Do You Realize It is 2009?

Two zero zero eight.
Went by in a blink.

I almost get anxiety about how careful I need to be with every minute of my day. Trying to do all that I want to do, get good at all that I want to be good at, and spend all the time I can get with all the people I love.

How do I post in time before this New’s Year’s party to tell you all the changes that have happened. So I’ll just say,

“Here’s to all the realizations of 2008 that made me happier than I ever realized could and to all the realizations and changes I’ll have in 2009 that will yet again surprise me."

I decided that my song for bringing in the New Year will be Do You Realize by the Flaming Lips.

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face

Do You Realize - we're floating in space -

Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry

Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know

You realize that life goes fast

It's hard to make the good things last

You realize the sun doesn't go down

It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

I’m not as intrigued by the philosophy of this song as I am its catchy tune.
But I am intrigued by this.

In October 2008 from talks, “Finding Joy in the Journey” and “Untill We Meet Again”, President Monson of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints said,

“I begin by mentioning one of the most inevitable aspects of our lives here upon the earth, and that is change. At one time or another we’ve all heard some form of the familiar adage: “Nothing is as constant as change.”Throughout our lives, we must deal with change…

This is our one and only chance at mortal life—here and now. The longer we live, the greater is our realization that it is brief. Opportunities come, and then they are gone. I believe that among the
greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those most important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and non-existent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey—now.
“My Sincere prayer is that we may adapt to the changes in our lives, that we may realize what is most important, that we may express our gratitude always and thus find joy in the journey. “

Code for: "Smatchoo! Make your life extraordinary!

Have a great 2009!

Go HERE, to hear Presidnet Monson's "finding Joy in the Journey"

Let me by your doctor. I received my education from Body Worlds.

What I learned at Body Worlds

I only have one criticism – I was insulted with the kind of info they had for us to read on the display cards. Looking at the lungs, I read, “The first passage the air goes through is the nose and mouth, then carried to the lungs…….” And I thought, ‘I could have been a doctor’.

Except for I couldn’t because quite unexpectedly I became sick while looking at two cadavers’ muscles on display that were spread out so the inner muscles could be seen.

My mind wondered and I started thinking of my own body being plasticized and I think that’s what did it. My knees were giving up on me and I had to bend down to the ground pulling myself into a little ball. But if you had asked me,

“Is this grossing you out?”

I would have said, “No.” and thought I was telling the truth.

My body was reacting completely different than how I thought in my mind. But let’s face it. I’m the daughter of a right brained guy and I’m a right brained gal.

I used to try to change the fact that I was a right brained thinker and that responsible brains chose majors like chemistry or anything scientific. Or just anything that I thought was “Hard”. But after a year of attempting to listen in chemistry classes and training my mind to not daydream about …millions of other things, I decided that I just wasn’t blessed with what it takes to be a part of the “Left brained crowd”.

And at Body Worlds, they had not forgotten about me. I appreciated the display on the heart that talked about Art, Music, and Literature and the emotion involved in the body with such passions.

As a teenager, I thought my need to write things down was a titch bit strange. But just a titch though. I wasn’t really self conscious- just aware that it was a quirk. I didn’t see anyone else doing this. And at school I didn’t hear anyone talk about their passions for things outside of cheer, dance, football, basketball, underground music artists, or Friends the TV show. But to be perfectly honest, that’s not entirely true, but the majority just ruled in these areas.

Behind me at the exhibit, I heard a little boy say, “Dad, Look!” And I turned to look too because I wanted to know what part of this he was most fascinated by. I looked and saw him making hand shadows on the glass from the spotlights shining down on the cadavers. I’m sure the Dad who was hoping to embed a doctor bug in his little boy’s mind was thinking, ‘Oh great, he wants to be a comedian and this is a twenty dollar puppet show. ‘

A few exhibits down the way, I heard this same little boy ask if he could have his pen and paper back because without it, he was bored. He wanted to draw what he was seeing. But the Dad didn’t trust him to keep his notebook off the glass like the signs constantly reminded. I wanted to walk over to this little boy and tell him that he and I were of the same kind. I wanted my pen and paper too. And while I think it would be just flabbergasting to be a doctor or scientist, I’m afraid I have to play the hand I have been given and contribute to the world of bodies and minds as best I can with what I put on paper.

