A PSA on PMA for You

After lying in bed wide awake last night for over an hour or so I called CA, he is willing to stay on the phone, hum a tune or mumble some story (usually completely fabricated as well as inaudible), until I fall asleep. He stays on the phone through the night and my subconscious or perhaps my very aware conscious knows that there is a male at hand and I can sleep soundly.  Last night however I was wide awake and found him the same.  So we digested life and basically solved the world's problems.  Ready for the solution? PMA.

98% of all females of my generation (a stat I just made up as I typed this) will say that they are more male than female.  Phrases you are likely to hear, "I just get along better with the guys," or "I'm just not dramatic like a girl is," and my favorite, "I just don't, like, relate to girls like I do with the guys." It's all the same sentiment and its all a bit of a sham.  The truth of the matter, we are girls and we relate just fine with our own sex but admitting that takes a humility that few of us have. We understand what the girl is feeling when she breaks down in the middle of an episode of Greys.  We get the irrational outburst in the middle of Target when the stretchy blue jeans with cute white stars aren't to be found in our size.  We all genuinely smile when we see the mom in the park with her two year old on the swing.  And our hearts burst a little bit when we introduce one female friend to another and they actually like one another. If all females, myself numbered among that mass, would simply state the truth of the matter, "I like the attention I get from men more than the attention I get from women," we'd all be standing on a bit more of an honest ground.

And from this honest ground I offer the solution's to the world's problems.  I speak as a heterosexual female, the solutions to the world's problems may need to be altered a bit for others. Women are inherently kind and good.  We often lose that due to being screwed over (sorry Grams, I couldn't think of the appropriate colloquial for 'screwed over' that you would approve of and other's would understand).  But it's within us to be sweet and kind, to be generous and sincere more than it is to be brassy and crass (sass is different, that's the salty to the caramel that makes us so fantastic!).  But this behavior needs to be encouraged. PMA, Positive Male Attention, is the key.  As girls and women receive PMA we feel secure in our shoes and will go and conquer the demons of the world.

I am a perfect example of PMA throughout life.  I grew up in a home with Papa who sincerely told me he loved me each night.  Each evening as I read during 'quiet time' he would say "Sunshine, you are just so smart! You've read so quickly," or "Your brain is so happy you are making it smart by reading those words." I had brother's that learned from their Papa and treated their sister's with equal admiration and praise, "Kas, you sang so well today in rehearsal," or (my favorite perhaps of all times, thank you Buba) "My sister's aren't so pretty before getting ready but once they make that effort ... WATCH OUT!"  Brother's friends were generous in their compliments and their flirtations. Gramps convinced me I could conquer corporate America one day at a time and his confidence in me has yet to waiver. Uncles are quick to commend my choices, even when they may have been what they would have chosen.  I was never told I could not, the world was mine for the taking.  But they all have also been so quick to encourage the softer side of me.  "Kas, you were so good to sit with Aunt Betty today.  You both looked so happy," or "I'm proud of you for not railing on your cousin after she made that comment, you and I both know it was ridiculous but she didn't need to be told that in front of everyone."  They cultivated all parts of me by giving me that Positive Male Attention.

The Churchy side of me will now take a moment.  My relationship with Deity is real, tangible.  Last summer I had a blip on the life radar when I wasn't quite on solid ground. I talked with several people, one of whom has never worshiped as I have but he is one who I trust more than most.  In one of our conversations when I was far from any path at all he said, "Kas, go talk to your God.  Be honest with Him.  You may not find that 3 hours of Church is necessary but I know you.  You are dark and twisty because you and your God aren't in a good place."  He was spot on.  I know when I kneel at my beside or speak aloud in the car to the Heavens that my Father in Heaven is hearing my words.  I speak to Him candidly.  And I am certain that He not only hears the words I speak but He hears what I am trying to say between all of those words.  He trusts me, I feel that deep within my heart.  He laughs when I make ridiculous accusations towards Him and is patient as I figure this life out.  But He is there, constant.  Of this I am certain.  And this is the perfect form of PMA. 

