Big O

By Lynn Rilean Smith

Mixing comedy, some truth, and some creative fiction. Finding the niche. I suppose I’ve been practicing for this my whole life. Don’t we all?

The Broken Button Diaries. Jack, his Stalk, but NO Bean. The Happy Button Diaries.
Okay seriously. No more coffee today. There is nothing happy about having a broken button.
So many different appropriate/inappropriate ways I could title this. But those few are enough for today.

I invite you to take this trip down lovers lane with me. You may get some giggles out of it. I know I’m giggling about the fact I’ve decided to put myself out there like this. Talk about starting with stupid. The word ( stupid ), I hate by the way. But it is fitting for today, tomorrow and probably everyday during this venture.

The truth hurts. The truth heals. The truth has hormones.

Grab your toosh and hold it tight. This ride might get a little bumpy.
Here we go.

A little bit of a love story mixed with some vaginal dementia? Yeah I like that term. I would say vaginal discharge but that doesn’t even exist anymore.

He ignored all the signs, even as they slapped him in the face. Where did he lose site? What did he do wrong? One day making love to her. The next, begging for affection? He couldn’t tell she felt sexually hollow. He didn’t know how to make it better. He did hold her and hang on.
Her is me by the way.
This is a true story and I plan to tell the shit out of it. Just incase your wires aren’t sparking either.
If anyone else has or is feeling this many cobwebs inside the cootch then bare with me. My goal is to find that old vagina voodoo again.
No! I can’t save the world. But, maybe I can save sex. I owe that to myself. I owe that to my husband. I’ve read the secret to a long healthy life is, sex. Great. That’s just great Karen but my Thumbelina appears to be broken. Come at me now Karen.

I will do everything in my power to find her again. The lover in me. The lover for him.
Today’s writing prompt comes from a hormone. Okay, it comes from guilt. One in the same somedays since I started wearing an estrogen patch or is it the depression medication?
“Don’t forget to go get that medicine or see that herbal lady.” he says as he leaves for work this morning. ( he is referring to something that may increase my sex drive )
He being the man of my dreams. My Prince Charming, my best friend, husband and love of my life.
If you have yet to live in a cycle of what I call today, The MAN ~O~ PAUSE. You’re blessed. Skip it if you can. Rare, but possible.
So Aka: Menopause.The Change. Midlife crisis etc. Climacteric, ( meaning turning point ) and I imagine if you google other terms it has plenty others.
There is nothing as dizzying as spinning around trying to get in tune with your sex drive once your hormones go into hibernation or what feel like to me, fall off the face of the earth.
Imagine, if you can; You enter a tunnel with a zillion twists and turns having no clue where you will end up. That’s my mental health during menopause. That’s my hormone imbalance, my unknown destination, my depression and my anxiety medication working against my ovaries. My best guess anyway.

Who are you when they’re not telling you how to do it? They as in, Doctors, Scientists, Pharmacists, Herbalists, books, podcasts, just to name a few.
Eg: I’m numb, I’m cold, I’m dried up, I’m physically empty, I’m confused, (so many expensive treatment options) I’m sad, I’m head over heels in love with life, my husband. Etc.
My husband is mint condition. Top of the line could not have hand picked better heart, soul or eye candy. He is sexy, attractive, loving and so kind. I can feel, hear and KNOW that he is MISSING a part of us. He should. I miss that part of me as well, of us!
I don’t physically feel the missing piece as strongly though. We are wired differently. I most definitely understand that part.

So many books have been written on how to improve your sex life. Talk about booming sales. Want a best seller? Write about sex.
How to Heat up the Bedroom. How to Release the Inner Sex Goddess you Hold Within. 101 New Positions to Try, and we can’t forget, Sex for Dummies. Yada yada yada.
Porn’s everywhere and sex toys are a girl’s best friend. Right? Don’t get me started.
I won’t debate with those topics because this isn’t the blog post for that.
The list goes on and on nonetheless of above referenced help for the bedroom.
It only hits a nerve for me. Maybe I’ll share that on another day.

Thank GOODNESS for the writer’s that share personal experiences.
We are all so different. If we’re lucky we can come across a a good book that houses the answer. It may only have one important sentence, but it saved the day. You have a new hero. They wrote to save your sex life. I must read more.

I’d give anything to even WANT to have an orgasm.
That’s where I’m at. That’s the hormonal hell I feel trapped in right now.
Grateful to those scientists and women that have studied, reported and released so much information to improve upon the intimacy with our partners.
Men know stuff also but I do think without ovaries it’s not as easy for you to hear what I’m telling you when I say I have fallen and my vagina can’t get back up.
Yet here I sit.
I can’t help but say WTF?
I sit and discuss the changes we as women go through amongst great friends. I am often left feeling even more confident that I’m not alone, but then I can’t grasp how so many just go through the motions because it’s a duty and a role as a partner. Why can’t I do that? Why would or should anyone do that? Why don’t I tick like that? Certainly it would be easier than feeling like I’m letting down my biggest fan?
I think a part of me must hold some hidden resentment or misguided belief system.
Did I start too young? Sex? Am I just in a place in life that no matter how amazing I know it feels, my brain and my body are just misfiring so badly it doesn’t matter? I’m too young to not be messing up the bed sheets. Right? According to research and people closest to me. I’m much too young. Leading me now to take it seriously because I want to live a long healthy satisfying life and without sex that’s impossible? Right? It better be.

By now you’ve either quit reading because you could care less about sex or ever having it again or you can’t stop reading because it involves the word sex. OR! You feel exactly the same way I do and you want to take this adventure with me. Either way I’m here to share my experiences with you. Maybe you have it all figured out and can offer me advice. If you tell me nothing will save my sex life then you are not the hero I am searching for. “Go!”, “Before someone drops a house on you too.” ( A Favorite Quote by the way)

Let’s start with medication.
In order to have a healthy functional sex life you can spend endless amounts of money seeking out Dr’s to prescribe a possible cure all. Change this medication and you may notice more discharge. Go try these new hip hormone pellets. Oh sweet bliss. Maybe?
Take away this medication that helps your insomnia and you might start having feelings in your clitoris again. You won’t sleep but you may get some feeling back.