And ironically, the last thing I saw as I walked out of body worlds was a poster of Shakespeare’s famous lines that were some of the first words written down connecting emotion and passion with the physical well being of the heart. But not just because it sounds eloquent and romantic, but because they have been proven true. Then just below Shakespeare’s picture, the last thing I learned besides ‘air first goes through my nose’ was a the philosophical and scientific fact,

“Pessimism, depression and stress will do more damage to your heart than heart attacks and will do more to decrease your health and raise the risks of diseases than being a smoker or choosing an unhealthy diet.”

I did not know that. But it makes perfect sense.
So may these posts be good for wha’smatchoo. Give you reasons to stay optimistic, happy and be a stress free right or left brained person.
A smatchoo a day will keep the shrink away - unless you want to date him.

Hopefully it helps – that way I can say I’m a pretty good doc.
Thanks for reading.

Oh and I didn’t write this, but I found it amazing. Not in a way that it really surprised me, but that it supports everything I’ve always been taught whether it was backed up by science yet or not. Read the New Prescription for Happiness.

Well Said

I haven’t thought of this memory until now. But last year, I was at home in Marshall, Texas, where the holiday lights are outstanding and full of that magical Christmas cheer that I love. We walk around the courthouse grounds and then drive around the old plantation homes that I covet every year. They all do such a great job making sure their houses are in line with nothing less than spectacular, you almost wonder if the HOA has put it in writing, “you must have at least 700 square feet of lights, computerized Santa, and a flying sleigh over your house from December first to the 31st.”


So I’m soaking up the different versions of this, from Elvis Santa Clause to Bermuda Triangle Santa Clause and now - Dwight Schrute. But seerslay that was so two Christmases ago.
Near the end of the tour I see a house back in the woods. No lights. How dare they? I thought, ‘Are these the bah-hum-bug people?’

But as we make the turn back home, the darkness surrounding their house directed my eyes to one soft spotlight hanging from a tree. It beamed down upon a manger and a baby doll wrapped in white dish cloths.

And to think I almost forgot.

Well said house. Thank you.

What do we call that guy again?

For someone who loves to write, it’s amazing how many experiences I have where I just can’t seem to find the right words. I have multiple happenings of this.

Last night all of us girls and Jon! - were sitting around chit chatting as we do, about what our life plans are and asking each other how last month’s life plans are going. We give out the advice, usually brave and bold because we all want good stories for next time. And usually the advice we give, is the day dream that we ourselves would like to star in. Everyone’s got their opinions for each other, sometimes being painfully honest, whch is okay because that's what makes us such good friends.

In last night's conversation, I was not feeling tolerant to anything less than story book fortune telling and when I could tell that I didn’t like what Michelle was about to prophesy, I decided to sit up straight and boldly cut her sentence off and said,

“Yooooooooooooo (the long 'you' was suppose to give me time to think. 'running out of time')...oooou ….are not the light house man!”

I tried to be as dignified as I could while knowing I hadn’t said it right. Hopefully no one would catch on. Except for spiritual Jon over here...

"The watchman on the tower, Hannah. THE WATCHMAN on the TOWER."

Squinting my eyebrows, “Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaa. Aka prophet.”

The ‘Aka prophet’ was suppose to help redeem me because it was proof that I at least knew what the phrase meant. But it didn’t help when I pronounced Aka as one word instead of initialing the letters a.k.a

Note to self: When trying to cut somebody’s words off with your own words… you need to have your words ready. The right words. And in order. And pronounced correctly.

So then I asked Jon,…”So Jon. Let’s say we’re having a tea party……”

Happy Birthday Caroline!

Its been a unanimous call amongst the siblings that Caroline by far was the most photogenic child. I was the sixth child and by then, nobody cared anymore about how my hair looked.
So I was rummaging through our family shed that has been collecting keepsakes and odds and ends of our stuff since our move from Texas to Utah. Along with this picture that Dad had taken for some East Texas Tourism advertising, I found another gem of my sister Caroline’s childhood.
I found a yellowed, dotted and lined piece of paper that you first use in elementary school to keep your lines straight and Caroline had written:

Abraham Lincoln was a happy man.
Abraham Lincoln was shot.
The End.
By Caroline Conley
1982

And there we have it. Abe’s bio in a nutshell. Thanks Caroline. I’m sure Mom kept that around purely for our enjoyment later. And it worked!

Happy Birthday Sis!

Romantic Roots and eBay Stock

Is your volume on?

Today is to my parents and all the little quirks

I love about their choosing each other.