And I'm me.  Take me or leave me, I've got the confidence to overcome the latter because I know I'm a little bit fantastic, due to PMA.  I've often been asked where I gain my confidence and the answer is PMA.  And I seek after it in my life.  I gravitate to men who will praise my strengths and constructively help me with my weaknesses.  Some may say this is a HORRIBLE way to live, depending on men for my self esteem.  I could not disagree more.  I stand on my own two feet, making my own choices, and confident in my decisions.  I do not allow negative male attention in my life, I will not be walked on nor will I watch those I love be walked on.  I stand up for myself. I am a strong woman and I am changing the world. 

I believe that PFA (Positive Female Attention) is equally as necessary for men.  The bottom line isn't hard to discover, Positive Attention is key to a better world.  Sincere praise and kindness to those that we face each day will change the world.  When I am confident in myself, I am willing to see the greatness in others because I do not question that their greatness will minimize my own.  We can all be great, productive, and happy at the same time.  Seeing this greatness within yourself is the first step.  And often, people see themselves better in a mirror, when others around them are showing them by their words who they see.  Am I making any sense?  I am.

I should probably put my thoughts together with fewer words and send them to Kid President so he can tell the world what I've discovered, they'll listen to him.  

Voices

My family loves to sing.  Some of those numbered among us are excellent and are allowed to qualify themselves as a 'singer', others sound good in a group (which is excellent because as we gather around Grams' piano it is usually in large numbers), while others can't carry a tune in a 10 gallon bucket.  But we sing.  We sing in the shower.  We sing while getting ready, which is grand when the four girls at the mirror decide on the same song but a bit difficult when James Taylor is being sung in one corner of the house and Taylor Swift in the other as our voices are loud!  We sing in the car with our windows down, we like fresh air and providing entertainment to the passersby.  We sing when we hear a good tune in the mall or if a melody randomly pops into our heads as we walk down the beach.  We sing in the kitchen as we cook. We sing to the little ones as they rub their eyes and cling to their favorite blanket.  We then gather around the piano or hand the guitar to the most capable and sing through the night.  Its who we are and I love it.

One of my favorite moments of the week is the first hour of worship on Sunday, especially when I'm with my family.  As the single, and favorite, granddaughter/daughter/niece/sister/cousin I get to sit next to whomever I choose.  My choice is never difficult.  I sit on the open side of Gramps or Papa, Uncle or cousin, brother (it is a rare Sabbath when there is more than one of them as choice but on such an occasion I usually choose the eldest of them all).  As that first song's introduction is played they each pull out that green hymnal and hold it for me to see, no need to share the weight.  Then it begins, they sing in full voice their praises to the heavens.  My heart is happy.  I tend to get lost in the strength and testimony buoying up each note they release and miss a verse or two with my own voice.  Its peaceful and splendid.

Growing up Papa worked for Uncle Tom.  Uncle Tom is a burly man with a heart of gold.  Uncle Tom's smile warms a room and his laugh is infectious.  Uncle Tom loves to open up that green hymnal and sing but the notes he finds are rarely written on the page, in fact I'm not certain they could be written.  He is not a musical genius creating a harmony for the heavens to pause and listen to.  Rather, he is so far from the melody and a sweet harmony that some may be offended.  Not me.  I grew with him sitting a row behind us each Sunday.  And his voice, to me, is just as sweet as those men in my family as it is full of life, joy, and hope. Hearing "I Know that My Reedemer Lives" as Uncle Tom sings it with such passion and conviction in said truth is something that, even thinking of it now, makes my heart happy.  I miss him sitting behind me on Sundays.

When I'm away from family I attempt to find someone with a suit coat on primarily as I'm a frozen girl always but especially in places of worship where the air conditioner is turned on 365 days a year at full blast.  But then, just below that on my list of hopes, is someone that sings with the joy of Uncle Tom.  Ace was my companion for a bit as we shared a home.  And that nine o'clock meeting that forced me to be awake by seven thirty was my favorite the minute that low note was hit half way through the first verse.  I would stop singing and he would smirk, knowing I was happy with the sound.  When he left it was rough finding a replacement but Binx or Doc would bring the same happiness.  Binx delicately hitting the harmony and Doc maybe finding two right notes in a five verse hymn ... they just love singing and it makes this heart happy.

