The State I’m In

I enjoy words. 

Mottos are most charming. Especially the Latin ones assigned to places like states or schools.

Kansas, the last state where I lived before moving back to North Carolina, has a particularly poetic motto.

Ad astra per aspera.

The human story compressed and romanticized into four Latin words.

It means, “To the stars through difficulties.”

Imagine the weatherbeaten Kansan crying out across the dry expanse of the late winter’s field, “Ad astra per aspera! Ad astra per aspera!”

Yes, I am fond of the Kansas motto.

Missouri, the state where this blog was born, has a very practical motto. Salus Populi Suprema Lex Esto. Written just like that with the first letter of every word capitalized. Translated, “The welfare of the people shall be the supreme law.”

Did you hear the gavel drop at the end? Who needs an exclamation point when the staccato rhythm of the phrase declares itself unquestionable?

Missouri is, after all, the Show Me State.

Before Missouri, I lived in Illinois where the motto is simply, “State sovereignty, national union.” No time for flourish or verbs when there’s snow to shovel, a country to feed, and an industrial powerhouse to build.

Plain, unembellished English will suffice.

Of course Chicago, the city where I lived in Illinois, has its own Latin motto. Urbs in Horto, meaning “City in a Garden.”

While millions of lush corn and soybean acres perennially populate the rest of the state just steps outside the greater metro area, the Chicago Historical Society says the garden in Chicago’s motto refers to its own city parks.

Go figure.

Before Kansas, Missouri, and Illinois, I lived many yesterdays in North Carolina as a girl, a young woman, and a newlywed.

It’s where I live now.

Our motto reads like a wine label. Esse quam videri.

Our translation channels Shakespeare. “To be rather than to seem.”

Bravely, it begs the question, “Who are you?”

“Who will you be?”

“Are you the same inside as you seem to be on the outside?”

In the state I’m in, I’m not sure how to answer. Here, I trudge through memories thick as mud. The days fly in my face like the incessant Wichita wind. Worse come the life-altering changes that are unexpected, yet inevitable all at once.

But here I cope. I pick up to try again. To push through sadness. To get back to work. I remember the energy in the pace. Is it still there?

I pose John Calvin’s statement as a question, post tenebras lux?

“After darkness, light?”

Only one way to find out. 

* * *

…continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill His good purpose. Philippians 2:12-13 NIV

Now for our song. Funny, I thought the words were, “Try to live up to the state I’m in,” but the lyrics say otherwise. Still it fits: Air I Breathe by Mat Kearney.

Who are you and what’s your motto?

Japanese Keyword Hack Encounter

A mere 48 hours ago, all the words on this site appeared as Asian characters and all the images were of car tires. The good old blog had been hijacked by the Japanese Keyword Hack.

Now I don’t fully understand what the Japanese Keyword Hack is, but I know it’s real and real ugly.

seen at Mity Nice Bar & Grill, Chicago

Tuesday I received an email from Google Search Console that tipped me off something was awry. The great and powerful Google messaged me to announce a new owner had been added to my website.

New owner? 

Being the sole owner and creator here, I clicked over to discover the carnage.

I couldn’t read my blog, nor could I log on to it. The Google wouldn’t allow me to kick out the new owner it had so unceremoniously allowed in. Panic ensued.

An initial call to the company I pay to host my site yielded only frustration.

“We provide the hosting, not the security,” said the chipper rep. “It’s like renting a house. You pay us rent, but that doesn’t keep someone from breaking in.”

Okay.

“You need our protection plan,” he said. “It’s only $99 a month.”

Right.

“Is this a business site? Is it monetized? What’s it used for?”

Gulp.

This conversation continued its downward spiral with me trying to explain to him that this site is just a personal blog and it’s been dormant for years and I’ve toyed with scrapping it altogether and can’t they simply restore it with a backup and why am I paying them again anyway.

He wouldn’t budge off his sales pitch. So I politely told him I’d have to think about it. I hung up, convinced my blog was unrecoverable.

