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.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
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!
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