Mix x amount of estrogen with two doses of progesterone. Sift in 1/4 teaspoon of testosterone, then stir.
The worst side effect is you may grow testicles and facial hair but he won’t care. You won’t be able to keep your hands off him.

So confusing. Right?

Again, another night and day passes. I watch my husband leave for work, I feel grateful and sad.
Sad because I see every single amazing thing we have ever done in and out of the bedroom. I see every I love you and smile. I feel every hug he has ever given me. I hear every word of encouragement he has ever spoken.
Where am I? What have you done with his wife? His best friend? His lover? She is missing and he is holding on by a thread in need of that which he knew so intimately a year ago. Okay. Feels like a year ago. Maybe a few months. Who’s counting? Oh yeah. He is.

I feel guilty. I feel unworthy. I feel inadequate. I feel unplugged. I feel my battery is dead. The only goosebumps I get today are when I feel a slight rise in my temperature from cold chills after a night sweat. Sure, when he kisses the back of my neck I get chills. It’s all in the wires. They just aren’t attached to the router. Aka Button.

By God I’m a determined individual. I can persevere with the best of you. Together we can climb mountains again. Maybe? Or Climax on top of mountains? Hmmmmm. What about CLIMAX all the way to the top of the mountain? Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.

Day 1. Journey back to sex.
Locate progesterone cream and or DHEA suppliers.
Found DHEA. As well as something called MACA. Which if you know me I was sold when she said MACA has a few extra ingredients.
As for the progesterone cream; It’s unavailable unless you get a prescription. Argh. Not ready for another Dr’s. appointment. Yet.

Day 2. Side effects of MACA: May cause upset stomach. Stomach Cramps. Stomach Bloating.
Okay, so explain to me how that is supposed to work?
Feeling sexy.
Let’s get it on.
Insert I think I have to poop here.
By the way~ The woman who sold this to me at the natural foods store most definitely deserves saleswoman of the year. She could have sold sex to a crowbar.
Now I sit here waiting and wondering as I take two more this morning and plan to take two more this evening; Will my brain and its wire to my clitoris finally cross again? Omit a spark? Maybe?


Day 3.
Sex in the city. Nope. Not literally. Today’s what I like to call Girl’s Day.

I leave the comfort of my home (after the cramps from MACA subside), and I head to the salon. My pamper place. It’s also the salon I work at so the relationships within those walls are built from some kind of super human sheet-rock. Super human because what we say and hear there would cause the weakest structure to collapse. May the walls around you be strong.
It’s my day off. It’s my hair day. A favorite day and I get to also share sometime with a few of my other work sidekicks, what a treat that always brings. I decided to share with them about my current circumstance. Who better to seek advice from than other women who may be able to relate? My friend, aka hairstylist handles our conversations so well. She honestly does not charge enough for the talks we have. Our friendship could be a book in itself. BNOB- coming soon. Any guesses as to what BNOB stands for?

I’ll quickly simplify the end of day 3 for you.
My heroes among the work place, my pamper place. My buddies, my pals, and my girls. Those whom I’m so comfortable talking with, making no topic off limits. Are they my (g spot) guardian angels?

They say, “ Call 417-555-BIG- O.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Thank you for calling Big O, this is Jennie. How may I help you?

Me: Explains situation.

Jennie: Explains treatment options.

Me: $1200 for a shot in my what????

Jennie: Will you be paying with cash or card?

Funny right. $1200.00 to inject the clitoris with some magic potion.

It’s only $800.00 if I want to try hormone pellets and $400.00 every 4 months to recharge after that. Oh decisions, decisions. Those two angels may be onto something.

Day 4. It just started. Apparently MACA is full of fiber. I’m still trying to weigh the pros and cons, amongst other things, before I can leave the house. See you soon. I need a Tea. Believe me. I’ll be back! Spoken in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice.

Update to day 4. Guess who’s back? Back. Back. Back again? Got it back. Back. Back. Tell a friend. Guess who’s back, guess who’s back, guess who’s back, Guess who’s back? Okay so I have nothing on Eminems version. But, believe me when I tell you that I just demonstrated to myself some ultimate mind over matter.

I knew it. I knew it couldn’t be gone for good. I won’t go into all the details in a blog entry. But I just made an herbal essence commercial. I saw an opportunity. For whatever reason; The make it happen now angels, whispered to me. “Rip those work clothes off of him.”

MACA or Mind Over Matter?

~ Like She Does ~

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

August 13th 2015

18 and life to go.

One can only hope as they have to take a step back and love a child from a distance that they have more than 18 to go.

The night of my sons 18th birthday he sent me a text message in reply to my questioning if he had seen his grandparents, or his dad that day on his birthday.

I’ll never forget the feeling I had take over me when he replied, “No.”

It meant he was in a very dark place. His grandparents meant the world to him. To hear he did not see them meant nothing good. It also meant I couldn’t just sit there.

I will leave all the in between out of this blog entry today. You will be able to read the rise, fall, and rise again of my son in his biography.

His daily battle with Intrusive thought OCD and anxiety, as well as what it was like to live through and come out of his addiction.

I was inspired today by a video my daughter -in- law sent to me this morning.

I chose the title based on the song that plays in this video. I could write an entire book about her , the love we all have for her and her survival skills. Not to mention I couldn’t have hand picked her any better if I tried.

Dak and Kaitlynn Trundle

The girl has what I like to refer to as good guts. Literally out of nowhere shows back up in all our lives. Insert ~Like a Wrecking Ball here. Because she definitely came back full force. Only this time her and my son were about to smash the shit out of their past and become parent’s.

What we got to witness happen was nothing short of a miracle.

My son was already on his way up and out of his old ways and that old life he had left behind.

They had dated before a couple years prior.

They had claimed so young, even then, that they were the love of each other’s life.

The parent’s all surrounding this young love affair had our own opinions of these two.

A lot of uncertainty. Speaking minimally of the dysfunction surrounding them both, they were a mess.

Sure. Yeah. Right. Love. Uh huh. Okay. Whatever.

Drug’s do stupid things to people, and people on drug’s do stupid things.

Needless to say the relationship failed.

Some of those watching on the side lines thankful for the end and it’s mass fail. Me, not knowing what surrounded the break up. I cheered. I thought it meant that finally my son would choose to go home.

What was I thinking?

He had no intention of not using, especially now.

