Where Do They Go

Where Do They Go

— Read on plumsakeandpot.com/2020/10/04/where-do-they-go/

Updated post~ Where Do They Go

Where Do They Go

Where Do They Go?
©️2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

Where do people who have no-one go?

** No-one? What do you mean?
Someone is always there for someone else.

No. No. No. That is a lie. Homeless people are everywhere. That means they have no-one.

** I can see that you see it that way.

I don’t believe all those people that are homeless have no-one.
Someone has likely sat by the telephone waiting for the phone to ring because the husband, son or brother they remember chooses to sleep in the cold instead of accepting a hand out of it.
Someone likely cried themself to sleep tonight because on the way to bed they passed a family photo that hangs in the hallway. A photo of a time when everyone came together for the same thing. Now one is missing. Maybe two. They can’t seem to make it back home and possibly now never will.

What do people who don’t want to live do when they have no-one they can talk to?

** No-one? What do you mean? Someone is always there for someone else.

No. No. No. That is a lie. Depression is a silent killer. It takes good people away from us everyday because they don’t have anyone to talk to about it.

** I can see how you see it that way. I don’t believe all those people who choose death actually intend to die. I believe they have a deeper meaning in the act of death. That meaning being LOVE. They want it. They don’t feel it. They can’t survive without it. Something has disconnected and they can’t put it back together. They grew so weary and in the moment made a choice. The choice happened to not involve anyone else. It couldn’t. It’s hard to see through fog. You have to move very slowly. Like wearing a blindfold. Praying what lies ahead of you won’t be even more heartbreaking.

Fog? What do you mean fog?

** Depression is fog. Trauma is fog. Guilt is fog.
Loss is fog. Alcohol, and addiction are fog. Divorce is fog. Child custody is fog. Unemployment is fog. Abuse is fog. Mental illness is fog. Death is fog.

Mental health is very foggy. Loss of loved ones, loss of life in general, and tragedy, may be the foggiest of them all. Practically paralyzing.

It’s easy for us to sit back and ask why when our life seems to make sense.

The thing is, we’re all so quick to pass out judgement bucks.
Instinctively we know our life is good so another person should be able to do and have that same thinking. Possess the same abilities to keep their heads up and move forward through tough times.

If only that was how it worked.

Less mom’s would bury children, and less children would bury parent’s gone too soon. Less families would get torn apart and fought for in front of a judge and less people would turn to drugs and/or alcohol. Less children would cry themselves to sleep and less daddies would wonder where it all went wrong. Less grandparents would be the ones raising their children’s children and less children would be forced to be the adult.

I can go on and on about that topic but I won’t. I understand that today we make choices. Addiction is a demon. If your loved one’s didn’t make it back, that is why. There was a time I didn’t understand that. So best I don’t over speak right now because it’s an entire entry in itself.

** When do people ever get to go back home when they have no-one waiting on them or no where left to go?

No where left to go? No-one waiting on them? That’s a big question now isn’t it? So big I can’t begin to fill it with answers you would want to hear. At least not the kind of answers that will satisfy your heart full of hope. Your heart full of compassion. Your heart that always sees the good and the potential in everyone.

I will try to sum it up for you though.
Give me just………just a moment to rewind my life.

I can speak from experience and from all the pieces of me that had to be put back together.
I just need to feel them briefly. So I can make sure the words come out right.

