It's been too long, and I have to say that too often. Ahh, but the holidays are in the air. My heart is telling me that it's time to slow down and do fun things, while my head (and calendar) tell me something quite different. I do have a little lull this week, which is why I am able to write this blog.
I can smell turkey already. Not just in my head, there's actually a turkey roasting in this building for the school's thanksgiving celebration tomorrow. It's finally turned cold, or it did this morning. Now it's nearly 70 degrees and I'm roasting in my boots and turtleneck.
I love fall. I love everything about it. I love the leaves, the holiday atmosphere, the family and friends, the smells. I love the history. One of my top ten favorite movies, it might even make it into the top five, is "The Last of the Mohicans." I have owned the book for a couple of years, but just read it this last week. Well done, Mr. Cooper. Well done. What a spectacular book! The descriptions and the subtle way he weaves romance and adventure. The vividness of the characters and the vitality in all the action. My, my. . .
Although the story takes place in the summer months, the New England setting is quintessential to this time of year and the emotions I feel. One day, I hope to celebrate a Thanksgiving in New England, even though, without family along, it might prove somewhat lonely, and not as special as I imagine it being.
That brings me to one of my points: What is it about other, unknown locales that seem to hold our (my) interest? I am intrigued by the east, all of it, Maine to Florida. Well, maybe not Florida so much, but the rest of it for sure. Maybe it's just because I haven't spent time there, other than a few days in NYC. I've lived in the west, and now I live in the south. I've never experienced the Midwest, but it doesn't call to me. I really do think it's specifically the east, and I think it's the history.
As a pre-teen, I became near obsessed with my ancestors and family tree. I wanted to know where and whom I came from. That has subsided some with maturity, but I also did a lot of research, and now I do know where and whom I came from. That said, I think my preoccupation with the eastern seaboard is wrapped up in it's importance in national history. That is where our nation began. It's the very soil that the wave-tossed Pilgrims stepped onto. That fact is special to me. And, Thanksgiving is special to me. It becomes more and more so each year. It's OUR holiday, as in America. And, as I see more and more our country being unappreciated, the people who fought for it and built it unappreciated, it is my special purpose to do more to uphold the traditions and attitudes that made this country, and made it great. Those same attitudes and traditions can make it great again, if, well I'll just say it, if some of our forefathers and mothers would pay us a visit and kick some a#* in Washington and a few other places.
One theme in “The Last of the Mohicans” is the desire to escape the oppressive government and live. Our forefathers desired to do it on their own and make it on their own. They escaped the governments that had inched too far into their lives. It is that independent mindset, that grit that founded and fostered the nation we have today. Why are some trying so hard to undo all of it?
Freedom of religion was fought for – BY CHRISTIANS, and now Christians are the very ones that must apologize for their beliefs and back down. Blood was spilled to wipe out unfair and abusive taxes, and we have signed our paychecks over to an out-of-control, greedy and oversized government once more. There are many more examples I could cite. Today, military heroes are afforded little respect by the media, and must step ever so lightly as they defend our nation from tyrants. But, this week, terrorists, the tyrants our men in arms fight daily, will stand trial in our nation. They will be presumed innocent and granted the rights of an American citizen – they will be treated the same, equally, as those they saw fit to murder.
Look at what has been done for us, and look at what we have done, and not done, in return.
Freedom of speech, press and assembly seem untouched, but look at our track record. What do you think comes next?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sweater Saga
There are times in a woman's life when she just wants stuff. Be it clothing, a piece of decor, a new home, or perhaps a certain food. Yesterday, I wanted a sweater. I didn't have any particular style or color in mind, I just wanted a sweater - something cozy and feminine to wear in the beautiful fall weather currently descending upon us. My only parameter was the amount of money I intended to spend on said sweater. However, the number in my mind was more than adequate. I've bought many sweaters in the past for less.
I went to seven stores. No sweater purchase was made. I tried on approximately 176 sweaters, all of which were too baggy, odd color, weird neckline, ill-fitted waistline, too much glitter thread (?? any glitter thread is too much in my opinion ??), or it just cost more than I wanted to spend - yet I would try it on anyway because I know myself. I am weak, and if it looks good enough, I'll buy it and forget my "budget."
In my final store, it seemed my luck was a'changin'. I found a beautiful sweater coat. It was "cozy" with toggle buttons!! It was also on sale and they had it in my size - that's a winning combo. Toggle buttons!! I took the sweater off the rack and meandered around the store a little longer. I finally tried the sweater on, just slipping it over the t-shirt I was wearing. It fit nicely and I was mentally pairing it with a lovely pair of brown boots (which I have yet to purchase also) when a vile stench of some sort violated my nostrils. I searched my immediate surroundings for the source of this odious invasion, but found nothing. Then I sorrowfully comprehended what was going on. I pulled the collar of the sweater up to my nose, and almost fainted. It reeked of sour mildew. I don't know what happened to this poor sweater en route to Longview, Texas, but I'm sure it needs counseling. I hurriedly took it off and returned to where I'd found it, hoping there was another one in my size that didn't smell putrid. There were several more, but they all boasted the same scent.
Alas, I left sweater-less. It was beautiful and affordable, but that smell doesn't come out in the wash. So the charm and femininity of the garment would no doubt be cancelled out by the fact that I would smell like a week-old dishrag while wearing it. Not really my style.
I went to seven stores. No sweater purchase was made. I tried on approximately 176 sweaters, all of which were too baggy, odd color, weird neckline, ill-fitted waistline, too much glitter thread (?? any glitter thread is too much in my opinion ??), or it just cost more than I wanted to spend - yet I would try it on anyway because I know myself. I am weak, and if it looks good enough, I'll buy it and forget my "budget."
In my final store, it seemed my luck was a'changin'. I found a beautiful sweater coat. It was "cozy" with toggle buttons!! It was also on sale and they had it in my size - that's a winning combo. Toggle buttons!! I took the sweater off the rack and meandered around the store a little longer. I finally tried the sweater on, just slipping it over the t-shirt I was wearing. It fit nicely and I was mentally pairing it with a lovely pair of brown boots (which I have yet to purchase also) when a vile stench of some sort violated my nostrils. I searched my immediate surroundings for the source of this odious invasion, but found nothing. Then I sorrowfully comprehended what was going on. I pulled the collar of the sweater up to my nose, and almost fainted. It reeked of sour mildew. I don't know what happened to this poor sweater en route to Longview, Texas, but I'm sure it needs counseling. I hurriedly took it off and returned to where I'd found it, hoping there was another one in my size that didn't smell putrid. There were several more, but they all boasted the same scent.
Alas, I left sweater-less. It was beautiful and affordable, but that smell doesn't come out in the wash. So the charm and femininity of the garment would no doubt be cancelled out by the fact that I would smell like a week-old dishrag while wearing it. Not really my style.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Learning not to lean
There is a picture that my parents have, my aunt and uncle have the same one, and a second set of aunt and uncle also have it. The picture is of three children, suspiciously crouched behind a set of steps, holding giant orange-and-black balloons. The looks on their faces would tell you that their whole world's happiness is wrapped up in the balloons, and in the company of one another. The latter is true, the former, however, might be misconstrued, as I know our whole world's happiness was wrapped in the security and love offered us by the six adults in the house.
My two cousins and I have remained close since that photo was taken about 24 years ago. Krystal has since married and moved to California, and David moved back to Texas from Mississippi, and married earlier this year.
Growing up it was me and Krystal, and our families respectively that wound up in Idaho together. Those years, formative for me, cemented forever the feeling of having a second set of parents, a second set of people to run to with my problems, a second set of ears to just listen and then help figure it all out. They left Idaho and returned to Texas before I was even a teenager, but the attachment remained. When I moved to Texas permanently and this aunt and uncle became my pastor and pastor's wife, the practice of sharing my worries and fears compounded. Once again, these miniscule threats to my peace of mind became theirs as well, although I now know bigger ones have always waited at the top of their mind's awareness.
(Hopefully) when we are children, we all have adults such as these. I think of what a wonderful childhood I had, and what a wonderful family I have today, and the picture I spoke of says it all. However, the three of us are no longer children, no longer babies. Nonetheless, (I can speak for myself if no one else) I still lean and depend heavily on the support and security that was in that house that day.
Recently, that changed. The tables have begun to turn, and now I must offer safety, security and even guidance to one or more of those all-important adults in my life. There was one night of fear and even selfishness, for lack of a better term, where my dreams were filled with needs and worries, none of which I could figure out without their help. Beginning the very next morning, their fears and worries were voiced to me, and out of love, honor, and respect, I could do nothing but start on the road to becoming whatever they needed me to be.
People constantly search for ways to be strong, fierce, even to be unaffected by what goes on around them. Ironically, I guess, I believe the purest form of strength is both found in, and refined by, love. Your love for someone else will propel you to set everything else aside and do what is necessary for the well being of that person or persons.
Think of a newly married, free-spirited man, holding his new born baby girl (yes, I'm stealing this from the insurance commercial). The first thing he thinks of is doing whatever is required to care for her forever, even in his absence. That is love. Think of the fear associated with being completely and totally responsible for another life (you already know if you are a parent), yet you find the strength to care for them.
It takes strength to forgive and love covers all sins. It takes strength to stand for what is right, and God's unconditional love encourages us to do this.
As you search for strength in your daily walk, look for love first. You will find the one, although a contrast in some ways, ultimately leads to the other.
My two cousins and I have remained close since that photo was taken about 24 years ago. Krystal has since married and moved to California, and David moved back to Texas from Mississippi, and married earlier this year.
Growing up it was me and Krystal, and our families respectively that wound up in Idaho together. Those years, formative for me, cemented forever the feeling of having a second set of parents, a second set of people to run to with my problems, a second set of ears to just listen and then help figure it all out. They left Idaho and returned to Texas before I was even a teenager, but the attachment remained. When I moved to Texas permanently and this aunt and uncle became my pastor and pastor's wife, the practice of sharing my worries and fears compounded. Once again, these miniscule threats to my peace of mind became theirs as well, although I now know bigger ones have always waited at the top of their mind's awareness.
(Hopefully) when we are children, we all have adults such as these. I think of what a wonderful childhood I had, and what a wonderful family I have today, and the picture I spoke of says it all. However, the three of us are no longer children, no longer babies. Nonetheless, (I can speak for myself if no one else) I still lean and depend heavily on the support and security that was in that house that day.
Recently, that changed. The tables have begun to turn, and now I must offer safety, security and even guidance to one or more of those all-important adults in my life. There was one night of fear and even selfishness, for lack of a better term, where my dreams were filled with needs and worries, none of which I could figure out without their help. Beginning the very next morning, their fears and worries were voiced to me, and out of love, honor, and respect, I could do nothing but start on the road to becoming whatever they needed me to be.
People constantly search for ways to be strong, fierce, even to be unaffected by what goes on around them. Ironically, I guess, I believe the purest form of strength is both found in, and refined by, love. Your love for someone else will propel you to set everything else aside and do what is necessary for the well being of that person or persons.
Think of a newly married, free-spirited man, holding his new born baby girl (yes, I'm stealing this from the insurance commercial). The first thing he thinks of is doing whatever is required to care for her forever, even in his absence. That is love. Think of the fear associated with being completely and totally responsible for another life (you already know if you are a parent), yet you find the strength to care for them.
It takes strength to forgive and love covers all sins. It takes strength to stand for what is right, and God's unconditional love encourages us to do this.
As you search for strength in your daily walk, look for love first. You will find the one, although a contrast in some ways, ultimately leads to the other.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
The importance of coffee
My blog has been silent for some weeks. I apologize. I've been a little discouraged on the writing front as of late, and decided to take a break and concentrate on some areas that maybe needed more of my attention. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, though. I have missed it, and I'm ready to start again.
What's a writer without coffee? It's a necessary accessory, if you ask me. I've been a "hardcore coffee drinker" for close to seven years. When I say "hardcore", I mean coffee is first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning (after thanking God for waking me up at all, that is). When I go to bed at night, I am excited about drinking coffee the next morning. I giggle with glee when I smell coffee. I plan whole days and trips around coffee. I will book a more expensive hotel based on its proximity to Starbucks, or another worthy and proven conveyor of my most favored elixir. I LOVE coffee.
I have a brief anecdote to illustrate this. I normally grind and brew my special, snobby coffee at home, but last week, my roommate was out of town, and I'm a big baby that doesn't like being by herself, so I stayed at my parent's house, where there is only instant coffee. . .GASP!!! On the morning in question, I had a doctor's appointment, so I simply left early with the plan of picking up a latte from the "we proudly brew Starbucks" place in the hospital food court. By the time I reached Longview city limits, I had the headache. I skipped getting gas just to get my coffee quicker. I arrived at the hospital, parked and went to the market. In my mind, I smelled the coffee, but when I rounded the corner, I was greeted with only darkness. Darkness and a steel gate. There was no coffee in this place. Derision must have been present on my face, because a kind nurse took pity on me and asked: "Are you looking for the coffee shop?"
"Yes," I answered. "Yes, I am. What happened?"
"This one closed down, but there's one in the main hospital building."
"How do I get there? Can I take the skybridge, or do I have to drive?" (My head was pounding, and my senses, unaided by caffeine, were not functioning properly.)
She answered yes and I set out to the neighboring building, where I would find the elevator, take it to the second floor, cross Highway 80 on the skybridge and sniff my way to my coffee. Keep in mind that, my doctor's office was exactly one elevator ride and five short floors away at this point, and my quest for coffee was going to take me approximately four blocks, round trip, out of my way - on foot and in heels. Didn't matter. Needed the coffee.
I boarded the elevator only to read a sign telling me it does not stop on the second floor. No problem, I think, I'll go to the third floor and take the stairs down to the second and get on the skybridge. So, when the elevator stopped on the third floor, I went directly to the stairwell and entered, paying no heed to the sign reading "No Re-entry."
In retrospect, this was not my finest moment. My instincts were operating at a deficiency, but that was little comfort when I replayed the words in my head just in time to hear the door click behind me. Before panicking, I tried the handle. Definitely locked. Remain calm, Rachel. Go downstairs and try that one. I amble down the concrete steps, in my three-inch heels, still legitimately more concerned about getting coffee than over the possibility of being locked in a stairwell for some undetermined amount of time. However, when door number two was found to be penetrable only by a four-digit code unknown to me, my need for the legal stimulant faded slightly and was replaced with earnest unease.
Movie scenes began to fill my head, and every creak above and below me was a deranged individual crouching in the corner waiting for just such and opportunity, and just such an idiot as I. I immediately thought of my cell phone, but remembered that I was entombed in concrete. I then walked down to the first floor and beheld what appeared to be an unsecured door. I tried the handle. Salvation!
Crisis averted. Back to the coffee quest. As I emerge from the stairwell, the same concerned nurse appears before me. "Did you find it?" she asks.
I shake my head and she points to my left where there is a broad staircase leading to the bright, light-filled second floor. I feel my face illuminate as I turn to it. Soon I am walking above Highway 80 and the enticing aroma of coffee fills my nose. Soon I have placed my order and have a non-fat caramel latte in my hand. All is right with the world!
What's a writer without coffee? It's a necessary accessory, if you ask me. I've been a "hardcore coffee drinker" for close to seven years. When I say "hardcore", I mean coffee is first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning (after thanking God for waking me up at all, that is). When I go to bed at night, I am excited about drinking coffee the next morning. I giggle with glee when I smell coffee. I plan whole days and trips around coffee. I will book a more expensive hotel based on its proximity to Starbucks, or another worthy and proven conveyor of my most favored elixir. I LOVE coffee.
I have a brief anecdote to illustrate this. I normally grind and brew my special, snobby coffee at home, but last week, my roommate was out of town, and I'm a big baby that doesn't like being by herself, so I stayed at my parent's house, where there is only instant coffee. . .GASP!!! On the morning in question, I had a doctor's appointment, so I simply left early with the plan of picking up a latte from the "we proudly brew Starbucks" place in the hospital food court. By the time I reached Longview city limits, I had the headache. I skipped getting gas just to get my coffee quicker. I arrived at the hospital, parked and went to the market. In my mind, I smelled the coffee, but when I rounded the corner, I was greeted with only darkness. Darkness and a steel gate. There was no coffee in this place. Derision must have been present on my face, because a kind nurse took pity on me and asked: "Are you looking for the coffee shop?"
"Yes," I answered. "Yes, I am. What happened?"
"This one closed down, but there's one in the main hospital building."
"How do I get there? Can I take the skybridge, or do I have to drive?" (My head was pounding, and my senses, unaided by caffeine, were not functioning properly.)
She answered yes and I set out to the neighboring building, where I would find the elevator, take it to the second floor, cross Highway 80 on the skybridge and sniff my way to my coffee. Keep in mind that, my doctor's office was exactly one elevator ride and five short floors away at this point, and my quest for coffee was going to take me approximately four blocks, round trip, out of my way - on foot and in heels. Didn't matter. Needed the coffee.
I boarded the elevator only to read a sign telling me it does not stop on the second floor. No problem, I think, I'll go to the third floor and take the stairs down to the second and get on the skybridge. So, when the elevator stopped on the third floor, I went directly to the stairwell and entered, paying no heed to the sign reading "No Re-entry."
In retrospect, this was not my finest moment. My instincts were operating at a deficiency, but that was little comfort when I replayed the words in my head just in time to hear the door click behind me. Before panicking, I tried the handle. Definitely locked. Remain calm, Rachel. Go downstairs and try that one. I amble down the concrete steps, in my three-inch heels, still legitimately more concerned about getting coffee than over the possibility of being locked in a stairwell for some undetermined amount of time. However, when door number two was found to be penetrable only by a four-digit code unknown to me, my need for the legal stimulant faded slightly and was replaced with earnest unease.
