A Country Music Kind Of Day.

Today was a country music kind of day. The sun was almost as crisp as the air as I coasted passed the paused traffic from my carpool lane...one of the many perks of motherhood. I cracked a window, cranked up the dusty heat, and tuned into my local country radio station. I'm not that familiar with country music artists or songs; however, there are certain sunny days that remind me of driving through narrow country highways, trees waving at me as I pass by, the sun leading the way, the air so fresh it clears my palette and twangy country music is the only thing that can fully accompany the moment.

Today, I was not driving through narrow country highways, there were no trees, it was not warm...but something about today...the sun just commanded respect...and I graciously gave it...a little country music and constant smile from ear to ear.

Write that down...

I found myself at Fred Meyer, joining the masses as we took advantage of the small window of dry roads after 2 days of constant slippery asphalt. As we all tried to exit the store and drive home before dusk, we didn't quite make it. I had checked out and was walking to the Redbox as the sun went down and the ice painted the streets. The line in the one-stop-shopping-center foyer was filled with families and individuals all bundled up as the sliding doors opened and closed as often as a little kid's toy box. It was 22 degrees with a wind chill that brought it down to 10. I was looking at my boyfriend's text message that read, "oj?" as I approached the exit. I was planning to ignore it until I saw that line and felt that cold air hit me like a brick wall. I immediately turned around and thought, "I'll just get the orange juice and maybe by the time I get back, the line will have gone down." I took my time in the warm aisles of cereal and popcorn boxes, quickly grabbed the orange juice from the refrigerated section and retreated into the shelves of peanut butter and frosting. After about 10 minutes I approached the exit area with much anticipation for a shorter line...only to be a bit disappointed to find that the line was, in fact, longer than the first time. Then it hit me...a very profound thought...

"Ya know, Megan. The only way to get to the front of the line, is to get into the back of the line."

I paused for a moment as I realized that that sentence could be tagged onto every area of my life.

'The only way to get the end result, is to start at the very beginning."

"The only way to cross the finish line is to cross the starting line."

"The only way to get organized, is to start organizing."

"The only way to get it done, is to do it."

I was quite amazed with my insight and immediately jumped in line. One customer at a time, I inched forward. I loved to see big families in front of me because when they finished, the whole mob of them left and I was now 5 people closer to the front when I was only expecting it to be 2. And, of course, I was always a bit bummed when there was only a party of one, and after their 6 minute run through of all of their options and then their transaction, the line appeared no closer to me than before.

One by one, I stepped closer to the front of the line, until I was finally there. I returned the movie 4 hours before the due time, and selected another for family night with the Kumakura's.

34 minutes after getting into the end of the line, I had completed the task at hand, and made it to the front of the line. I was smiling on my way back to my car. "I hope people quote me on that" I thought. Now, the trick is to apply it to the rest of my life.

Waving to God...

It snowed last night, and it's snowing now. The sun is shining, making the ground sparkle like Edward's immortal skin...yes, I just made a "Twilight" reference.

I'm the queen of snow angels, and thus feel the urge to lay myself down in the frosted grass and wave my wings for God. Hi God. : )

It's my son's first snowfall. He's 6.5 months. I kinda feel like throwing him down for an angel too...could that be considered child abuse? : /

Bonney Lake: Part 1

It's Autumn, and the sun is blinding. The air is crisp and the ground - wet. I set a sleeping Micah on the booth beside me. Five Star Diner. A beautifully rickety hole-in-the-wall diner. Pictures of airplanes and customer-colored pieces of paper adorn the walls. If I knew what this place was, I probably wouldn't have come here, but I felt like adventuring into rural Washington, and I admit, the name appealed to me. I love diners. Something about the world a diner creates, makes me feel like I'm in a movie. I feel like that now.

I'm the only customer here, until a short, stalky trucker and his spunky, overweight wife enter the diner - a hunched-over old lady trailing behind them. The woman seems as though she just walked off the set of a cheesy children's show. Her personality is almost more animated than the springy curls in her hair.

The man sits in the corner - the sun, a bit intrusive. He can't quite get comfortable.

"Hey! How are you guys doing today?!" The 50-year-old waitress obviously knows who they are.

"Great!" says the woman in her slightly southern, slightly white-trash dialect. "And would you mind turning off that big light in the sky? It's a little bright!" she says laughing out loud at her cleverness. I smile in my booth.

The waitress brings me my strawberry-lemonade. Did I mention it's Autumn? The sun confused my appetite. Free refills, and by the end of my stay at 5* Diner, I will have consumed two full glasses of strawberry lemonade.

The old lady comes wobbling out of the restroom after a record-breaking 15 minutes for a urination. Her hair is parted down the middle and pinned to the sides...("quester!") Her oversized, gold-rimmed glasses don't budge...like they're a permanent fixture on her face.

"I'm from Kansas!" she says to the waitress. "Just 40 miles outside of Wichita."

"Well, ya ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto," I mutter under my breath, before realizing - that's something the other woman could've said.

... she looks like a Toto ... the old lady.

An old man with glasses and a baseball cap walks in and grabs a newspaper. He sits facing me behind the triad of characters sitting next to me.

"I'll be right with you, Richard!" yells the waitress from the kitchen.

"Take your time, dear!" he says while flipping through his newspaper - his eyes never looking up. He ends up ordering 'the usual' and looks lovingly at the chunky waitress who slightly resembles Babe from 'Charlotte's Web.' She's sweet.

These hashbrowns are amazing. Until about halfway through, that is, when the amount of butter starts to make me nauseous. I resort back to the strawberry lemonade.

Roo wakes up and wants to play. I take him out of the car seat. He's a hit with my fellow patrons. He always is. The waitress come back to meet him.

"I have a grand-daughter who's almost one month old. First girl in 48 years! You better believe she's gonna get spoiled."

Five 5 * Star Diner Grub

An interested Micah is anticipating the inevitable meeting with our fellow patrons...and the big light in the sky...

Regular Richard

November Trees

November trees bare truth.

They have lost their florescent leaves to the breeze of life,

and still they stand tall

in their brittle bones and naked skin.

Yet we still think they are beautiful.

They become easier to climb.

Easier to feel.

Easier to see through.

Their roots reach deeper since there is nothing to pull their energy

in the opposite direction.

They let go to hold on.

And they accept the broken branches as a way of healing.



And we...

we wilt under blankets and scarves.

Bury our faces in cups of cocoa and cookies.

Reach to our comforts to temporarily heal.

Hold tighter to memories as to never let go.

We become canyons and Everests

and harder to climb.

We become swaddled in sweaters

and harder to feel,

Windows fogged with fake smiles

and mindless conversation.

We pull up our roots,

because we are losing our limbs,

thinking it will ease the pain

but it only makes us stagger more.



So open your eyes with me

and let the trees remain standing.

Witness their endurance of the changing season

and let it inspire your own progression.

Run outside with me,

in all of your nakedness,

because it is so beautiful out here

among the November trees.

Half of a Moonpie

6 Months Ago...

my son was birthed into this world,

and I was birthed into motherhood.

I have never felt so vulnerable.

6 months later,

I wake up to my son giggling in his crib,

and I wonder,

"Who came down from Heaven today?"

© kevin wrenn / © chris boswell

Growing a Soul

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us...

and as we let our own light shine,

we unconsciously give other people

permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,

our presence automatically liberates others.

- Marianne Williamson -

During my pregnancy,

I have never been more afraid,

expressed so much strength,

and felt so radiant.

It truly was a miraculous experience.

Photos © Kevin Wrenn

www.kevinwrenn.com