I…………I………I don’t know why I got second chances. I don’t know what I did that got me back on track when I was so obviously and obliviously derailed. I don’t know where the things I chose to do became more important than my family. My babies. Me. I don’t know what my brain and my body were doing as they worked together and against each other.
I……….I………I wanted it to all go away. To not torture myself anymore. To not be misunderstood. To not hurt anyone anymore with my unsatisfactory choices. To not continue such confusing, painful, bitter behavior. To not keep re-living painful images every time I closed my eyes. To not keep hurting those that love me.
I….I knew within me that somethings may never be the same again. Could I live with that? I also had to lay there, in my misery and make a choice. For whatever reason I got another chance to do that. To decide. Life or death. Drunk or sober. Warm bed or cold concrete floor. Home or homeless. Ultimately I made choices that got me there. Was I willing and capable of making a choice to get me out? Honestly, I don’t have the answer. I don’t think I could answer in such a way it would satisfy your question.
I will tell you this though.
I am not sure where my hope came from. But I had some. Little. But still some, nonetheless.
Did it come from the bible? Probably more than it did the bottle. Yes.
Did other people offer it to me? Hope. Yes. Had those same people quit praying and having a shred of faith for me I would likely not be hear to answer your questions.

Why you? Why do you think you got to have a good life again while others roam aimlessly seeking shelter from the cold? Why aren’t you dead? Why did you get a do-over?

** I can easily answer that one for you.

It wasn’t my time to go.
That’s the only thing that kept me here. That’s the only reason I cry myself to sleep at night praying for those I love to come back home. I did. Why can’t they? Why didn’t he?

I believe I have a purpose.

I’m still here because I’m supposed to share how painful it is to keep being kicked when you’re down. I’m still here to tell someone not to give up. To remember loving from a distance is hard but ultimately that gigantic sacrifice is worth it. I’m still here to hold a hand, pay for a goodnight sleep for you and answer the phone when you need someone to talk to because no one else will answer. That’s why I’m still here. That is why so many of us are still here.

That’s the legacy I want to leave behind. That’s the real life story I intend to tell you when you call and ask me when, where, why or how.

That is what I want my children to never forget. In fact, that’s what I love seeing in my children in this very moment of our lives. They love and see potential first. They hate to see a man down. To a fault sometimes.

In my heart and soul I believe they will carry a powerful message with them for the rest of their lives. A message of hope. A message of forgiveness. A message of endurance and strength. It will often feel like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. They will tell you without a grandmother who loved them unconditionally they wouldn’t be the men they are today. They will also tell you that you have a heart of gold and not to give up. They will tell you that you will have deep seeded anger towards people you feel let you down, your parents, family members, friends etc. but that you can move through all of that. They will tell you that no, maybe they weren’t in your shoes but the shoes they wore still hurt bad sometimes. They will always offer you a hand up. Probably more than another person would’ve. They will also love you harder and more strongly than anyone has ever loved you, and they will mean it with every fiber they are made of. I didn’t necessarily want to pass down that trait to them because often it can be a heavy quality. But I would much rather have raised children that love so much it hurts than to raise a child that isn’t allowed to have feelings of their own.

How did these questions all end in you talking about your children?

** My children are my legacy. My children are the grandchildren to beautiful people. The nephews to some amazing men, the cousins to a soldier, the husband to a wife, father to a child and the brothers to each other. If I leave them with anything I want them to know about the times that will get tough. The inner strength they have as they may have to face a mad dog more than once. That mad dog may even be them staring back in the mirror. That’s the thing. They have to be able to face that image. Those images that may haunt them someday.

No one prepared me for those times. I didn’t hear thing’s like I put them into words today for someone to read. Brutal and un-sugar coated.

I want to leave a note behind that can last lifetimes across my family tree. Sure. It is in the DNA. I get that. But ultimately I make a choice. You make a choice. Choose wisely. Before it can’t be undone. You may face a no come back zone. That zone is almost always detrimental if you cross into it. I’ve witnessed it. Family, friends, loved ones dear to my heart. In non fiction books and movies based on true stories.

So often we put a mad dog down quickly. Take it to the pound and wish it away. Like it hasn’t a heart beat.

There’s evil and there is lost. Those are two different things.

What once was lost can be found. Like the song sings.

Like a mad dog sitting in a shelter rescued by someone willing to try to love and nurture it against all odds. Some make it. Unfortunately some do not.

I’ve often wondered where they go too.

I often repeat the serenity prayer. Both out loud and in silence.