Movie scenes began to fill my head, and every creak above and below me was a deranged individual crouching in the corner waiting for just such and opportunity, and just such an idiot as I. I immediately thought of my cell phone, but remembered that I was entombed in concrete. I then walked down to the first floor and beheld what appeared to be an unsecured door. I tried the handle. Salvation!
Crisis averted. Back to the coffee quest. As I emerge from the stairwell, the same concerned nurse appears before me. "Did you find it?" she asks.
I shake my head and she points to my left where there is a broad staircase leading to the bright, light-filled second floor. I feel my face illuminate as I turn to it. Soon I am walking above Highway 80 and the enticing aroma of coffee fills my nose. Soon I have placed my order and have a non-fat caramel latte in my hand. All is right with the world!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Blessed toes
I am currently writing an article on a church with an amazing emphasis on being the Body of Christ, which really should be the emphasis of every church if you get to thinking about it. In my interview with the pastor, he exmeplified his ministry by saying that the toes aren't the most gratifying part of the body, but somebody has to play the part. If toes are so unimportant, why does it hurt SO BAD when you stub them?
This is a side story, but I walked into the solid-wood base of a chair last night and immediately found myself curled into the fetal position on the floor with tears in my eyes and dirty words on the tip of my tongue. I was certain one or two of my toes were broken, which concerned me, because I need my toes fully functional. If I'm not mistaken, the toes provide balance, and thus, the ability to walk? (Toe experts feel free to comment.) My point is: The smallest, most seemingly insignifcant parts, sometimes play incredible roles, and when they are hurt, every other part feels it and reacts (cue mental image of Rachel on the floor writhing in pain and contemplating x-ray trip).
I work really hard, every day. It seems I spend a lot of time doing things for other people, and solving problems created by others instead of "doing something constructive." In actuality, I must do things for others, because they are constantly doing stuff for me, so I can in fact, do something constructive for at least some amount of time every day. It is a cycle. Just by showing up every morning, daycare staff is in place to care for children and run the center so I don't have to. I may have to get them latex gloves, bring paper towels, remove a child for "level 2" discipline, and a whole bunch of other tasks that may at the moment irritate me, but in the end, I'm helping them do their job, so they can in turn allow me to do mine. I didn't just realize this cycle existed, I've always known it was there. However, I don't believe I have fully appreciated it, or the people involved in it.
If I went to work Monday and no one else arrived, I would be up the creek. Not only would I not be able to do my "job" I would be unable to run the center in a safe and legal manner. I would also undoubtedly lose my mind caring for 50+ children all alone. That scenario would never actually occur, but you get my point. Child care workers may be some of the most overworked and under appreciated people there are. To society at large, they may appear to be the "toes" but in the body of my work life, they are the part that provides balance and allows me to walk. So if I haven't said it lately - I appreciate the Calvary Way Daycare staff.
This is a side story, but I walked into the solid-wood base of a chair last night and immediately found myself curled into the fetal position on the floor with tears in my eyes and dirty words on the tip of my tongue. I was certain one or two of my toes were broken, which concerned me, because I need my toes fully functional. If I'm not mistaken, the toes provide balance, and thus, the ability to walk? (Toe experts feel free to comment.) My point is: The smallest, most seemingly insignifcant parts, sometimes play incredible roles, and when they are hurt, every other part feels it and reacts (cue mental image of Rachel on the floor writhing in pain and contemplating x-ray trip).
I work really hard, every day. It seems I spend a lot of time doing things for other people, and solving problems created by others instead of "doing something constructive." In actuality, I must do things for others, because they are constantly doing stuff for me, so I can in fact, do something constructive for at least some amount of time every day. It is a cycle. Just by showing up every morning, daycare staff is in place to care for children and run the center so I don't have to. I may have to get them latex gloves, bring paper towels, remove a child for "level 2" discipline, and a whole bunch of other tasks that may at the moment irritate me, but in the end, I'm helping them do their job, so they can in turn allow me to do mine. I didn't just realize this cycle existed, I've always known it was there. However, I don't believe I have fully appreciated it, or the people involved in it.
If I went to work Monday and no one else arrived, I would be up the creek. Not only would I not be able to do my "job" I would be unable to run the center in a safe and legal manner. I would also undoubtedly lose my mind caring for 50+ children all alone. That scenario would never actually occur, but you get my point. Child care workers may be some of the most overworked and under appreciated people there are. To society at large, they may appear to be the "toes" but in the body of my work life, they are the part that provides balance and allows me to walk. So if I haven't said it lately - I appreciate the Calvary Way Daycare staff.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Adventures in movie going
Friday night I went out with my parents and sister to celebrate my mom's birthday. Mom wanted to see The Time Traveler's Wife, so my sister and I went with her, and my dad opted to see Inglorious Basterds on his own. Our movie let out about 50 minutes earlier than his, so we waited for him in the lobby of the theater. Oh wow. It wasn't really late, 9:10 or so, but already nocturnal phenomena was occurring.
If you've seen Men in Black, you know that Tommy Lee Jones explains that a certain number of "humans" on earth are actually aliens in disguise. What he failed to mention is that they congregate at the Carmike Theater in Longview, Texas. That sounds severe, I know, so let's soften it and be more specific. What I witnessed was mostly the confusion and insecurity of junior high exemplified in dress and behavior.
This was the last weekend ahead of the start of public school, so I'm sure the kiddos were out in full force solidifying their alliances for the school year. When I was in junior high (shudder) I always had a list of people to call at the end of the summer to set myself up socially for the school year. You have to compare schedules and find out where lockers are so you can easily find one another at break and lunch and avoid the awkward "loner" moments and panic that comes with not having anyone to sit with. I was a poster child for insecurity in junior high. I didn't want to appear alone for even the shortest amount of time. Nevertheless, these poor kids. . .I can see things have not changed.
In my 50 minute adventure Friday night, I saw many things. I observed a faction of the pre-teen Mexican mafia act and react to stimuli in their natural habitat: the arcade game corner. There were young ladies that seemed to be skinny jean/punkish types on the bottom halves of their bodies, but something entirely different and preppier on the top. One group entered the lobby only to buy movie theater nachos, and then apparently left. I know I go out of my way constantly for stale chips topped with thick, congealed, re-warmed, processed cheese product. (??!) The plastic container is the cherry on top. Oh, and the fact that they cost $6.75!!!
I also saw adults that piqued my curiosity. Although, people that attend ten o'clock movies intrigue me in general. I admire them, as it's something I cannot accomplish. I haven't gone to a movie past nine o'clock since high school, and the chances are I didn't go then. I just said I was to stay out past curfew. Nowadays, I'm tucked in by ten watching The Nanny and it's lights out by 10:30. Anyways, back to these adults. One gentleman wore loafers, white linen pants, and a pale pink button down untucked. His wire-rimmed glasses were brushed on the top by his slightly shaggy, sandy blonde hair, and he walked in relaxation with grace and ease. I anlayzed this person and created an entire existence for him while he was buying his popcorn and soda, which took a really long time, by the way. . .Carmike. I decided he was a writer, go figure, who has been published before (so jealous. . .why can't I get my break?), and is staying in Longview to research his book on, well I didn't get that far, but I decided he had written several chapters that day and was going out for a movie to relax his mind before hitting the writing hard again the next day.
What fun people-watching is! If you haven't tried it, you should. It can be inspiring and just plain interesting. My experience was so interesting, I took notes. To write this blog. See, inspiring.
If you've seen Men in Black, you know that Tommy Lee Jones explains that a certain number of "humans" on earth are actually aliens in disguise. What he failed to mention is that they congregate at the Carmike Theater in Longview, Texas. That sounds severe, I know, so let's soften it and be more specific. What I witnessed was mostly the confusion and insecurity of junior high exemplified in dress and behavior.
This was the last weekend ahead of the start of public school, so I'm sure the kiddos were out in full force solidifying their alliances for the school year. When I was in junior high (shudder) I always had a list of people to call at the end of the summer to set myself up socially for the school year. You have to compare schedules and find out where lockers are so you can easily find one another at break and lunch and avoid the awkward "loner" moments and panic that comes with not having anyone to sit with. I was a poster child for insecurity in junior high. I didn't want to appear alone for even the shortest amount of time. Nevertheless, these poor kids. . .I can see things have not changed.
In my 50 minute adventure Friday night, I saw many things. I observed a faction of the pre-teen Mexican mafia act and react to stimuli in their natural habitat: the arcade game corner. There were young ladies that seemed to be skinny jean/punkish types on the bottom halves of their bodies, but something entirely different and preppier on the top. One group entered the lobby only to buy movie theater nachos, and then apparently left. I know I go out of my way constantly for stale chips topped with thick, congealed, re-warmed, processed cheese product. (??!) The plastic container is the cherry on top. Oh, and the fact that they cost $6.75!!!
I also saw adults that piqued my curiosity. Although, people that attend ten o'clock movies intrigue me in general. I admire them, as it's something I cannot accomplish. I haven't gone to a movie past nine o'clock since high school, and the chances are I didn't go then. I just said I was to stay out past curfew. Nowadays, I'm tucked in by ten watching The Nanny and it's lights out by 10:30. Anyways, back to these adults. One gentleman wore loafers, white linen pants, and a pale pink button down untucked. His wire-rimmed glasses were brushed on the top by his slightly shaggy, sandy blonde hair, and he walked in relaxation with grace and ease. I anlayzed this person and created an entire existence for him while he was buying his popcorn and soda, which took a really long time, by the way. . .Carmike. I decided he was a writer, go figure, who has been published before (so jealous. . .why can't I get my break?), and is staying in Longview to research his book on, well I didn't get that far, but I decided he had written several chapters that day and was going out for a movie to relax his mind before hitting the writing hard again the next day.
What fun people-watching is! If you haven't tried it, you should. It can be inspiring and just plain interesting. My experience was so interesting, I took notes. To write this blog. See, inspiring.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Acquired Fears
When I was a child, I spent my summers running barefooted around my cul-de-sac. I picked the legs off of grasshoppers and lowered myself to eye level with spiders, attempting to feed them, usually by throwing the legless grasshoppers into their webs. I crawled and laid on the floor of my garage and those of my neighbors. I ate before washing my hands. I drank out of the water hose. And, I just didn't worry.
These days, I cringe at the sight of nearly any bug and find a way to alter my path to avoid coming within its jumping distance. I don't even like sticking my hand under my bed for fear of what might be under it (I live in the country, folks. Brown recluse spiders and snakes are a realistic threat). It is always with scrutiny that I eat at a new restaurant or partake in a homemade treat made by someone I don't know, or trust. I drink only bottled water, although I'm working on that one. Why can't the ease of living we experience as a child be transferred to adulthood? I wish somedays I could unlearn all the facts that have taught me to worry and fear, but I can't. Truthfully, that knowledge is valuable, although cumbersome at times.
I came across a very large, terrifying grass spider the other day. Normally, I avoid even the tiniest of arachnids and wait for someone braver (like my 16-year-old sister) to come along and kill them for me. But at this particular time, I was interviewing a prospective employee and needed to appear as adult-like as possible. So, I gathered my wits, and from across the room, threw a magazine on top of the creature. I then cautiously approached the area and stomped the magazine a dozen times, and left the magazine in place, its weight guaranteeing my safety against any zombie-like characteristics this spider might posess. (Have you seen Arachnaphobia?!) Looking back, I see how this display most definitely secured my repuatation as a competent and professional person for the woman I was interviewing. What's more, I believe the spider may have already been dead, but I killed it more, because it was horrifying to look at. . . even in death.
After the woman left, I took a deep breath and lifted the magazine, and after two full minutes and ten tries, was able to scoop the remnants onto a sheet of paper and deposit it all in the trash.
Ten, twelve. . .wait. . . seventeen to nineteen years ago (HOLY COW!!!) I would have stomped the spider with my shoe, would have had great fun doing it, and then I would have gone about my summer day making mud pies. That's another thing - I hate being dirty now, and as a kid, I came home coated in dirt.
I taught a lesson last week that emphasized the importance of being child like when approaching the Kingdom of God. Such useful advice, but hard to apply, as most good advice usually is. I didn't worry as a child, and now I seem to worry about everything. I am making a conscience effort to stop, to approach life in general with a more child-like, not childish, attitude and outlook. God is going to take care of it all, but as an adult human it is often so hard to step aside and let Him. So, today's moral may be - the more difficult the advice is to follow, the more important it is that you do.
These days, I cringe at the sight of nearly any bug and find a way to alter my path to avoid coming within its jumping distance. I don't even like sticking my hand under my bed for fear of what might be under it (I live in the country, folks. Brown recluse spiders and snakes are a realistic threat). It is always with scrutiny that I eat at a new restaurant or partake in a homemade treat made by someone I don't know, or trust. I drink only bottled water, although I'm working on that one. Why can't the ease of living we experience as a child be transferred to adulthood? I wish somedays I could unlearn all the facts that have taught me to worry and fear, but I can't. Truthfully, that knowledge is valuable, although cumbersome at times.
I came across a very large, terrifying grass spider the other day. Normally, I avoid even the tiniest of arachnids and wait for someone braver (like my 16-year-old sister) to come along and kill them for me. But at this particular time, I was interviewing a prospective employee and needed to appear as adult-like as possible. So, I gathered my wits, and from across the room, threw a magazine on top of the creature. I then cautiously approached the area and stomped the magazine a dozen times, and left the magazine in place, its weight guaranteeing my safety against any zombie-like characteristics this spider might posess. (Have you seen Arachnaphobia?!) Looking back, I see how this display most definitely secured my repuatation as a competent and professional person for the woman I was interviewing. What's more, I believe the spider may have already been dead, but I killed it more, because it was horrifying to look at. . . even in death.
After the woman left, I took a deep breath and lifted the magazine, and after two full minutes and ten tries, was able to scoop the remnants onto a sheet of paper and deposit it all in the trash.
Ten, twelve. . .wait. . . seventeen to nineteen years ago (HOLY COW!!!) I would have stomped the spider with my shoe, would have had great fun doing it, and then I would have gone about my summer day making mud pies. That's another thing - I hate being dirty now, and as a kid, I came home coated in dirt.
I taught a lesson last week that emphasized the importance of being child like when approaching the Kingdom of God. Such useful advice, but hard to apply, as most good advice usually is. I didn't worry as a child, and now I seem to worry about everything. I am making a conscience effort to stop, to approach life in general with a more child-like, not childish, attitude and outlook. God is going to take care of it all, but as an adult human it is often so hard to step aside and let Him. So, today's moral may be - the more difficult the advice is to follow, the more important it is that you do.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
God's Lab Rat
I'm not saying God is experimenting on me. I actually mean this in the best possible way. I'm talking about God's will, and how He has a way of closing off or opening up certain areas to channel us in the right direction. In my life, He is doing this through added responsibility, and added challenges.
Responsibility from God is an honor. If He gives you a job to do, or two or three or four, feel blessed. I do. By my own request, and through a series of events, I've taken on a brand new leadership role within my church, I've got to step more fully into one I've apparently had, and I've got to expand my reach in a third. Each of these areas is challenging in its own way and I am being pushed as an individual to learn new things and strengthen myself in certain areas. Most importantly, these challenges have become integrated into my personal prayer and study life, and I AM GROWING!
I pray all the time for a better prayer life, and naturally, for a closer walk with God. I pray these things out of habit. And, although I sincerely desire those things (obviously) I never think too much about how God's going to bring them about in a tangible, visible or measurable sort of way. I've realized over the past week or so that He's been working on these things in my life for some time, and now, I must be getting to the place where my eyes are open, my vision is clearer, and I can really see how He's doing it. AWESOME!
I believe one thing that has brought this epiphany on, is the fact that I've stopped viewing my walk as "just for me." With the added responsibility, I've come to realize that the quality of my walk is going to directly impact the walks of others. If I'm not where God wants me, doing what He wants me to do, studying what He wants me to study, acting and behaving how He wants me to act and behave, how am I going to lead, teach and bless others? Everything is connected.
Example: If I don't pray and seek God before leading praise and worship, how will I know which songs to pick and what words to speak? I must be in tune (no pun intended) before my fingers hit the keys in order to be sensitive to the spirit and God's intentions for that service. THAT is an awesome responsibility, but an amazing blessing, too. To have such direction and immediacy in prayer! "God help me and lead me and show me RIGHT now, so I can do exactly what you need me to do RIGHT NOW." And, the results are immediate - I pray for God to use me, I tell Him in prayer that the talents and gifts He has given me belong to Him. Then I witness and feel Him use them for His glory. He tells me what to do, I do it, and then He goes to work. It's like an out-of-body experience. I watch and see what He is doing and I feel such closeness to Him, I feel such worth. I don't want this to sound like it's about me, because it's not. It's about Him. Just like an offering or any other sacrifice we offer up, God takes it and uses it in the way He chooses.
Thank you, God, for allowing me to work for you.
Responsibility from God is an honor. If He gives you a job to do, or two or three or four, feel blessed. I do. By my own request, and through a series of events, I've taken on a brand new leadership role within my church, I've got to step more fully into one I've apparently had, and I've got to expand my reach in a third. Each of these areas is challenging in its own way and I am being pushed as an individual to learn new things and strengthen myself in certain areas. Most importantly, these challenges have become integrated into my personal prayer and study life, and I AM GROWING!
I pray all the time for a better prayer life, and naturally, for a closer walk with God. I pray these things out of habit. And, although I sincerely desire those things (obviously) I never think too much about how God's going to bring them about in a tangible, visible or measurable sort of way. I've realized over the past week or so that He's been working on these things in my life for some time, and now, I must be getting to the place where my eyes are open, my vision is clearer, and I can really see how He's doing it. AWESOME!
I believe one thing that has brought this epiphany on, is the fact that I've stopped viewing my walk as "just for me." With the added responsibility, I've come to realize that the quality of my walk is going to directly impact the walks of others. If I'm not where God wants me, doing what He wants me to do, studying what He wants me to study, acting and behaving how He wants me to act and behave, how am I going to lead, teach and bless others? Everything is connected.
