Gold

I read this somewhere online, and I don’t think I saved it anywhere, which is a bummer.

It’s a little poem that goes something like this:

We want someone who treats us like we’re gold. We settle for someone who treats us like we’re silver, and then we wonder why we tarnish.

—

Happy weekend! 

My weekend plans involve nursing a sore finger back to health. It’s kind of weird to make a blog post about a finger, so I’ll just throw you a little life lesson right here.

Don’t bite your fingernails. You’ll end up on antibiotics and in pain so bad, you won’t be able to sleep.

Over a finger.

As the doctor put it: “It’s not the lamest thing I’ve seen today. I treated a blister before you.”

Right now I’m thankful for doctors and antibiotics. 

And fingers.

Lumpy, bumpy and grumpy

I wasn’t kidding about that pothole I hit in Missouri that was big enough to be caused by an asteroid.

The evidence is below. Tires aren’t supposed to be lumpy, bumpy and grumpy.

👎 🤦‍♂️ 🤷‍♀️

(She’s fixed and safe to drive now.)

About St. Louis

I’m still thinking about this concert, so you’re going to get one more post about it.

- Does anyone in Missouri actually know why they’re driving on the left side of the interstate? I don’t think they do. It’s like a NASCAR race. Everyone is drafting in the same lane, no one can pass each other, and if you pop over to the other lane, you’re screwed.

- Was that a pothole that I hit at 85 mph, or an asteroid crater? No one really knows.

- This year, which is only three months old, I’ve heard country singers perform Whitney Houston, Eminem and Nelly in person. I wish I could go back in time and tell 2020 Monica this. 

- 2020 Monica: Hang on. Life gets better. 

- St. Louis was the perfect way to end my 2021-2022 Eric Church concert experience. In 2017, I was introduced to his fan club when my Mom and I went to the pop-up store at his concert in St. Louis, at the same venue. I asked some fans why there was a group of people waiting outside. The fans told me that was the pit line and explained the Church Choir to me: “Most of them know each other. They follow Eric Church around, get front row in the pit, and drink.” 2017 Monica thought that sounded like a little bit of fun. 2022 me became everything that 2017 me wanted. 

- I held a record up during Record Year, which is the first time I’ve done so. I did not get it autographed, but that’s all right. That song saved my life. 

- Someone I know on the guy that broke my heart in the above story, which led me to the song Record Year: “That guy was the best thing that never happened to you.”

- 2016 and 2017 me was heartbroken and in need of some musical direction. I found it.

- I’ve lived through stuff in the past two years that 2016-17 me couldn’t even comprehend at the time.

- And I’m still here. That’s worth something. 

- During the opening song in St. Louis, which was like 11 minutes long, someone behind me shouted that we were on the big screen. I found a video online that someone took in the nosebleeds. My eyesight is terrible and I can’t see myself on the big screen, but I promise you, I am right there, front row in the pit, singing Nelly back to Eric Church. (See pic above.)

- I did not have that on my 2022 Bingo Card.

- This tour was called The Gather Again Tour. To paraphrase EC: We are meant to gather for fellowship, for drinking. We are meant to be together. 

- I held hands with the girl beside me in Denver and cried to the song Record Year. 

- I hugged strangers in DC, and still keep in touch with them. 

- I smiled and laughed more in the past few months than I have in the last two years. 

- Thank you, kind strangers at concerts, for being open-minded enough to be willing to take some new introvert in. 

- At the start of this tour, I was down. I kept thinking to myself that there must be something wrong with me because I still don’t have anyone to share this with. 

- I have people to share this with now. And for that, I’m forever grateful. 

St. Louis list

I went to St. Louis last weekend, where several first-time things happened. Here’s a list, in no particular order:

- I found a giant pencil. Of course the writer finds a giant pencil.

- I thought about buying a giant pencil, and then I realized that I already have a giant pencil from my childhood. Some things never change.

- I saw Eric Church play the guitar with a sharpie in his hand instead of a guitar pick. Why not?

- He adjusted his glasses when he wasn’t wearing glasses. It happens to all of us. 

