I Don’t Hate Anyone

Hate according to Merriam-Webster’s definitions is, “extreme dislike or disgust.”

Love according to Merriam-Webster’s definitions is, “strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties.”

For me, love is much more and cannot be defined.

I have to love you to hate you unless it is food, I hate liver and onions. But to hate a person, I don’t have the energy for that.

I have tons of energy for love.

Let me make it clear, I’m not riding a high horse, I’ve fallen off too many times, and I’m not that good of a person. There are a few people I don’t like, or I don’t care to be around.

I don’t hate anyone.

Life is short, and I turned fifty not too long ago. If we don’t get along, I don’t feel the need to play nice in the sand anymore and I don’t feel the need to pretend.

I don’t wish harm on anyone – well, except for the obvious, pedophiles, and child and animal abusers.

I wish good for all the people I know, even if we don’t talk.

My grandma once told me, you don’t have to like everyone, and you don’t have to pretend you like them either. She was a private woman and seemed cold to some, but you knew if she loved you.

So, if I don’t talk to you, it doesn’t mean I hate you. I just “don’t wanna” anymore.




After close to 18 years in our home, we are moving. It’s funny how goals and priorities change. When my husband and I purchased the house nestled between two cul-de-sacs in 2001, I wanted to stay forever. I wanted to give our children the security of knowing they could always come back to their childhood home because I didn’t have mine. I went to 4 different elementary schools, three different middle schools which were called junior high schools, before settling into one high school. I don’t know what house I would consider my childhood home. However, Parker was the closest thing and that is where my husband, Duane and I planted our roots.

I wanted our kids to have the house that built them. But like the Miranda Lambert song, they will have to come back on knock on the door to be able to walk back into it. The ashes of our beloved Loki girl, a Boston Terrier who passed when she was too young, are planted deep under the maple in the back. We would take that tree with us if we could. Duane wants to pull her out, but she runs deep with the root system and pulling her out could kill the tree. It would be like killing her all over again. Our Loki tree will live and provide shade for the next family and Loki will always be in our hearts. The tree also has a tiny nest. We think it might be a hummingbird nest which is super cool – I love hummingbirds. Along with Loki, the handprints of our children will remain in the tinted cement on the south side of the house. Duane said he would remove them but cutting them out would only make a mess. As long as the new residents keep that cement, our kids’ hands will remain.

At times I want to turn back and never put that for sale sign in the yard. The house on Snowcreek Lane filled with memories built all of us, not just our kids. When we moved in, it had too light of carpet and plain white walls. We dirtied the carpet until we had to change the flooring to something that suited us better – wood laminate flooring and tile which took the beating of kids and dogs. We painted and repainted walls to change with our ages, moods, and the times. Emily’s once pink room is now a turquoise which will be painted over when we leave. We finished a basement which once was a concrete slab. The best day in that basement was before the remodel. Taking cover because of tornado warnings, we took our two kids, two dogs, and one cat into safety. I was terrified, tornadoes scare the living shit out of me because of the 1981 tornado that ripped through Thornton. Andrew, our son, found a box of Halloween costumes and proceeded to entertain us. As always, his humor made it all better. This tornado passed without hitting us or doing damage to the town.

Trees, flowers, and bushes will have to stay. I pulled some of the bulbs up last fall knowing I would want to take with me. Especially the Iris that came from the house on Rodeo Circle. We leave a solid house, with good bones in a great neighborhood. The houses are turning. Out with the old and in with the new. Kids are playing in the street again and the new owner has a couple children of her own. I hope she lets them all hang out in the front yard. We have a large lot and it’s always been full of neighborhood kids, which is the reason the Blue Spruce is a little cockeyed – the lower branches took a beating when we first planted it from kids with a kickball. That tree is strong now and holds a few nests. Our big yard kept all the kids safe.

I tell myself MY birds will find me 17 miles southeast, at our new house. My yellow finches who are all named Charlie and the hummingbirds who are all named Gwendolyn and Oscar will know I’ve moved when they return this spring. The chickadees who are all named Sallie aka Darlin’ will follow the truck on moving day. I will miss my walks along the trails where Babette the Heron rests in the pond, but I can always drive to the trail and walk it. Maybe we can build a small pond on our five acres and she will find me too. Duane would build it if I asked. I won’t ask. Babette will give me a reason to return every so often.