At first, this was a relief. I’ve debated with myself about what to do with this blog for the longest while. Years, actually. To write or not to write? To write here or elsewhere or nowhere?

Now it appeared the decision had been made for me.

My blog was dead.

I would bury this child. Say goodbye. Make a keepsake book from the backup posts on my hard drive. But walk away from the WordPress. Move on. Dot. Org.

That was Tuesday. By Wednesday, the loss started to set in.

This is a small, relatively insignificant blog. There are no bells and whistles. Only words and pictures without filters. And links. Interesting links to relevant Bible verses and songs I’d play if I was the DJ. Because this is how we roll.

There is no flash and dash. No celebrity kapow! to break the internet.

It needs to be updated. It needs a new permalink structure. It needs a focus.

It’s in a sad state. But it’s mine.

These are my words. My work. My little corner of the world wide web. So on Thursday, I called my hosting company again.

You know how they say it’s all in who you know? It’s also all in who you get on the phone.

not the japanese keyword hack

Thursday I was patched through to my hosting company’s contracted cybersecurity group. And it was a different story.

Yes, they’d seen the Japanese Keyword Hack before. Yes, they could fix it within a few hours. Yes, I needed more security, but no, it wouldn’t cost me anywhere near $99 per month.

I negotiated the 12-month contract down to six months of protection, and the cleanup began. By the end of the day, the blog was back.

Essentially, I’ve bought myself six months to figure out what to do with this tiny plot of online real estate. There are no guarantees, that’s for sure. I might not be here in six months. You might not be here.

And so very, very much has changed from when I last posted.

Is the internet safe? Is social media harmful? Is it wise for a regular person to keep a public web log? Does anyone do this anymore?

The Japanese Keyword Hack is afoot, and I’m sure it has friends. Its diabolical plan has been foiled here for now. Maybe it’s even done me a favor.

Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone? But sometimes you get a break. Best take it where it leads.

* * *

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23 NIV

This old world is rough, it’s just getting rougher. Cover Me by The Boss.

When were you given a break? What did you do with it?

Hiatus Continued

medium_3775478004
I am Italian. I cannot keep calm.

I have no goals. 

That’s what I told my husband. I’m Italian. Melodrama runs high.

“You do have goals,” he said. “You wanted to move back to North Carolina and you did.”

“Yes, but now what?”

Good question. You’d think I’d have figured out that detail in advance.

I love blogging, but my husband’s consulting business is growing. He needs me to take on a more public role in the company, at least for the next few months. Officially, I’m a Managing Partner.

So what becomes of the blog and the 50 other business and writing ideas I have rolling around in my head. Lots of women do both, work for pay and blog for free. Can I? Should I?

Blogging carries with it the urgency of social media to publish. Publish. Publish. Post something already. It reminds me of the toddler in the grocery store who must have the grossly overpriced, cartoon themed, neon colored fruit pops. NOW. How would the wise parent respond to said toddler?

In a word: no. In two words: not now. 

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frozen foods aisle

Easy advice to give, but following through feels like a huge, scary risk. It’s so stressful that I had to eat NC barbecue twice already this week as comfort food. I’ll be crowned queen of the Lexington Barbecue Festival come October.

What if you say no and the toddler throws a fit on the floor of the frozen foods aisle? What if she holds her breath until she passes out? What if she hates you?

What if she ignores you and you become irrelevant?

So be it. The wise parent remains in control. The smart mom thinks to herself, “That child’s not the boss of me!

The adult in the situation is able to say no, not now. Everyone survives and is usually better off for it.

What do people really get for all their hard work? I have seen the burden God has placed on us all. Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. Ecclesiastes 3:9-11 NLT

The Zombies Tell Her No.

Have you mastered the art of saying no?

in His time
in His time

FYI: I plan to continue blogging as a monthly contributor for Project Underblog. Please read my August post The What’s Next? Crisis of Blogging.