Happy 39TH Wedding Anniversary.

I come from Romantic Roots and eBay Stock.

They memorize poems together and recite the lines back and forth while riding their bikes down Harper Dr. Or how my Mom might get two lines in a row because my Dad knows she especially likes that part.

And Dad will never change the clocks while traveling on business because “THAT’S DIANA TIME” while pointing to his watch.

I love that my Mom still laughs when he says, “Yea, we have six kids, but real women have seven.”

Or when Dad brings home a scandalous

picture, she just purses her lips while

pretending to scold him under a smile.

Because we all know Mom's the subject of all his best photos.

She’s heard his same jokes for 39 years but when he asks her to tell him one, she will inevitabley mess it up and throw her forehead into her hands,

“Oh Tucker, I just can’t say it as good as you can!”

They still dance to slow songs at the end of movie credits...


And Best of all, their Saturday night dates- sellin their junk yard treasures on eBay. Can’t wait to see what I get for Christmas from Fleen’s!



On December 19, 1969,

I think a lil' fairy came down upon their wedding day and said, “There will be eBay joy spread throughout the land!”
And there was.

“We were sealed in the Manti Temple…
But we chipped our way out.” –
Right Dad?

And Mom says, “That's not my favorite joke."

Oh they are funny.

Thanks for choosing to be so in love.

It is one of my favorite blessings.

Love the sixth child,
Hane-nah Marie

Mom, sitting on her father-in-law's lap.

The Tea Party Test

Three times now. THREE TIMES! I have failed this test. You’d think a quick girl like me would learn.
I think the boys who asked me this must have read that first post where I make fun of the dating question, “So what’s your favorite music /artist?” (click the links to read that post) So now they have a new getting-to-know-you question. I’m not making fun of it. It’s a good question. But just like the other question on what music do you listen too… it’s a test. And THAT’s what I’m about to make fun of. They Say its not a test, but it is my fellow daters. THIS IS a test. Its name sounds innocent, watch out, cuz this could make or break your reputation in religious Utah County.
So it goes like this….

Tester sets up the scenario and says:

“Let’s say you’re having a tea party and you can invite any three people in the
world- future , past or present, dead or alive. Who would you invite? And why?”

So you’ve only got three. And whatever these people represent is suppose to tell them who you really are. The tester will explain that you’ll go back and forth, one at a time as you tell your three invites. And you may say,
“Well you go first.” But that doesn’t’ work. The tester must go AFTER you. Timing is crucial. You’ll see why.

So I have the following people that I pick from, sometimes switching it up for variety but they usually all represent the same things I’m trying to portray to the tester. They are:

Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Mark Twain, Einstein, Bill Cosby, and The guitarist from Swing Kids – had a pie crust crush on’em because of his moral strength and ability to play guitar with only three fingers. YES, I wanted to be his girlfriend.

So he says his second choice, like The Beatles or something for his ‘I’m cool in the 60’s sort of way’ and my third turn is approaching.
I’ve already thrown out Gandhi which proves I’m not racist, I’m aware of past world events, a political, philosophical thinker and supporter of world peace. Check check and check. Is the guy falling in love with me yet?! Right, I know. My second was Mark Twain because I too would love to have witty conversation and get writing tips while Gandhi tells us his story.
Tester: “Okay, your turn!” (Oh I just love turns, thank you. ) “Who is gonna be your last invite?”
Test Flunker says (that’s me): “BILL COSBY!” which once again shows that I am not racist despite my Ebonics blog title and that I appreciate wise people who also value comedic timing.
He’s pleased as punch. But not because he thinks I’m funny and purely unracist. He‘s laughing at how well I have set up his own last invite.

Tester: “k, you ready for mine?” with that smug look.

Failer thinking: ‘No, but go ahead you trickster.’

Tester: “Jesus.”

'Great! Now I’m not religious! And it’s even Christmas time!' Ope! We have a winner.

Failer says: “But wait, no, I need to take one back!" Laughing as though that one just seem to slip my mind. Whoops.

Trickster Tester Says: “Nope, nuh uh. You had your three. You’re exclusive invitations have been sent.”

Hang your head in shame and try to explain how you forgot about that very most important person.
How do I explain my short coming? Its because the “Why part of this test” lays the ground for an emotional moment for me if I were to choose the Savior. Do you want me to say, “The Savior, Jesus Christ because….” And then weep in front of you? I’m not going to do that at Chilis!