Example: If I don't pray and seek God before leading praise and worship, how will I know which songs to pick and what words to speak? I must be in tune (no pun intended) before my fingers hit the keys in order to be sensitive to the spirit and God's intentions for that service. THAT is an awesome responsibility, but an amazing blessing, too. To have such direction and immediacy in prayer! "God help me and lead me and show me RIGHT now, so I can do exactly what you need me to do RIGHT NOW." And, the results are immediate - I pray for God to use me, I tell Him in prayer that the talents and gifts He has given me belong to Him. Then I witness and feel Him use them for His glory. He tells me what to do, I do it, and then He goes to work. It's like an out-of-body experience. I watch and see what He is doing and I feel such closeness to Him, I feel such worth. I don't want this to sound like it's about me, because it's not. It's about Him. Just like an offering or any other sacrifice we offer up, God takes it and uses it in the way He chooses.
Thank you, God, for allowing me to work for you.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Neurotic or just punctual?
I am not a procrastinator. Not since my sophomore year of college anyways. I hate unfinished business, don't want it hanging over my head. In fact, I usually can't wait for my writing deadlines to arrive, because although I may have a project finished, I will not submit it early. I feel I should use every available minute and opportunity to further perfect it. So, most times, I am frantic for 7-10 days before a deadline trying to pick an article to death before submitting it by 9 a.m. on the deadline day (after reading it over a casual 6-8 additional times. . .you know, just to be sure).
Conversely, while working out I try to wish the "deadline" away. I just got off the treadmill a few minutes ago. I try to vary my routine, for fitness and to keep myself from going crazy. Tonight, I kicked my butt by maxing out for about 90 seconds, then walking at a brisk pace for 90 seconds. I went back and forth several times after a full 20 minutes of steady jogging. I like the brisk walking best, and when the 90 seconds started winding down and I knew I would have to ramp it up and kick my butt again, I relished my last few seconds of brisk walking. However, I never cheated, in fact I would usually push the speed button up a few seconds early. Surprise attack. On myself.
I'm not sure what the moral is here, other than this: Doesn't it feel good to just get it done?
My motivation at work has been fleeting lately. I get there in the morning all fired up, but by lunch, I'm pretty much done. I guess it's the summer mentality, and that's okay. Soon enough school will be back in and I'll be forced to dig for motivation at 3 and 4 in the afternoon because that will be the first chance I'll have all day to sit down and do desk work, project work, busy work. There will be so much to do, but I will get it done. And it will feel great. So, I guess it's okay to stare out my window for 10 out of every 30 minutes of the post-lunch work day. I'm getting plenty done in the morning, and I know me, when push comes to shove everything that needs doing will get done. Even if it's after lunch, even if it means breaking my brisk walk a few seconds early.
Conversely, while working out I try to wish the "deadline" away. I just got off the treadmill a few minutes ago. I try to vary my routine, for fitness and to keep myself from going crazy. Tonight, I kicked my butt by maxing out for about 90 seconds, then walking at a brisk pace for 90 seconds. I went back and forth several times after a full 20 minutes of steady jogging. I like the brisk walking best, and when the 90 seconds started winding down and I knew I would have to ramp it up and kick my butt again, I relished my last few seconds of brisk walking. However, I never cheated, in fact I would usually push the speed button up a few seconds early. Surprise attack. On myself.
I'm not sure what the moral is here, other than this: Doesn't it feel good to just get it done?
My motivation at work has been fleeting lately. I get there in the morning all fired up, but by lunch, I'm pretty much done. I guess it's the summer mentality, and that's okay. Soon enough school will be back in and I'll be forced to dig for motivation at 3 and 4 in the afternoon because that will be the first chance I'll have all day to sit down and do desk work, project work, busy work. There will be so much to do, but I will get it done. And it will feel great. So, I guess it's okay to stare out my window for 10 out of every 30 minutes of the post-lunch work day. I'm getting plenty done in the morning, and I know me, when push comes to shove everything that needs doing will get done. Even if it's after lunch, even if it means breaking my brisk walk a few seconds early.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Watching and Waiting
Faith makes things possible - not easy. Simple enough advice, but easily forgotten and often difficult to follow.
Our school is entering its seventh year. Biblically speaking, this should be the year that we see great growth and return, the year the fruits of our labor should be most evident.
I have been looking forward to this school year for some time. I feel like I finally have my feet under me and have an excellent staff behind me. This past year, and years prior, it seemed we were always just surviving, not being progressive. It felt like I was on a treadmill. I really wanted this year to be the one where new ideas could blossom and be put into practice. It was going to be a growing year, not just another maintenance year. Last week, my hopes were diminished some as I read a letter of resignation from the strongest and probably most valuable teacher we've ever had. I hold no anger toward her at all, and I support her decision to move on fully - she has left on nothing but good terms. However, the void she leaves behind is one only I can fill - for the time being.
At first, this turn of events discouraged and worried me, but then I remembered the phrase above. "Faith makes things possible, not easy." And, then I remembered another one: "If things are going wrong, you must be doing something right."
For a long time, I have felt that I needed to be more heavily involved in a certain area of the school, and I've never pushed myself into it because the staff member that resigned did such an excellent job in that arena. Now, I have no choice but to step into that place. Isn't God a wise Father. I had my plans for this year, but He has some, too, no doubt. And His are better than mine. Through this change, I've learned that no matter how inconvenient or unlucky a circumstance may seem, I should step back and think about what God may be trying to accomplish through it. Where is He trying to lead me? What is He setting up?
I know this staff member prayed and sought God in her decision. Likewise, I have prayed that God will enable me to fill her shoes, and give me the strength to fill my own at the same time. And I know He will do it.
Many people believe a life lived for God is dull, that there is no excitement. They are wrong. When God changes a circumstance and you know it's for the purpose of something awesome, there is nothing more exciting than watching and waiting for His will to be perfected.
Our school is entering its seventh year. Biblically speaking, this should be the year that we see great growth and return, the year the fruits of our labor should be most evident.
I have been looking forward to this school year for some time. I feel like I finally have my feet under me and have an excellent staff behind me. This past year, and years prior, it seemed we were always just surviving, not being progressive. It felt like I was on a treadmill. I really wanted this year to be the one where new ideas could blossom and be put into practice. It was going to be a growing year, not just another maintenance year. Last week, my hopes were diminished some as I read a letter of resignation from the strongest and probably most valuable teacher we've ever had. I hold no anger toward her at all, and I support her decision to move on fully - she has left on nothing but good terms. However, the void she leaves behind is one only I can fill - for the time being.
At first, this turn of events discouraged and worried me, but then I remembered the phrase above. "Faith makes things possible, not easy." And, then I remembered another one: "If things are going wrong, you must be doing something right."
For a long time, I have felt that I needed to be more heavily involved in a certain area of the school, and I've never pushed myself into it because the staff member that resigned did such an excellent job in that arena. Now, I have no choice but to step into that place. Isn't God a wise Father. I had my plans for this year, but He has some, too, no doubt. And His are better than mine. Through this change, I've learned that no matter how inconvenient or unlucky a circumstance may seem, I should step back and think about what God may be trying to accomplish through it. Where is He trying to lead me? What is He setting up?
I know this staff member prayed and sought God in her decision. Likewise, I have prayed that God will enable me to fill her shoes, and give me the strength to fill my own at the same time. And I know He will do it.
Many people believe a life lived for God is dull, that there is no excitement. They are wrong. When God changes a circumstance and you know it's for the purpose of something awesome, there is nothing more exciting than watching and waiting for His will to be perfected.
Monday, June 22, 2009
When work isn't work
Imagine being on vacation, but having to work. It's not that hard to visualize. I think most of us have had a working vacation at some point. I for one never went home for Thanksgiving or Spring Break while in college without the building blocks of a project or the outline for a paper in tow. Now, I carry writing assignments along with me. On the surface, I find that irritating, not because of the writing itself, but because of the leg work I have to get out of the way before I actually get down to doing what I love. . .the writing.
I carted along two articles on my family vacation to Tennessee a few weeks ago. Thanks to decent time management skills and an extremely stressful pre-vacation week, the articles were finished before we departed and all I had to worry about on the trip was making minor changes as fact checks came back from the people I'd interviewed. However, that experience has shown me that most of my free time is spent writing, preparing to write, editing what I've already written, or figuring out who I can write for next. In other words, I leave one job and come home to another one. But it doesn't feel that way. Yes, there are days that I would rather go home and numb my mind over with several hours of television, and I'll admit that I've given into that temptation more than once (especially when there are Jon & Kate Plus 8 marathons). I have to let my mind rest at some point. But, it generally doesn't happen two days in a row, or really, more than once a week, because it is not what I love. It is not what truly relaxes me. My writing does, and I am not at peace at the end of the day unless I have contributed something to that part of my life. Whether I write a blog, edit a section of the book, write a new section, research an agent, tweak my query letters, or work on a current assignment for a magazine or other client, I have to do something writing related, every day, or I'm just not happy. It is my release, my touchstone.
I believe God wired me that way. I believe He wants me to be a writer more than I do at times (dee-ta-dee). He has blessed this part of my life more than I ever could have imagined. He must be in it, because new writers don't find the work I've found on their own right out of the shoot. He always planned it, and He chose for me to have various and sundry experiences along the way to train me for it, to develop relationships and skills that would help me build this career. When I look back on all He has put in place, all He has allowed, I am overwhelmed by His awesome ability, His goodness, and His plan.
I know this is Him. When I am discouraged, something always happens to encourage me. For example, while on vacation, we stayed with my aunt and uncle in Mississippi and visited their church. I spoke to their pastor and pastor's wife about my book briefly a few months ago when they were here for my cousin's wedding, but have thought little about the conversation since then. I wouldn't say I was down about the book when I left on the trip, but it had been put on the back burner, and let's face it - getting fiction published is never easy. At the close of the Sunday evening service we were a part of, the pastor of this church stood before his congregation and praised my writing work and expressed how excited he and his wife were about my upcoming book. Prior to that, his wife had asked me about the progress and requested a copy. Those two experiences catapulted me back into the publishing endeavor. I was reminded that I am capable, that I am doing more than most attempt to do, and most importantly, that God has blessed me with a talent and I have to do all that I can to ensure He receives glory from it.
When I am lazy, something always comes along to motivate me. I will be in the middle of a lethargic and pitiful Saturday afternoon, watching a worthless movie I've seen 15 times, and all of a sudden a writer character will be introduced, or a scene will call to mind the quintessential writer's life. I am always imagining a cabin tucked in the mountains, or a cottage on the beach, some kind of retreat where I will stay while writing my 21st best seller. No matter the place, I am always in a sweater, with a cup of coffee, and I own a Grand Waggoneer. This is MY vision. Don't judge me! The point is, while I'm watching a movie or TV, or reading a book, a subtle, unexpected motivator always creeps in and I am reminded that "there is no someday." And, the cherry on top is: when I finally turn off the TV and put my butt in the chair, the chair I'm sitting in right now, I have a lot more fun and am far more relaxed than I was doing the other fruitless activity.
I carted along two articles on my family vacation to Tennessee a few weeks ago. Thanks to decent time management skills and an extremely stressful pre-vacation week, the articles were finished before we departed and all I had to worry about on the trip was making minor changes as fact checks came back from the people I'd interviewed. However, that experience has shown me that most of my free time is spent writing, preparing to write, editing what I've already written, or figuring out who I can write for next. In other words, I leave one job and come home to another one. But it doesn't feel that way. Yes, there are days that I would rather go home and numb my mind over with several hours of television, and I'll admit that I've given into that temptation more than once (especially when there are Jon & Kate Plus 8 marathons). I have to let my mind rest at some point. But, it generally doesn't happen two days in a row, or really, more than once a week, because it is not what I love. It is not what truly relaxes me. My writing does, and I am not at peace at the end of the day unless I have contributed something to that part of my life. Whether I write a blog, edit a section of the book, write a new section, research an agent, tweak my query letters, or work on a current assignment for a magazine or other client, I have to do something writing related, every day, or I'm just not happy. It is my release, my touchstone.
I believe God wired me that way. I believe He wants me to be a writer more than I do at times (dee-ta-dee). He has blessed this part of my life more than I ever could have imagined. He must be in it, because new writers don't find the work I've found on their own right out of the shoot. He always planned it, and He chose for me to have various and sundry experiences along the way to train me for it, to develop relationships and skills that would help me build this career. When I look back on all He has put in place, all He has allowed, I am overwhelmed by His awesome ability, His goodness, and His plan.
I know this is Him. When I am discouraged, something always happens to encourage me. For example, while on vacation, we stayed with my aunt and uncle in Mississippi and visited their church. I spoke to their pastor and pastor's wife about my book briefly a few months ago when they were here for my cousin's wedding, but have thought little about the conversation since then. I wouldn't say I was down about the book when I left on the trip, but it had been put on the back burner, and let's face it - getting fiction published is never easy. At the close of the Sunday evening service we were a part of, the pastor of this church stood before his congregation and praised my writing work and expressed how excited he and his wife were about my upcoming book. Prior to that, his wife had asked me about the progress and requested a copy. Those two experiences catapulted me back into the publishing endeavor. I was reminded that I am capable, that I am doing more than most attempt to do, and most importantly, that God has blessed me with a talent and I have to do all that I can to ensure He receives glory from it.
When I am lazy, something always comes along to motivate me. I will be in the middle of a lethargic and pitiful Saturday afternoon, watching a worthless movie I've seen 15 times, and all of a sudden a writer character will be introduced, or a scene will call to mind the quintessential writer's life. I am always imagining a cabin tucked in the mountains, or a cottage on the beach, some kind of retreat where I will stay while writing my 21st best seller. No matter the place, I am always in a sweater, with a cup of coffee, and I own a Grand Waggoneer. This is MY vision. Don't judge me! The point is, while I'm watching a movie or TV, or reading a book, a subtle, unexpected motivator always creeps in and I am reminded that "there is no someday." And, the cherry on top is: when I finally turn off the TV and put my butt in the chair, the chair I'm sitting in right now, I have a lot more fun and am far more relaxed than I was doing the other fruitless activity.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Socks Revisited
Check the archives for a post titled "Let's talk about Socks, baby." It's a story about my formerly not feline friendly grandparents and their cat, Socks. There have been many experiences with Socks since that blog was posted. . .let's see. . .a little more than two years ago, but today was just one of those special moments I feel deserves extra attention, plus my Uncle Nolan will get a laugh out of it.
I worked my brain out this week and by about three o'clock today I was ready for a break. I stay in town on Wednesdays for church in the evening, so I took an hour or so off and went to my grandparent's house. Now, if you read the aforementioned post, you know that some time ago family was redirected to the front door of the house when our traditional side entrance was overhauled to become Socks' fully heated and air-conditioned bachelor pad. We've mostly grown used to this, but every now and then, we are thrown a curve ball.
For starters, it was 600 degrees today and I drive a black car with black leather interior. I was hot. I park on the street at their house, so by the time I reached the front yard, debated whether or not to take the beloved, but terrifying ramp (which has been repaired and appears much safer, as long as it's not raining), and arrived at the front door, I was just shy of heat stroke. (I'm exaggerating of course, but my point is, I was ready to get inside.) I turn the knob of the door, which for most of my life has been unlocked during daylight hours, only to find it locked. I crane my neck around the corner of the house to see if the car is in place. It is. I wait. I ponder. Socks.
Soon I hear rustling about on the other side of the door and the blinds are pulled up. The stern and suspicious face of my grandfather stares out at me. I'm certain he has no idea who I am for a full 30 seconds, but finally yells through the window: "Come in through the side door!"
Confusion.
Mixed signals.
I retreat from the front door, walk down the ramp, trek through the yard, and endure the 600 degree heat a little longer. I ascend the steps to the side door, which used to be a screen door, but is now a solid, dead-bolted security door marking the entrance to Socks' crib. I attempt to enter, but again find it locked. I just want to visit my grandparents!!! Why won't they let me in!!! I went to the front door, because I'm not supposed to go to the side door ANY MORE!! Then I was told to go to the side door, but it is LOCKED!!! What am I supposed to do?!!!
Desperation. Heat taking its toll. Need water. . .
I hear the patter of my grandfather's feet and a moment later he opens the door for me and offers a hug. He then closes the outer door before I can open the interior door leading into the house, where Socks is lazing about. It's a very sophisticated, complex security system my grandparents have concocted to completely and totally ensure there is no chance of escape.
I finally made it into the inner-sanctum and enjoyed a nice visit with my grandparents, during which Socks went out to his apartment. After a while I got ready to leave. I said my goodbyes and approached the side door that I entered through. As my hand reaches for the knob, I am quickly redirected to the front door. . .???. . .!!! You mean the door I originally tried to use?
You know when you get in trouble as a child and your parents tell you to "shut your mouth" but then you get in trouble for not answering their next question? This was a similar experience. I no longer know what door to use. I have a college degree, am a nationally published writer, and am responsible for educating people's children, but I do not know what door to enter and exit through at a house I have been in and out of my entire life.
I suppose next time I'll try the back door, or perhaps a cracked window. There used to be a weak spot in the floor between the living room and dining room. Maybe, with the right tools and one of those hard hats with a light attached, I could burrow into the house from underneath.
P.S. I love and respect my grandparents and consider them wise and faithful people. I also know their love for me is unconditional, and I have drawn on that knowledge many times when I felt the rest of the world had turned against me. Despite my jokes, Socks is their companion during the day. My life does not allow me to be with my grandparents every day, but Socks provides entertainment and makes them feel needed, and for that I am grateful to him.
I worked my brain out this week and by about three o'clock today I was ready for a break. I stay in town on Wednesdays for church in the evening, so I took an hour or so off and went to my grandparent's house. Now, if you read the aforementioned post, you know that some time ago family was redirected to the front door of the house when our traditional side entrance was overhauled to become Socks' fully heated and air-conditioned bachelor pad. We've mostly grown used to this, but every now and then, we are thrown a curve ball.