I also hope to continue to blog here, but I’m not telling you when because I don’t know when. The best way to see the stories I don’t know when I’ll publish is to subscribe for free updates on email. Follow the prompts in the top right sidebar to subscribe. Just do it.

photo credit: Storm Crypt via photopin cc
photo credit: shiilo75 via photopin cc

Chasing Fireflies

“I assumed everyone had fireflies,” said my friend. We stood on her porch at dusk watching my son spin and dart around her yard, chasing the tiny, mid-air pulses of light. “But they don’t. People are surprised to see them here.”

tree canopy
tree canopy

Growing up in the Piedmont region of North Carolina, I assumed the same. Fireflies are a given of summer. Since we moved back from the Midwest last month, I realize everyone doesn’t have them. Not the way we do here.

We didn’t have fireflies like this during our 16 years away. Chicagoland drowns them out with stronger, artificial lights. I vaguely remember them flickering in our yard in St. Louis, but that was rare. And their floating courtship didn’t stand a chance against the winds of Wichita.

Here they flourish. Waves of them parade through the night in the deep woods near our little rental house. We walk the trails in daylight and find them dark and hiding in the cool of the forest.

The first week we arrived, we walked those trails like destitute people who’d happened upon a cathedral. The rich green of thick vegetation flooded us. We took shelter under the canopy of tall trees. We breathed it in. An enchanted forest, steps away from our front door.

The dog refused to come into the house that first week. She would go out, but she wouldn’t come back in. The disruption of movers followed by driving across the country with my husband only to be met with movers again didn’t sit well with her. She’s adjusting; I still carry her back into the house some days.

Corinth
Corinth

My son and I made the drive incrementally from Wichita to North Carolina alone. We stopped along the way in interesting, important places: Oklahoma City, Little Rock, Memphis, Corinth and Shiloh, Chattanooga. People have asked if I was scared driving all that way by myself with a child. No, I wasn’t scared. I was thankful I could do it.

Once we were moved in, my husband hit the ground running with his consulting work. He’s very busy, and we’re grateful.

My son and I are taking things slower, exploring our way through the summer and adjusting much like the dog. I’ve seen only a  fraction of the many people I want to see. Sixteen years is a long time to make up for being gone. Some things have changed. Others haven’t.

“Do you have a to-go cup I can pour this Coke into?” I asked the man at the counter of the barbecue restaurant. I love North Carolina barbecue. Eaten it twice already since we arrived. It’s comfort food to me. Makes everything better.

“No, we don’t have no to-go cups.” The whites of his eyes flashed up at me from his downturned, brown face.

“Oh,” I said. Just like the city. No margin for courtesies. Then I caught his smile.

“Here you go,” he said, handing me a cup, punctuated with a belly laugh.

“You have quite a poker face,” I said and laughed with him.

“I also work in drug and alcohol law enforcement,” he said. “I need a poker face.”

Later that day, my son and I took to the woods again, this time on our bikes.

forest path
forest path

We zipped through the forest in late afternoon, cutting the humidity like a boat cuts water. Rain from the night before had overflowed the creek banks and shifted the sandy trails. We ducked off the path to maneuver around fallen trees whose soggy roots had given way. Our wheels spewed flecks of gravel as they spun around.

Soaked with sweat and water, we reached the turn to go back to the house.

“Do we have to go in?” said my son.

“We can ride more tomorrow,” I said.

Today is only the beginning.

 Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. Eccesiastes 3:11 NLT

For King and Country, Middle of Your Heart.

What has your summer held for you?

Like fireflies in a city, my posts have been rare this summer. Thank you for your readership and your patience as my family makes this major relocation.

Martha Stewart, image credit David Shankbone
Martha Stewart, image credit David Shankbone

My work as a Project Underblog contributor continues. In June, Martha, May I? was published, and in July, A Clinique Conspiracy Theory was published. A third post is on tap for August. I invite you to click on the titles to read these stories. If you blog, consider stepping out and submitting a story to Project Underblog for publication. They are a supportive, safe community of writers~#smallandmighty!