But instead, the tea party tables are turned when,

Witty girl says: “Um, are you Mormon? Or does that HUGE CTR ring on your ring finger stand for “CLICK-through-rate” because you work at Omniture?! Cuz if I were you, I would not invite the Savior to a TEA party. And you did not specify DECAFE. NO NO! TOO LATE! My test results are proven. Take me home now you hypocrite. Can I getta Smatchoo please?!

Our Man, Dan

When I got to the second grade, teachers told me at least 10 times, “Did you know your brother cried when they announced on the intercom that your mom had just had another girl?”
“No I didn’t. I think my mother chose not to tell me that. “

You see, the Conley Girls were in need of some lessons themselves. In need of a brotha - Lessons from our man Dan.















Someone to tie our fish hooks

And give us boosts to climb the trees

Build amazing contraptions on the swing set…WHILE babysitting


To dig holes in the yard so that mean neighbor girl will fall and sprain her ankle. And she did.

Teach us the need for speed

But how to slow down, ponder and appreciate the birds

To help us learn to aim our be be guns.

“Here Marianna, why don’t you go shoot coke cans with your brother.”

To fix all our broke down engines

And he has.









Someone to crank the homemade ice cream while we sit on it… and watch.

Build us forts in the treehouse, take Mom’s good laundry baskets and fill’em up with gum balls, so we can shoot ‘em at the mean ‘ole neighbor girl with tree sling shots he made. And we did.

To build our bon fires

To teach us the game of life

And occasionally let us dress him up

Need a brother?

Dan's your Man.

We’ve only got one, and he had his work cut out for’em with five sisters.


Love you
Dan,

From the Sittle Lister,

Hane-nah

What do Girls talk about on Gchat?

Ready for some Cyber Girl Gossip on Gchat, here’s a good one that I’ve been saving. And I think it’s appropriate for the season.

Me: So how was it?
Friend: Good other than he treated me like I was his sister.
Me: haha, explain
Friend: Hannah, he treated me like I was a non sexual object.
Me: lol
Friend: Like a Lamp
Me: I don’t know. I’ve seen some pretty sensual lamps.
(And sent her the Christmas story lamp.)

Me: May we all try to look as good as this lamp.

Friend: yea, that lamp is a 10.

Me: On a scale of 1 to 9.

Here is where you can practice "How to be a Conley Girl Lesson One". Steps one through four.

(Found in December's archive)

Seerslay? No.

Sheesh, so has the Hard hearted Hannah post been up long enough? SAWry Miss Jackson, but I’m not fur rills. I wish I had been seen pouring water on a drowning man. SeerSlay. Smatchoo. K, I’ll post to make up for lost days today.

But the BYU guy is the rill dill.

Before You Begin that Blind Date set up...

Oh dear. There she is. The complimentary grandma you’ll find at most church functions. Here she comes and I just know what is to follow. Compliments that were not included in the Christmas party package deal, but you get them anyways.
I wanted to beat her to it, covering my face with my hands and pop out,

“Why you’re just about as cute as my living room wall chatter! Why aren’t you
snatched up yet?!”

She’s gonna say things that I don’t know what to say back too. I can hardly stand the awkwardness of it. Does she really want me to say my ideas on my most current issues?
And in moment of panic I can’t even remember what those issues are? Quick, I need an explanation. An excuse. I’m left with one dignified option. Which is to pick from the list of generic responses like,

”Oh, I just don’t know.”(while raising the corner of your mouth and making the
click sound.) Or, “Yup, I’m just a heart breaker.”

'Hint – you do not want your grandson to date me.'
This is the time that I wish my domestic homemaker vibe was not so easy to see. I guess I AM wearing a cardigan though. Darn.

But before she begins the blind date set up, I want to tell her my theme song. It goes like this:

“Hard Hearted Hannah, she came from Savannah G. A.
She pourin water on a drowning man,
Oh that hard hearted Hannah….
Got a heart just like a stone
Even nice men leave her alone

Talk about your refrigerating Mamas
Brotha she's a polar bear's pajamas "

My Grandpa Conley used to sing this song to me when I was just little.



And it was probably appropriate because my favorite movie when I was FIVE was Taming of the Shrew.
I’m not sure that’s something you grow out of. I still love all characters resembling the shrew, such as Beatrice from Much Ado about Nothing.