Apart from Sunday I seek company that isn't afraid to belt out a tune.  Anytime I'm with that friend that is that friend I call when the world falls apart I will look up to him, bat my eyes a bit, hook my arm in his and ask for a bit of "Magic", something from Guys and Dolls, or a bit of Billy Joel.  Walking down the street of Salt Lake or driving with the top down and California sun on my face is better with his voice in my ear.  Its an immediate feeling of security.  Its an immediate reminder of when life was a bit simpler.  Its an immediate smile on face and wave of happiness in my heart.

Late Saturday nights are pretty close to perfect when a guitar is in hand and an unabashed voice graces the air.

When I'm alone in the car or attempting to bring order to a month's worth of clean laundry strewn on my bedroom floor my music of choice is the 'Testosterone Tunes' ... not a Rocky medley but rather a compilation of songs sung in a beautiful male voice.  I go from Mikey and Straight No Chaser to Uncle Mike's music.  Bui-Doi to Lilly's Eyes to Forever in Blue Jeans.  I'm just more incline to not begrudge the laundry pile or yell at the car that cut me off if a male voice is ringing in my ear.

I don't think I'm alone in my love the male voice.  Last night we listened to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Nathan Pacheco.  The choir was spotless, as usual.  Nathan took my breath away, over and over again. I was at the edge of my 15th row on the balcony seat, awaiting each note.  The entire audience of thousands matched my enthusiasm and eagerness for the next word, stanza, and song.  Why Mac didn't allow him a final portion of "Come Thou Fount" is the first thing I will address with Mac, if I ever meet him.  Nathan's voice reaches the hidden pockets of your heart.  It causes eruptions of feelings that you were certain no longer existed, or at the very least were packed tightly away in a dark corner, as it transcends any inability to 'use words'. It makes me happy.

Singing voices, whether pitchy, far from the melody or any fathomable harmony, or spot on make me happy. Please sing today!    

I'm Good

Okay ... okay.  I'll update you.

I quit my job.  Yes, that job that I loved with my whole heart that was so flexible and so kind and my family of sorts, I quit.  It wasn't exactly planned but it most certainly was the correct decision for me.  The days leading up to my final day held all of the drama that the previous six years did not but I felt such overwhelming support that I did not flinch when I gave my notice and left that 'home'.  So, don't fret over me, I'm good.

Yes, there are the occasional Sunday evenings where I hear someone begin to whine about work the next day and the Anxious Annie comes out ... shouldn't I be whining?  Shouldn't I be leaving at a decent hour to sleep (ha, that's never been a decision I've made, even with seven o'clock calls on Monday)?  Shouldn't I be dressed in more than jeans and my white T or leggings on a Thursday afternoon?  The answer to all of these questions at current time is a fervent NO.  I'm good.

The summer sans work has been delightful.  A friend of mine, moments after the drama came to a halt with my exit, called and said, "Let's hop in the Prius and go to California."  So I did that.  There is something about sitting underneath a lemon tree with the men of my life that settles the soul.  There is something about sitting up with Robs until 4 am that reminds me that no matter the circumstance there is a home for me in that room that once was Uncle's office.  There is something about the hustle and bustle of a morning with Girlfriend and Cowboy that puts everything into perspective, a hopeful and hilarious perspective.  There is something about throwing a football in the sand after being swept up in waves for a half an hour that makes my heart so happy.  There is something about laying by the pool with Aunt Charma, discussing the growth of the cousins that I remember as babies, that reminds me that life is moving on with or without me.  And there is something about being 187 miles from my bed and having a bit of a break down and having a driver with a calm and steady voice reminding me that life is going on with me. I'm good.

I returned to only hop into Joe with favorites and head to Jackson Hole.  Excuse me world, did you know that Jackson Hole is one of the most beautiful places to exist?  It is.  We spent Sunday at the foot of the Lake, discussing all things of importance.  We solved the world's problems and figured out why people aren't married (to be clear, none of the company is in a serious relationship).  We climbed up the mountain and my mind got lost in the sound of the rushing water.  It was breath taking, every view from every climb.  I may or may not be contemplating buying a lot of green and khaki colored clothing and moving there for the remainder of my days.  I haven't yet.  I'm good.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for a north trip, Logan/Bear Lake/Idaho.  I am certain it will be just as delightful as my previous excursions.  I'm good.