I plan to attend the BlogHer conference in Chicago next week. It promises to be a fun time with my blogger sisters. If you’re there, please contact me @AimeeWhetstine on Twitter so we can connect IRL.

You may remember Listening to the Women of Monsanto was published this past May as a BlogHer Original Post. It was a well-read story for me. What’s next? That’s the question I’ll ponder at the conference and beyond. I must remind myself, as do we all, today is only the beginning.

photo credit: david_shankbone via photopin cc

Time Out

Yesterday I locked myself out of the house. 

We still have a Supra box on the door. As I waited for the real estate agent to come rescue me, I realized it was the first time I’ve had to sit still in weeks.

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gone fishing, image credit: Pink Moose

The impending move, the end of school, the women of Monsanto post, the closing on our house… It’s high time for a time out.   

one never ages while fishing
one never ages while fishing 

Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, Who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt,because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. James 1:4-6 NIV

Summer Solstice by Susan Ashton.

What do you do for a “time out?”

photo credit: PinkMoose via photopin cc

Why I’m Glad School’s Out

I don’t know about you, but this year I’m ready for school to be out. 

fountain in burlington vt
one step at a time

Last year, I feared summer. Really what I feared was the loss of the school routine. What would I do with my son every day, all summer long? This year, that fear’s been replaced. Trumped by thoughts of the children lost at Sandy Hook and Plaza Towers.

I want my child home. With me. Where I can see him and hear him and hug him and know he’s safe. 

Truth be told, he’s probably not much safer at home than he is at school. I can’t protect him from all the dangers in the world any more than his teachers can. It’s just that these days this worrisome hesitation pulls at my heart when I send him off in the mornings. I kiss him goodbye knowing there are parents who did the same and never saw their children alive again.

I admit it. I’m powerless against murderous shooters, wanton bombers, natural disasters, accidents, and illness.

please drive slowly
we love our children

What’s a Momma Bear to do? 

The best I can. That’s what I’ll do. While he’s in my house and under my care—while we’re together—I’ll do the best I can and ask the sovereign God to help me trust Him with the rest.

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. 1 Peter 5:7 NIV

I can’t listen to this song without crying, but it fits the post. In My Arms by Plumb.

Parents, do you find yourself holding your children tighter these days? 

Brand New Day

I’ve written here before about May being like December because of its financial outlays. This year, May reminds me of December for other reasons, too.

rabbit, rabbit, image credit:
rabbit, rabbit, image credit: notsogoodphotography

There’s the over scheduling of events. End of school programs, concerts, field trips, parties, sporting events, conferences, graduations—all squeezed into a few weeks, just like at Christmastime. There are weddings, retirements, and going away parties. There’s May Day, Cinco de Mayo, Mother’s Day, and Memorial Day, not to mention the lesser known holidays like Candied Orange Peel Day, Frog Jumping Day, and Dance Like a Chicken Day. No kidding.

In some parts of the country (Kansas), the seasons are changing. The weather’s finally beginning to level out, if gale force winds can be considered leveling out. At least it’s sunny. Flowers bloom. Winter wheat fields turn from brown to green. Bunnies the size of my dog saunter about the yard. Nature’s in flux, pressing on to summer.

Add to that a stressful life event or two, like moving, and you could wind up dancing like a chicken. The one that flew over the cuckoo’s nest. Yes, change is stressful. Even good change is stressful. We’re allowed that, I think.

We go to sleep in some of the darkest winters of change. We wake up to clouds, gray, drizzle, snow, cold, bleh. Night comes again. Then gray. Then night. Then gray. Again and again. We get up. We sojourn on. Maybe for years.

Then one morning, a little light. The twinkle of an idea.

The whisper, “Hey, this could be the beginning of something beautiful.”

robin
robin, image credit: cruadinx

The next morning, a little more sun. The wink of possibility. The glimpse of a robin or a rabbit, rabbit, creature of habit.

Another morning, and the sky is the brightest shade of blue. The sun, oh, the sun is shining and we are warmed by it. Sweet promise of a brand new day.