In fact, now he had more reason to continue that painful path. A broken heart.

A broken boy with a very tough guardian angel. An angel that ultimately lead him out of that super highway to hell and eventually back to the girl that knows him just like she does.

But first he got to come home. We got to watch his transformation. I’d never thought he was on his way to being a father or her a mother. Damn what a beautiful sight to see.

I can’t speak for everyone but I’m fairly certain statistics show relationships built like that don’t typically survive.

The odds are stacked against them from the beginning. Love for what you’re addicted to usually always wins.

I’m witness to this special love story. They eventually came here to Missouri where I was living. Maybe that doesn’t seem very pivotal. But it was life changing. September 10th, 2018 they arrived to my home in Missouri. September 11th I was arrested. Stupid is as Stupid drinks. September 12th was my first day without a drink in a year and a half.

It was also the first of many new firsts.

Them planning to be first time parents.

Us. First time Grandparents.

I’m guilty of questioning what in the hell they’re going to do and how in the world they’ll be able to provide for a baby.

Now I know. They showed us all.

Some love stories are written in the stars.

Their love story is how stars are born.

A star is born when atoms of light elements are squeezed under enough pressure for their nuclei to undergo fusion.

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean


If you enjoyed reading this entry then you will really enjoy what is to come as I continue to create the outline for the in-between parts of this post.

Stay tuned. I will update this entry once more is available.

~ The Spokane Parts ~

Where I come from ~ it’s not cornbread and chicken that’s for sure. I hear cornbread and chicken, I can only think brown beans and chicken skin. YUK.

Spokane, Washington.

Where fresh bread baked, pot roasts roasted, and plums were picked. Cousin’s frolicked from daylight to dark.

Truth is the only voice that could scare any of us kids from silly to straight was the voice of Uncle Dwayne.

Dad and Uncle’s were threatened within an inch of their life by little firecracker Gramma Great if they showed up with facial hair.

Someone was always playing a card game at the kitchen table, and the yellow phone that hung on the wall rang often. Grandma could be seen talking, laughing and holding one of her extra long cigarettes.

Birds squawking because one of us kids always seemed to be pestering them. I use the word pestering because I can still hear Gramma Greats voice, “Quit pestering the birds.”

There were several birds inside that kitchen. One cage sat under the phone on the wall. One sat under the window in the middle of the long counter top. ( I say long because as a small child it looked extremely long )

I revisit those days and recall the cranky little dogs she had that wanted no part of a kids cuddle. You didn’t mess with her dogs. You knew whatever hid behind it’s smashed in face would come out and eat you alive.

I’m sure my siblings, cousins and myself would all agree that those days were the good ole days for us. The “Original 5” of us. Our imaginations took us anywhere we wanted to go.

How did we all come to be what I call the “Original 5?”


My parent’s had intercourse, Aunt and Uncle did too. BAM, just like that the Nill’s had their very own mini militia. Well okay, you got me. It didn’t happen that quickly but we most definitely were a force to reckon with, especially as a group.

You will read much more about time with cousin’s in another chapter.

Being the oldest, and what looks to me to be as the loudest and the boldest, and best cook. I can’t help feel they aren’t fibbing when they say the oldest child is always the one controlling the others.

One day I tried to poison us all. ( hence best cook ) You will enjoy that part of the book as much as I will enjoy writing it. The poison berry part.

I have always wanted to be a fly on the wall when everyone held me for the first time.

A first for everyone. A new Nill baby.

My parents were Highschool sweethearts. In fact Mom still attended Ferris Highschool when her and dad got engaged.

Young love. Does it get any better than that? My Aunt and Uncle had their very first kiss under the historic Riverfront Park Clock Tower.

Photo credit to
The Clock Tower
The first kiss for Uncle Dwayne and Aunt Patty Nill

I’m fascinated most by history. The history of those I love the most. Not necessarily talking war unless it was a war that a loved one may have fought personally.

Don’t get me wrong, I respect all history. I believe it to be a treasure; However, not the kind of treasures I’ll write about.

Where I came into the mix all started in Japan in 1973 with what I can only imagine was Plum Sakè and pot. How could you not be drunk or stoned in the 70’s? No one has neither confirmed or denied this so I have made it my signature.

PLUM SAKÉ & POT = The life and story of Lynn Rilean Nill.

By the way, Plum Saké is a Japanese Wine, and Pot?, Well it speaks for itself. If you don’t see the reference, it is aka Marijuana. The Mary Jane. Reefer, according to research a reefed sail resembled a joint, and I can’t leave out old faithful’s. Grass, weed and dope. Dope was dropped when they started using it as another name for Heroin.

My dad was stationed at Yokosuka Naval Base, in Yokosuka, Japan. That was a part of his active duty in the United States Navy.

On one of what I can only imagine being a wild night for my parents; 9 months later here I came. The first daughter. The ring leader to be. The bossy one. The control freak. The Mom. The Teacher. ( Playing house and school was always a fun past time )

Thankfully they were back home in Spokane, Washington by the time I was born, because I can’t imagine having to have lived without my Grandmother.

Grandma was a great record keeper.
5 month old me.

My parents were young and new at the parenting gig. In love with me? Yes. I believe my parent’s fell in love immediately after the shock and awe of my fetal existence settled in. Still don’t know if they were trying to have me or if I just slid in to home head first unexpectedly. Either way, I’m here.

A spade is a spade. They were about to have a child to take care of. I suppose you could say they were both products of their childhood as so many can relate to. None the less, they loved me and I know that with all my heart today.

Just stamp ‘Made in Japan’ somewhere across my butt so that you know where I came from. A joke I always heard.

I fell back into a bottle of Plum Saké a few time’s into adulthood. You’ll read more about that in a different chapter.

They say alcoholism is a disease. I suppose it was most definitely in their blood that night and was passed down to me the night I was conceived. This is a small section of my fairytale, where I get to blame everyone else for my poor choices.

I didn’t truly discover until I was well into adulthood that it’s in the dna; But, it is also in the decision making.

I searched aimlessly for a bottom of something I didn’t even know existed. I couldn’t see it was all in my heart.

46 years later I’m sitting here grateful for every single rock I ever tripped on.

I’m blessed that where I came from never left me when I tried to make it disappear a few times too many.