On an entirely separate note but a soapbox I would like to stand on for a moment ... Dating resumes.  Evening last I was sitting around the fire (I'll be generous and call it such) with a new group of fellas, a good group of good looking guys.  We discussed sports for a long time and I held my own.  We discussed politics for a minute and I held my own.  Then we discussed dating and the fact that resumes would be quite beneficial, I may have gotten quiet and found no solid ground for this topic.  I spent the majority of last night thinking what my resume would look like, the references I could offer, and what might be said by said references.  HA!  I'd have to coach them through those conversations.

Potential Man: So does Kasi speak openly about things?
Reference: HA! Have you ...
Me (whisper): SHHH!! Say, "Kasi speaks openly about things, yes." I do, I speak openly about sports!
Potential Man: Okay, does she push a relationship too quickly?
Reference: HA! Have you met ...
Me (loud whisper):  SHHHH!! Say, "Don't use the word relationship with her and she'll be okay with you pushing it when the time is right."
Reference (to me): Have you met you?!?
Potential Man: Does Kasi have issues with commitment?
Reference: HA! Have you met her?!
Me (kicking him): SHHH!!! Say, "Kasi is a loyal person."

Perhaps references won't be necessary?!?!  I could simply offer the things I'm good at, the things all of my married males friends list every time the "Kasi, why aren't you married?" conversation occurs (these are my married friends that I didn't date).  And, here's the kicker, I think moving forward in dating I will be certain to be the gal that could have the guy offer a reference, without coaxing, to the next guy.  That's an excellent goal ... something that may be difficult as I've got some dating/car buying habits that run deep ("My experience finding a new car ~ I think I love it but then I sit in it for the second or third time and wonder if I really do love it or if there is a better choice just down the road at the other dealership. So I go to the other dealership and find a car that I love. I decide on that one but then get it in again and wonder if I loved the other one at the other dealership more or perhaps if there is one on another lot somewhere that will fit better ... I am annoyed with my own behavior {and should likely apologize to every guy I've ever dated for my decision pattern}."). But I'm making this a public conversation, so I'm accountable to the 67 of you that frequent this place.  I can change, heck, I LEFT MY JOB!! I can be an adult in a relationship!! So, there is that. I'm good.

Precious P

Yesterday I was up at Chicago's house.  I go there often to enjoy the hustle and bustle of a home full of kids and to answer to the name Marsha.  It makes my heart happy to be in that home.

I remember holding P shortly after his birth, his skinny little body managing to hold up this head that was in the ninety-fifth percentile for heads (I'm under-exaggerating I'm fairly certain).  He was so curious, looking every which way, taking in the world.  There is a picture of me and P at this point in his life (I attempted to find it but my 'things' are spread from garages in Farmington to California to Indianapolis with a few boxes up at the Lake, soon to be moved) and I love it so because it captures each of us in that moment of time, a brand new P to this exciting world and me about to embark on a mission with eyes naive to all it would be. 

He's the oldest brother of three younger siblings now.  They each look to him for friendship and assurance when something unknown is coming, like an afternoon at Marsha's house in Salt Lake.  P will lead the way with confidence and turn around to be sure they are following.  He's a boy, so there is teasing to be sure but I've not witnessed anything to get up in arms over.  He reads like it's going out of style and can converse with an adult (namely me as I'm among his favorites) without hesitation.  He's a champ and if I can convince him to fall more toward the middle rather than to the far right like his Pops and other family members I may run him for office with Cowboy, they would be QUITE the pair on Pennsylvania Ave.

Back to evening last.  P had come home from school with a plan, respectable for a nine year old.  He had discussed with his friends a play date for that evening as soccer practice would occupy the following night and a few other conflicts crowded the calendar for the remainder of the week.  He came in and presented this plan to Mama K.  There was a conflict on the family calendar however, it was Family Night at Gma's to help with the outside chores as Gma is not quite as nimble as she once was. P reacted quickly with outrage as he had a plan.  This moment went by quickly, his raw emotions taking over and a bit of a fit being thrown. Immediately Mama K asked him to go to his room and off he went, heavy steps up the stairs with words flowing down at how he didn't even help last time at Gma's because he was too little, so why did he have to go now. She offered the consequence to his choice of a fit, time away from friends further into the week, as he continued his rant.

