"It's hard to be humble when you're as perfect as I am." Surely most of us have seen this clever caption, or some derivative of it, on a bumper sticker. I laugh at it most of the time. At other times, I probably judge the driver of the vehicle to be arrogant, not humble like me. In doing the latter, I am showing arrogance myself, not humility. It’s a vicious cycle.
"Humility and the fear of the Lord bring wealth and honor and life." Proverbs 22:4
God loves, defends, and provides for the humble. He loves, defends, and provides for all of us, if we let Him. But, the person who daily and knowingly works at serving Him in humility has a degree of peace, contentment, and joy, that I would like to tap in to. I'm not there yet.
Before I began writing this today, I checked Chip MacGregor's blog. He had posted a list of errors in writing that drive him crazy. I read the list one by one, my ego growing by the second.
"I don't do any of those things."
"Thank goodness I know better than that."
"Who would do that?"
Those are a few of the thoughts I had. I even began to get frustrated because I realized there are serious writers out there that submit work with those types of errors, and they get published! I go over every piece of my writing with a fine-tooth comb. I literally practice parallel construction in my sleep. I can spot a misplaced apostrophe or dangling modifier a mile away. I correct billboards while on vacation. But, I can't get an agent or editor to do anything other than send me a form rejection letter. Or, no letter at all.
That was my thought process. Then I read a rule I didn't know. This rule has been a point of confusion for some years. Chip made it very clear, though. I realized I'd probably been w-w-wr-ong. Probably.
Humility. "When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom." Proverbs 11:2
I have a lot of little issues flying around in my head right now. I think the answer to most of them is: God, it turns out I don't know everything. I need you to keep showing me and leading me. I put my life in your hands. I want to serve and please you. You know what's best for me. In Jesus' name, amen.
"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves." Phillippians 2:3
Monday, June 21, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The First Four
The grandchildren on my mom's side of the house came in groups. After two a little older, I was the third grandchild, followed closely by Krystal and David, then Allison. It was just the four of us for about eight years. Then, David and Allison had a younger brother, Krystal had a younger brother, and before too long, I had a baby sister. Somewhere in there an uncle remarried and we gained two step-cousins, and a few years ago, our family grew by three more via adoption. Despite nearly a 16-year spread between the youngest cousin and myself, we're all pretty close and get along.
My mother has three brothers and a sister - Glenn, Sherlene, Larry, and Joel. They grew up a stone's throw from their aunt and uncle's home, where there were five more children of the same age - Marion, Jan, Glenda, Evelyn, and Wayne.
When I first moved to Texas and started meeting my mom’s cousins I was so intrigued by the relationships between all of them and my mom and aunts and uncles. After so many years of geographic separation, they could still walk into a room and in a matter of minutes, be swapping old stories and rolling on the floor laughing about something that happened 30 years before. I swelled with pride over being a part of such a big laughing family and always looked forward to gatherings so I could hear the same stories and be a part of it all.
I will say, it's started to wear off a little. I still love being with my family, but the newness of it is gone. I've been in an awkward position for a few years. Krystal moved to California, David married and splits his holiday time with his wife's family, and Allison lives in Mississippi. A lot of the time I'm the only one around out of the "First Four." Despite my closeness with the second set of grandchildren, I miss my three original companions.
However, the best things are worth waiting for. I have the privilege of spending a lot of time with my family - even extended family. There aren't many days that go by that I don't share a laugh or make a memory of some kind with one of the “Second Set.” So, even though things seem a little mundane, even monotonous at times, every day my second-set of cousins and I are bankrolling memories - stories for the future.
Austin is a second set, and he’s an artist and so quick-witted, I can’t help but respect him, being a pretty witty gal myself. Dylan is a hard worker who makes friends wherever he goes – who knows what kind of characters he’ll bring home for Thanksgiving one day. Brent came right before Rebekah and is my unofficial baby brother. He’s soon to be married, and as fortune would have it, his bride is my little sister’s best friend – a very welcome addition to our family table. Nathaniel is all the way over in Mississippi and I’m sad to say I don’t know him as well as I’d like to, but I know he laughs the same way David does, and that’s worth a whole lot in my book.
In a time when brothers and sisters barely make time for one another, it’s a great comfort to know that I have a place in all these different lives, and they certainly have a place in mine.