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful. Hebrews 10:23 NIV

Hold On by Selah. Originally by Evie.

What are your hopes on this brand new day?

photo credit: notsogoodphotography via photopin cc
photo credit: cruadinx via photopin cc

Dodging Tornadoes

It’s not been the best of weeks. 

the perfect gift from Kansas
the perfect gift from Kansas

My house smells like cardboard boxes from packing. Stuff isn’t where it should be. I wonder if it ever will be again.

My thoughtful, kind, generous neighbors threw me a party. They gave me gifts from Kansas. I will miss these ladies. Our neighborhood has been one of the biggest blessings of our short time here. It’s hard to say goodbye.

Our son’s school and teacher this year have been huge blessings, too. His class performed a Salute to America program this week. They sang patriotic songs and gave speeches as famous Americans. They ended the show with a fitting quote from Ronald Reagan:

“I know that for America there will always be a bright dawn ahead.”

the stage is set
the stage is set

Could you just absolutely weep?

The program was noble and right and good. It’s what American elementary school students should be doing. I will miss this school. It’s hard to watch my child say goodbye.

A family member in North Carolina was unexpectedly hospitalized for most of the week. It’s nauseating to know that although we’re so close to being there, we’re not there now when we could possibly help. It’s hard to feel helpless.

I worked on writing a challenging assignment this week. Wrote my little heart out, or at least it seemed to me like I did, and I’m not sure it matters. The question of what will Aimee do when she grows up remains outstanding, unanswered, and flapping in the wind.

Life feels out of control and unsettled. So I wave my white flag.

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surrender, image credit: portobeseno

Not my will, but Yours. Not by my power, but by Your Spirit. Help me to trust that in my weakness, You are strong. I give You my worries because You care for me. Wrap Your care around me and help me to stand.

But those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint. Isaiah 40:31 NIV

White Flag by Dido is one of my favorite songs. I know she says she won’t wave a white flag and I just wrote I will, but neither of us is giving up, so there you go.

Who helps you dodge life’s tornadoes?

photo credit: portobeseno via photopin cc

Game Changer

red shoes
ruby slippers

What if you lost something.

Or it lost you. You knew it was lost when you left it, but you didn’t know the full measure of what the leaving meant.

Once you grasped the leaving and the loss, it was too late. There was no going back. You were certain you would never find it again and it would never find you.

Then one day, quite by surprise, there it was. You could see it in the distance. And all you could think was how to get to it.

Put on your red shoes and click your heels. It’s time to go home.

*  *  *

One Wednesday morning last October, I rounded the corner onto my street. Something was out of place. My husband’s truck was in the driveway.

A little background: my husband’s marketing prowess helped the company where he had worked in St. Louis to sell out of their product all three years he was there. That success in turn attracted a buyer to purchase the company. My husband was wooed to Wichita, family in tow, to lead marketing at the acquiring company. He was supposed to be at work, but he met me at the door.

tornado shelter sign
tornado shelter

“What’s wrong?” I said. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did you get laid off?”

“Yes.”

We’d been nine months in Wichita. Enough time to uproot a family, plop them down on the flat prairie of Kansas, cycle them through homesickness, new schools, new churches, new grocery stores, positive performance reviews, and one nasty tornado. Nine months in Wichita and they cut him loose.

I bought my ruby slippers when he still had a job. Little did I know, they were ripe for this journey.

*  *  *

Within weeks, colleagues called upon my husband as a consultant. This comes as no surprise to me. He’s a creative, strategic thinker. A rainmaker. A walking encyclopedia of agriculture. A good man who’s really good at what he does. We thought consulting would be a temporary gig, but he enjoys the work and he’s doing well. Maybe he’ll just keep right on building his business.

Wichita is not our home. Without the job, there’s nothing to keep us here. But where to go? Home of course. And where is that?

sold sign
deja vu

Home for us is a toss-up between Missouri and North Carolina. We love them both. We didn’t expect to have to choose. Not now, anyway. The last seven months have been a roller coaster blur of weighing good options against each other and agonizing over what to do.