I will forever honor the home that I come from. I plan to write about each and every person that ever touched my heart or influenced my life.

My very first bumblebee sting
happened to the right of those steps on the hill.
The hill we loved to roll down as kids.
The yard that always made everything better.

From people to playgrounds, I will write, represent, and honor my family.

Maybe I will never get all the way back home in the end, but I’ll most definitely make them proud of where I come from.

Spokane,Washington. Home of the Zips burger, fish and chips, Manito Park, Grease, The Wizard of Oz, and many more memories. It’s very hard to limit them in a blog entry.

Once my book is complete and is available to have and to hold, you will read more about the many memories I have crammed into my brain from childhood in Spokane, Washington.

Jennie, Riley and Lynn Nill
First day at a new school.

You can leave Spokane. Just remember, Spokane will never leave you.

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean


2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

Those facetime screenshots ~ Gotcha Bro

Everyone grows up eventually. Life always changes, and is forever evolving. Some may think this post is me painting somebody a victim but that’s actually polar opposite of what this post is about. This post is about some of our fathers legacy. My brother. An eye of the tiger.

I don’t think I ever knew, until recently, just how absolutely connected, woven and stitched together with my siblings that I truly am.

I absolutely love and adore them. So very much so. In such a way that no matter the time, the distance, and the difference in our dreams, and lifestyles or the way we grew up. We did come from the same package of seeds and started in the same soil.

Of course family’s have differences and carry on with life. Staying together close or growing miles and miles apart. Having different appreciations and nothing in common but one thing. The blood that binds us.

To reflect on memories with them is probably one of my favorite things.

I’m the oldest of us.

The original 3.

Original 3
Jennie, Riley, Lynn

My sister, Jennie, being the next oldest and then we got our brother, Riley. Aka Stormy.

The Ring Leader, ( Jennie ) , The bear poker,( Riley ) and ( Me ) The Peace keeper.

Anyone buying this yet?

Didn’t think so.

They both have labeled me (Ring Leader) ~

Can’t argue that I suppose. I do recall a couple times that my ideas did get us in a little bit of trouble. Hard for me to believe I acted alone as the mastermind of all our enquiring mind adventures.

This one’s for you Riley.

Tiny but Tough

He was born in February during a storm in Spokane Washington. Our elders recall much better than I do. Time passes and the stories we’ve heard don’t stick to me like they use to.

He was the youngest, the only boy, and he was as much of a brat as a little brother can be. If I am being honest I don’t really remember the brat part much. To revisit those years, he was pretty much the little brother that was easy to talk into pretty much anything. (although bless his heart, we did force a lot of Little House on the Prairie on him.)

Damn though. That boy could take a hit. I mean that literally. He climbed a tree in the backyard at the house we were staying at and fell out of it. Thump. There’s Riley breathless. A fall like that would knock the wind out of you too. He cried and was definitely in pain. Later to go to the ER and discovering bruised Kidneys. I most definitely remember feeling so sad for him.

Tough Nill. Wearing his heart on his sleeve like the rest of us. That’s no lie. He was the little brother. I’m sure he annoyed the heck out of us girl’s but I do remember he did not put up with anyone messing with his sister’s. No matter how much we bossed him around or told him to bug off. He would fight back for us.

I said ornery above; Honestly, we spent way more time with him then anyone else ever did, and as I look back, I can tell you ornery just probably meant love me a little bit more. Hello. I’m right here. See me? I love you too. That’s what I believe the ornery kid in him meant. That’s what I believe the ornery means in most children.

I remember him trying so hard to get the attention from a few people to the point he put up with a lot of unnecessary and over the top discipline. Truly unacceptable, and unfair bullying from someone who truly had no business having that role.

I must say, Riley has made my sister and I laugh, cry, and revisit not only the ugly stuff but some of the BEST times.

We grew up watching boxing and Rocky. He calls me Rocky today. ( temperament maybe ) But he doesn’t see that’s him, he is the tough one and the one we can see the eye of the tiger in. We see his survival through events and circumstances that most would not still stand to tell about.

I realize to still be able to have a conversation with him is a blessing. The 3 of us kids had to hold onto one another many times to feel as safe as possible several times. To know that, is a gift today.

You are each other’s best friend’s no matter how annoying you are to each other. You’re what you can depend on most. You have to. You’re all you got.

Time changes everything except that.

Shit happens but we most definitely talk about the old times and become those kids again.

Myself 46, Jennie 45 and Riley 41 now. We have began to travel together. Not by boat, car, plane, or bicycle, and damn sure not a greyhound bus.

Today we travel back in time together.

Jennie, Riley and myself, each morning as early as 4:30 am, begin the day with Good Morning, and end the evening with Goodnight. One thing I do admit I appreciate about technology and it’s advanced methods of communication is the ability to be a group.

( September 15th 2020 )What a great day. Between the 3 of us, Uncle Kevin and Uncle Dwayne, I decided my siblings are my cousins, and that I’m an only child to our dad. ( Well, my Dad. ) ~ & NO, not in a Joe Dirt kind of way. It was such a hoot being so silly with them.

Such a fun laugh with them all, but then I realized something. Something really important.

I wouldn’t trade my little sister or brother for the world. We’re all pretty tough, but you’d have to go through Jennie first if you want to take them from me; Because, she is the NINJA.

All kidding aside, I will always be grateful for my sister, and my brother. Adventures are great but there’s nothing like holding hands with them for a walk down memory lane.

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

Love Your Brother

Riley and Lynn Nill


Yes~ Yes~ Yes


Am I wrong? Ladies?

Good morning and you’re welcome.

You can’t wait to wrap your fingers around Joe in the morning.

Photo credits to Pinterest


Okay, very true. Not all Joe’s are good. Too weak. Not strong enough.

The one I’m referring to is better than good.

Yeah, you know.

That Joe.

Hot, steamy, dreamy, creamy and oh so smooth.

Joe is often a necessity for our daily routine.

Essential Joe.

Can’t live without him.

Joe never asks a stupid question.

You know.

You’ve seen Joe before.

Yeah. Exactly.

That delicious Joe.

Joe can have a pretty price tag, depending upon your personal taste.

Joe rarely disappoints.

Joe is ready and available and just waiting on you to make the first move.