Already, on the occasions that a few of us end up in the same room, we inevitably find something to have a good abdominal-workout laugh over. A few more years of living and some great-grandchildren thrown into the mix should prove priceless.
I would say I'd like to be a fly on the wall at Christmas in about ten years, but I think I'll have an even better seat.
My mother has three brothers and a sister - Glenn, Sherlene, Larry, and Joel. They grew up a stone's throw from their aunt and uncle's home, where there were five more children of the same age - Marion, Jan, Glenda, Evelyn, and Wayne.
When I first moved to Texas and started meeting my mom’s cousins I was so intrigued by the relationships between all of them and my mom and aunts and uncles. After so many years of geographic separation, they could still walk into a room and in a matter of minutes, be swapping old stories and rolling on the floor laughing about something that happened 30 years before. I swelled with pride over being a part of such a big laughing family and always looked forward to gatherings so I could hear the same stories and be a part of it all.
I will say, it's started to wear off a little. I still love being with my family, but the newness of it is gone. I've been in an awkward position for a few years. Krystal moved to California, David married and splits his holiday time with his wife's family, and Allison lives in Mississippi. A lot of the time I'm the only one around out of the "First Four." Despite my closeness with the second set of grandchildren, I miss my three original companions.
However, the best things are worth waiting for. I have the privilege of spending a lot of time with my family - even extended family. There aren't many days that go by that I don't share a laugh or make a memory of some kind with one of the “Second Set.” So, even though things seem a little mundane, even monotonous at times, every day my second-set of cousins and I are bankrolling memories - stories for the future.
Austin is a second set, and he’s an artist and so quick-witted, I can’t help but respect him, being a pretty witty gal myself. Dylan is a hard worker who makes friends wherever he goes – who knows what kind of characters he’ll bring home for Thanksgiving one day. Brent came right before Rebekah and is my unofficial baby brother. He’s soon to be married, and as fortune would have it, his bride is my little sister’s best friend – a very welcome addition to our family table. Nathaniel is all the way over in Mississippi and I’m sad to say I don’t know him as well as I’d like to, but I know he laughs the same way David does, and that’s worth a whole lot in my book.
In a time when brothers and sisters barely make time for one another, it’s a great comfort to know that I have a place in all these different lives, and they certainly have a place in mine.
Already, on the occasions that a few of us end up in the same room, we inevitably find something to have a good abdominal-workout laugh over. A few more years of living and some great-grandchildren thrown into the mix should prove priceless.
I would say I'd like to be a fly on the wall at Christmas in about ten years, but I think I'll have an even better seat.
Monday, June 14, 2010
A Kenny Moment
**This post is dedicated to Sergeant Kenneth B. May, Jr. - Marine, coffee lover, and friend.**
A part of my renewed writing motivation is a set of goals. Within that set is a goal to post to this blog three times weekly. I've been fumbling through this day waiting for my inspiration. A few moments ago, it came.
It's summer, and I'm in a summer state of mind. I still have work to do, but the urgency is absent. I ate lunch and then remained still, which leads to grogginess. Ordinarily, I don't allow myself to have coffee after noon, as I'm very sensitive to the caffeine and it will release its power on me just as I'm trying to settle down for the night. But it's summer - and Tuesdays are my day off during the summer. Therefore, I can stay up past my self-imposed bed time on Monday nights, which means I can have coffee on Monday afternoons. And, we've come full circle.
Since I drink my morning coffee at home, I seldom have any at work unless one of the other teachers has made some. I never make it myself at work for sure. So, today, when the afternoon drowsiness came calling, I was horribly unprepared. I first went to the very front of the building I'm currently in and found a coffee pot, but no coffee. I went to a second building to get coffee and a mug, then went to a third building to search for some "fu-fu" creamer. I returned to the coffee pot with these items and went to work. The coffee pot at my disposal was a one-cup Mr. Coffee model, whereas the filters were for a full-pot model. I, of course, in my hasty greed for caffeine, ignored this fact until I had coffee in the filter and was trying to close up and hit 'on.' The oversized coffee filter was hanging over the edges. This had to be corrected. I found a pair of dainty, children's safety scissors and began to trim away at the coffee filter. I was in a moment of great concentration when Kenny arrived.
For a second he was still here, and momentarily I thought ahead to when I would have the opportunity to share this little anecdote with him. I won't be able to in this lifetime. But I know he saw it all the same, and not only is he getting a kick out of it, he might be impressed with my resourcefulness. I was always impressed with his.