For starters, it was 600 degrees today and I drive a black car with black leather interior. I was hot. I park on the street at their house, so by the time I reached the front yard, debated whether or not to take the beloved, but terrifying ramp (which has been repaired and appears much safer, as long as it's not raining), and arrived at the front door, I was just shy of heat stroke. (I'm exaggerating of course, but my point is, I was ready to get inside.) I turn the knob of the door, which for most of my life has been unlocked during daylight hours, only to find it locked. I crane my neck around the corner of the house to see if the car is in place. It is. I wait. I ponder. Socks.
Soon I hear rustling about on the other side of the door and the blinds are pulled up. The stern and suspicious face of my grandfather stares out at me. I'm certain he has no idea who I am for a full 30 seconds, but finally yells through the window: "Come in through the side door!"
Confusion.
Mixed signals.
I retreat from the front door, walk down the ramp, trek through the yard, and endure the 600 degree heat a little longer. I ascend the steps to the side door, which used to be a screen door, but is now a solid, dead-bolted security door marking the entrance to Socks' crib. I attempt to enter, but again find it locked. I just want to visit my grandparents!!! Why won't they let me in!!! I went to the front door, because I'm not supposed to go to the side door ANY MORE!! Then I was told to go to the side door, but it is LOCKED!!! What am I supposed to do?!!!
Desperation. Heat taking its toll. Need water. . .
I hear the patter of my grandfather's feet and a moment later he opens the door for me and offers a hug. He then closes the outer door before I can open the interior door leading into the house, where Socks is lazing about. It's a very sophisticated, complex security system my grandparents have concocted to completely and totally ensure there is no chance of escape.
I finally made it into the inner-sanctum and enjoyed a nice visit with my grandparents, during which Socks went out to his apartment. After a while I got ready to leave. I said my goodbyes and approached the side door that I entered through. As my hand reaches for the knob, I am quickly redirected to the front door. . .???. . .!!! You mean the door I originally tried to use?
You know when you get in trouble as a child and your parents tell you to "shut your mouth" but then you get in trouble for not answering their next question? This was a similar experience. I no longer know what door to use. I have a college degree, am a nationally published writer, and am responsible for educating people's children, but I do not know what door to enter and exit through at a house I have been in and out of my entire life.
I suppose next time I'll try the back door, or perhaps a cracked window. There used to be a weak spot in the floor between the living room and dining room. Maybe, with the right tools and one of those hard hats with a light attached, I could burrow into the house from underneath.
P.S. I love and respect my grandparents and consider them wise and faithful people. I also know their love for me is unconditional, and I have drawn on that knowledge many times when I felt the rest of the world had turned against me. Despite my jokes, Socks is their companion during the day. My life does not allow me to be with my grandparents every day, but Socks provides entertainment and makes them feel needed, and for that I am grateful to him.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Lock your doors! Hide your SAT scores!
Welcome to the Socialist States of America!! I've been awake less than an hour and my distaste for the direction of our nation is freshly and fully renewed. Why, I ask, are thousands of GM dealers across this country losing their life's work? More importantly, why are the whiny, often-lazy, manipulative unionized laborers that the hard work of these very dealers has supported for three decades keeping their employment and benefits, and blood-sucking unions? Trust me, the inflated and ridiculous demands of unions had everything to do with GM going under. Dealers working seven days a week to move and sell the consequently over-priced, non-competitive end product were not the problem. This perplexes me, yet I think I've found the answer: Unions were one of the first (for lack of a better term) stupid steps toward socialism, so it's only natural for the idiots in power to preserve these entities. I mean, it would be counterproductive to harm the foundation of the welfare-state structure. Conversely, the dealers are actually self-made people, with a little bit of personal wealth, and hey(!) ambition and intelligence, and their kind simply won't fit in with the new and better, "changed" America.
I had this revelation, and then started thinking like Big Brother. Two men laid off in Knoxville were on the news this morning. They lost their jobs, but instead of kicking back in the recliner and living off tax dollars for a few months, the very day they lost their jobs, they started a new business. Ironically, this business makes money by cleaning up foreclosed homes for resale. Bet the government didn't see that one coming!! HA!! Nevertheless, this action again shows the men to be self-sufficient, and therefore, not ideal for citizenship in our new and changed states.
I was discussing IQ scores with people yesterday and it occurred to me: If you've got a score higher than 110, you'll want to keep it under wraps. Better yet, hook yourself up to the toaster and see if you can shave off a few points. You don't want to appear too smart these days, it may soon be considered treason.
I had this revelation, and then started thinking like Big Brother. Two men laid off in Knoxville were on the news this morning. They lost their jobs, but instead of kicking back in the recliner and living off tax dollars for a few months, the very day they lost their jobs, they started a new business. Ironically, this business makes money by cleaning up foreclosed homes for resale. Bet the government didn't see that one coming!! HA!! Nevertheless, this action again shows the men to be self-sufficient, and therefore, not ideal for citizenship in our new and changed states.
I was discussing IQ scores with people yesterday and it occurred to me: If you've got a score higher than 110, you'll want to keep it under wraps. Better yet, hook yourself up to the toaster and see if you can shave off a few points. You don't want to appear too smart these days, it may soon be considered treason.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Diary of a Mad, White Girl
I am Bridget Jones. On certain days. Minus the cigarettes, boos, and loose morals. And swearing. Incidentally, I am also a brunette. I'm trying to tap into the positive here. I go through stages of chaotically motivated self reinvention/improvement. I love my life in general - love the family and the work, but I'll admit, the single factor does seem to bother people - oh for real, it just got to the part in the movie where she's at the dinner party and a dozen people stare at her after she's asked why there are so many single women in their thirties. Yeah, I'm watching it right now. No, I'm not in my thirties, but you have to make the adjustment from London to rural East Texas. I'm in my mid-twenties. It's the same. Trust me. The people I know love me the most (I count myself in that group) never say anything about my singularity, and I don't believe they care. Complete strangers, however, or people whose business it most assuredly is not, are quite uncomfortable with my unattached state.
It is considered bad etiquette to ask someone what they do for a living at a social engagement. Is it not also rude to ask someone if they're seeing someone special? Or, even worse: "So why aren't you married?" My answer: "I don't know." Am I supposed to know? Because I don't, really.
Then I'm told that I need to "put myself out there." Ahem. . . have these people seen what's on the market in my neck of the woods? No, thank you. The pickins are slim.
Moral of the story - I'd rather be single forever than settle for something mediocre just to fit a mold others consider to be acceptable. I hope if you're single and reading this, you can feel the same way about yourself.
FYI - I am leaving in the morning to take seven students to Knoxville for national competition. I'll be away for a week, so the blog will be silent. Not that that will be a big change, I am pretty much posting once a week anyway. That'll change come summer, I promise.
It is considered bad etiquette to ask someone what they do for a living at a social engagement. Is it not also rude to ask someone if they're seeing someone special? Or, even worse: "So why aren't you married?" My answer: "I don't know." Am I supposed to know? Because I don't, really.
Then I'm told that I need to "put myself out there." Ahem. . . have these people seen what's on the market in my neck of the woods? No, thank you. The pickins are slim.
Moral of the story - I'd rather be single forever than settle for something mediocre just to fit a mold others consider to be acceptable. I hope if you're single and reading this, you can feel the same way about yourself.
FYI - I am leaving in the morning to take seven students to Knoxville for national competition. I'll be away for a week, so the blog will be silent. Not that that will be a big change, I am pretty much posting once a week anyway. That'll change come summer, I promise.
Teaching and Learning
I was thinking of mothers today - can't think why. . . Any the who, I thought about the mothers, the women, whose selfless selves have been immortalized in films and on the page. Women like Melanie Hamilton in "Gone With the Wind." Melanie was so kind, generous, patient, and a million other things. She was a good Christian, she was a woman, although fictional, that showed impeccable, untainted character.
I was thinking of my faults this morning, about how I am not like Melanie Hamilton. (Although, as much as I love Scarlett, I'm always angry at her for throwing Melanie's love away with both hands.) Here's the thing, I can't think of a flesh and blood woman who is like Melanie, or Jane Bennett, or Beth March. They were all fictional, after all. Still, there do seem to be women out there that are always the picture of grace and goodness, but I am certain behind closed doors they all get real. How can one be perfect in an imperfect world? The answer is we cannot. Someone extra challenging will always come along, a situation will undoubtedly unravel before us, that will make us behave human, in the worst possible way.
I try really hard to love all the people in my life, I try to love them faults and all. I have to, God loves me every day in spite of mine. It's hard. I want to teach people, and I'm only 25, so I don't know all that much. I guess I am striking a balance between learning from those who know more than me and setting an example for those who know less. That's a challenge, but if I truly work to achieve that balance it all sort of works out. If I choose to teach and lead by example, then my example of learning from, respecting, and honoring those with more wisdom than myself should naturally have the desired effect on the other party. Correct? Quite philosophical for 7:30 on a Sunday evening don't you think?
Conversely, what do we do when someone cannot, or refuses to be, taught? They are either so set in their ways, or so over-defensive due to low self esteem, that they cannot accept doing it any other way, let alone another person's instruction. They must already be right and perfect, otherwise, in their mind, they are worthless. I don't know how to help a person like that, and unfortunately, that sends me into a downward spiral of human-ish frustration.
I don't remember where I was at or what I was doing or what the woman looked like, but she simply said to me: "I learned a long time ago that you can't please everyone. So, I don't worry about pleasing anyone. I just please God."
I suppose that's the trick. If you're doing that, everything else should naturally fall into place. Why is it so hard to remember that throughout the day?
I was thinking of my faults this morning, about how I am not like Melanie Hamilton. (Although, as much as I love Scarlett, I'm always angry at her for throwing Melanie's love away with both hands.) Here's the thing, I can't think of a flesh and blood woman who is like Melanie, or Jane Bennett, or Beth March. They were all fictional, after all. Still, there do seem to be women out there that are always the picture of grace and goodness, but I am certain behind closed doors they all get real. How can one be perfect in an imperfect world? The answer is we cannot. Someone extra challenging will always come along, a situation will undoubtedly unravel before us, that will make us behave human, in the worst possible way.
I try really hard to love all the people in my life, I try to love them faults and all. I have to, God loves me every day in spite of mine. It's hard. I want to teach people, and I'm only 25, so I don't know all that much. I guess I am striking a balance between learning from those who know more than me and setting an example for those who know less. That's a challenge, but if I truly work to achieve that balance it all sort of works out. If I choose to teach and lead by example, then my example of learning from, respecting, and honoring those with more wisdom than myself should naturally have the desired effect on the other party. Correct? Quite philosophical for 7:30 on a Sunday evening don't you think?
Conversely, what do we do when someone cannot, or refuses to be, taught? They are either so set in their ways, or so over-defensive due to low self esteem, that they cannot accept doing it any other way, let alone another person's instruction. They must already be right and perfect, otherwise, in their mind, they are worthless. I don't know how to help a person like that, and unfortunately, that sends me into a downward spiral of human-ish frustration.
I don't remember where I was at or what I was doing or what the woman looked like, but she simply said to me: "I learned a long time ago that you can't please everyone. So, I don't worry about pleasing anyone. I just please God."
I suppose that's the trick. If you're doing that, everything else should naturally fall into place. Why is it so hard to remember that throughout the day?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Saturday Talk
Another post-free week has come and gone. Another INSANE week has come and gone. There was a serious issue with students with tentacles reaching into my personal family life; my mother had surgery; my younger sister began, and quit, her first job; I had an article due; I got a new assignment from a brand new client; and SWINE FLU!!! Oh my goodness!! None of these are excuses for not posting, a dedicated writer bent on building a platform and readership would be up until all hours of the morning to insure their blog was in prime condition. I am dedicated, but I'm dedicated to many things, especially my family.
With all that out of the way - some Saturday thoughts: I believe Swine Flu, or H1N1 (because nothing is officially scary until it has a letter-number combo label), is a government conspiracy. Think about it. Our president conveniently leaves the post at HHS open? I think it was a cover. There was immediate alarm over this sickness when it was discovered in Mexico City, but were the borders closed? No. Why? Because it was apparently already in New York. I watch the news quite a bit and consider myself to be a well-informed person and citizen. So, I ask, how did it get from Mexico to NYC before anyone knew about it? I live in Texas!!! Next to Mexico!!! I run a school and daycare!!! I consider myself to be in that handful of the population that should know about things like this. . .ummm, what's the word. . .searching. . .QUICKLY - as I live and these businesses operate in the neighboring state to "Ground Zero" of this whole affair. It just seems odd. Why weren't international flights grounded? Oh, it doesn't matter. Well, then how did H1N1 get to EGYPT? Is H1N1 equipped with propellers which allow it to travel across massive spans of water? Is this information forthcoming from the CDC?
This accusation sounds sensational and I am not a sensational person. Although, most of the above is me behaving sensationally. The direction our government is careening toward is socialism, and by default, extreme and unprecedented control over American lives. An opportunity such as this, where they are able to inspire fear on home soil, where they hold the information and the cure, is a prime one for bringing us to our knees so we will consent to whatever they decide is best. And after it's all over, we may have a nation and government changed overnight. In no way am I accusing the present administration of planting this virus, but I do believe that now it's here, they're capable of using it to the advantage of their still-hidden agenda.
Next thought: Torture. Oh! I've been sitting on this post since those interrogation records were released. Let me tell you something - my school has an early childhood program attached to it, a daycare. One governed by the state, and consequently, the most ridiculous set of regulations one has ever read. Well, California's may be more ridiculous, but I digress. The people that wrote these regs? They don't have children. It would be IMPOSSIBLE for these people to have raised children or, in fact, know anything about children, and then have written these rules to follow for caring for them. Example: If a child hits, bites, slaps, kicks, takes a toy away from another child, we have no recourse but to explain to them (possibly a child as young as 12 months) that they made a poor choice. If the child does it again, we are to ask, not tell, if they will move to isolation (time out). If the child would rather not go to isolation, they remain mixed with the group so they're free to hit, kick, slap, bite and steal some more. After all, toddlers do know what's best. Example: If a child hits, kicks, slaps, bites, talks back to, or in any way disobeys their teacher we have no recourse but to explain to them (possibly a child as young as 12 months) that they made a poor choice. If the child does it again, we are to ask, not tell, if they will move to isolation (time out). If the child would rather not go to isolation, they remain in the activity. Without punishment. We are not allowed to punish, we can take away privileges and use other proven disciplinary methods, and we're professionals, so we make it work. I am not a proponent for physical discipline in daycare. With sometimes months of frustration, a challenging child will finally fall into our structure and stop their bad behaviors, but it takes a long time and these are children under age 5. Once they're in public school, we can almost never correct them (I'll save that for another post).
So, if it takes time and structure to rid the young and undeveloped mind of a toddler or preschooler of undesirable behavior, what exactly will it take to get information from adult terrorists that have been trained and brainwashed, sometimes since childhood, to do whatever it necessary to take American lives? I'll go out on a limb and say shacking up in a minimum security, suburban prison with three meals a day, cable, and a fluffy pillow isn't going to be much of a motivator.
Of course, we could use daycare tactics and get "down on the terrorist's level" and explain to them how unhappy we are with their behavior, detail the consequences of said behavior (which are American deaths - that's dirty pillow talk to them), and tell them we are taking privileges away unless they answer our questions. Hmmmm. . .what privileges could we take? Dessert after dinner? How about we talk to Allah about taking some virgins away?
If this PROVEN method fails, we can always let terrorists run day cares under state regs. That'll crack them in no time.
With all that out of the way - some Saturday thoughts: I believe Swine Flu, or H1N1 (because nothing is officially scary until it has a letter-number combo label), is a government conspiracy. Think about it. Our president conveniently leaves the post at HHS open? I think it was a cover. There was immediate alarm over this sickness when it was discovered in Mexico City, but were the borders closed? No. Why? Because it was apparently already in New York. I watch the news quite a bit and consider myself to be a well-informed person and citizen. So, I ask, how did it get from Mexico to NYC before anyone knew about it? I live in Texas!!! Next to Mexico!!! I run a school and daycare!!! I consider myself to be in that handful of the population that should know about things like this. . .ummm, what's the word. . .searching. . .QUICKLY - as I live and these businesses operate in the neighboring state to "Ground Zero" of this whole affair. It just seems odd. Why weren't international flights grounded? Oh, it doesn't matter. Well, then how did H1N1 get to EGYPT? Is H1N1 equipped with propellers which allow it to travel across massive spans of water? Is this information forthcoming from the CDC?
This accusation sounds sensational and I am not a sensational person. Although, most of the above is me behaving sensationally. The direction our government is careening toward is socialism, and by default, extreme and unprecedented control over American lives. An opportunity such as this, where they are able to inspire fear on home soil, where they hold the information and the cure, is a prime one for bringing us to our knees so we will consent to whatever they decide is best. And after it's all over, we may have a nation and government changed overnight. In no way am I accusing the present administration of planting this virus, but I do believe that now it's here, they're capable of using it to the advantage of their still-hidden agenda.
Next thought: Torture. Oh! I've been sitting on this post since those interrogation records were released. Let me tell you something - my school has an early childhood program attached to it, a daycare. One governed by the state, and consequently, the most ridiculous set of regulations one has ever read. Well, California's may be more ridiculous, but I digress. The people that wrote these regs? They don't have children. It would be IMPOSSIBLE for these people to have raised children or, in fact, know anything about children, and then have written these rules to follow for caring for them. Example: If a child hits, bites, slaps, kicks, takes a toy away from another child, we have no recourse but to explain to them (possibly a child as young as 12 months) that they made a poor choice. If the child does it again, we are to ask, not tell, if they will move to isolation (time out). If the child would rather not go to isolation, they remain mixed with the group so they're free to hit, kick, slap, bite and steal some more. After all, toddlers do know what's best. Example: If a child hits, kicks, slaps, bites, talks back to, or in any way disobeys their teacher we have no recourse but to explain to them (possibly a child as young as 12 months) that they made a poor choice. If the child does it again, we are to ask, not tell, if they will move to isolation (time out). If the child would rather not go to isolation, they remain in the activity. Without punishment. We are not allowed to punish, we can take away privileges and use other proven disciplinary methods, and we're professionals, so we make it work. I am not a proponent for physical discipline in daycare. With sometimes months of frustration, a challenging child will finally fall into our structure and stop their bad behaviors, but it takes a long time and these are children under age 5. Once they're in public school, we can almost never correct them (I'll save that for another post).