Joe is nothing without the women who take charge unless your guy gets to him first.

Joe needs you as much as you need Joe.

Don’t give up on him.

Joe is flexible. You can adjust Joe to fit your needs.

Poor Joe just sits there. Silent. Waiting.

Begging for someone to turn Joe on.

Feeling useless without a good woman, or in this scenario, woman or man, to push the buttons.

~ Oh Joe, I love your buttons~

My Joe isn’t your average Joe.

The Joe I love is pretty much perfect.

Joe is quiet and perky.

Joe never talks inappropriate and has the utmost respect for all women alike.

Joe makes you feel thing’s from your head to your toes.

A good Joe gives you goosebumps, and as you grab Joe, your heart skips a beat.

Oh my goodness, Joe smells so good.

Damn Joe, you have it going on.

Joe you are such a natural morning aphrodisiac.

Joe awakens us with whispers in our ear, “Wake up sweetheart, I’m here and I need you now.”

Oh sweet, strong Joe.

Yes, Joe.

I love you.

P.S. Hebrews

A good guy will gladly wake you up and bring you the best Joe you’ve ever had.

~My guy is definitely the best~
I love you Dusty Smith.

My Construction Worker

Smith. L.R. 2020

My Construction Worker

When you’re a writer, and your husband asks if you want to tag along when he has to work on a Sunday, you go because you can enjoy anything when your with him and you love chasing inspiration. My construction worker inspires me beyond what words can describe.

~ Monet Aquatic Center ~

You can enjoy ANYTHING when he is there by your side.

So you go. You ride with him.

That laundry will be there later.

He is your hero.

He is the one who will do whatever it takes and go the extra mile.

In this case a couple extra miles today, and yep, they do work in the rain and yep, they build your public pools too.

Construction worker’s are essential, and without them we don’t have a place to put the pot to pee in.

We don’t have the building’s to run the firm’s and the hospitals to take care of the sick. We don’t have the storage buildings to house all our extra stuff.

How about those churches we go and praise God? Yes, those too. THEY make them possible.

In fact this guy right here just recently finished a job where he added to a church in a small town in Oklahoma.

Many long days and a lot of driving.

Started the church addition in September 2018 and just recently finished up.

It will have a few days left before he doesn’t have to go back there but I know he will never forget that job.

Part of me thinks some of his heart will always be there in that church.

It turned out beautiful by the way.

That’s what they do. They are hard, loyal and dedicated workers.

One of my favorite memories of my husbands job at this church wasn’t so much the job itself.

It was what I saw him get from it all as he gave his everything to it.

I watched it change him.

He would come home and tell me all about how his day went.

Believe me when I say, there was always something to talk about.

As their wife’s we get to hear some really interesting stuff. At least I know I did.

What meant the most was when he would tell me not one day went by there at that church that he didn’t go inside and tell God thank you and simply sit and find comfort when he felt like pulling his hair out.

He told me he would go in when it got crazy and ask for guidance and direction and calmness.

He would pray all the way to work often.

He may have gave them a church to go to but I got to watch how God became so important to him.

~ LDS Church add on in Oklahoma ~

That was amazing.

No matter what or who you think God is.

Be it Universe, Jesus, particles floating around, Aliens, higher power.

Whatever it takes to believe in something.

Although I must say if he came home and told me a hammer opened up and tried to swallow him as he prayed I’d most definitely be going to get his vitals checked. 🧐

Whatever it is to him, it’s there, and my CONSTRUCTION WORKER uses it to get through each day he leaves our cozy home by the creek.

Wow. They sacrifice a lot don’t they.

Their families love and miss them.

~Grampa and his Grandbaby~

Just know they’re out there because they love their families, and they are good at their jobs.

They are important people.

A lot of days are “goodbye, I love you,” in the morning, and a “goodnight , I love you,” when they arrive home at night.

They have to scarf down a meal because they need to go to bed. They have to be back up in a couple hours.

They miss dinner often with their families.

They can’t make the school programs for their kids because they’re out there building the schools all our children attend.

We had several nights with the face-time goodnights because he didn’t get to come home.

Just a good day to give a shout out and a great big THANK YOU to the guys and gals that have such a vital role in making our lives possible.

This one though, he is extra special to me. He is the one I know personally and see the daily life of as one of these talented hero’s.

He is the one who goes above & beyond and is always there if you call and need something.

He is my go to first, my side kick.

Not one day since the first day we met has he gone without kissing me goodbye in the morning before he leaves for work.

Not one day goes by that he doesn’t tell me that he thinks I am beautiful, and it’s not typically after I have spent 30 minutes fixing my hair. It’s when I just wake up and my eyes are full of chunks of sleep junk and my hair is wet from night sweat.

We talk every day and we talk a lot. One thing we both have in common.

So if you see these guys out and about, which they are honestly everywhere, and very easy to find.

Give them a smile or a thumbs up. If given an opportunity, say hello and let them know you appreciate them.

Richard Dustin Smith
RE Smith Construction Est. 1952
Joplin, Mo.

These are really GOOD guys.

Smith, L.R. 2020

©️My Construction Worker

Sex, Drugs, Rap & Rock-n-Roll

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

Let’s talk about sex for a second.

Sex? What sex? No. I did not lose my virginity last night.
No. I’m not lying to you. No. I promise. Mom, seriously, stop. I was at her house. No. Mom I swear I did not have sex, and I’m still a virgin.

~ The Spring of 89 ~
The intersection
But Did You Die & Dysfunction Junction.

I may not have been at her house that night but that year we definitely were inseparable. How we didn’t end up freezer meat I will never know. By the grace of God, for a couple girls that never met a stranger, is my best guess; Because we definitely were not making safe or smart choices. We had way too much in common to not take risks.

Mom had every right to ask questions. She was right. I was 14. Need I say more?

No matter what life did or didn’t do. I saw and felt moments where our parent’s loved us more than they loved themself. To a fault. In fact, I’m pretty sure ghost’s haunt my mom and keep her paralyzed today. They definitely did my dad.
I only say that because I’m a lot like my mother and my father. I made many of her and his same mistakes. No offense Mom, Dad.
I’m older now.
I get it.

Again, Lynn Rilean are you lying?
Mom, “NO.”
I always knew it was getting messy if the middle name came out.