I believe what we leave behind is not as important as what we are taking with us. We leave behind a house that helped build us, but what we take is the love in our marriage that makes the home for our family. Duane reminded me, we make the home – he’s right. Now, Duane and I are starting this new adventure for us. We are excited to move where we will have five acres with huge pine trees and a gorgeous view of Pikes Peak. For me, this view is a reminder of my grandparents, who lived in Colorado Springs. And as I write this, I realize their house, the one they bought when their sons were grown, was one of my many childhood homes.


Let the adventure begin. City girl to rural girl. Going back to a place where I lived 28 years ago. Elizabeth, Colorado, here we come!



8th Grade – The Turning Point

For me, seventh grade was probably the best of my school years – but then tenth grade was too. Ninth, eleventh, and even my senior year were not special. Not even my graduation sticks out. When I look back to that day, the only thing I cherish is the time spent with Allen. We walked with each other to our seats that day. He was one of my best friends. He is gone now. His life ended too soon.

Eighth grade for me was horrible – until it wasn’t. I was sneaking out of the house, hanging out with people I shouldn’t, drinking, doing drugs, and running away. Then I moved. I will say it over and over; the move to Parker saved me. It was my turning point.

So flash forward thirty-four years after eighth grade, and put me in a classroom every Wednesday morning from 7:00AM to 7:50 AM with nine truly amazing eighth graders from Cimarron Middle School in Parker, Colorado. I just finished mentoring in a program called Ambassadors for Compassion, AOC.

I went to give, but like always when you give, you really end up receiving. Basically, it was The Breakfast Club crew, without the criminal. The so-called-criminals either don’t exist anymore or the teachers didn’t want to disrupt the setting. I hope it is the former as I was that so-called-criminal at the beginning of eighth grade. I would have loved a program like this. I also relate to kids who struggle. I understand why they’re pissed off. It’s the good ones that I don’t usually get, or I can’t relate to. And it’s the good ones that help the ones who struggle. We need both.

Kids are stressed right now; they are overworked, over involved, bored out of their minds, over stimulated by the web, worried about failing – but in my opinionnot knowing how to fail and move on, and way too worried about how many “likes” they get.

For three months we sat back and talked. We shared our hopes, our dreams, and our fears. We listened. Not once did I ever (I repeat, not once did I ever) need to tell one of these amazing, incredible kids to put their cell phone away. They wanted to talk. They wanted to listen.

Kids are smart. They know what they want. They even know they have to work to get what they want. They understand that the world changes and they may have to bend, wiggle, step forward and step back in their journey in life.

Failure is part of life. We all need to fail. I think it’s how we react to the failures of those around us that determine how they deal with it. I have failed at so many things, yet I don’t feel like a failure. I keep trying even when I’m scared. And I continue to put myself out there. Sometimes not enough, but I’m getting better. Like I said, I learned a ton from these kids.

So what is my point? With all of the hurt and chaos that goes on in this world, I was just given the grace of comfort and peace. I watched eighth graders realize that no matter what group you are in, we all have the same struggles and fears. I think we all forget this. I want us to remember. I want us to remember our turning point. What was it that changed you? What was it that made you move forward? I hope we all can be a little of that to someone else.

My Dad Came to My Soccer Game

For those who know me, this title is funny. For those who don’t, I will explain. I don’t play soccer, in fact I don’t play any sport. I write about football, but truth be told I only know enough about football to be able to half ass watch a game. I like high school football because of the energy and because I kind of have to since my husband coaches. Sports and I are like math and me – contradictory.

When I was growing up, I tried to play soccer. All I remember is that I hated running and during a game I went the wrong way on the field. In elementary school and seventh grade my extra-curricular activities include playing the piano for a short while and then playing the flute. I wasn’t bad at the flute.  I actually remember going back and forth from second to first chair. I also remember going to Dairy Queen after concerts and eating banana splits to celebrate.

My brother however was a super jock. He played soccer and received a scholarship because he was such a good player. After college, he even played pro for a while. Yes that green monster was there. I was jealous. But I was also always very proud of my brother. So was my dad. He went to all of his games and talked about him all of the time. Okay this may not be factual, but in my eyes my father’s favorite was my brother because he was a super stud soccer player – unlike his adopted non-athletic daughter.

Oh the pains of wanting to be the favorite child.

My dad now has seven children. Not all are from his blood. He loves each of us in a different way and does the best he can at being a dad to us all. Who is his favorite now? I would say it changes daily. I no longer need to be his favorite. I just need to know he loves me. And I know that.