So, if it takes time and structure to rid the young and undeveloped mind of a toddler or preschooler of undesirable behavior, what exactly will it take to get information from adult terrorists that have been trained and brainwashed, sometimes since childhood, to do whatever it necessary to take American lives? I'll go out on a limb and say shacking up in a minimum security, suburban prison with three meals a day, cable, and a fluffy pillow isn't going to be much of a motivator.
Of course, we could use daycare tactics and get "down on the terrorist's level" and explain to them how unhappy we are with their behavior, detail the consequences of said behavior (which are American deaths - that's dirty pillow talk to them), and tell them we are taking privileges away unless they answer our questions. Hmmmm. . .what privileges could we take? Dessert after dinner? How about we talk to Allah about taking some virgins away?
If this PROVEN method fails, we can always let terrorists run day cares under state regs. That'll crack them in no time.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Glory
Oh wow, I haven't posted in almost two weeks. Well, that's not true, I actually posted something on Tuesday, but took it off two minutes later. I'll revise it and re-post it at a later date - time-sensitive material of a sort.
All I can say is the past two weeks have been INSANE. If you think running a school and dealing with teenagers, Kindergartners, staff, and an occasional daycare issue is challenging - you're right. Now throw on top of it a budding writing career and you've got the recipe for a nervous breakdown. But, I didn't have one, not even close, there have been a few OMG moments, but for the most part, things haven't been bad, just challenging. I like a challenge. I'd rather be running around like a headless chicken and busy with the work of the Lord than sitting around, idle and bored, with time to get into trouble. It is a pleasure to use the mind God blessed me with!
Some things clicked for me this week. I find myself earnestly desiring to wade through the muck and mire people allow to build up around them. I desire to do this because maybe I can teach them something, maybe I can make a difference. There are people in my life that I do not enjoy dealing with, but finally this week, an answer to prayer no doubt, I've just decided that my preferences really don't matter. I've just got to keep a smile on my face and put up with them and show love, kindness, patience, and all those other good things - not because I have to, but because I want to. I want to see a change happen in that person. I want that person to be successful. I want that person's future to be different. I want them to grow up and pay it forward.
What do I get out of this? God will show me His glory, His abilities, His power. He can do anything, heal anyone, deliver anyone, and if you've never experienced God's glory, never had those chills race up your back when His presence sweeps into a room, you're missing out.
There are many things in this life that I enjoy, that make me laugh, that I get excited over, but none of them compare to the feeling I get when I know God just took care of business. When He does something to remind us all down here that He is the B.O.S.S. He healed my grandmother of "terminal" ovarian cancer 18 years ago; He healed my aunt of breast cancer two years ago; He has provided for me in every way for two years following a substantial pay cut because I've followed His leading on my life; when my vehicle spun out of control and there was nothing for me to do but cry out "Jesus", He heard me, and my car came to a safe stop; He kept a dear friend and now family member safe during two tours of duty in Iraq; When I'm out of answers and options, He listens, He watches over me and gives me the measure of peace I need to rest, and the next morning, it's always better. These are just a few examples that came to mind just now, but He does it every day, I pray every day, so ultimately, only He knows what He's kept me from, only He knows what He's done for me and my loved ones, and only He knows what my continued faith will make possible for the future.
I can do nothing without Him, but I can do anything with Him.
All I can say is the past two weeks have been INSANE. If you think running a school and dealing with teenagers, Kindergartners, staff, and an occasional daycare issue is challenging - you're right. Now throw on top of it a budding writing career and you've got the recipe for a nervous breakdown. But, I didn't have one, not even close, there have been a few OMG moments, but for the most part, things haven't been bad, just challenging. I like a challenge. I'd rather be running around like a headless chicken and busy with the work of the Lord than sitting around, idle and bored, with time to get into trouble. It is a pleasure to use the mind God blessed me with!
Some things clicked for me this week. I find myself earnestly desiring to wade through the muck and mire people allow to build up around them. I desire to do this because maybe I can teach them something, maybe I can make a difference. There are people in my life that I do not enjoy dealing with, but finally this week, an answer to prayer no doubt, I've just decided that my preferences really don't matter. I've just got to keep a smile on my face and put up with them and show love, kindness, patience, and all those other good things - not because I have to, but because I want to. I want to see a change happen in that person. I want that person to be successful. I want that person's future to be different. I want them to grow up and pay it forward.
What do I get out of this? God will show me His glory, His abilities, His power. He can do anything, heal anyone, deliver anyone, and if you've never experienced God's glory, never had those chills race up your back when His presence sweeps into a room, you're missing out.
There are many things in this life that I enjoy, that make me laugh, that I get excited over, but none of them compare to the feeling I get when I know God just took care of business. When He does something to remind us all down here that He is the B.O.S.S. He healed my grandmother of "terminal" ovarian cancer 18 years ago; He healed my aunt of breast cancer two years ago; He has provided for me in every way for two years following a substantial pay cut because I've followed His leading on my life; when my vehicle spun out of control and there was nothing for me to do but cry out "Jesus", He heard me, and my car came to a safe stop; He kept a dear friend and now family member safe during two tours of duty in Iraq; When I'm out of answers and options, He listens, He watches over me and gives me the measure of peace I need to rest, and the next morning, it's always better. These are just a few examples that came to mind just now, but He does it every day, I pray every day, so ultimately, only He knows what He's kept me from, only He knows what He's done for me and my loved ones, and only He knows what my continued faith will make possible for the future.
I can do nothing without Him, but I can do anything with Him.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Welcome to my (now) political blog
As a child, I lived in constant fear of going to jail. This was no doubt the result of an adult in my life bending the truth somewhat to insure the Barbie or Bubble-Yum lust in my eyes did not manifest itself in the form of elementary shoplifting. Then, I saw Aladdin, and my fear of jail was shadowed by the fear of losing one of my hands. I learned early not to steal.
Early in the week, almost certainly out of anger with the teenage specimen's whose education I am responsible for, I jotted down some random thoughts that I intended to turn into a blog later in the day. The blog never came to fruition. It's probably a good thing, because this blog would have been a tie-dyed mixture of anger and loosely, wildly connected causes and effects. One sentence I wrote blames a certain Vietnam-era celebrity and her bra-burning for my students' inability to meet a deadline. Oh yes, I did find a way to connect the two in my mind, but if I ever want to be considered a serious, and sane, writer, it's best I save that one for the winter of my writing career when it is acceptable to be crazy and spout off unfounded theories. Oh, why don’t I just live a little? If Michael Moore can get away with it . . .
I believe we are witnessing the degeneration of our society's work ethic. I believe it will be extinct in another generation, or at least endangered. Initiative? Personal responsibility? Hard work? These, not spotted owls, deserve Hollywood's charity balls, and prime real estate on the front pages of America’s newspapers. Fostering these traits in our young people, instilling them in the ones that will lead our nation (what's left of it) should be ousting the left’s insatiable thirst for social programs. However, this is one more area the government has no business sticking its bureaucratic-booger infested nose into. It's a job that should be done by the parents, and somewhere along the way there's been a breakdown . . . one exponentially multiplied by the government’s empowering of citizens to be lazy and desecrate the vision and values of our founding fathers. Our Christian founding fathers, no less.
I am not an expert on child development and I do not have any experience in sociology other than a freshman course, which oddly, probably qualifies me to make this assumption more so than if I had a Ph.D. behind my name (depending on the university). Minimally, three generations of Americans have been raised largely without physical discipline and with both parents working, if they even had two. They’ve been allowed to talk back, allowed to be lazy, and have been handed a weekly allowance and keys to a vehicle after doing very little to deserve either. In our public schools, they have been pushed along, nursed with dumbed-down, propaganda-infested material. When they misbehave or fail to meet standards, often the teacher’s hands are tied. Research shows that children’s intelligence actually decreases the longer they stay in our public schools.
I present to you the group that elected our president! They want fetuses aborted and serial rapists and murderers spared from the needle. They want illegal immigrants to have education and health care while hard-working American men and women avoid preventive exams and take out loans to pay for their children’s college tuition, thanks to inflated taxes. Come to America! It’s the land of opportunity! Unless, you are in fact, an American.
The upcoming workforce (I use that term loosely) and voting class has been taught that it's okay to do wrong, that they're not hurting anything or anybody, that it's some other person's fault and never their own. Thousands and hundreds of thousands, even millions, of people have been taught to be irresponsible by ma and pa government, elected officials even. While drunk, I drove a car off a bridge and left my passenger to drown, but I'm me, so it doesn't count. Who am I? (I’ll let you do the research on this one yourself – it’ll be good for you.)
As I said earlier, I learned stealing was wrong at an early age. . .until, an adult in my life (not one of my parents) witnessed me breaking an item in a store and hurriedly ushered me away from the evidence and out to the car. (Breaking something and not paying for it is still stealing – don’t want anybody to get confused.) That moment stands out in my memory. I was scared, I was sure I was going to jail. I didn't. That one example of escape did not enable me to become a hardened criminal with lose morals. Fortunately, I was raised in a Christian home where there were consequences for my actions and where right and wrong were taught as black and white. One event was unable to undo actual parent involvement and good upbringing. What about all the people that didn’t have that? Thanks to policy being signed as I write this, they will look to the government for everything, including moral example. Consequences? What are those?
So, with the moral, ahem, deficiencies present today, how are those that have had no teaching going to lead, and lead us well? How do they know the policy being put in place is wrong, wrong, wrong, and destructive, destructive, destructive? They’ve never had to sacrifice to keep this country free, never crawled under their desks for bomb drills, they have never had to really fear what the soldiers of another nation could do to them (obviously our armed forces are excluded from this remark). Neither have I, but I do have a moral backbone, and I do read (despite going to public schools), enough to know that the reason I’ve never had to endure those things and fear those things is because we’ve always had a somewhat competent leader at the helm. I’ll even throw Bill Clinton into that pool, but let’s face it – George W. Bush is what kept us safe after 9/11. In fact, he kept us so safe, the great majority of our nation has forgotten we need to fund national defense.
These truths are evident in many, if not all, of the challenges facing our nation right now. And, the worst part is, the people drinking the government's Kool-Aid are being set up for a catastrophic let down. This won't last. Irresponsibility NEVER leads to prosperity. Unless of course, you're on Welfare.
On an online community I sometimes visit, I read a person's comments about Europeans and how their lives are so blissful. How the greed so prevalent in America isn't present there and there is no rat race. I quote: "The people there live on and with so little."
That's because they don't have a CHOICE!! Their wealth is redistributed to the masses!!
Some day soon, that person may have the chance to live just like the people he envies on The Continent. There’s a chance it might not happen in our lifetime, but I think the footers are in place and the slab is about to be poured. Maybe, if there was time to undo decades of poor child-rearing and ethical decay, my generation or the one after me could do something about the walls being raised.
Early in the week, almost certainly out of anger with the teenage specimen's whose education I am responsible for, I jotted down some random thoughts that I intended to turn into a blog later in the day. The blog never came to fruition. It's probably a good thing, because this blog would have been a tie-dyed mixture of anger and loosely, wildly connected causes and effects. One sentence I wrote blames a certain Vietnam-era celebrity and her bra-burning for my students' inability to meet a deadline. Oh yes, I did find a way to connect the two in my mind, but if I ever want to be considered a serious, and sane, writer, it's best I save that one for the winter of my writing career when it is acceptable to be crazy and spout off unfounded theories. Oh, why don’t I just live a little? If Michael Moore can get away with it . . .
I believe we are witnessing the degeneration of our society's work ethic. I believe it will be extinct in another generation, or at least endangered. Initiative? Personal responsibility? Hard work? These, not spotted owls, deserve Hollywood's charity balls, and prime real estate on the front pages of America’s newspapers. Fostering these traits in our young people, instilling them in the ones that will lead our nation (what's left of it) should be ousting the left’s insatiable thirst for social programs. However, this is one more area the government has no business sticking its bureaucratic-booger infested nose into. It's a job that should be done by the parents, and somewhere along the way there's been a breakdown . . . one exponentially multiplied by the government’s empowering of citizens to be lazy and desecrate the vision and values of our founding fathers. Our Christian founding fathers, no less.
I am not an expert on child development and I do not have any experience in sociology other than a freshman course, which oddly, probably qualifies me to make this assumption more so than if I had a Ph.D. behind my name (depending on the university). Minimally, three generations of Americans have been raised largely without physical discipline and with both parents working, if they even had two. They’ve been allowed to talk back, allowed to be lazy, and have been handed a weekly allowance and keys to a vehicle after doing very little to deserve either. In our public schools, they have been pushed along, nursed with dumbed-down, propaganda-infested material. When they misbehave or fail to meet standards, often the teacher’s hands are tied. Research shows that children’s intelligence actually decreases the longer they stay in our public schools.
I present to you the group that elected our president! They want fetuses aborted and serial rapists and murderers spared from the needle. They want illegal immigrants to have education and health care while hard-working American men and women avoid preventive exams and take out loans to pay for their children’s college tuition, thanks to inflated taxes. Come to America! It’s the land of opportunity! Unless, you are in fact, an American.
The upcoming workforce (I use that term loosely) and voting class has been taught that it's okay to do wrong, that they're not hurting anything or anybody, that it's some other person's fault and never their own. Thousands and hundreds of thousands, even millions, of people have been taught to be irresponsible by ma and pa government, elected officials even. While drunk, I drove a car off a bridge and left my passenger to drown, but I'm me, so it doesn't count. Who am I? (I’ll let you do the research on this one yourself – it’ll be good for you.)
As I said earlier, I learned stealing was wrong at an early age. . .until, an adult in my life (not one of my parents) witnessed me breaking an item in a store and hurriedly ushered me away from the evidence and out to the car. (Breaking something and not paying for it is still stealing – don’t want anybody to get confused.) That moment stands out in my memory. I was scared, I was sure I was going to jail. I didn't. That one example of escape did not enable me to become a hardened criminal with lose morals. Fortunately, I was raised in a Christian home where there were consequences for my actions and where right and wrong were taught as black and white. One event was unable to undo actual parent involvement and good upbringing. What about all the people that didn’t have that? Thanks to policy being signed as I write this, they will look to the government for everything, including moral example. Consequences? What are those?
So, with the moral, ahem, deficiencies present today, how are those that have had no teaching going to lead, and lead us well? How do they know the policy being put in place is wrong, wrong, wrong, and destructive, destructive, destructive? They’ve never had to sacrifice to keep this country free, never crawled under their desks for bomb drills, they have never had to really fear what the soldiers of another nation could do to them (obviously our armed forces are excluded from this remark). Neither have I, but I do have a moral backbone, and I do read (despite going to public schools), enough to know that the reason I’ve never had to endure those things and fear those things is because we’ve always had a somewhat competent leader at the helm. I’ll even throw Bill Clinton into that pool, but let’s face it – George W. Bush is what kept us safe after 9/11. In fact, he kept us so safe, the great majority of our nation has forgotten we need to fund national defense.
These truths are evident in many, if not all, of the challenges facing our nation right now. And, the worst part is, the people drinking the government's Kool-Aid are being set up for a catastrophic let down. This won't last. Irresponsibility NEVER leads to prosperity. Unless of course, you're on Welfare.
On an online community I sometimes visit, I read a person's comments about Europeans and how their lives are so blissful. How the greed so prevalent in America isn't present there and there is no rat race. I quote: "The people there live on and with so little."
That's because they don't have a CHOICE!! Their wealth is redistributed to the masses!!
Some day soon, that person may have the chance to live just like the people he envies on The Continent. There’s a chance it might not happen in our lifetime, but I think the footers are in place and the slab is about to be poured. Maybe, if there was time to undo decades of poor child-rearing and ethical decay, my generation or the one after me could do something about the walls being raised.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
A country-fied city mouse
We forget the negative when we've been away from a place, a person, a situation. Time heals and absence makes the heart grow fonder. I've lived in rural East Texas for almost six years, and most days I find reasons to dislike it and pine away for the big city, any city. It's amazing to me that one region can be so completely devoid of culture, food, and size 2 garments. I am constantly frustrated and preoccupied with what my locale doesn't offer that I often forget to sit back and think about what I love, and why, ultimately, I really am happy. If I wasn't, I would have found a way to leave by now.
I recently finished a Nicholas Sparks book about a man who leaves his fast-paced Manhattan life for love, moving to a no-name North Carolina town. A loft apartment overlooking the city is traded for a rented room full of taxidermy. The apex of all things literary and culinary, walks in Central Park, the excitement and tension of New York streets, is exchanged for a local diner and a sad local paper. As I read the first chapters, even before the character's desolation was revealed, I felt it. I live there. In the end, the character comes to love his new home. He is even given the chance to return to Manhattan and passes it up, choosing the slow and simple saunter of southern life.
Driving home tonight, passing wooded areas and pastures made lush and green by days and days of East Texas rain, I had a flashback to my teen years, when I started driving. I grew up in Boise, Idaho, a fairly good-sized city. Not a New York, not a Chicago, not a Houston or Dallas, but big enough. Beautiful. Varied opportunities for experiencing culture, museums, street markets, shopping, entertainment, food, food, food, and recreation everywhere - skiing, river sports, hiking, biking. . .a wonderful, wonderful town. And I remembered on my peaceful drive home tonight, the traffic. As a young driver, the back-ups on well-traveled roads infuriated me. Granted I was young, extremely immature, and had no semblance of a walk with God. All the same, I didn't like the traffic.