Do I think she believed me? No. Do I think she could have done thing’s differently in order for me to have been honest?
Not really. No.

Do I think she really genuinely cared? Yeah I do. Was I going to make it easy on her either way? No. Not at all.

Who wants to look mom in the eye and tell her they had sex. It’s so personal.
In fact, if I tell her, she is going to tell him ( The Step Down ) and he will take one look at me and tell me I’m just a worthless whore.
“No,” Mother I did NOT lose my virginity at a party last night.

Now, do I think from the beginning of childhood, thing’s could have went a little different?
Maybe losing my virginity to a drunk guy with a drunk 14 year old me would not have been so cool?

I don’t know.
He said he loved me. At the time that felt better than anything else. I don’t even remember the sex.

But yes, could life have gone a little differently, I think that’s a possibility.

Do I think Church would have made it better?
Not the church we went to. That’s for damn sure. Do I think all church is bad? No. Did I then? Absolutely, eventually grew to hate the two we bounced back and forth from.
I got to see inside TOO much.

Church has came so far today and I can’t help feel the new churches we have available now were built to bring in the crippled spirits from some of those poisonous snakes.

Aside from a Godly or not so Godly~

Do I think a consistent childhood with two loving, nurturing, attentive, thriving parents would have made a difference?

Good question.

Honestly I don’t know what defines that above which makes a childhood picture perfect.

As parents, I think a lot of us just give it our best shot and hope it isn’t over or under done.

Although unfortunately ~ Skeletons are everywhere.

I had too many friends who dressed to the hilt, whose parents wanted to know every move they made, who hugged them goodbye every time they walked out the door, who prayed together daily or not and who promised the kids the moon.


Those same friends and relatives also carried the weight of many slaps to the face. Many bruises under clothing bought specifically to cover them up. Many lies. Many suicidal thoughts. Many plots of revenge at way too young of an age. Many moments filled with prayers that felt pointless once they returned home, yet again, to take more from the picture perfect life the world thought they lived in.
Talk about skeletons in a closet.
If you have none consider yourself, um, blessed and a rare breed?

Okay. The end.

That sums up 9th grade right?


Not even close.

In fact sex didn’t happen until after the worst part of being a teenager that year.

What I would give today for sex to have been the sucky part.

I look back and I see sex was indeed the solution to a problem. The ease to a pain. The piece to a missing part. The glue for a broken heart. The tissue for tears. The band-aid for the blister on your heel. The cure to the colic. The waking from a dream verses a nightmare.

Best Holiday in years.
Dad is coming.
No matter what resentment we may have had towards our parents, as adults we know they loved us. Maybe confused about it as kids but loved us nonetheless. Different memories we each have.

~When the last picture really is the last picture~
We may not have got to say I love you.
But he knew.
He knew that with all his heart.

I think my message will always be not to take advantage of the words I love you.

Shopping. Holidays. Decorating trees.
Pretty sure the only smell that lingered was the smell of beans and cornbread. Maybe because we didn’t have much money or simply because, no offense, that’s what seemed to be the pot roast of Oklahoma.

Today, I order bean-less every thing and on purpose. Not because they can’t be made to taste good; Because, while we gagged, they giggled.

Don’t get me wrong, they made different stuff sometimes, but NOTHING was ever going to be as good as a pot roast cooking in the oven back home in Gramma Greats kitchen.

Before you hit me with the “At least you had food,” believe me when I say, I can eat commodity cheese with the best of them.

But BROWN BEANS sucked.

Don’t recall much of December 1988; Other than Dad was coming to see us.

Talking with my siblings, none of us remember that entire visit.


Greyhound bus station, yet again, here we come.

Dad will be stepping off the bus this time.
He loves us. He missed us. He is sober and finally, he is here.

Douglas Lee Nill

One thing that will always be the same is that we all share a loss.

The loss of our Dad.

All 3 of us kids have different memories of that December. Respectively so. We each live today with our own truths.
Our own ideas, dreams, goals and lifestyles.

That December took something away from us.

You can’t put death in a box with a bow and call it a gift. Not even at Christmas time.

My sister and I had just walked inside from a walk we took; Shopping for a few gifts from McCory’s, which was basically todays Dollar General. Odd the things I remember. Cheap, chocolate covered cherries and cream drops. ( Gross ) but someone was getting them as a gift.

While people everywhere around us were gathering, singing, Rock Around the Christmas Tree, drinking hot cocoa and praising the Lord; We were gathered too, but in my bedroom to have a talk.

Mom was in her pink fuzzy bathrobe and it was very obvious she was crying. Why would she be crying on Christmas Eve?

Dad had already came and gone. Sort of. That will all be better explained in the book.

He had places to go and other people to see. He would be back though. That was a promise.

In the spring he planned to pick us up and take us north to visit other members of our family.

I did love his dreams.

We were all going to fly. That thought scared me, but I also couldn’t wait. I had missed him so much.

I didn’t have my sisters side of the story then; Even though she was back with my brother and I.

I can’t tell her version as my own because I wasn’t there with her for part of it. She got to see a side of Dad that my brother and I did not.

What I will tell you now is that he came to Oklahoma to see us kids, after having been to rehab. He had been advised to have a little more sober time before heading our way, but he wanted to see his kids. Who wouldn’t?

He came, we all visited, it was every emotion in the book for me, and everyone else there and for those he had left in Spokane, and later evidenced those emotions were even harder for him.

I knew he was not staying for good, but he changed his return ticket to leave even sooner. I only understand why now, having been in similar shoes. It made NO sense at the time though.

I at least got a halfway goodbye hug. Halfway, because when you are angry at someone you leave a little of the love out. I do regret that. That’s why I say never take advantage of an opportunity to say I love you.

He had every intention of leaving and not saying Goodbye.

I only know this was the plan, because I walked in to step grandma’s house and saw Dad sitting hunched over his green duffle bag with his stocking cap on, as if he was ready to go somewhere. Surprised and even sadder that I just walked in.

Goodbyes hurt.

Needless to say, he did what he did, and ventured off alone in a new town instead of getting on the bus. Only later to get on a bus AGAIN, but on a different date and under different circumstances. ( all of those bits and pieces will be in the book )

This blog entry isn’t really about sex as much as it is about what I, personally tried to use to fill a void.