He was visiting from Kentucky and came over for dinner. I got him to myself because it was Halloween and everyone else was busy. The need to have his undivided attention will never go away. When we talked earlier in the day, he said he was going back to my brothers to finish my book. YES! My book! I about shit my pants. My dad was reading my book – my young adult novel about a girl and boy, friendships, stepparents and football. He had forty or so pages to go.

He was at my soccer game, rooting me on. He said he had tears in his eyes at the end.  I feel like I kicked the winning goal.

Side note – My mom read my book too. But I’ve always been her favorite, I was the first.  Love you mom. (Truth be told – I think my baby brother is actually her favorite. And now that she has grandkids who trump all of us.)


Drunk Calling

You know what I’m talking about. We’ve all done it. Haven’t we? I’m thinking that I can’t be the only one who did it. I was lucky. When I did it there wasn’t any caller ID. In my day, did I just say that? Holy shit! I did. Anyway, back in my day, a person could call at 3 AM as Meghan Trainor sings, and then you could hang up. But now we’ve got all of this social media. I wonder a few things. Since people can’t hide on the other end of a phone line, and we put everything out there anyway, do people:

  1. Drunk Tweet?
  2. Send a message through Facebook to long lost loves when they shouldn’t?
  3. Drunk Snapchat?
  4. Drunk Instagram?

Okay, I know this answer or I would assume it safe to say that I do. But what I want to know is what do people say and after it is said, do they regret it? Do people look at it the next morning and want to crawl in a hole?

And then, I wonder it you could send a 3 AM message, who you would want to send it to and what would it say. I’m thinking that sometimes we just have unsettled things that we want to say. I’m not talking about rekindling relationships. I’m talking about loose ends or closer that a person needs.

I called a radio station once and dedicated a song to my boyfriend from when I was 19. He would never hear it because he is gone, taken away too young. I wanted closure; I wanted to say something out loud. I obviously knew I would never get a response.

I think that sometimes we are holding on to something and need to say it even though we want nothing in return.

And that is my thought before I go to bed.

Oh – Who would I drunk message? People I wasn’t so nice to, even if I thought I wasn’t in the wrong. Because life is short and most everyone that crossed my path, taught me something and I think made me a better person. And the relationships that didn’t work, well they got me where I am today. Happily married to a man who loves me.

I’m Going Here, There, or Wherever

no hate

Okay, so I’m going here, there, or wherever. I usually don’t rant on the big issues because my opinions are mine, and I keep them that way most of the time. But, I’m so sad that instead of loving each other, we continue to hate. And, we now have so many ways to hate publicly.

I’m going to break one of my biggest rules. I have not been asked my view on these big topics and I’m going to give it anyway – publically.

I’m going to first start off by talking about my political affiliation. You may or may not know that I am a republican. And for the most part I consider myself a conservative republican (update – I am now an independent- I did NOT vote for Trump or Hilary!) , but when I take those quizzes I usually find myself in the middle of many issues. While I believe that many people on welfare should be drug tested, I also believe that all children regardless of where they come from, should be taken care of at whatever cost necessary.

I am a writer. I’ve noticed that many of my creative type friends are not conservative republicans. Really? Ha ha. And most of them still accept me for my faults. This is why I love them so much.

I follow the Pope on Twitter, yesterday he said this, or he had someone else say it for him (I can’t imagine him typing out a Tweet on his iPhone), “The Church is a mother with an open heart, ready to help all people, especially those who try the hardest. “

Now where am I going with this?

When I read the Pope’s Tweet, I was happy to know that the Church as my mother loves me with an open heart no matter what. Like most mothers, she will take me back in and help me find my way. Instead of focusing on the world around me, I TRY to focus on myself. I need to worry about my actions and not everyone else. But that only lasts so long. And here I am on my blog, which will post to my social media sites. So where is my focus now?

My beliefs are mine, and I chose to be Catholic, I try and follow the rules of the Church but I am a child and will always be. I fall many times, and sometimes I’m purposely defiant. When I do what I want to do, I am not one with the church. That is my choice. I will say again, that is my choice.

Because I have been given free will, I get to choose. Yes, the church can give me rules and tell me that I cannot be in full communion because I am not following the rules, just like a parent can make the rules for their children. And like a child, when I don’t follow them I’m punished. I look it at it like I’m grounded. Until I do what I need to do, I can’t have this or that. For me it is the Eucharist and FOR ME, missing out the Eucharist hurts more than anything.