All that is about to end. 

We’re surrendering to our inner South. Moving back to sweet tea and barbecue. Home to where we met and married.

Friends and family wait with open arms and long drawls. Fireflies and tadpoles, tall pine trees and dolphins arching out of the Atlantic at dawn—I like to think they wait for us, too.

We’ve coaxed our son with tales of your finest, North Carolina. There’s no place like home.

Even the sparrow has found a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may have her young—
a place near Your altar,
Lord Almighty, my King and my God.
Blessed are those who dwell in Your house;
they are ever praising You. Psalm 84:3-4 NIV

Carolina In My Mind by sweet baby James Taylor.

Plans for our move are about to take over my life.
Please bear with me. I’ll blog when I can!

Heart of the Matter

Boomer, my yoga instructor, faced a life crisis earlier this spring when her 50-something husband had emergency bypass surgery.

faceted heart
faceted heart

She’s the more talkative of my instructors. Responsible for phrases like Vikings and temple dancers, bellies on vacation, and the duck index.

I like the banter.

“Stretch the myofascial tissue.”

“Stop carrying enormous handbags.” 

“Stand up straight or you’ll end up with a hump on your back and a walker!”

He survived the surgery. She missed a week or so of class. I don’t think she realizes it, but a new theme has surfaced in her coaching.

“Engage your thighs. You should feel them working, pumping blood up, strengthening your heart.” 

“Open your chest. Don’t let it close over your heart and lungs.” 

“Remember to breathe…” 

And then last class, this one.

“It’s amazing how easily the heart gets involved with everything.”

Yes, dear teacher. It is.

Guard your heart above all else,
for it determines the course of your life. Proverbs 4:23 NLT

Nothing Is Wasted, my new favorite song by Jason Gray. Listen. Take courage.

 What’s on your heart today?

10 Things I Learned on My Spring Blogging Break

Hi. How you been?

solution focused
solution focused

My spring blogging break lasted longer than expected. Lots to tell you. Where to start?

Amy at Using Our Words writes a regular column of 10 things she’s learned each week. She’s the boss of this format, which I am not—and she’s funny, which I am occasionally. In homage to Amy, here’s my list of 10 things I learned while I wasn’t blogging.

  1. “Vacation” doesn’t capture the magic of a trip to Disney World. “Triathlon” would be closer.
  2. Sometimes the answer is as simple as giving the dog a new toy.
  3. There are a lot of mean people on the internet.
  4. Two and a half hours is a looong way to drive to the nearest Loft.
  5. Moms don’t exist until they’re on the phone, applying their makeup, or sneaking a nap at which time they’re indispensable and needed right away.
  6. When your stress level reaches a certain point, you can actually feel your axons and dendrites ache.
  7. Writing takes time. Writing well takes time and editing.
  8. Opportunity costs stink.
  9. Skype rocks.
  10. A good pair of khaki shorts never die.
still kicking
still kicking

Carry on.

Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. 1 Corinthians 13:7 NLT

Something good this way comes.

Guess what? (No spoilers if you know what.)

Going Shrimp Cocktail

cold turkey?
cold turkey?

Somehow, someway, we made it to spring break. Hallelujah!

Change is fast approaching. We got some things going on here. I hope to tell you more soon. For now, I’m taking some time off with my guys to regroup.

I’ll still be around, so it’s not like I’m going cold turkey.

It’s more like I’m going shrimp cocktail.

Yes, chilled shrimp cocktail with just enough fresh horseradish in the red sauce to stir the heart.

shrimp cocktail, photo credit vanhookc

Now that hits the spot.

See you on the other side of delicious.

Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from Him. Psalm 62:1 NIV

Not for a Moment by Meredith Andrews. Beautiful, beautiful song.

Thank you for blessing me with your readership. Happy Spring Break!

photo credit: vanhookc via photopin cc