MAYBE that’s it. My explanation to the complimentary grandma. A shrew cannot be tamed by your overzealous BYU boy.

“Would this happen to be him?”

“Oh you already know him?!”


“Just a lucky guess.”

Now really. Can you see this guy throwing a shrew over his shoulder?

I love my song, Grandpa Conley.

(Make Sure your volume's on)

In old Savannah
I said Savannah
The weather there is nice and warm
The climate's of a southern brand
But here's what I don't understand
They've got a gal there
A pretty gal there
Who's colder than an artic storm
Got a heart just like a stone
Even nice men leave her alone

They call her "hard hearted Hannah"
The vamp of Savannah
The meanest gal in town
Leather is tough, but Hannah's heart is tougher
She's a gal who loves to see men suffer
To tease them and thrill 'em
To torture and kill 'em
Is her delight they say
I saw her at the seashore with a great big pan
There was Hannah pourin' water on a drownin' man
She's hard hearted Hannah
The vamp of Savannah, G-A
The call her "hard hearted Hannah"
The vamp of Savannah
The meanest gal in town
Talk of your cold, refridgerating mamas
Brotha she's a polar bear's pajamas

An evening spent with Hannah sitting on your knees
Is like travelin' through Alaska in your BVDs
She's hard hearted Hannah
The vamp of Savannah, G-A
Can you imagine a woman as cold as Hannah?
She's got the right name "the vamp of Savannah"
Anytime a woman can take a great big pan
Start pourin' water on a drownin' man
She's hard hearted Hannah
The vamp of Savannah, G-A
Ooh! She's sweet as sour milk.

The Sensitve Side of Smatchoo

"Smatchoo baby?"
I should really show another side of my reasons for writing. I have so many thoughts that aren't about wanting to slam the palm of my hand to my forhead or wishing someone would do that to themselves. Even though I don't have words on my mantle saying I'm Sweet or Sympathetic, I really am.
For instance, I wrote in my journal last week:

It's official. I'm a weepy woman. I substittuted in Primary today and we sang If You Don't Walk as Most People Do.
My eyes glossed over and I had to start blinking frantically to keep the tears from coming down my face.
Oh thank goodness the next song was Do as I'm Doing with this
kid trying to put his whole fist in his mouth. It was a silly escape from
showing my over active emotions.

Meet the Twin of Our W Lounge Friend

In the summer, me and my girlie friends would hit up W Lounge dance club in Salt Lake quite frequently. Usually on a Saturday night so we’d go to church the next day smelling of smoke, hoping to get released from our callings. But no such luck. We’re gonna have to be shade shirt girls forever I guess.

W Lounge Girls

With six or seven of us who reeked of soberness, we were hot items. Especially with “Dancing Machine Marvin” as he called himself. Marvin had to be at least 70 almost 80 years old. But he would go club hopp’n by himself and always entertain us girls with his unique style of dancing.
I ran into to Dancing Machine Marvin at the Zanzibar Jazz Club a few weeks ago and he’s still got it. Sadly, it was too dark for my camera to catch a good picture, but ironically I met Marvin’s Twin today. He’s gonna do a little Country banjo number for you.

I just need a younger version of this…

So girls, is this not a remarkable impression of our W lounge friend?
Maybe we are missing the "frame the face, strike a pose" move but other than that, good, eh?

Mormon Man in Manhattan Making his Misery Manifest

Here's the winner of the Manhattan Singles Ward Film Contest. Note: BIG NOTE!: This is not how I feel ...just yet. But, I do appreciate this guy's honesty and lack of pride to do this in the streets on Manhattan.

Dang you cool girls

Oh great. It’s snowing. Bitter sweet for me, but not for the reasons you usually hear every single year. Mine are different. Cuz I’m so indie. Like the smell of blood is to vampires, snow is to “cool” snowboarding chics. The cool girls are out. – Out to get me. Not to suck my blood. But to thirst on my humiliation of being somewhat athletically worthless. I belong with this crowd.

You see, I celebrate the snow by curling up by the fire with my pen and paper or book while gazing out the square paned windows. And maybe watch Little Women. COOL girls don’t do this. They get in with the guys, and say “Sa-weet! The best powder ever bra!”
Bra: n. White person ebonics for “brother and/or friend”

Powder? I’m from Texas. To this day I always think baby powder first and the last half of that spilt second I correct it, ‘soft snow’. Cool girls don’t even use baby powder. But I do. My appreciation for powder comes when I don’t want to wash my hair so I sprinkle it on top of my head to gain one more curly hair day.