The hardest part for me is and has always been the last part.

The wisdom to know the difference.

I believe in God. I also believe in choices. I believe that God is love and that love works miracles.

I believe our stories are already written in the stars above when we are born, and that what we choose to believe is where we are able to find and have inner peace.

If I didn’t believe like that, then once upon a time when a supposedly earthly, heavenly preacher gave my mother some advice regarding my alcoholic father, I’d be living and believing that my father was burning in hell. There is nothing peaceful about a thought like that.

I believe in the good first. I have to. Forced with having to make those same decisions as my mother did once, I would go back and do it differently. I believe that. I believe that on purpose. I believe that is my purpose.

It’s not my purpose to let the elder ones tame me. It’s not my purpose to let the ones who walked before me make my decisions. It’s not my purpose to do anything other than love you where you are at. If I can make you smile that’s just an added bonus. Sit with you through what you are feeling. Through the good times and the bad times. Plenty of other people will close the door on you so you can hit a bottom. Learn a lesson. I get that. They have to. I did that. I had to.

Robin Williams ~ The man who knew how to love and shine a light at the end of a dark tunnel.

Today, I don’t.

Today I can sit there until you can laugh again.

Today I’ll take your hand. Today I’ll see you through. Tomorrow is another day and I’ll be there for that one too.

I have to be the calm center.
The eggshells cause too much anxiety.
When I’m absent that is why.
If I’m missing please know I’m safe.
If you call I’ll find a way.
If you need me I’ll choose to stay.
Be patient as I recharge.
I’ll be there.
I just need to catch my breath.

Where Do They Go?
©️2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

Reference below about homelessness numbers.

7 Facts About Hunger and Homelessness You Should Know

Angels have Jean Pockets

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

This story combines an experience with answers to some of my why.

I am narrating from my perspective, my beliefs, and my heart. I’m telling this true story because it is critical to me that we pay better attention to how we treat people. How we leave someone else feeling. How what we do today can make a difference to someone else in a positive way. No. Maybe they can’t see it yet. But my only job is to be the proof. Lead by example. It’s possible to stay upright in very windy conditions with a strong anchor. A heavy base. A good structure.
Join me today as I share with you.

Colorado or Bust. Adventure with Us. Pockets. Do you Mind. Angels Wings. So many different title options for this entry. I chose ‘Angels have Pockets’ based on the feeling I want to leave you with at the end of this read.

I hope you enjoy.

Leaving home never felt so good.

Let’s go. No questions asked. Pack a few bags and just leave.

So we did. From pajamas to presentable, we were on the road within an hour. Off to see the sister. The wonderful sister of…… Okay. Okay. Off to see Jennie, Steven, Sydney and Loki.

Don’t forget to feed the fish. Omg. What about the cats?

Knock, knock, knocking on neighbors door.

Would you mind checking on our fur and fin kids while we take a mini vacation?

Of-course we don’t mind. We enjoy seeing those cats.

Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.

Peace out Missouri.

Zoom, zoom, zoom.

Colorado here we come.

*Things my husband said driving in Kansas*

“Someone’s got a lot of money in fence.“
“Look, there’s nothing out here.”
“Damn, it’s 89 degrees out here.”
“Yep. I meant to do that.”
“Hey, a billboard.”
“At least we have food signs now.”
“Look! It’s 90 degrees. I didn’t think I would see that again until next year.”
“Damn, I was doing great until road construction!”
“Do me a favor honey and take your mask off.”
“Oops, He just got him one.”
“Look at those windmills would ya.”
“Yes. We’re in Salina. Salina Kansas.”

*Made it*

Brother-in-law awaits us at 11:30 p.m. He wakes Jennie. She stumbles down the hallway. Surprise. Sister says a few choice words as the visit was unexpected. No one wakes her after 9 pm unless there is a fire. Well, unless you’re the big sister showing up at damn near midnight . You can only imagine the choice words she spoke. The hug made the words disappear though. Wow. She’s vicious, I giggle as I write.

