RC Cola and a MoonWalk

Life hasn't written much lately, or at least it hasn't given me much time to. Okay, so maybe I'm not officially a "writer," but I feel a little like a negligent mother- I haven't typed out my take-them-or-leave-them thoughts in nearly three weeks.

In that time, you would think life would have given me a little material. After all, I have since visited my parents' farm TWICE, finalized a much-cherished and much-needed trip to Italy to reunite with Justin and family (part of the time), and Lord Jesus, help us all.... Michael Jackson died.

I spent the first trip to The Farm cherishing my time with my dad, his mother ("Ma"), my sweet Granny and the rest of the family that makes me the only little gully-gully-gull- or spending time being "Lucy" as my mother refers to me. We had a low-key weekend then. That Sunday we had the local schmocals over for "Cowboy Church" a tradition that is anything but traditional... or is it? How, once, did a congregation really meet? Would they not have been surrounded by God's beautiful bounty? It doesn't get much more beautiful than Clay County, Alabama.... God's Country. Dad gave a memorable sermon and pointed out the land we were given (not by my parents, but by our FATHER), appropriately, on Father's Day. Spending time in that part of the world turns me into a different person. Not because I wasn't myself before I got there, but because it teaches me to act like the person I really want to become.... Simple, back to the roots, back to the earth. And whole.

On my second trip to The Farm, I was accompanied by friends Jessica and Michelle. We booked our Southwest flights (Louisville-Birmingham) at the last minute and I convinced them that it would be a relaxing 4th of July weekend. We arrived around 3 pm last Friday and headed straight to Flat Rock (or the Redneck Riviera, as we affectionately call it), a large stretch of limestone that slopes off into Lake Wedowee and is rumored to be the same rock that makes up Stone Mountain. There, you can sunbathe and wade in the bathwater-like lake. We drank white sangria and read books, the three of us basking in the glow of nothingness and lack of responsibilites until our cell phones got service again. It was sheer peace. As a matter of fact, we hardly talked at all. We enjoyed home cooking at the tiny cabin my father built with his own hands, and slept on air mattresses on the screened in porch. Heaven, I tell you.

Justin and I planned a trip to Italy in September and October. In Rome we will do like the Romans. In Tuscany we will do as we please. I am overjoyed. For the first week our families will join us. Our plane tickets are purchased, our hotels are booked. And there is a villa waiting for us in Cortona (where Under the Tuscan Sun was filmed). www.vrbo.com/47564 We will see Rome, Florence, Siena and Cortona with our parents and brothers. We will see Cinque Terre by ourselves- a welcomed respite from the worldly obstacles that have kept us apart. Justin and I will be together in Italy for fifteen days. I count my blessings all the time. I am the happiest woman in the world.

In other news, the King of Pop is gone. I was a fan, but not a FAN. I admit he was talented- he had his hey day. But it was over long ago. Gone were the days of his smooth dark skin accompanied by his smooth moves. Gone was the well-written music inspired by 80s-era, over-the-top flamboyancy. Gone were the early nineties when his looks had changed but his music hadn't. Gone. Why are we just mourning him now? He was gone a long time ago.

I think the hardest part of watching this fanfare over his death has been that we put all this stock into celebrity and image. We lift these people up and create idols out of them. We worship them, pine for them, long to meet them, and try to emulate them as much as possible. And for what? I beg you- I urge you- to prioritize your admirations.

I was saddened to hear of the deaths of a number of US Soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan the week MJ died. Was there fanfare over that? A televised funeral? I think not. And I don't expect there to be. I do, however, expect that we begin to look up to, respect, love, and admire the men and women who keep free the nation that produced the icons like Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon (who by the way, was a decorated Marine- you don't hear that in the news now do you?).

We have forgotten those who gave their lives for our freedom, but we will never forget how to moonwalk.

If heroes were actually regarded as heroes... we'd attend welcome-home cermonies like we do concerts and fan letters would be sent to the ones who really deserve it.