It started to develop when Michael Jackson died. Not that his death was the first I’d experienced. I’ve been to a fair share of funerals but for his, people actually had to win admittance to the service. There were performers and dignitaries and millions of home viewers. I listened to people saying he didn’t deserve the attention and other people saying he deserved so much more. Had as many people been involved in his real life, maybe he wouldn’t have died so young.
Of course the jokes started the minute he died. The first one I heard was Farrah Fawcett died and was granted a single wish upon her arrival into heaven. She wished for all the children in the world to be safe. So God killed Michael Jackson. Whether you believe he was sick or not, no one doubts his talent. I think people who are given that much fame can never be happy. There will always be a void you try to fill and although it can be filled with the holy spirit and belief in Jesus Christ, very few celebrities ever find that spirit to fill the void.
Another thing that fills an empty heart is humility and the chance to serve. Would Michael have been on as many medications if he had a passion for service to his community? He could have done so much more by rolling up his sleeves and pitching in on a common man’s level. Imagine him showing up a few times a year to feed the homeless. People who are star struck would have showed up every day to feed the homeless just for the chance to catch a glimpse of Michael.
I can’t see people serving the homeless relentlessly, every day for a chance to catch a glimpse at me. As a matter of fact, I think if I showed up, some people would go home. I just don’t have the same effect he did. I can never do as much good as he could have. I didn’t make popular the phrase, “I’m starting with the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to change his ways.” He may have started with the man in the mirror but did he ever complete that transition?
Michael and I did share one thing in common; our love of children. I’m not saying I love children the same way Michael was rumored to have loved them, I just saying a child can change an entire event.
When I got married 21 years ago, at our wedding ceremony, one of our friends brought a baby who was about a year old. The child cried through the entire ceremony until his mother decided to give him a toy he could beat on, one of those toys that makes a ton of noise. Now in that instance the child changed the event. I was angry at the time. Now, it’s one of the things I remember fondly about my life.
Facing death makes you think about your life. Where you started, where you’re going and how you want to get there. I’m thinking about my own mortality. A few years ago I had a close enough encounter with cancer. When the doctor tells you they think you have it, and do you want surgery tomorrow or next week. Of course my first thought was my family. I thought, “Who is going to buy my girls underwear?” After all, their father can’t be trusted with such a delicate task. He would have them granny panties three sizes too big with some kind of embarrassing childhood animated character on them to ensure no one would ever see them. I can see my kids, in high school wearing saggy underwear with a big purple dinosaur on them. Since there are so many other things I can’t entrust to their dad, like menstruation and fitting bras, I just wasn’t ready to accept a diagnosis of cancer. My youngest daughter was still in elementary school. Who would help her with talent show costumes and fix her hair? So I just didn’t die. I’m like that. If I don’t want to do it, I don’t do it.
Then there were the times I suffered from depression that was so bad I wanted to die. However, I asked a good friend from work, who was a musician, if he would play at my funeral. He said no. Well, if he wouldn’t play at my funeral, then I just wasn’t going to let the depression get me. I’d show him! Until he was good and ready to play at my funeral, I just wasn’t going to die then either.
So now I know what music I want at my funeral…. Something my friend is going to play even if he doesn’t want to. What about the rest of my funeral? I definitely did not want some big fancy celebrity saying I was perched somewhere on a crescent moon. I don’t remember the bible saying we get to watch our own funeral sitting on a crescent moon somewhere. It made me think of Shrek and the opening scene with the kid fishing from the crescent moon. Yeah, I could see fishing in heaven, but not just hanging out sitting there, trying to figure out the meaning of life. Afterall… I’m dead. I don’t need to know what the meaning of life is. If someone hasn’t explained the meaning of life to you after you die, it just isn’t going to happen. It’s about time to get over it.
Or maybe the meaning of life just becomes clear when you die. You will know what you did to help people, what you did that hurt people and if you’ve accepted Jesus you’ll be surrounded with light and love. Death is where real love begins. So I’ve got the love covered, what else do I want at my funeral?
I certainly don’t want people I love crying when I’m experiencing light and love. I want laughter. I want people to just know I’m in a better place and remember me for who I was when I was happiest. I want people to remember me like this.
Monica calls me, “CCL.” It’s short for crazy chicken lady. It’s just a name she saw fit to give me because I have chickens, a chicken purse and my phone clucks on both ends when you call it.
Gloria keeps a list of “Karenisms.” It just a list of stupid things I’ve said. I apparently have enough Kareninsims that my boss believes I speak my own language. She gives extra work credit to anyone in our group that can understand me. I also get to claim on my work history that I’m bilingual because I understand myself.
Margaret (Valerie) calls me Margaret. Yes that’s right, we both call each other Margaret and have for years. It’s one of those things you share with a really good friend and no one else understands.
Denise, who is da niece of Monica, doesn’t get me at all. She just plain thinks I’m weird.
My kids think I’m crazy. My work here is done.
Their friends think I drive a mean scooter and are grateful I make them wear helmets.
I’m a great cook when the kitchen isn’t on fire and I can make a mountain of laundry out of a molehill.
I can keep crowds at bay, find a bush to cure stomach problems and spend an evening having conversations I’ll never remember.
The only thing that’s certain with me is, you never know what you’re going to get. I can be fierce when it comes to my cubs or a marshmallow when it comes to stay pets. I can bark and bite or just curl up next to the fire.
I am a walking oxymoron. I’m not afraid to ask CEO’s to lunch but I can be afraid of my own husband. I can stand next to the governor for pictures but I hate seeing pictures of myself.
I’ve never written for sale on a school house in stolen highway department paint or walked a cow into a gym but it’s in my blood. I can cook for 100 people or burn hamburger helper. I can make up recipes for crock pot lasagna and use the same recipe to make it in a dutch oven or I can throw a bunch of cans of stuff together and call it dinner.

New friend from wyoming

When you're in Wyoming and you make new friends, sometimes they are a little different then you're used to, but you have to just accept them for who they are..