My ribs hurt. My heart is full.
An over due dose of belly laughs. An over due dose of unconditional love. I think those things are important. Critical. A necessary necessity.

How can time go by so fast? Slow down. We’re all getting older and still have so many things we want to do.

What a beautiful weekend we had. Family and a friend who’s family, all together. These are the moments I live for. My niece, aka my music teacher. She always has a new band for me to fall in love with. Can’t forget Loki. The beautiful black dog that doesn’t care if I say her or him because love is enough and I love that darn dog.

It was not until Saturday morning lying so comfortably on an air mattress that I knew why we left in such a hurry and so sporadic on Friday. ( no air mattress is ever comfortable) But in that moment it was the most comfortable bed I’ve ever rested on. I felt that I could sleep there every night for the rest of my life. (I would probably upgrade to a mattress pad one day but nothing mattered like the peaceful feeling that consumed me)

It will be a quick two days. But I’ll never forget them.

The heart knows what the heart needs. Our hearts needed them. That was evident as I sat among my sister, brother-in-law and husband on the back patio of their Colorado home.

Since I met my husband, we have lived. There’s no denying that. We have laughed, and we have cried. Truly, we have loved and laughed more than anything else we’ve done. Maybe just the timing. I don’t know. What I do know is what we have in common. That is not taking our day’s for granted. We are nice people. If we get mad or upset with you that means you have reached a level of disrespecting us we refuse to tolerate.

How we live and what we consider living, may not be the kind of living that romantic flights to Paris may be considered. But we have lived nonetheless. So much so, and in such a short amount of time.

How is it even possible to cram so much good into only a couple of years? I’m still living that part so maybe I’ll be able to update this page one day. Write an entire book about the things yet to come. Anything’s possible.

My kind of Royal T

I deeply believe when a soul’s been missing pieces, the right people fit perfectly. Like birds of a feather that flock together. A piece to a puzzle that was lost in the couch cushions. Found. What was broken, now put together.

This morning, under the sunshine that snuck through a tall pine tree, I saw the happiest husband in the world. I wish I could put that moment into words. I suppose it was one of those majestic moments that you just have to feel, see and memorize. His smile. That joyful grin. The look of peace he was wearing. I’ll never forget that look as long as I live.

Dusty with Loki~ The Magic Dog

That’s why this trip happened. To remind us that life can be serious and it can be fun. It can be full of adventure one day and nitty gritty the next. But if we could all just lighten up a little bit that would be great.

Too damn serious. But a girl has to eat.

I say that like I’m complaining but if it weren’t for a pair of cranky pants, this trip may have not happened. Okay. Go ahead. Carry on. Be a jerk. Maybe we’ll take more trips because of it. Just kidding. Or am I?

Indeed, I have no clue how stressed anyone else is. Maybe someone is having a bad day. I don’t know. Not my circus therefore not my monkey. I try to use that to limit what I allow in my life.

I know truly, madly, and deeply that I don’t get a re-do. I’m 46. I’ve been a jerk more than my fair share. Not the me I am today. Not the me I want you to remember. Not the me that enjoys life.

I don’t have to be a jerk. You don’t have to be a jerk. More importantly, I don’t have to accept you treating me less than I treat you.

Think about it. How do you want to spend what could be your last day? Uptight? Blood pressure through the roof? Yelling, cussing, frenzied. I get it. We all get stressed. But do you really have to be a jerk? I am sorry to tell you this but that’s a choice. So don’t you dare get upset when someone decides that they aren’t going to accept the way you treat them.

We all have our days. I just can’t help believe we are capable of being much nicer people in general. Especially to one another. Go kick a brick or something if you’re mad. Something that has no heart. Something made up of concrete instead of feelings.