A very big, confusing, ugly void.

I was 14 for goodness sake.

How could there have been anything good about sex?

The 3 D’s.

Death. Divorce. Date Rape.

You never really see how far you have came until you look back for revision.

Those ghosts do not haunt me anymore but I am still getting use to not walking on the eggshells they left behind.

I’d like to say the ghosts quit chasing me.
Not the case though.
It was more like a mental exorcism.

I still occasionally check under the bed; Nothing but dust lives there now.

Ghosts? What ghosts?

Now I just get to write about them.

I get to genuinely smile.
I get to be grateful.
I get to feel purpose.
I get to do things because I want to not because I have to.
I get to be present, mind, body and soul with my friends and loved ones.

I care more about having peace then I do about being right. When I let you have the debate with an okay, it is not sarcasm. It is genuinely not worth my serenity. I like to be right with the rest of you. Just not near as often. It matters less then ever before.

Writing to me is what rain is to the flowers.
I put a lot of hours and research into some of it and a lot of it, I know by heart.

~ Beauty in your own backyard ~
Patio box flower 2020

I hope by what I choose to share that someone else may feel hope when life feels hopeless.

So that someone suffering from extreme anxiety can trust that the dark side isn’t the most logical choice or if they’re there already, that they know they are not alone.

I do not know everything about grief, pain, loss, alcoholism, addiction, or life. I never will.

What I do know is that no amount of Sex, Drugs, Booze, Bulimia, Rap music, Rock-n-Roll or The Old Rugged Cross can ever go as deep as the hole in a soul of a daddy’s girl, whose dad is gone forever.

It’s a hole that has taken many years to dig out of.

You do not have to be 6 feet under to feel buried alive. You just have to remember you have a shovel in your hand and a few good people to remind you it’s there~ Lynn R. Smith

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

Men Down

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

We categorize life events, and experiences. Trying to organize them into tiny boxes that are busting at the seams. For me I just need bigger boxes.

Our Seagulls were Sailor’s
Dedicated to Doug and Sput Nill
Bad Company Seagull extended album – YouTube

Life and Death.

We know the only guarantees we have are that we will live and ultimately die.

We know sometimes good people leave way to soon.

Not so good people get free passes all the time.

That’s what it feels like anyhow.

When we lose a loved one, our heart’s want more. Why them? Why now? Often we know the answer. Our minds just have to go through the grieving process.

This writing piece is close to my heart and was prompted by yet again, a photo.

Douglas Lee Nill and Darwin Sputnik Nill
~Two of Life’s Sailors~

I titled this “Men Down” because they did serve our country. There are photos of them during their time serving. Proud and honorable.

I am writing this today in hopes someone will read it and relate. Feel it, and forgive. Hear it, and maybe heal. Maybe this is just for me? I don’t know. I feel them here as I write. They tell me to remember that no one is perfect, and that no one gets out of here alive. To live while I still can. To write what I know and feel in my soul.

The two men that I have pictured above were two of the good guys caught in a storm. My dad and my Uncle Sput. If they were still here I’m sure they could still recite the Navy’s Code of Conduct. Not to forget the 11 Sentries. ( See at the end )

These two sailors of the United States Navy stood in line with other new recruits to get that first military haircut, receive the inoculations, and stand for clothing check.

Douglas Lee Nill in line for his Military hair cut.
1972 Company 347 Recruit Training Command San Diego, Ca.

Sail away, sail away, sail away.

They trained for storms. They trained for rough waters. They knew at any moment thing’s may become unpredictable.

I can’t speak of the exact experiences they had while serving. All I know is the honor for any of us who love them to know they stood up and made a decision to enlist.

What happened out there? What seas did they sail? How crowded were the berthing quarters? How long will it be before they have mail call? Packages and letters from loved ones making the seas bearable.

These two served the minimum, with no desire to make a life out of the Navy. They went, they made it back home.

I have to wonder who they were before and who they became during that time. Who went out to sea and who returned?

Douglas Lee Nill
His photo is marked with an x.

I have read and watched movies. I have listened to my elders share stories of time served. I have heard many different experiences, from proud, to permanently scarred. Some new strengths as well as some brokenness. Many of tears have been shed as I feel everything so deeply.

I was never brave enough to stand and just let someone yell at me without breaking down into tears. The men and women of and in the military truly are the muscle, the back bone, the brave and the strength of America. Thank you all for your service.

I chose these two sailors as my main focus because they come from the same bones that built me and my siblings. They were two brave men. I remind myself that when I feel fragile or weak.

I think they got off of the ship with a different vision, and that all they could see was the bottom of the deep blue sea. Let’s face it. I’ve never had what it takes to endure that of what a sailor or soldier endures. Have you?

These guy’s made it home, had wives and made babies. The all American dream. Right?

Newspaper clipping
The announcement of my Mom and Dad’s wedding.

The storms they trained for at sea, unfortunately not preparing them for the storms they would face years later.

Divorce, death, drunk, and even fought with a war on Drugs.

No branch of the military prepared you for those storms you may face later. We have hopefully came a long way since then.

What I see now as I take a look back; Both of these men were someone’s son, brother, father, grandson, cousin and friend. They were heroes to those who loved them.

Delores Rilean Johnson Nill
They were her son’s.

I know these 4 sailors personally. No matter the roads they took that were all quite different, they were once braver than I’ve ever been.

Four Brothers
From left to right
Sput, Doug, Dwayne and Kevin Nill
All Served in The United States Navy
RIP Doug and Sput.

You never know the value of a moment until that moment is all you have.

For Douglas Lee Nill Written by Brother Dwayne Nill 12/28/88

You can take the Nill away from Spokane, but you can’t take Spokane away from the Nill.

Have a blessed weekend.

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean


I’ve also attached this link to a short documentary. I was surprised how absolutely little I knew about the Navy.

Thank you to The Drive and Author Tyler Rogoway for the hard work you put into the above share.

~ 11 General Orders to Sentry


Orders to Sentry is the official title of a set of rules governing sentry duty in the United States Armed Forces.

1. To take charge of this post and all government property in view.

2. To walk my post in a military manner, keeping always on the alert, and observing everything that takes place within sight or hearing.