Toward the end of my 19-year stay in the Northwest, I became disgusted with the mentality of the people, who grew more and more. . .I won't go into detail, but my political views are no longer the norm in that part of the country. In fact, looking back, it appears that God was dropping hints, setting it all up, making it miraculously easy for me to leave my childhood home, my friends of a decade or more, my golden college experience. Everything I sometimes long for now, was mine, and I had grown sick of it. It no longer mattered, I wanted John Deere Green, cowboy hats, belts with big buckles and names on the back, magnolia trees, chicken fried steak, okra, banana pudding, and Blue Bell on the front porch. I wanted to drive from my house to the post office and back and know what 80 percent of my family and friends were doing and where they were at. I wanted to find love and raise children within 15 miles of the final resting places of my great-great grandparents.
Humans are fickle. We are forever dreaming of the green, green grass that's in our line of sight, but out of our reach. Then, it seems when we finally have a moist, muddy handful of it, we want to throw it down and wipe our hands.
I often wonder what I would miss about East Texas if I were suddenly transplanted into a metropolitan area. There's no way to know for sure, however, I am confident the layered sounds of crickets, frogs, and distant birds all painted onto a background of tranquil silence would be missed when I attempted to sleep among busy city streets. In the spring, the wafting fragrance of wisteria, in the summer, the first aromas of barbecue, when those were replaced with the smells of culinary choice on a busy downtown street mixed with exhaust, I would miss my lakeside home. And, at the end of a day spent in a building built tall as a monument to mind-numbing, soul-sucking commerce, I am confident I would long for the days that my only charge was to please God, to find a way to plant one more seed, and then wait for HIM to give the increase.
I recently finished a Nicholas Sparks book about a man who leaves his fast-paced Manhattan life for love, moving to a no-name North Carolina town. A loft apartment overlooking the city is traded for a rented room full of taxidermy. The apex of all things literary and culinary, walks in Central Park, the excitement and tension of New York streets, is exchanged for a local diner and a sad local paper. As I read the first chapters, even before the character's desolation was revealed, I felt it. I live there. In the end, the character comes to love his new home. He is even given the chance to return to Manhattan and passes it up, choosing the slow and simple saunter of southern life.
Driving home tonight, passing wooded areas and pastures made lush and green by days and days of East Texas rain, I had a flashback to my teen years, when I started driving. I grew up in Boise, Idaho, a fairly good-sized city. Not a New York, not a Chicago, not a Houston or Dallas, but big enough. Beautiful. Varied opportunities for experiencing culture, museums, street markets, shopping, entertainment, food, food, food, and recreation everywhere - skiing, river sports, hiking, biking. . .a wonderful, wonderful town. And I remembered on my peaceful drive home tonight, the traffic. As a young driver, the back-ups on well-traveled roads infuriated me. Granted I was young, extremely immature, and had no semblance of a walk with God. All the same, I didn't like the traffic.
Toward the end of my 19-year stay in the Northwest, I became disgusted with the mentality of the people, who grew more and more. . .I won't go into detail, but my political views are no longer the norm in that part of the country. In fact, looking back, it appears that God was dropping hints, setting it all up, making it miraculously easy for me to leave my childhood home, my friends of a decade or more, my golden college experience. Everything I sometimes long for now, was mine, and I had grown sick of it. It no longer mattered, I wanted John Deere Green, cowboy hats, belts with big buckles and names on the back, magnolia trees, chicken fried steak, okra, banana pudding, and Blue Bell on the front porch. I wanted to drive from my house to the post office and back and know what 80 percent of my family and friends were doing and where they were at. I wanted to find love and raise children within 15 miles of the final resting places of my great-great grandparents.
Humans are fickle. We are forever dreaming of the green, green grass that's in our line of sight, but out of our reach. Then, it seems when we finally have a moist, muddy handful of it, we want to throw it down and wipe our hands.
I often wonder what I would miss about East Texas if I were suddenly transplanted into a metropolitan area. There's no way to know for sure, however, I am confident the layered sounds of crickets, frogs, and distant birds all painted onto a background of tranquil silence would be missed when I attempted to sleep among busy city streets. In the spring, the wafting fragrance of wisteria, in the summer, the first aromas of barbecue, when those were replaced with the smells of culinary choice on a busy downtown street mixed with exhaust, I would miss my lakeside home. And, at the end of a day spent in a building built tall as a monument to mind-numbing, soul-sucking commerce, I am confident I would long for the days that my only charge was to please God, to find a way to plant one more seed, and then wait for HIM to give the increase.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
On leadership
This blog is not political, although I am a very political person. However, I recently witnessed a prominent politician (who shall remain nameless) display a ridiculously defensive attitude. And, it made me worry, more than I usually do, about the people in charge of our nation and by default, my future.
I've learned (read: try to remember) to compare the situations of others to my own before passing any kind of judgment, not that I should be passing judgment at all, but I am human, nonetheless. Being in a position of authority, at any level, opens a person up to ridicule and makes them the target of the finger of blame. That's just the way it is, leadership is a mixed blessing. I learn this more and more every day in my own life. The one in charge is most often seen as the bad guy, the fun hater, and when those they oversee spin out of control, it is most often the leader that actually slides off the cliff. Unfortunately, these incoming opinions are often transferred and become a part of the leader's opinion of themselves. I can see how that could make a person defensive, but I also know from personal experience that a defensive attitude usually comes from a lack of confidence in either the decisions one has made or one's ability to perform the job.
Needless to say, when I saw this trait in this politician, it made me fearful because it illustrated that this person is not confident in their decisions, is not pleased with the job their currently doing, and does not trust in their own ability to do a better job in the future. Disturbing.
Still, comparing their situation to my own, I tried to think of what I would do. It's taken much time for me to learn to do this, and I sometimes still forget, but in most cases I step back, evaluate, and then ask for help. The latter is a huge shot to the ego for some, it used to be for me. Why do we feel there is shame in asking for and getting help when the hand we're dealt gets to be too much?
Strangely enough, leaders who have asked for help have gone down in history as heroes. For instance, Winston Churchill asked for the help of the U.S. in WWII (although it took much coaxing before FDR agreed), the result was victory over an evil man and the salvation of millions. I give you Winston Churchill - household name.
Eventually, even the wisest leaders screw up. In fact, it's safe to assume that leaders do not approach wisdom until they've fallen down in the mud a few times. When mistakes are made, the best we can do is learn from them. It doesn't make the sickening swell you feel in your stomach go away any sooner, and it is often hard to fight the urge to punch people in the face when they tell you to "learn from it", however, it is the best advice, and the only way to turn a negative into a positive.
Don't trust someone who is afraid to be wrong, or hasn't made any mistakes. Because we've all made mistakes. It's impossible not to and people who claim they've made none - have. They just refuse to take responsibility for them.
I've learned (read: try to remember) to compare the situations of others to my own before passing any kind of judgment, not that I should be passing judgment at all, but I am human, nonetheless. Being in a position of authority, at any level, opens a person up to ridicule and makes them the target of the finger of blame. That's just the way it is, leadership is a mixed blessing. I learn this more and more every day in my own life. The one in charge is most often seen as the bad guy, the fun hater, and when those they oversee spin out of control, it is most often the leader that actually slides off the cliff. Unfortunately, these incoming opinions are often transferred and become a part of the leader's opinion of themselves. I can see how that could make a person defensive, but I also know from personal experience that a defensive attitude usually comes from a lack of confidence in either the decisions one has made or one's ability to perform the job.
Needless to say, when I saw this trait in this politician, it made me fearful because it illustrated that this person is not confident in their decisions, is not pleased with the job their currently doing, and does not trust in their own ability to do a better job in the future. Disturbing.
Still, comparing their situation to my own, I tried to think of what I would do. It's taken much time for me to learn to do this, and I sometimes still forget, but in most cases I step back, evaluate, and then ask for help. The latter is a huge shot to the ego for some, it used to be for me. Why do we feel there is shame in asking for and getting help when the hand we're dealt gets to be too much?
Strangely enough, leaders who have asked for help have gone down in history as heroes. For instance, Winston Churchill asked for the help of the U.S. in WWII (although it took much coaxing before FDR agreed), the result was victory over an evil man and the salvation of millions. I give you Winston Churchill - household name.
Eventually, even the wisest leaders screw up. In fact, it's safe to assume that leaders do not approach wisdom until they've fallen down in the mud a few times. When mistakes are made, the best we can do is learn from them. It doesn't make the sickening swell you feel in your stomach go away any sooner, and it is often hard to fight the urge to punch people in the face when they tell you to "learn from it", however, it is the best advice, and the only way to turn a negative into a positive.
Don't trust someone who is afraid to be wrong, or hasn't made any mistakes. Because we've all made mistakes. It's impossible not to and people who claim they've made none - have. They just refuse to take responsibility for them.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Mail Issues
I miss getting mail. Real, hold it in your hands mail, and e-mail. . .legitimate e-mail. Now, in the gloomy shadow of a cancelled trip, I need the pick-me-ups of everyday life even more than usual. When you have something really huge and exciting to look forward to, and then it’s not there anymore, (even when it’s by your own action. . .or inaction, nonetheless) your normal life loses some of its luster. That’s why I need my mail. Mail holds such possibility.
I have a Blackberry synced with my personal e-mail and every time it buzzes, my heart leaps a little. What kind of news is it? I can’t tell you with any certainty what I’m hoping it might be, I just want it to be something. Okay, yes I can, I want it to be an agent writing to tell me she’ll represent my book, or better yet, that she’s already got a publisher waiting for someone with just my tone and she’s faxing over a 10-book contract with a $50,000 advance.
Oddly enough, it’s usually some hacked to death attempt at English telling me I’m the sole benefactress of an Ethiopian ivory fortune. I am well rehearsed in the deletion process. Spam mail is such a let down. The people responsible for spam mail should get bonuses for the fits of temporary depression they bring on. Not only are they phishing for identities and breaking down secure servers, they’re also playing on the emotions of poor freelance writers hoping for book deals. I can only assume they’re conspiring with pharmaceutical companies and other entities involved in the creation and distribution of drugs like Xanax, Wellbutrin, and Paxil. I think Little Debbie, and maybe Blue Bell, are also involved as my personal consumption of their products has increased three-fold since Sunday evening last.
On the USPS front, I’m only getting bills, small white envelopes symbolic of balls and chains. Reminders of responsibility and mistakes. This is one area that I am expecting something of value, I am a writer that gets paid, so every now and then my lust for mail is positively reinforced in the form of monetary gain. I could use some of that monetary gain about now.
To twist the knife ever so slightly, I did get a Membership Reward postcard from American Express today inviting me to redeem points for a fabulous stay in. . .where else. . .Paris!!!
For the record, as I seem bitter, I stand by the decision I made not to travel last week. It was not the right time, I know the difference between lack of peace and fear, and what I felt was an absence of peace. However, I am very disappointed that it didn’t work out, that I wasn’t able to do it, and for that matter, that I hitched my wagon to such a far away (literally) star. I really, REALLY needed a vacation, a disconnect, which I could have accomplished much closer to home. Or perhaps, that would have been scratched, too. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. I try not to question it too much, it’s best to just trust and wait for the perfect opportunity.
While I'm waiting, maybe I'll do some internet shopping where I can get some really exciting mail. New shoes, handbag, a red patent leather belt (basic item, yes, yet impossible to find). However, this will no doubt lead to the continued delivery of the aforementioned bills. Vicious cycle.
I have a Blackberry synced with my personal e-mail and every time it buzzes, my heart leaps a little. What kind of news is it? I can’t tell you with any certainty what I’m hoping it might be, I just want it to be something. Okay, yes I can, I want it to be an agent writing to tell me she’ll represent my book, or better yet, that she’s already got a publisher waiting for someone with just my tone and she’s faxing over a 10-book contract with a $50,000 advance.
Oddly enough, it’s usually some hacked to death attempt at English telling me I’m the sole benefactress of an Ethiopian ivory fortune. I am well rehearsed in the deletion process. Spam mail is such a let down. The people responsible for spam mail should get bonuses for the fits of temporary depression they bring on. Not only are they phishing for identities and breaking down secure servers, they’re also playing on the emotions of poor freelance writers hoping for book deals. I can only assume they’re conspiring with pharmaceutical companies and other entities involved in the creation and distribution of drugs like Xanax, Wellbutrin, and Paxil. I think Little Debbie, and maybe Blue Bell, are also involved as my personal consumption of their products has increased three-fold since Sunday evening last.
On the USPS front, I’m only getting bills, small white envelopes symbolic of balls and chains. Reminders of responsibility and mistakes. This is one area that I am expecting something of value, I am a writer that gets paid, so every now and then my lust for mail is positively reinforced in the form of monetary gain. I could use some of that monetary gain about now.
To twist the knife ever so slightly, I did get a Membership Reward postcard from American Express today inviting me to redeem points for a fabulous stay in. . .where else. . .Paris!!!
For the record, as I seem bitter, I stand by the decision I made not to travel last week. It was not the right time, I know the difference between lack of peace and fear, and what I felt was an absence of peace. However, I am very disappointed that it didn’t work out, that I wasn’t able to do it, and for that matter, that I hitched my wagon to such a far away (literally) star. I really, REALLY needed a vacation, a disconnect, which I could have accomplished much closer to home. Or perhaps, that would have been scratched, too. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. I try not to question it too much, it’s best to just trust and wait for the perfect opportunity.
While I'm waiting, maybe I'll do some internet shopping where I can get some really exciting mail. New shoes, handbag, a red patent leather belt (basic item, yes, yet impossible to find). However, this will no doubt lead to the continued delivery of the aforementioned bills. Vicious cycle.
Monday, March 16, 2009
I'm back...from the airport
If you’ve read my blog at all the past few weeks, you know that I booked a trip to Paris, France, for Spring Break. If you read this blog Friday, you know that I was supposed to have left on said trip yesterday. And, if you’re reading this blog now, you know that I am in fact in the United States, and you are probably wondering why. So am I.
That’s not entirely true. I know why. I couldn’t get on the plane. For a long time, I have been living under the idea that I am a worldly, independent type, destined to see and explore every crevice of the earth. Turns out, that’s not who I am at all.
Nearly every source of my earthly joy is in a 30-square-mile radius and I am a very content person, a trip overseas was not going to add anything. Well, it might have and I know there wouldn’t have been anything wrong with me going, in theory. But, I couldn’t do it. I made it all the way to the airport and was within 90 minutes of taking off and I could NOT do it. Many people reading this probably think I’m a complete fool for not going, especially if you know me and have heard me rant and rave about wanting to travel and about this trip in particular. However, none of you were inside my head at the critical moment. None of you felt the lack of peace. None of you have to look at the credit card statement.
This is a lesson learned, that’s how I view it. God can use any means He chooses to teach us, to mold us. And, He may very well have used this to teach me, to show me, exactly what my life is supposed to be, what it is supposed to be about.
If I were in Paris right now, I would be one of several places. I could be touring Notre Dame, I could be on a bus familiarizing myself with the city, I could be exploring the Quartier Latin, or I could be crumpled on the bed in my hotel room in tears wishing I could go home. Although it seems preposterous, I could still be wandering through Charles de Gaulle looking for my baggage and/or shuttle driver, or there’s a small chance I could be stranded in Amsterdam. The crumpled on the bed is probably very likely. I am a strong person, but the people God has blessed me with are what make me strong. I am not brave, not on my own. If I have someone else to lead, guide or protect, I’m there, I’m on it, the responsibility drives me. Conversely, when it’s just me, I fall apart. I am a social being. Sure, I enjoy the occasional afternoon or evening of solitude, but for the most part I like having people with me, I like having someone to share with. When I am away from home, even on short trips, I always want the people I care about most with me. Especially my sister. A few months ago in Houston I walked through the Galleria wishing she was with me. That’s probably why I bought her the overpriced dinosaur t-shirt from Urban Outfitters.
My aunt told me last night: “You can do anything you put your mind to.” That’s true, but everything I’ve accomplished in my short life has been possible because of the support and love that’s always been present. Not one of my family members or friends told me not to go on the trip, but once I decided against it, nearly every one of them told me they were relieved. They hadn’t been comfortable with me going by myself, but they weren’t going to stop me because they knew it was something I had desired to do for such a long time.
I lost my peace and excitement over the trip more than a week ago. I woke in the night in a sweat and pulled out the travel documents ready to cancel. I didn’t, but I never felt much but anxiety from that point on. I prayed and prayed and prayed some more, only to get short periods of peace. Those brief instances were always quickly dashed away. What does that mean? I have no idea, and I probably never will. It was probably pre-trip jitters that even seasoned international travelers experience. Mine took many forms. Ultimately, the hurdle in the forefront yesterday was the flight. I woke this morning and turned on the news to discover that there were no plane crashes. I would have arrived safely. Everything other than that will probably forever remain a mystery.
Lessons learned:
**Nothing in haste – I thought booking this impulsively, as opposed to having seven months to wait like last time (oh yes, I cancelled a trip a few months ago, check the archives) would be good for me.
**Know my limits – solo travel is not something I can do, not that great a distance.
**Pay attention to past experiences – New York and Houston, when the former ended and the latter commenced, I knew I didn’t really like being away from home. I’m an east Texas girl. I’ve thought for a long time that I’m not, but I am. It’s a simple life, not that glamorous, not that exciting, but that’s the hand I’ve been dealt and I am grateful for everyone and everything that I have.
**Praise Him in tribulation – thank you God for a family and friends that are supportive of my decisions and of me, no matter how foolish. Thank you for forgiveness, provision, and a plan.
That’s not entirely true. I know why. I couldn’t get on the plane. For a long time, I have been living under the idea that I am a worldly, independent type, destined to see and explore every crevice of the earth. Turns out, that’s not who I am at all.