Do I wake up every morning in a good mood? No, I do not. I don’t always roll out of bed feeling peachy. When my feet hit the floor I often feel a zap in my sciatic nerve. On the way to the bathroom, I’m two left feet. Eyes glued shut from sleep gunk. No. I assure you that first morning pee is not full of glitter. In fact I feel a UTI coming on. Shit, is it a pulled muscle again? Ugh. Hard to differentiate at 5:00 am. I say “ugh,” more than I cheer some mornings.

I suppose I’ve reached a new level of Jumanji. Waking up in a good mood is possible.

Grandma always said, “You are going to sleep your life away.”

“Sure Grandma. Uh huh. Whatever.” said younger, know it all me.

Grandma was right though. I wish I could go back and have early morning coffee with her. Damn it. She was always awake early. She always appeared to be in a good mood. I now understand why.

I appreciate all the hours in a day that I get to be creative. I can’t do that sleeping. Hence, the change in my lifestyle.

Wake up and be a better person than I was yesterday.

Wake up and share the hour with my husband before he leaves to start his work day.

Wake up and watch the sunrise out my bedroom window.

Wake up and take a drink of coffee for Grandma.

Wake up and take a deep breath that I can feel from head to toe as I stretch myself more awake.

I can tell you, from the moment I realize I am awake, I am grateful. I have another opportunity to make memories. I don’t always say, “Thank you God.” But, I’m aware of the gift of a new day. I’m grateful to open my eyes and see my husband. My cat’s. I can’t wait to start the day and watch what I write make sense. Visit with friends and coworkers. Appreciate each one of them.

That’s truly my goal. Be the best me possible now. Not in a month or two. Not in a year. Not tomorrow. Today.

Live 80 years just to enjoy and appreciate 1, 2, 5, maybe 6 of them?

Appreciate the hummingbird bird floating around the big red canna flower out my back door in a few years because I’m too distracted and busy to see the beauty of it today?

Wait until I’m 71 to cruise down the highway and appreciate the sunrise peeking over the top of the rolling hills that lay in front of me?

I’m sorry friend, I can’t listen this morning. I have too many things to do. I’ll call you tonight or tomorrow.

Damn it. I’m so guilty of that. I use other things to stay so busy I don’t have to look at what is genuinely most important. You. Them. Us. Now.

Is that who I want to be? Is that my purpose? To be so busy creating my future, my retirement and a tomorrow I may never see that I can’t respect your time now? Today?

NO. I will not accept that.

I will do my best to genuinely mean my smiles throughout the day. My gratitude list will continue to grow. I will keep living and experiencing as many firsts as possible. When I hug you, I won’t take that hug for granted. When you share a story with me, I want to memorize it. When you smile as you speak of something you are passionate about, I want to paint that image across a mountainside. I want to give your passion my utmost respect, and honor it.

Everyone has either a full life ahead of them, a day, an hour or perhaps just one more second. If I don’t wake up tomorrow, I choose extra happy today because it’s possible I’ll never see you again. If that annoys you then that’s just on you. Not a weight I’m willing to carry any longer.

If I live to a ripe old age of ( be it any number ) I hope you can remember how happy I was. In fact, as we all grow older I hope we can inspire each other to literally live as if tomorrow may never show up. No guarantees.

Grateful for every new day? Is that really even a thing? It is when you make it to middle age like I am now. “Why?” you ask. Insert (Because I said so) here.

This out of nowhere trip to Colorado carved something into my heart like first crush initials deep in a tree.

Seriously. I can’t waste anymore time. I’ve already outlived my father and a daughter. I have been given an opportunity to show my respect to them by the gift of life. That idea came later and hit hard; But a gift nonetheless.

Them to me, “A Gift? Are you high? Drunk? Delusional? Pain is nothing like receiving a gift.”

You’re absolutely right. It’s not. Not your typical gift I suppose. It isn’t in a pretty package with a shiny bow. That’s for certain. It’s different. It’s like air. Like sight. Like a 7th sense. I wish I could bottle it up and give it to you. The only way I can advise you to get the gift I’m referring to is to not give up. It’s a gift that waits for you. There when you’re ready.

