that’s why the evil wicked witch was angry. She looked different and thought differently so therefore she’s evil and they are not. Dorothy immediately responded that she wasn’t a witch at all. Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe we are just humans trying our best.

Let’s choose love in responding to our differences. Let’s choose kindness. Please, before I go and live above Whoville with a dog named Max.

Once upon a time in a kingdom of fabric, soft places to lay upon and guitars woven into a magical tapestry of sorts lived King Anderson. The King had 3 rules: 1. The common people aka the mom shall build and maintain the fort. 2. The fort shall encompass the entire play room. 3. “No” is not a sufficient answer. And so King Anderson ruled the kingdom every day and night. He is just 4 but wise beyond his years in his mind. His guitars pronounced buitars are the finishing touches to this vast kingdom.

In this kingdom, only your time and imagination are required. Musical talent is not required. Bring your best intentions and leave your cares at the door. There are 3 entries into the fort. Each one is designed with the utmost care and comfort.

The sounds of his drums can be heard from as far as the S curve in the land, once known as Shortleaf and onto Highway 80.

There is no greater kingdom or fort in all the land. Hail King Anderson. Long live pillow and blanket Forts. May his most loyal subject, mom, be remembered for her bravery and fortitude in building such a fort and kingdom.

I miss the crushed ice and Pepsi from the old Westside Ball Field. My best friend and I had code names for our crushes such as Sweetheart and Teddy Bear. I played the Razorblade Suitcase Bush album over and over again. I ripped their photo out of some teen magazine. I had their names memorized.

I used to throw blue sweet tarts on the floor at the movie theatre. My best friend and I claimed they were the worst. The first time I held someone’s hand, I was literally sweating.

I miss wearing knee socks with skirts and clogs. I guess I thought I was Cher from Clueless.  Am I told old to wear a hemp necklace now?

I miss a grungy boy band named Bubble and all the spin-offs that included singing the Fly’s song Got You Where I Want You.

I miss singing Ironic with my best friend and the whole Jagged Little Pill album.

I miss putting sour straws in my coke or suicide of multiple sodas at the old Pizza Hut.

With 40 looming next year, I’d like to go back for a day – maybe to a record store, a Gayfer’s, or the old ball field. Join me! Only stipulation – you have to wear bell bottoms, chokers, and dock martens.

I am here.

Recently, I graduated to going every 4 months to the oncologist, a small victory of sorts. You see, Cancer is a friend that hangs out around even long after they are “gone.” In June, it will be 3 years since I completed all treatments. It’s hard to imagine that it has been 3 years.

So now that I’ve moved into a somewhat normal life again, I find myself busily working on the house, making up for lost time. I find myself making new dreams.

There’s also a real sense of before and after cancer. Although as I said, she’s still lingering in the dead of night when I can’t sleep or in the corners of my mind.

She doesn’t completely control me. It’s something I’ve learned to accept. I hope that I’m a better person through all this, but I know I am far from perfect. I still make mistakes, eat too many carbs, and can always improve.

The one thing though that I am much better at is appreciation for every big and little thing. My nephew graduated recently, and I think I am here. My youngest hits the t-ball (not off tee), and again, I think I am here, witnessing it all.

Thank you, God, for perspective and being here. We are going bowling today. I can’t wait to slip those shoes on, laugh, and play arcade games.

I am here. I am here. She’s here, but I am more here than she is. She has not defined me but made me see more clearly.

Sometimes, I long to be in a world again of record stores, sun-ripened raspberries, Nirvana, and bell bottom jeans. I miss my dog and phone calls versus texts.

I miss hitting a softball and sliding into home. I miss winning a tennis match and pulling my hair back with a scrunchy.

I miss a time before 9/11 when I felt my childhood slip away with the mass destruction.

I miss reading CD labels and spaghetti strap shirts from Delia’s catalogs. I miss pretending to be grown reading Cosmo.

I miss the original Matchbox 20 album I played over and over again in 7th grade, a soundtrack to my adolescent woes.

I miss Friday nights under the lights at Memorial Field and “Cowboy Take Me Away.””

I miss my childhood friends.

I miss these things but thankful for the memories. I hope my kids’ childhoods are as cool as mine was (even though at the time I did not realize).

I just wish the real world would just stop hassling me.

Angst and Spaghetti striped glory

Maybe Peter Pan was on to something. Reading to my youngest, I realize we fancied  the Darlings in our youth because they seemed so sophisticated. Adults have all the answers. They were going to a party while the children stayed home.

Some days, I think I have my youngest figured out, and then he falls apart over something that seems so trivial. I am winging this parenting and life thing. I want to stay home. I have to motivate myself to go to a party. I am betting Mrs. Darling wanted to stay home in her pajamas, too.

Peter tried to tell us, but we didn’t listen. It’s a reminder to play with your children more and go on their adventures. Neverland can be found again, in the eyes of our children.

After all, when my children laugh, I can only imagine what wonderous ferries are born.

To live (and to have children) is an awfully big adventure.

Dear Lord,

Help me never to grow weary in playing with my children, in making silly faces and taking selfies. Lord, I pray I never take myself or life too seriously. I pray that I remember that they are only children once and to embrace tents, forts, and general messes in my house. Lord, I pray that when I am tired that you provide me a renewed energy to spend quality time with my children, putting away their technology and my phone. Lord, my phone. Lord, let me look at it less and in their eyes.

Lord, give me patience and a reminder that they are still learning. Give me grace so that I can also give grace to them and myself. Lord, remind me that I do not have to be perfect to be their mom. You chose me to be their mom and that’s the greatest gift. Let me not take them for granted or myself in my abilities to be their mom.

Lord, thank you for these gifts, my children. Thank you for the ability to conceive and to be here with them. Thank you for blessing me with time.

Love,

Ashley, an imperfect mom who desperately loves her children.

There’s a friendship over my recent adult years that started as a childhood friendship. The light of that friendship slowly began to dim. I asked myself repeatedly what I had done to cause the light to not burn as bright. I tried confronting it head-on, but still no answers.

My heart ached for a long while and still does occasionally. I realize sometimes people move on, and it’s not personal even though it feels personal.

It’s a strange, uncomfortable greeting that takes the place of a warm hug when I see this person. And my heart aches.

I tell myself it’s okay. It will be. It is.

Having friendships is hard and even harder when we get older. The Lord has brought me new friends that I love dearly and hold onto as family. I will never forget the friendship that was and holds a place in my heart.

I’m healing. I’m thankful for what once was and thankful for what is now.

Thank you God for old friends and bringing new ones into our lives when needed most.