But my uncoolness gets worse than this. There’s one for every season.

Bear Lake? No matter what season, that lake is freezing. I love riding in the boat. And riding outside the boat. BUT getting back in the boat – You have to pretend that goose bumps the size of skittles does not signify subtle misery. But here she is, shaved skin and not a goose bump on her. Utah born and Bear Lake bred.



One handed.
Switch hands ...
a 180 ...
a 360...
A jump of the wake.
And a flip.





‘All right Chic. Ya makin me look bad and this retro swimsuit wasn’t cheap. So sit down and act incompetent. Help me feed their egos. Like this...


The boat stops. But not because she fell. Because it got old and now it’s somebody else’s turn. I was never the kid that fought over turns. Turns were not appreciated. To this day in board games, someone has to tell me when it’s my turn. Rarely ever do I value this.

“Hannah! Your turn!”

‘Oh thanks, as if my anxiety wasn’t keeping track this time.”

its hard to accept being out shone with dignity.
But I take whatever points I can get for going like a good sport who’s not even sporty. And all that is left to do when I climb back in, is raise my hand half way and ask,

“Does anybody still want me?!”

“Well what marketable talent do you have, Hannah?”

“Alliteration.”

Oh AND, I’m a good listener….That’s what I’m told anyways. And potentially popular in Provo with party pooper Peter Priesthoods. A pretty pitiful Provo princess. Please no Pity.

Pie Crust Crushes

Ever had a Pie Crust Crush? = Easily made. Easily broken. You know the kind that usually stem from some worldly aspect. Like being seen on the big screen? Yea, It must be rough to be Brad Pitt. No one genuinely wants you. But luckily, he ain’t got nuthin on me. But these two do.

There is just something about that masked dancing fool that is so intriguing.
I see that commercial and the corners of my mouth cannot keep from raising up. I think I gotta crush on you caveman.



Oh and this guy too. I developed this crush while watching the previews at the Dollar Theater. Right, I know. Get in line huh.

Lesson One on How to be a Conley Girl

Laughing Appropriately at Inappropriate Things.

(Grace Kelly style)

Step one. Take a slow deep breath while shifting your eyes away from the perpetrator ( joke maker).


Step two. Circle your head around and lower chin to shoulder.

Step three. Curl lips inside and around teeth. While shading the forehead with the right hand.
And lastly,

Step four. Place left hand to chest as if needing to catch your breath.

This is body language for,

“Oh that’s bad. But funny.”

My sister Melissa, wins the prize for this Conley girl trait.

Note: I wrote this awhile back, and just found these pictures today by chance. That makes me like the post better.

Intro to: How To Be a Conley Girl

Since I was knee high to a grasshopper, or really, knee high to all the adults in my southern belle childhood, I’ve heard “Well that’s a Conley girl.”

‘A Conley girl?’ I gathered it was a proud claim and that I should just smile in acknowledgment even though I wasn’t quite sure why this was such a popular thing to say as I went by.

Then in my teen years, we moved out west to my mother’s roots and even from complete strangers, I heard, “Oh you’re Tucker and Diana's daughter.”

How do they know that?

But it isn’t just me. We’ve all got it. Traits, habits, mannerisms of a Conley girl.

It’s in the slightest way we react to a situation.

The way we teach a Sunday school lesson.
From our humor to our demeanor.

The way we still laugh at Don Knotts, “Atta boy Luther!” to our unfeigned giddiness at Shakespeare’s romances.

That we tell a secret to one of the six, but inevitably will tell the other four by the end of the day.

How we cherish the charm of old things but all want to play the part of Thoroughly Modern Milly on a Broadway stage.

From our defense of all that is praiseworthy and sacred; to our appreciation in the comedic value of a well timed cuss word.

Somewhat contradictory, but hopefully in all the charming ways.

We are the Conley Girls.

And while there isn’t just one that we owe our defined character, first and foremost would be my Mother.

Diana Monroe Conley
The automatic song today, Moon River from Breakfast at Tiffany's is one of my Mom's favorites.

Mom with Constance, standing in the doorway of the Alamo

Happy Texas Trails

Be careful getting out of your car at a Texas rest stop. After taking a 30 minute nap, my family woke up and saw ...

Photo taken by Tucker Conley

Yes. E'Wuz a cute lil gator.