3. To report all violations of orders I am instructed to enforce.

4. To repeat all calls from posts more distant from the guard house than my own.

5. To quit my post only when properly relieved.

6. To receive, obey, and pass on to the sentry who relieves me all orders from the Commanding Officer, Command Duty Officer, Officer of the Deck, and Officers and Petty Officers of the Watch only.

7. To talk to no one except in the line of duty.

8. To give the alarm in case of fire or disorder.

9. To call the Officer of the Deck in any case not covered by instructions.

10. To salute all officers and colors and standards not cased.

11. To be especially watchful at night and during the time for challenging, to challenge all persons on or near my post, and to allow no one to pass without proper authority.

Thank you Jennie Nill Tate and Patty Nill. This entry would not have been possible without your help.

9/11/01 ~ Deserves Better than Today.

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

***Update*** True Stories and Children’s books for the win. I’m proud of the respect this post was given but I most definitely did not enjoy writing it as much as the other’s. Note to self. If it don’t feel good, don’t do it.


We came together as one.
No matter what you believe.
That day we were United.

We lost our loved ones to terrorism.

There was barely a word mentioned of that today, on any channel or radio station.
Alexa didn’t even interrupt like she did when we were saying HIS NAME. GF. No disrespect.

But you will likely find that offensive for whatever reason because that’s who people are becoming.


What made that day on 9/11 so different then our world here now?

I’ll tell you.

We were NOT trying to kill each other.

We were all in agreement then, and it was easy to be that way.

Not one of us stood tall for terrorism or hate crimes against our country.

The AMERICA we are now, is dividing and destroying itself.

How many commercials interrupted our football games about the lives of those who died in 9/11?

How many commercials did we watch telling us about the children that survived the molesting from trusted priest’s mattered?
What about that justice? Did it just not really MATTER that much?

What about a commercial for Gabriel Hernandez?
Remember him? Do you even know who that is?

Why aren’t the football players helmets wearing that young boys initials? GH
He never caused anyone any harm.
Never made it to an age to even go to jail or make a mistake, let alone rape someone.

“Lynn, just turn the other cheek,” they say.

My reply back.

Lynn says, “she has a cheek that you can kiss.”

How about stop destroying our homes and killing our own people?

There is division and war now.

Because ONE man met a bad cop, which by the way, if you follow, you know his own family does not agree with the mass destruction in the world today caused by that horrific day.

You are going about change the wrong way.

Take off your glasses and look around.

A parent who gives children free reign to run a muck and have no guidance or discipline is not parenting to protect the children.

Some people saying the President should step down because everything is his fault.

What kind of flying monkey shit is that?

Political puke post~

A ~The President looks after all of us like a parent.

B ~ I’m actually stepping out of my comfort zone here and getting political, (breaking my own rule ) , but the chiefs game last night is the straw that broke the camels back for me.
I’m voting for Trump because I’m scared to death for our future if I don’t. Sorry NOT SORRY.

Great game for the very few minutes I saw of it, because then I chose to sleep and I plan to sleep through the rest of this football season.

Fans booing during unity of teams.


Those fans are not helping with team spirit at all, and the commercials are not helping either.

Your messages are poisoning ALL children now, not just a couple children with your stray bullets.

It’s just a gross joke now.

No one knows what is what anymore, and football looks like puppets on a broken string with a fat bank account.

All of that in the A and B above ~ I feel from head to toe.

Now, for C.

I feel C in every breath I take.

C ~ There are plenty of people with a ton of money bitching about BLM etc. ,All lives Matter, and yada yada.

Taking Nancy Green and her legacy and making her a joke. Shame on you.

Fighting for this and that change.

Loaded fat bank accounts, which by the way that only color is green. In case you’ve missed that.
So why are people still looting to feed their children?

Put your money where your mouth is.

All of it, if it helps feed starving children?

You talk big until you have to actually face giving everything you have away to help make a real difference.

Or buy them some Nikes?
Adidas or whatever other name brand floats your fancy.

Money talks to football talent but not to the kid asleep under the bench whose Dad dumped him there.

I’m saddened by the language money talks.

I’m saddened by the confusion in children who don’t understand why the men that they see as super hero’s to them don’t have masks on yet we are all required to.

I’m saddened that millionaires and billionaires talk a lot of shit but that mental health systems run short of funding.
I’m saddened gang violence is still killing children and that more protection isn’t available for victims of domestic and sexual abuse.

I’m saddened that the junkie on the corner is looked upon as a shame, and not a heartbeat.

I’m saddened that my relatives fought in the military, and all they fought for is being ripped away from purple hearts.

I’m saddened that such a beautiful place to live has become such a mass fail.

I’m saddened all Harriet Tubman fought for is not worth anything she fought for.

I’m saddened you have tried to steal the love, respect and admiration of all those who fought for us ALL to be here today.

Sure you can take that statue but your behavior will always disgust me thinking for any second that we had not came far enough to be better people then this.

Too damn far.

I get it.
Everyone wants rights and equality.

But if we keep killing each other there will not be anything left to make right or equal.

After this entry ~ I am not full of rainbows and butterflies or glittery vomit.

I’m sick from what I saw on television last night. Not because no ones life matters; Because it is obvious that money matters most.

I’m just glad in my heart that there is a Heaven, and that I’m doing this thing called life better; Because I will be much happier in Heaven then I’ll ever be if Joe Biden becomes President.

You can have whatever you want, and whoever and whatever lifes you want to make matter.

At this point all I know in my heart of hearts is that HEAVEN MATTERS MOST.

PS ~

If Joe Biden tried to smell my hair now especially that I’m an adult, I would most definitely kick him in his nuts.

Update ~ This entry was a stat test.

I would never share my political points of view. I truthfully love people too much and I know it is a major divider of family and friends. I also still do not know enough about either side to give a thorough talk of the talks with anyone. I do have my opinions etc, but who doesn’t. I listen and nod A LOT. I filter, I process and I do the research which allows me to come up with my own view. This post was created to see what topics get more views. I’m honestly quite proud to say I’ll never be writing for politics. It doesn’t get as much notice as a true story. I do feel sad about some of this blog entry, don’t get me wrong. I can’t help it. I am a “ CARING”. person. That’s what I care to remember everyday. We can be respectfully be on an opposite team and still head home together at the end of the day.

True Stories and Children’s books here I come.