As he was upstairs Mama K and I discussed parenting and how sometimes it is not always the most glamorous of jobs.  She told me how much she liked this group of friends that P wanted to play with and I mentioned that he had planned his own play date.  Before this conversation ended, or even came to a pinnacle point, a sniffle interrupted us.

P had come back down stairs.  He walked directly over to Mama K and gave her a hug. "Mom, I deserve my consequence.  I made a bad choice.  I know you are just trying to teach me a good lesson and that going to help Gma is a good thing." It was at this moment this gal's heart melted.  "I'm sorry Mom." I'm not certain if the sniffles were mine or P's at this moment.  Mama K gave him a tight squeeze and shared with him her love.

I do not share this story to embarrass P.  I share this story because sometimes I get anxious to bring children into this world full of unfounded ridicule and unabashed hatred. I get anxious to hold a little one in my arms and Lion King them (yes, you know what I'm speaking of) to a world that will judge them every second of each day for what they wear or what newest contraption they are using to entertain themselves.  I get anxious to send them to a home for a play date that I have not spent at least 100 hours in myself and had Uncle run a background check on the parents to be sure nothing sketchy has occurred within those walls, by said parents. I get anxious to have them watch the 6 o'clock news with me as I believe in being honest with them about the world they live in but how do you explain when a mother takes the life of her little boys or when bombs go off at the end of a race? I get anxious about it all.

But P is being raised in this same crazy world and look at him.  Look at his siblings.  They live in a happy house with loving parents and are not only fed and making it to school but thriving.  It's not impossible and I've got so many examples of happy homes to look towards, not the least of which being my own parents.  The world can be a scary place but good things are happening all around and good people, young and old, exist on every corner and between.

Happy and hopeful.

Happy

It's 1230 on Wednesday meeting.  My alarm is set for five hours and thirteen minutes from this exact moment.  I'm not tired, although I should be.  I'm happy.

I don't have millions of dollars in the bank. I don't have all of the answers {contrary to what I may tell you}.  Mercy, I can't complete a Rubik Cube on my own {yet}.  But what I do have I am grateful for and I realize, as I sit here in this exact moment, that is more than enough to bring great happiness.

My people are about the world doing good things.  Sometimes I ache for them to not be so vital to others and grand causes, I'd rather have them in my sight, in my kitchen, lounging on my couch, or driving around in Bleu with me. Then the girl who has plans and tasks of her own to change the world realizes they are exactly where they need to be.  And this is not the world of twenty years ago or ten years ago.  The parentals, halfway across the world, are leaving voicemails with a 'call back when you can' message with an understanding that I will call back without worrying about international calling charges or even time difference (the benefit of a Papa/Daughter Duo with odd sleeping habits).  I remember when 9-11 happened. As a freshman at USU, away from everyone I knew but Steve/Dave/Brit, I wanted to be sure all of my people of the time were okay.  So many busy signals.  I didn't have a cell phone so the land line, shared with five other roommates on that horrific day, was all we had.  Adam was in Ecuador.  I think it took him a day a half to get back to my email to tell me he was just fine down there.  Now, something happens, middle of the night or mid day, I send that text or make that call and within seconds or minutes safety is confirmed, likely due to the fact that my 'go to' humans know that I'm a bit of an Anxious Annie and if it takes any longer I'll start calling the cops.  I hear from my people, that is happy.