It’s the light you don’t see yet at the end of a tunnel. It’s the smile you will get when a cardinal appears. It’s the strength you use to get out of bed in the morning. It’s a hug you receive from a friend. It’s the penny you’ll see on the ground when you open your car door. It’s the random memory that pops into your head out of nowhere. It’s the new people you meet that embrace you like they have known you forever.

I admit it. Somedays I’m overly optimistic. Before judging that though, consider that I’m that way because being such a realist was too gloomy. I don’t want sadness to be the end of my story. I want my story to have a happy ending. In order for that to happen, I have to become the very ending that I want to have.

I intend to write that ending out from now to the very last page, by how I live. How I treat other people will define me. What I do everyday will become my signature. If I hiccup. I’ll face that, if and when it comes. No one is perfect. Right? Please tell me you understand that.

I understand there are days, weeks and hours that we have to take seriously. No light footing allowed. Nose to the grind. Jobs don’t get finished by nice guys. I suppose that’s true to an extent. I won’t reiterate my thoughts on this today. That will come another time. But I will share this. I believe being a jerk is unnecessary. What purpose does it serve? Can’t life be hard enough as it is sometimes? Why risk adding insult to injury for someone by being mean to them?

Life can feel like an eternity when each day is spent trying to tread through mud made of anxiety, tears and broken hearts. It gets heavy. It’s exhausting. I remember often wanting to fall flat into the mud and drown.

People threw ropes to me. Life lines. Hope and affirmations I wanted to vomit on. Angrily, weighed down and addicted, I tromped and I crawled. I got very tired but I held onto the thin thread of possibility that I could make it. I can only write this because I didn’t let go.

When we lose loved one’s, not everyone will show up feeling the joy in a celebration of life ceremony. Death is painful. It’s understandable that we can’t find our funny bones in such events. I promise you I understand that. I have kicked dirt on my fair-share of tombstones. I don’t want that to be the last memory you have of me. I don’t want your last memory of me to be broken.

If one day I am 80, I hope you’ll take me with you. One last hoorah. Be it in a book you write or a memory we have shared together.

Maybe I’ll repeat over and over again how I was never married because truly the man I am married to is too good to be true. I must be dreaming. Maybe I’ll think you are him and him, my son.

Maybe you’ll sit next to me on a park bench and I’ll tell you about the day my children were born. I’ll tell you how being their mother was the most monumental moments of my lifetime.

I want to hold your hand and watch a sunrise chase a sunset. Tell you all about the time I watched the moon play peek~a~boo in Colorado. Maybe I’ll repeat the story a thousand times because my age has taken its toll.

Peek~a~boo Sun
Kansas Sunset September 25th 2020

It terrifies me to know a day could come that I might not know the name of my children, my family, siblings, loved ones or friends.
If that day does come, I want you to remember something. Please. Remember this. I lived and I loved with every piece of me.

My mind may be disappear, diminish, and even play tricks on me. But my spirit has wings. My wingspan is vast, and full of pockets. Pockets that I carry you all in.

We all go through ups and downs. Such as life. What’s important is the turns. When we get shook a little sideways or knocked off track it helps to have people in our corner to remind us of what we’re made of. Your people. Made just for you. Those kind of people. You need them. They need you.

The people to remind us to quit white knuckling everything. To tell us the sun is a reminder we can be more kind. Telling us to remember to smile more. To help us never forget that the moon shows up to remind us to hold onto hope and pray more. To hold someone else’s hand and help them up more. To ultimately experience…….true love more.

Angels can have jean pockets right?
Garden of the Gods
Colorado September 26th 2020

Today, tomorrow and every day after that, I promise you this; My mind may forget it all. But, my heart and soul never will. My wings have pockets and there’s room for all of you.

Angels have Jean Pockets

2020 Smith, Lynn Rilean

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

Reference: https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-is-a-star-born/

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 Spokesman.com
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

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