- I saw him sing Eminem and Nelly right in front of me. (Hey, must be the money.)

- He drank someone’s beer. I’ve never seen him drink beer. It was glorious.

- He sang Mr. Misunderstood at my end of the stage. Hearing the words “Hey there, weird kid” right in front of you just hits different. 

- I met more concert people. The very cool people in line by me were all in the other pit, which is usual for me on this tour. Sigh.

- They told me that on the last tour, another country artist waited in the out line, along with everyone else. This makes my heart happy. Everyone loves Eric and didn’t mind waiting in line for five or seven hours to see him.

- In 2017, on the Holdin’ My Own tour, St. Louis was the fanciest city that I’d seen in a long time. Since then, I’ve seen Nashville, Washington DC and New Orleans.

- The Midwest just isn’t doing it for me anymore. 🤣

- There may or may not have been a bullet hole in my AirBnB’s window (in a good neighborhood). St. Louis, really? Do we need to sit down and have a little chat?

Never break heart.

Today was my ninth concert in the past 10 months, eight of which have been Eric Church shows.

Today was my last EC concert of this tour.

That’s good news, mostly, because gas prices are beyond ridiculous right now and I’m ready for a break.

The past 10 months have been about a lot of things for me. Healing, for the most part, but also celebrating new things, letting new people in, being brave enough to do things on my own, moving on, letting go, failing over and over and then failing some more, never giving up, and accepting the fact that life downright sucks sometimes.

And learning how to lean on people, too, when I need help.

The past few years in Monicaland have been rough. I know there are people who lost more than me in life, especially in the past two years, but I think it’s also important to talk about the bad stuff and not shove it aside. 

Speak to loss, if you will.

I’ve talked about what I’ve lost since the pandemic started plenty on my blog. I’m feeling optimistic right now, which is weird, but right now I’m going to look on the bright side of life.

I can walk and breathe without pain (thanks, sinus surgery and kind surgeon who believed me) and not cough every 20 seconds (thanks, a form of acid reflux that doesn’t have heartburn as a symptom and a pill that costs 50 cents per day to fix that).

I can live without pain. I can go places, anywhere, really.

I can do scary things on my own and come out unscathed, mostly. 

I fall sometimes, and one time I fell into a pretty big, deep hole, but I’m not in that hole anymore.

I’m in a place where there’s light and love and happiness and singing and dancing all around me. 

And that is something I do not take for granted.

I’m so happy I lived through what I did, because it brought me to this place.  

I never appreciated the good times until I went through the bad times. 

So thank you, Eric Church, ECB, Joanna, and some of the most amazing people I met over the last 10 months.

I needed help and I needed to heal, and I got that. 

I thought to myself tonight, while looking around me, that it’s really nice to not be broken anymore. 

It feels good. 

This feels good.

I feel good. 

I’m just really happy to be here and to see all of the happiness around me.

Life is beautiful.

What’s the matter with Kansas?

This is a short story.

On the way back to my new town on Sunday, I encountered some snow. First there was a little bit of it, and then a bit more, and then it was total pandemonium.

It took me two hours to go 50 miles and I saw 38 cars, trucks and semis in the ditch.

For much of the trip, I was the lead car in our group of cars going east. I was the pace car, basically. 

That means that the huge line of cars behind me were at my mercy on the totally snow-packed interstate. At times, I went 20 mph, as did the probably mile-long line of cars behind me.

I did not feel bad, and no one honked or tried to pass me. They couldn’t.

In broad daylight, this situation was not that scary. My dogs slept through it.

I kept telling myself that the most important thing is to keep moving forward. Even at 20 mph, forward is still forward.

And, with me in charge, no one is getting a speeding ticket and our gas mileage is off the charts good. 🤷‍♀️

I made it home fine, an hour longer than it usually takes me. 

My poor dogs looked totally confused when I opened the car door at my place. 

The Pugs: “Snow? When did that happen?”

Me: “When I spent two hours driving you through a life-threatening situation when you were snoring, PUGS.”