The last little while has found me in Vegas, Cancun, Chicago, and shortly in St. George and CA. It has been perfect.  Life is happy when you hear SpaceJam being played from across the lacrosse field in Vegas and the guys are killing the other team.  Life is happy hearing Uncle pray. Life is happy when sister brings BIL home for the very first time. Life is happy when your view is sand and a never ending ocean or snow and a never ending Lake.  Life is happy walking into 'my' theater and having it smell the exact same as it did the first time I walked in twenty years ago and having Richard look the exact same.  Life is happy when you make your third trip to the Taco place in 24 hours.  Life is happy when all that is on your todo list is sing with your Grams around the piano or talk to Gramps about Masonry or his childhood.  Life is happy when the countdown texts come through. Life is happy when you crawl beneath the covers with voices you've known for an eternity speaking softly above you. Life is happy curling up with my dog on the carpet in Grams' newly painted family room as Buba speaks math to himself. Life is happy hearing Gramps pray. Life is happy laying out on the roof or on the hammock or at the pool or at the beach.  Life is happy being 4x layered to only have a fire going and two blankets over you as you ask Grams to make her potato salad.  Life is happy listening to Buba and Grams discuss the world and its problems and solve them all.  Life is happy reading with Girlfriend and Cowboy as we crowd into one bed for the night {in spite of their kicking habits} because we don't want to leave one another.  Life is happy.

I live in a new ward.  I'm meeting some new people.  I certainly contemplated putting Kate on my GET TO KNOW YOU sheet rather than "Kasi, pronounced KayCee/KC/Kacey/Kasey" as I normally do.  Knowing that my parents would likely be meeting humans from this ward as they return in December and my relocation no longer seems to be happening I stuck with the standard. But to be clear, Kate makes much more sense and is much easier to pronounce than Kasi.  I've digressed, to be sure. A mingle post the block of meetings on Sunday led to a conversation, the kind I love {where two people discuss, give and take, learn ... not simply parallel talk}, with gorgeous eyes. It was simple and happy. Evening last I ventured to the Jazz game with four girls who I didn't know from Eve prior to getting out of my car for FHE.  I took lots of deep breaths and dove in head first.  I attempted the Papa/Sherrie method of simple kindness.  As it would turn out that leads to a simple evening of laughter and new friends, a simple happy. 

This morning the inbox was full and the phone began to ring before seven.  This is my job.  I contemplated getting ready and going into the office, to the corner with the window as I would need to relocate for the day.  But after the second call, ending at 704, I decided to stay in my pajamas and work from home.  I laughed with my guy in Ohio about the voices he was hearing in the background, not ESPN like last week but rather the political analyst out in DC.  My Grand Rapids friend attempted to keep me on the phone long enough to get my Chicago lisp to come out of me.  And I managed to close business, build a marketing plan, and quiet the frustrated partner in my day.  I smiled throughout it all and in the simplest of ways was happy, in my yoga pants.

Tonight I went to go see a slew of my dear friends in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  It was a fluff show, no deep question lingering on your mind as you drive home.  It was darling.  And watching my friends perform was delightful.  They were happy, even sick and tired, they were enjoying themselves.  They were playing parts but I fell in love with each of them as my people a little bit more. It took me back to the days of 16 performances of Drowsy {I don't think I'm exaggerating that number but if I am its only by a few}.  Life was complicated at that time, I didn't know my up from my down and the comfort of familiar and loving faces in roles that didn't make you think brought my feet back to the ground somehow, if only for two hours.  It was simple, it was happy.

As I pulled up my street this evening, ignoring the clock and the almost-thirty-year-old-voice in my head telling me to rush inside and hop in bed, I looked up.  There are stars out there, so many beautiful stars.  I got out of Bleu and stood there, looking up.  My mind raced back to those nights in Chelan, driving up the canyon to the creepy house {seriously, someone was killed there ... or I just bought into that story} that somehow they had sister missionaries living in.  No matter the hour we drove up that windy road we slowed down, often stopping, to just look up and see the endless sky. It was simple and quiet, it was happy.

What I'm trying to say is I have a good life.  I'm grateful for the lessons I've learned in recent months as, without doubt, they have led me to remember just how good things are. The sun rises over the mountains are a different kind of beautiful than the sun rising over the ocean in Cancun.  The sun rising over the ocean in Cancun is a different kind of beautiful than the sun rising over Lake Michigan as I sit on my rock at Gramps' place.  But beautiful and breathtaking they each are.  My life may not look exactly like yours but each has happiness, not merely to be found but to be lived and relished.

And so now, as it approaches 200 this star filled night ... maybe one of my people called ... I say goodnight.  With a smile on my face as I am happy.  I hope you are happy too my friend.

****Yes ~ this is a sappy post but its where I am.  The next will likely be about Prop 8 or some other huge controversy so I thought I'd butter ya'll up****