Nearly every source of my earthly joy is in a 30-square-mile radius and I am a very content person, a trip overseas was not going to add anything. Well, it might have and I know there wouldn’t have been anything wrong with me going, in theory. But, I couldn’t do it. I made it all the way to the airport and was within 90 minutes of taking off and I could NOT do it. Many people reading this probably think I’m a complete fool for not going, especially if you know me and have heard me rant and rave about wanting to travel and about this trip in particular. However, none of you were inside my head at the critical moment. None of you felt the lack of peace. None of you have to look at the credit card statement.
This is a lesson learned, that’s how I view it. God can use any means He chooses to teach us, to mold us. And, He may very well have used this to teach me, to show me, exactly what my life is supposed to be, what it is supposed to be about.
If I were in Paris right now, I would be one of several places. I could be touring Notre Dame, I could be on a bus familiarizing myself with the city, I could be exploring the Quartier Latin, or I could be crumpled on the bed in my hotel room in tears wishing I could go home. Although it seems preposterous, I could still be wandering through Charles de Gaulle looking for my baggage and/or shuttle driver, or there’s a small chance I could be stranded in Amsterdam. The crumpled on the bed is probably very likely. I am a strong person, but the people God has blessed me with are what make me strong. I am not brave, not on my own. If I have someone else to lead, guide or protect, I’m there, I’m on it, the responsibility drives me. Conversely, when it’s just me, I fall apart. I am a social being. Sure, I enjoy the occasional afternoon or evening of solitude, but for the most part I like having people with me, I like having someone to share with. When I am away from home, even on short trips, I always want the people I care about most with me. Especially my sister. A few months ago in Houston I walked through the Galleria wishing she was with me. That’s probably why I bought her the overpriced dinosaur t-shirt from Urban Outfitters.
My aunt told me last night: “You can do anything you put your mind to.” That’s true, but everything I’ve accomplished in my short life has been possible because of the support and love that’s always been present. Not one of my family members or friends told me not to go on the trip, but once I decided against it, nearly every one of them told me they were relieved. They hadn’t been comfortable with me going by myself, but they weren’t going to stop me because they knew it was something I had desired to do for such a long time.
I lost my peace and excitement over the trip more than a week ago. I woke in the night in a sweat and pulled out the travel documents ready to cancel. I didn’t, but I never felt much but anxiety from that point on. I prayed and prayed and prayed some more, only to get short periods of peace. Those brief instances were always quickly dashed away. What does that mean? I have no idea, and I probably never will. It was probably pre-trip jitters that even seasoned international travelers experience. Mine took many forms. Ultimately, the hurdle in the forefront yesterday was the flight. I woke this morning and turned on the news to discover that there were no plane crashes. I would have arrived safely. Everything other than that will probably forever remain a mystery.
Lessons learned:
**Nothing in haste – I thought booking this impulsively, as opposed to having seven months to wait like last time (oh yes, I cancelled a trip a few months ago, check the archives) would be good for me.
**Know my limits – solo travel is not something I can do, not that great a distance.
**Pay attention to past experiences – New York and Houston, when the former ended and the latter commenced, I knew I didn’t really like being away from home. I’m an east Texas girl. I’ve thought for a long time that I’m not, but I am. It’s a simple life, not that glamorous, not that exciting, but that’s the hand I’ve been dealt and I am grateful for everyone and everything that I have.
**Praise Him in tribulation – thank you God for a family and friends that are supportive of my decisions and of me, no matter how foolish. Thank you for forgiveness, provision, and a plan.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Random Tid Bits
It's Spring Break. My students left about 45 minutes ago, and I am leaving on Sunday for Paris. I think this calls for a laid-back sort of blog, not that all of my blogs are profound tomes of wisdom, but this one is going to be really relaxed. I'm just going to mention two very random things that have happened to me and a person close to me as of late.
1. My cousin, who lives in California with her Marine husband, recently had 12 pairs of underwear jacked from a laundromat. Who steals underwear? Yuck. (I mean this as a general comment, my cousin practices very good personal hygiene...awkward.) I'm a germophobe, so I have a bias, but I think most people should have some sort of mechanism in their brains that tells them it's not okay to, number one steal, but also wear a stranger's undergarments. I get the heebee-jeebees when I see slips at a Good Will. It ain’t right. The heartbreaking part is, her underwear was Victoria's Secret, and at a minimum cost of $8 a pair, that's at least $100 worth of panties gone in the night. Horrible, and...random.
2. Last night my sweet tooth got to aching and there was nothing in the house. We do that on purpose. However, I did find some chocolate chips, toffee bits, and chopped pecans. I mixed them together in a bowl and ate the concoction with a spoon. Don't judge me!! Now, that in itself is random, but, there's more. After this act of desperation, I of course needed to brush my teeth because one without dental insurance does not go to sleep with toffee stuck to one's teeth. I brushed well and set my toothbrush back in the thing that holds my toothbrush (I don't know what else to call it). It bounced out, slid off the counter (as almost everything in my bathroom has done at least 46 times - the room has an altered gravitational pull or something) and landed. . .on the toilet brush. Yuck, again. This is the reason I was in Wal-Mart at 7:40 this morning, on Friday the 13th no less, buying a toothbrush and nothing else. That’s random, too.
This blog will in all likelihood remain silent next week. But, I will have Paris experiences to share when I return.
1. My cousin, who lives in California with her Marine husband, recently had 12 pairs of underwear jacked from a laundromat. Who steals underwear? Yuck. (I mean this as a general comment, my cousin practices very good personal hygiene...awkward.) I'm a germophobe, so I have a bias, but I think most people should have some sort of mechanism in their brains that tells them it's not okay to, number one steal, but also wear a stranger's undergarments. I get the heebee-jeebees when I see slips at a Good Will. It ain’t right. The heartbreaking part is, her underwear was Victoria's Secret, and at a minimum cost of $8 a pair, that's at least $100 worth of panties gone in the night. Horrible, and...random.
2. Last night my sweet tooth got to aching and there was nothing in the house. We do that on purpose. However, I did find some chocolate chips, toffee bits, and chopped pecans. I mixed them together in a bowl and ate the concoction with a spoon. Don't judge me!! Now, that in itself is random, but, there's more. After this act of desperation, I of course needed to brush my teeth because one without dental insurance does not go to sleep with toffee stuck to one's teeth. I brushed well and set my toothbrush back in the thing that holds my toothbrush (I don't know what else to call it). It bounced out, slid off the counter (as almost everything in my bathroom has done at least 46 times - the room has an altered gravitational pull or something) and landed. . .on the toilet brush. Yuck, again. This is the reason I was in Wal-Mart at 7:40 this morning, on Friday the 13th no less, buying a toothbrush and nothing else. That’s random, too.
This blog will in all likelihood remain silent next week. But, I will have Paris experiences to share when I return.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Clutter
Goodness, it's been almost a week since I posted. I've been down with a demon sinus infection, but still working, planning, and doing a bunch of other things. Being sick has catapulted me into a wariness of sorts concerning my trip, which begins in four days. I don't know about you, but when I'm sick, I don't want to be anywhere but home. I was like that in college. Even after being away from "home" for more than a year, when my throat began to ache, I instantly longed for my parent's house. So, having been ill these past few days, it has been impossible to fathom being anywhere but my cozy, comfortable, familiar home.
The sickness (or the medication I'm on to get rid of it) has made me so foggy, I can't think straight about anything, although things have improved greatly today. The aches and pains and fatigue have closed in on me and pushed away my desire and ability to do other, more important things, which brings me to my topic and today's title, clutter.
I look at my desk right now and it is covered in various stacks. Each of those stacks is a project I'm working on. I know the deadline and requirements for each, some are big, some small, but what they all have in common is their cluttering up of my life. This is my desk at the school, so I can shuffle things around and limp through my days. At home however, it doesn't work that way. Most of my writing is done at home, from a small red desk under the window in my bedroom, save this blog that I usually eek out during a lunch break. The red desk is the birthplace of “The Hatpin Killer”, it is where articles on architecture, construction, church sound systems, bridal sizes, and ski resorts are created, and it must be a clutter-free environment. For whatever reason I cannot sit down with the intention of writing anything (good) with the same stacks around that I allow at the school. This means laundry must be folded, hung and put away, the bed must me made, the books and DVDs must be straight on the shelf, the floor must be vacuumed, my stack of bills must be neat (and preferably paid) and the desk itself must be free of STACKS!
Why is this so? I don't know. Again, the stacks on my desk at the school don't bother me so much. Maybe it's because I have more space in that office than I do in the home office. Maybe the need for neatness at home is just subconscious procrastination. “I have to do this load of clothes before I can get started.” I have to change the sheets before I can read over that interview.” Maybe I'll never know, but I do know this, once the room is clean, I can always sit down and get busy with an article, whatever the topic may be.
The same goes for mental clutter. There is nothing worse than having an article due while I have some pressing personal issue on my mind. In fact, it’s dang near impossible to churn out anything but oatmeal-like dribble. This is why I become a peacekeeper when I’m on deadline, I clear my life of the possibility of personal drama.
As I write, the medicine is finally doing its job and I feel the fogginess lifting for good and I’m looking forward to a clutterless, unclouded day. Ironically, it’s supposed to rain cats and dogs tomorrow.
The sickness (or the medication I'm on to get rid of it) has made me so foggy, I can't think straight about anything, although things have improved greatly today. The aches and pains and fatigue have closed in on me and pushed away my desire and ability to do other, more important things, which brings me to my topic and today's title, clutter.
I look at my desk right now and it is covered in various stacks. Each of those stacks is a project I'm working on. I know the deadline and requirements for each, some are big, some small, but what they all have in common is their cluttering up of my life. This is my desk at the school, so I can shuffle things around and limp through my days. At home however, it doesn't work that way. Most of my writing is done at home, from a small red desk under the window in my bedroom, save this blog that I usually eek out during a lunch break. The red desk is the birthplace of “The Hatpin Killer”, it is where articles on architecture, construction, church sound systems, bridal sizes, and ski resorts are created, and it must be a clutter-free environment. For whatever reason I cannot sit down with the intention of writing anything (good) with the same stacks around that I allow at the school. This means laundry must be folded, hung and put away, the bed must me made, the books and DVDs must be straight on the shelf, the floor must be vacuumed, my stack of bills must be neat (and preferably paid) and the desk itself must be free of STACKS!
Why is this so? I don't know. Again, the stacks on my desk at the school don't bother me so much. Maybe it's because I have more space in that office than I do in the home office. Maybe the need for neatness at home is just subconscious procrastination. “I have to do this load of clothes before I can get started.” I have to change the sheets before I can read over that interview.” Maybe I'll never know, but I do know this, once the room is clean, I can always sit down and get busy with an article, whatever the topic may be.
The same goes for mental clutter. There is nothing worse than having an article due while I have some pressing personal issue on my mind. In fact, it’s dang near impossible to churn out anything but oatmeal-like dribble. This is why I become a peacekeeper when I’m on deadline, I clear my life of the possibility of personal drama.
As I write, the medicine is finally doing its job and I feel the fogginess lifting for good and I’m looking forward to a clutterless, unclouded day. Ironically, it’s supposed to rain cats and dogs tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Sleepless in East Texas
I did not sleep last night, not real sleep. It was that altered-state-of-consciousness business. I began reading a book about Marie Antoinette before bed, and consequently, had waking dreams of the Dauphin and Dauphine and approaching revolution, and became very concerned about my taxes (I have to pay in this year - first time ever - because of my writing income).
Amidst my tossing and turning, I thought about the trip and my finances. I prayed. I panicked about my arrival at Charles de Gaulle airport, fearing it will be too intimidating and I will have to fight the urge to walk straight up to a ticket counter and pay an exorbitant amount of money to fly home immediately. I prayed some more. My worries and fears are always more concentrated at night.
Today, I am zombie-like, so I apologize if this post is less than brilliant. As a result of my nocturnal financial panic, I got up at five, an hour earlier than usual, and looked for some writing work. I've not been sending queries out because I've been focused on the book. Now that it's finished and now that I have a more clearly defined schedule at the school, I have time to look, and more importantly, will actually have time to do the work should I get it.
Yet another outcome: I drove to work terrified because I was behind a truck loaded down with steel beams. If you've seen "The Descent", you know what's up. Horrifying. My mind does not WORK properly when I am sleep deprived. However, it does lend a surreal quality to the day.
I just can't take it any deeper than this today. . .
Amidst my tossing and turning, I thought about the trip and my finances. I prayed. I panicked about my arrival at Charles de Gaulle airport, fearing it will be too intimidating and I will have to fight the urge to walk straight up to a ticket counter and pay an exorbitant amount of money to fly home immediately. I prayed some more. My worries and fears are always more concentrated at night.
Today, I am zombie-like, so I apologize if this post is less than brilliant. As a result of my nocturnal financial panic, I got up at five, an hour earlier than usual, and looked for some writing work. I've not been sending queries out because I've been focused on the book. Now that it's finished and now that I have a more clearly defined schedule at the school, I have time to look, and more importantly, will actually have time to do the work should I get it.
Yet another outcome: I drove to work terrified because I was behind a truck loaded down with steel beams. If you've seen "The Descent", you know what's up. Horrifying. My mind does not WORK properly when I am sleep deprived. However, it does lend a surreal quality to the day.
I just can't take it any deeper than this today. . .
Monday, March 2, 2009
Riding the Shopping Cart
Standing in the parking lot of Sam's the other night, I saw a man, probably my dad's age, run full speed while pushing an empty cart. He then jumped onto the cart and rode it until he ran out of steam, then repeated the process. I also saw a bright orange monster truck with suicide doors, but that's for another post.
I've seen my own father ride the shopping cart through parking lots, and I've done it myself, although not since high school. Seeing an older person engage in what seems to be a childish diversion got me to thinking: Now that the world appears to be breaking down, now that everything we've accumulated as a nation or as an individual may soon be worthless, isn't it time to just chuck it and have fun?
The Bible says to occupy while we're on Earth - I've often taken that to mean we're not supposed to take anything too seriously or get too wrapped up in our Earthly lives and what they offer. However, I went to a wedding this weekend where the pastor instructed the new couple to live life, enjoy life. This seems to be an issue of balance. Enjoy the fruits of your labor, but don't put them in a place they don't belong, like before God.
God didn't put us here to be miserable, we have a purpose and we also have access to joy and peace that surpasses all understanding. God is in control. We are not. That's where I live. In fact, booking the trip to Paris was ultimately a control issue for me. And, I know if I had given into that urge and need to be in control, I would be unhappy for not going, and it would be a giant step toward leading a life full of worry and missed chances.
I seem to be writing about the trip a lot, but naturally I'm excited, and it being such short notice, I am spending the majority of my free time planning and preparing. I am not allowing myself to stake out a minute-by-minute itinerary, but I am planning some things, like which neighborhood I would like to visit each day. I'm trying to allow myself time to wander, which is what Paris is for. It's going to be good for me.
It's amazing to me, and once more, evidence that I serve an awesome God, that a still small voice keeps reassuring me when I have doubts about my travel plans. (Incidentally, these pesky doubts are coming fewer and farther between.) I was reminded the other day that Jesus was a traveler, that France is still a part of God's world, and that ultimately, I need to find a way to be strong on my own, with God as my only companion. This seems to be taking on a pretty serious tone for a brief spring vacation, but nonetheless, it's where I'm at and this is my blog. . .
The more serious and sinister the world we live in seems to get, the more important it is to just run as fast as we can and jump on. If you get the chance to run and jump again...take it. And, that's what I plan to do. I will carry on with my responsibilities, and I will live my life the way I'm supposed to because that's my insurance, but when and if it all comes tumbling down around me, I plan to be cool as a cucumber. The trick is being ready to park the cart when the time comes.
I've seen my own father ride the shopping cart through parking lots, and I've done it myself, although not since high school. Seeing an older person engage in what seems to be a childish diversion got me to thinking: Now that the world appears to be breaking down, now that everything we've accumulated as a nation or as an individual may soon be worthless, isn't it time to just chuck it and have fun?
The Bible says to occupy while we're on Earth - I've often taken that to mean we're not supposed to take anything too seriously or get too wrapped up in our Earthly lives and what they offer. However, I went to a wedding this weekend where the pastor instructed the new couple to live life, enjoy life. This seems to be an issue of balance. Enjoy the fruits of your labor, but don't put them in a place they don't belong, like before God.
God didn't put us here to be miserable, we have a purpose and we also have access to joy and peace that surpasses all understanding. God is in control. We are not. That's where I live. In fact, booking the trip to Paris was ultimately a control issue for me. And, I know if I had given into that urge and need to be in control, I would be unhappy for not going, and it would be a giant step toward leading a life full of worry and missed chances.
I seem to be writing about the trip a lot, but naturally I'm excited, and it being such short notice, I am spending the majority of my free time planning and preparing. I am not allowing myself to stake out a minute-by-minute itinerary, but I am planning some things, like which neighborhood I would like to visit each day. I'm trying to allow myself time to wander, which is what Paris is for. It's going to be good for me.
It's amazing to me, and once more, evidence that I serve an awesome God, that a still small voice keeps reassuring me when I have doubts about my travel plans. (Incidentally, these pesky doubts are coming fewer and farther between.) I was reminded the other day that Jesus was a traveler, that France is still a part of God's world, and that ultimately, I need to find a way to be strong on my own, with God as my only companion. This seems to be taking on a pretty serious tone for a brief spring vacation, but nonetheless, it's where I'm at and this is my blog. . .
The more serious and sinister the world we live in seems to get, the more important it is to just run as fast as we can and jump on. If you get the chance to run and jump again...take it. And, that's what I plan to do. I will carry on with my responsibilities, and I will live my life the way I'm supposed to because that's my insurance, but when and if it all comes tumbling down around me, I plan to be cool as a cucumber. The trick is being ready to park the cart when the time comes.