But I will tell you that there are many, many times I struggle with my faith and my church. For my Catholic friends, don’t worry I don’t need any intervention. I’m not leaving. As much as I struggle, I love my faith. Mary Magdalene struggled with impurity and Mother Theresa struggled with her faith. If these wonderful women got through it all, so will I. I personally have struggled with both.

To say I wont judge is a lie, because if I weren’t judging, I would not be writing this. But, I want to make it very clear; the only thing I am judging is HATE. Everyone has free will. Everyone gets to make his or her own decisions period.

So I am going to publically comment on some big issues.

  • I am Pro Life.  My mom had me when she was 16. I had two children out of wedlock and I was scared to do it on my own. I wouldn’t change my world. I know several women who have aborted their children. Some are okay with their decision, while others are not. My job is to love these women. Period. I don’t and won’t hate any of them.
  • I believe in the 2nd Amendment, but I hate guns. I have never shot one and I don’t plan on it any time soon.  It is horrific that a terrorist walked into a church and killed people because of the color of their skin. It is scary that our kids don’t feel safe in their own schools. While I personally don’t think that taking guns away will fix these problems, I do believe that we should have laws to protect us. But I also believe that those laws wont always do what they need to do. Case in point, restraining orders do not always protect. I don’t have an answer for this. I do believe if we were kinder to each other and talked more, many evils would go away. I need to start with me, I’m not always nice.
  • I am not a homosexual. Therefore, I cannot make any statement about how you feel about anything. I don’t know your struggles. I am the white heterosexual girl looking in. The only discrimination I know is that of a single mother. That was hard. Many people looked at me with either pity or disgust. I didn’t need that either. What I needed was for those around me to be kind. And most were kind, even if they did not agree or understand my choices or circumstances. Because of my belief system, I cannot even think of having a homosexual relationship with another woman, and I’m married and that would be cheating. Also, I’m not attracted to women that way. So my point? What do I know? NOTHING! I have LBGT friends. I love them. I respect them. Some of them are married. Some of them are parents. For those out there who want to protect children from “all of those homosexuals” from becoming parents and ruining the children of the world, I would challenge you to start taking in foster kids and making a difference in the world instead of hating against those who are actually making a difference. My sister is a lesbian. She is married. She is not only my sister, but my friend. I love her. I’m grateful she is in my life.

I don’t believe the Catholic Church will change her views on the big things such as marriage, women in the church, and abortion. That is over 2000 years of beliefs. I also believe that is why there is division. Right or wrong, the division is there. It is why the Eastern and Western Churches divided, it is why Martin Luther left the Catholic Faith, and it is why there are different Lutheran communities, different Baptist communities, and Non-Denomination communities. What I will never believe is that it is okay to hate. We are called to Love.

None of us have to believe what the other believes.

We should however, be kind. We should treat every human with respect. We should take care of each other.

If we are going to bring God into this, then we have to remember he created all of us, knowing what we would become. And he still loves me anyway.

The First Spark


The First Spark

A post on Facebook about dating got me thinking. That is sometimes a dangerous thing for me – thinking, not dating. Dating is good for me as long as the date is with my husband. And that is the only person I date, so I’m good there.

After reading the post, my mind wandered back and I thought of those times I was out on a date and my heart fluttered. This is the reason I love to read and write YA. I love to be transformed back to a simpler time when everything was new and I was less cynical. I believe that many of us crave that feeling of first love.

For me, it always started with that first spark. I didn’t need anyone to move mountains. It was always the sweet little things that made my heart race:

  • When your fingers accidentally touch.
  • When he opens the door on his side of the truck so that you will sit in the middle next to him.
  • When you are getting a piggy back ride in the middle of a parking lot while it is raining, and you swear it is the spark between you that sets off the thunder.
  • When he pushes the hair out of your eyes so he can take a closer look.
  • When he offers you a cherry sucker but the taste of the fruit is from his lips.
  • When he writes your name + his name in the snow.
  • When the instant message on your computer pops us and it’s him on the other side of the country wanting to talk to you. (Now thats called  a text message)
  • When he can dance. I mean really dance and he takes you in his arms and you do that Cowboy Cha Cha thing at the county fair.
  • When you get ice cream and then go to the swings at the park and he holds your hand while you sway back and forth.

I would love to hear about your first spark.