Breaking News
I got two e-mail acknowledgements from the agent. So, it would seem they received ALL three of my submissions. L. . .O. . .L
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
On making decisions
We've spoken about this before, so it should come as no surprise that I'm not so good with the decisions. This truth prompted my family to purchase a "decision maker" for me at Christmas. It is a wooden platform embedded with magnets. It has different answers written on the top and above it hangs a pendulum, also with a magnet. The pendulum swings wildly at first, but then slows down and frantically jitters between two answers before finally landing on one. The likeness to my own decision making process is uncanny.
I actually turned to it as I stared at a "continue with purchase" button on a travel-booking site Monday. It told me yes, and I proceeded. I am now officially spending Spring Break in Paris, France. Once I made the decision I felt nothing but relief. Although, I periodically go through buyer's remorse moments and fret about the stability of the world in general. France is God's world, too, and wherever I am, there is He also.
My plunge into international travel inspired me in other areas, and I finally got up the courage to submit my book query to an agent. Let me set up the scene. I've reviewed this agent's submission guidelines exhaustively, but I did it one more time last night. Their web site states that an immediate e-mail acknowledgment should follow your query submission. It instructs you to resubmit if you do not receive one. I did not get one, so I sent it again with a different subject line. Still no acknowledgement. I waited until this morning and sent it again from my work e-mail account. As of the drafting of this post, I have no acknowledgement in either inbox. However, after the third attempt, I read the agent's blog where she happened to have posted about the agency's query policy. She casually mentioned it sometimes takes a few days for the acknowledgement to appear. . . visualize me in a state of frenzied worry and panic. I strive for perfection when making Hamburger Helper. Doing something this important wrong is the stuff my nightmares are made of. . .!!!
So, one possible outcome of all this decision-making empowerment is, I just sent the same query to an agent (not just any agent, but the one I've been researching for six months) three times, that'll go over well, very professional. The other? I have been rejected by their e-mail system, not once, not twice, but three times from two different addresses. Only time will tell. In the meantime, anybody know a good agent?
I actually turned to it as I stared at a "continue with purchase" button on a travel-booking site Monday. It told me yes, and I proceeded. I am now officially spending Spring Break in Paris, France. Once I made the decision I felt nothing but relief. Although, I periodically go through buyer's remorse moments and fret about the stability of the world in general. France is God's world, too, and wherever I am, there is He also.
My plunge into international travel inspired me in other areas, and I finally got up the courage to submit my book query to an agent. Let me set up the scene. I've reviewed this agent's submission guidelines exhaustively, but I did it one more time last night. Their web site states that an immediate e-mail acknowledgment should follow your query submission. It instructs you to resubmit if you do not receive one. I did not get one, so I sent it again with a different subject line. Still no acknowledgement. I waited until this morning and sent it again from my work e-mail account. As of the drafting of this post, I have no acknowledgement in either inbox. However, after the third attempt, I read the agent's blog where she happened to have posted about the agency's query policy. She casually mentioned it sometimes takes a few days for the acknowledgement to appear. . . visualize me in a state of frenzied worry and panic. I strive for perfection when making Hamburger Helper. Doing something this important wrong is the stuff my nightmares are made of. . .!!!
So, one possible outcome of all this decision-making empowerment is, I just sent the same query to an agent (not just any agent, but the one I've been researching for six months) three times, that'll go over well, very professional. The other? I have been rejected by their e-mail system, not once, not twice, but three times from two different addresses. Only time will tell. In the meantime, anybody know a good agent?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
New habits are born easily
What foods did you hate and refuse to eat as a child? Mine were numerous: broccoli, spinach, tomatoes, onions, cottage cheese, sour cream, even mayonnaise. As an adult, all of these foods have become my favorites. I want spinach leaves on my sandwiches, tomatoes on my burgers, would jump through fire for crispy and delicious onion rings, love cottage cheese for breakfast, and you get the idea.
I found the same thing to be true with words. Certain parts of speech have meandered into my vocabulary quite suddenly. Like the word ‘foolish’. It’s not an uncommon or difficult word, but I never used it much (read: ever) as a child or teenager and now, it’s just poppin’ up everywhere. I’m sure this can be attributed to the fact that I am a WRITER and also an avid reader. Oh, and also, I grade approximately 300 pages a day (oh yes, I counted) in every core subject. There, that mystery is solved.
I cited these happenings in order to compare them to my life as a teacher. I now practice what my teachers preached. I embrace and enforce the rules I rejected and rebelled against. I subject my students to things that I hated my teachers for when I was growing up. And I went to public school. Within the private education setting, I know I have much more latitude when it comes to discipline (disclaimer: we do not practice corporal punishment). I am constantly telling students to tuck in shirts and change out of their P.E. shoes (part of our dress code). I daily assign detention for tardies and nail them for talking in class, failing to do homework, and a plethora of other things that I DID as a teenager.
The irony? I was much worse than any of them (I hope), and I’m quite afraid I will one day soon be blackmailed. I skipped class almost daily my senior year – all of my seniors, or senior wanabees, are quite motivated and dedicated to graduating on time, and therefore miss very little school. I don’t know much about my students’ “extracurricular activities” but none of the signs of alcohol or drug abuse/experimentation are there. It is a small school where my own sister attends. I know she isn’t involved in those things and she never alludes to any of her friends partaking, either. (Partaking, another one of those words.) However, as a high school student I spent my Fridays and Saturdays, and many weekdays, in places I had no business being, and as a result, I tend to be more suspicious of my students than is probably fair.
In closing, remember that one teacher you really didn’t like that was never, NEVER, sick? Mine was my senior chemistry teacher and she missed maybe one day the whole semester. I had a student the other day comment on how I am never out sick, and I’m not (and thank God because I don’t have insurance). Her words: “Ms. Rachel you’re never sick, you’re always here.” She didn’t mean it in an ugly way, she’s one of the students that can stand me. But what about the others? I ask this and chuckle to myself. That’s right, I come from very good stock and I will always be at work, ready to tell you to tuck your shirt, set your goals, stop talking at the computers, etc.
Some women turn into their mothers. I however, have turned into Mrs. Buckley, Room 318, Chemistry I.
I found the same thing to be true with words. Certain parts of speech have meandered into my vocabulary quite suddenly. Like the word ‘foolish’. It’s not an uncommon or difficult word, but I never used it much (read: ever) as a child or teenager and now, it’s just poppin’ up everywhere. I’m sure this can be attributed to the fact that I am a WRITER and also an avid reader. Oh, and also, I grade approximately 300 pages a day (oh yes, I counted) in every core subject. There, that mystery is solved.
I cited these happenings in order to compare them to my life as a teacher. I now practice what my teachers preached. I embrace and enforce the rules I rejected and rebelled against. I subject my students to things that I hated my teachers for when I was growing up. And I went to public school. Within the private education setting, I know I have much more latitude when it comes to discipline (disclaimer: we do not practice corporal punishment). I am constantly telling students to tuck in shirts and change out of their P.E. shoes (part of our dress code). I daily assign detention for tardies and nail them for talking in class, failing to do homework, and a plethora of other things that I DID as a teenager.
The irony? I was much worse than any of them (I hope), and I’m quite afraid I will one day soon be blackmailed. I skipped class almost daily my senior year – all of my seniors, or senior wanabees, are quite motivated and dedicated to graduating on time, and therefore miss very little school. I don’t know much about my students’ “extracurricular activities” but none of the signs of alcohol or drug abuse/experimentation are there. It is a small school where my own sister attends. I know she isn’t involved in those things and she never alludes to any of her friends partaking, either. (Partaking, another one of those words.) However, as a high school student I spent my Fridays and Saturdays, and many weekdays, in places I had no business being, and as a result, I tend to be more suspicious of my students than is probably fair.
In closing, remember that one teacher you really didn’t like that was never, NEVER, sick? Mine was my senior chemistry teacher and she missed maybe one day the whole semester. I had a student the other day comment on how I am never out sick, and I’m not (and thank God because I don’t have insurance). Her words: “Ms. Rachel you’re never sick, you’re always here.” She didn’t mean it in an ugly way, she’s one of the students that can stand me. But what about the others? I ask this and chuckle to myself. That’s right, I come from very good stock and I will always be at work, ready to tell you to tuck your shirt, set your goals, stop talking at the computers, etc.
Some women turn into their mothers. I however, have turned into Mrs. Buckley, Room 318, Chemistry I.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Characters
I have tried and tried to find a humorous topic to write on today. I’ve wracked my brain for a funny story from the past few days and nothing has surfaced, at least not one I wouldn’t be considered cruel for writing about. The topic I keep going back to is the people in my life, the ones I see every day. So, today will be character introduction, and some of it might be funny.
Let’s start at the top, at the beginning – my parents. My dad is amazing, a Vietnam veteran, the most honest and hardworking person I know. He is a fisherman, a metal detector, an expert on end time prophecy, and a right-wing, arms-bearing, conservative Christian REPUBLICAN. It is quite possible the Fed will arrive at our house one day soon, as my dad routinely invites them. Every time a story on Fox News gets his dander up, he stands in front of the television shouting his address and proposes a meeting in our front yard for later in the day. A duel of sorts. . .
My mom is perpetually 16. She plans her evenings around American Idol, is addicted to computer games, shops when she gets angry, and enjoys slamming doors and throwing things, mainly dishes and remotes. (I’d better not say anymore because she reads this blog daily.) Her good habits far outweigh her bad ones. She is one of the few people I know that will absolutely do anything for anybody. She has always put my sisters and me ahead of herself. I start thinking about things I know she’s given up in order for me to have, and I tear up.
On to the truly entertaining one. Rebekah. There are a few previous posts that will shed light on the history of our relationship. Lately, we’ve become buddies. She’s matured and I’ve learned to pick my battles. We “hang out” and sometimes have dance parties – just the two of us. We also share an affinity for trashy scary movies. I saw her through her first boyfriend-related tragedy about a month ago. As an individual, she is so much stronger than I ever was, and I am so grateful. She is not the least bit afraid to show her values. She is uninfluenced by others and their perception of “cool.” I respect her for that so much. A good anecdote to illustrate her less-practical side involves a sweatshirt. She picked out said sweatshirt and came up short, so I pitched in. It was expensive. When mom exclaimed, "You spent $___ on a sweatshirt!" Rebekah's response was, "Well. . .it's reversible."
There are several other noteworthy characters to talk about, including all of my students. However, I have a basketball game to get to, so we’ll have to discuss them later.
Let’s start at the top, at the beginning – my parents. My dad is amazing, a Vietnam veteran, the most honest and hardworking person I know. He is a fisherman, a metal detector, an expert on end time prophecy, and a right-wing, arms-bearing, conservative Christian REPUBLICAN. It is quite possible the Fed will arrive at our house one day soon, as my dad routinely invites them. Every time a story on Fox News gets his dander up, he stands in front of the television shouting his address and proposes a meeting in our front yard for later in the day. A duel of sorts. . .
My mom is perpetually 16. She plans her evenings around American Idol, is addicted to computer games, shops when she gets angry, and enjoys slamming doors and throwing things, mainly dishes and remotes. (I’d better not say anymore because she reads this blog daily.) Her good habits far outweigh her bad ones. She is one of the few people I know that will absolutely do anything for anybody. She has always put my sisters and me ahead of herself. I start thinking about things I know she’s given up in order for me to have, and I tear up.
On to the truly entertaining one. Rebekah. There are a few previous posts that will shed light on the history of our relationship. Lately, we’ve become buddies. She’s matured and I’ve learned to pick my battles. We “hang out” and sometimes have dance parties – just the two of us. We also share an affinity for trashy scary movies. I saw her through her first boyfriend-related tragedy about a month ago. As an individual, she is so much stronger than I ever was, and I am so grateful. She is not the least bit afraid to show her values. She is uninfluenced by others and their perception of “cool.” I respect her for that so much. A good anecdote to illustrate her less-practical side involves a sweatshirt. She picked out said sweatshirt and came up short, so I pitched in. It was expensive. When mom exclaimed, "You spent $___ on a sweatshirt!" Rebekah's response was, "Well. . .it's reversible."
There are several other noteworthy characters to talk about, including all of my students. However, I have a basketball game to get to, so we’ll have to discuss them later.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Job Description
Today, I spent 25 minutes in Game Stop. Prior to today, I’m not sure I’ve spent 25 seconds in any kind of video game store. Our school has an academic and good behavior incentive program called A-Privilege. Good grades and no serious disciplinary issues for a two-month period will earn a student two months of “privilege.” The two months is topped off with a day away from school, on which we treat our students to lunch and an outing. Sometimes it’s bowling or miniature golf; today it was a day at the mall in Tyler, and consequently, Game Stop.
I wound up in Game Stop because of one very special student. Seeing him every day reminds me why I do what I do for a third of the salary I am “eligible” for given my education and background. This student was enrolled at the academy the year I began working there again. He was completely beaten down by his peers from public school, to the point that just about anything would drive him to tears. Self esteem was non-existent and his brilliance and bright personality were dull and unnoticeable. At first, he was withdrawn and shy, untrusting, but after time he blossomed. By the end of the year he was friends with everyone and he returned this year with a smile on his face, full of summer stories, which he excitedly shared with fellow students, teachers, and anyone else that he could find. He is proof that God can heal anyone, that a loving, Christian environment IS the answer.
When this student found out I would be accompanying them on their outing today in place of the pastor, he asked if I would be in his group. Students his age are not required to have a chaperone, but he wanted me with him, so I agreed. We arrived at the mall and he ran ahead with his friends (friends in plural, something he didn’t have a short time ago), but when I came through the entrance he was waiting.
“Ms. Rachel, let’s form our group.”
So away we went…to Game Stop. The jargon amazed me. I stood by and watched as he knowingly traded games and asked about new games, specific versions, upcoming release dates, and the methods of downloading cheat codes. He moved with confidence, secure in his right to be himself. That’s how he behaves in the classroom, too. His personality is wonderful – he’s a little different, but so was John the Baptist. It is a blessing to me every time I see one of our older boys, one with a souped up pick-up or a starting spot on our basketball team, walk by this student and acknowledge him and show him kindness. That’s just the way it is at Calvary Way. My students are wonderful. They didn’t all start out that way, but they are educated in a place where the presence of God dwells, and where prayer goes on almost constantly.
This student is not our only success story. We have many. Some have come from broken and abusive homes, others deny God and His existence daily. Whatever their issues when they come, we always see improvement, maybe not as much as we want as humans, but some. When I think of it spiritually I know that the seed has been planted, the change may not come in my lifetime, but the work has been started and God will give the increase.
As I write this, the after school group is sitting outside my office singing “Open the Eyes of My Heart.” They’ve been in public school all day, an institution that has unabashedly turned its back on God. They have removed every trace of Him from what they teach. But God finds a way, and those same students come here in the afternoon and willingly, excitedly, and openly glorify God. Not because it is required, but because they want to, because their simple heartfelt praise makes them feel good.
I may never publish a book or travel the world, or even have anybody but family and a few close friends read this blog. But I’m in God’s will. When I wake up in the morning and come to work, I am helping a young person find their way. Many of them have experienced and endured things I’ve never dreamt of, and only one person can help them overcome the obstacles life has cruelly thrown in their path. It's my job to make sure they get introduced.
I wound up in Game Stop because of one very special student. Seeing him every day reminds me why I do what I do for a third of the salary I am “eligible” for given my education and background. This student was enrolled at the academy the year I began working there again. He was completely beaten down by his peers from public school, to the point that just about anything would drive him to tears. Self esteem was non-existent and his brilliance and bright personality were dull and unnoticeable. At first, he was withdrawn and shy, untrusting, but after time he blossomed. By the end of the year he was friends with everyone and he returned this year with a smile on his face, full of summer stories, which he excitedly shared with fellow students, teachers, and anyone else that he could find. He is proof that God can heal anyone, that a loving, Christian environment IS the answer.
When this student found out I would be accompanying them on their outing today in place of the pastor, he asked if I would be in his group. Students his age are not required to have a chaperone, but he wanted me with him, so I agreed. We arrived at the mall and he ran ahead with his friends (friends in plural, something he didn’t have a short time ago), but when I came through the entrance he was waiting.
“Ms. Rachel, let’s form our group.”
So away we went…to Game Stop. The jargon amazed me. I stood by and watched as he knowingly traded games and asked about new games, specific versions, upcoming release dates, and the methods of downloading cheat codes. He moved with confidence, secure in his right to be himself. That’s how he behaves in the classroom, too. His personality is wonderful – he’s a little different, but so was John the Baptist. It is a blessing to me every time I see one of our older boys, one with a souped up pick-up or a starting spot on our basketball team, walk by this student and acknowledge him and show him kindness. That’s just the way it is at Calvary Way. My students are wonderful. They didn’t all start out that way, but they are educated in a place where the presence of God dwells, and where prayer goes on almost constantly.
This student is not our only success story. We have many. Some have come from broken and abusive homes, others deny God and His existence daily. Whatever their issues when they come, we always see improvement, maybe not as much as we want as humans, but some. When I think of it spiritually I know that the seed has been planted, the change may not come in my lifetime, but the work has been started and God will give the increase.
As I write this, the after school group is sitting outside my office singing “Open the Eyes of My Heart.” They’ve been in public school all day, an institution that has unabashedly turned its back on God. They have removed every trace of Him from what they teach. But God finds a way, and those same students come here in the afternoon and willingly, excitedly, and openly glorify God. Not because it is required, but because they want to, because their simple heartfelt praise makes them feel good.
I may never publish a book or travel the world, or even have anybody but family and a few close friends read this blog. But I’m in God’s will. When I wake up in the morning and come to work, I am helping a young person find their way. Many of them have experienced and endured things I’ve never dreamt of, and only one person can help them overcome the obstacles life has cruelly thrown in their path. It's my job to make sure they get introduced.
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