In the summer of 2004, I had just moved to East Texas. I had left my whole childhood and social life behind me in Idaho. My cousin and best friend, Krystal, and her boyfriend, Kenny, were my new social circle. I don't recall why, but the two of them were at my house early on a weekday. Kenny was working nights at the front desk of a local hotel and had just gotten off work. The three of us decided to make breakfast. Out came biscuits, hash browns, and whatever else the bounty of my parent's well-stocked pantry and fridge offered up. I wasn't a regular coffee drinker yet, but Kenny definitely was. My dad drank instant (goo!), but we did have a coffee maker and coffee, but no filters. Kenny, who also worked in the restaurant business, went to work crafting a filter out of paper towels, and I remember thinking how clever it was, and it worked, too!
Too often, people put away the things that remind them of those they've lost, they neglect the activities they once shared. Maybe they're scared to have a moment as I did while brewing coffee today. As for me, I'd rather have a candid split second of vivid, poignant memory, followed inevitably by tears, than a lifetime of premeditated recollections ushered in by flashbacks to a funeral.
Krystal, who in time became Kenny's wife, received very wise advice from her pastor in California following the news of her loss. Paraphrased, he told her to carry out the plans she and Kenny had made - they might have to be altered a little, but they didn't have to be cancelled altogether.
I eventually started the coffee and came back to my office to start writing this post while it brewed. When I returned to pour a cup I habitually picked up the bottle of creamer and gave it a good shake. The lid wasn’t closed tightly and creamer flew from one end of the room (incidentally, the pastor’s office) to the other. I cleaned it up with another oversized coffee filter and set my mug behind me on the pastor’s desk. Of course, there was more creamer on the bottom of the cup and it was now congealed in a nice ring atop the pastor’s desk. One more coffee filter, and a chuckle – it was just the sort of domino-effect comedy of errors that Kenny would appreciate.
Our loved ones live on when we remember to enjoy the things we enjoyed with them. They stay with us when we allow ourselves to laugh at something they would have laughed at. And, they are honored when we strive to be a little better person because of the things we learned from them. These are all evidence that the person lived, and left a legacy.
Kenny, I look forward to many more cups of coffee with you.
A part of my renewed writing motivation is a set of goals. Within that set is a goal to post to this blog three times weekly. I've been fumbling through this day waiting for my inspiration. A few moments ago, it came.
It's summer, and I'm in a summer state of mind. I still have work to do, but the urgency is absent. I ate lunch and then remained still, which leads to grogginess. Ordinarily, I don't allow myself to have coffee after noon, as I'm very sensitive to the caffeine and it will release its power on me just as I'm trying to settle down for the night. But it's summer - and Tuesdays are my day off during the summer. Therefore, I can stay up past my self-imposed bed time on Monday nights, which means I can have coffee on Monday afternoons. And, we've come full circle.
Since I drink my morning coffee at home, I seldom have any at work unless one of the other teachers has made some. I never make it myself at work for sure. So, today, when the afternoon drowsiness came calling, I was horribly unprepared. I first went to the very front of the building I'm currently in and found a coffee pot, but no coffee. I went to a second building to get coffee and a mug, then went to a third building to search for some "fu-fu" creamer. I returned to the coffee pot with these items and went to work. The coffee pot at my disposal was a one-cup Mr. Coffee model, whereas the filters were for a full-pot model. I, of course, in my hasty greed for caffeine, ignored this fact until I had coffee in the filter and was trying to close up and hit 'on.' The oversized coffee filter was hanging over the edges. This had to be corrected. I found a pair of dainty, children's safety scissors and began to trim away at the coffee filter. I was in a moment of great concentration when Kenny arrived.
For a second he was still here, and momentarily I thought ahead to when I would have the opportunity to share this little anecdote with him. I won't be able to in this lifetime. But I know he saw it all the same, and not only is he getting a kick out of it, he might be impressed with my resourcefulness. I was always impressed with his.
In the summer of 2004, I had just moved to East Texas. I had left my whole childhood and social life behind me in Idaho. My cousin and best friend, Krystal, and her boyfriend, Kenny, were my new social circle. I don't recall why, but the two of them were at my house early on a weekday. Kenny was working nights at the front desk of a local hotel and had just gotten off work. The three of us decided to make breakfast. Out came biscuits, hash browns, and whatever else the bounty of my parent's well-stocked pantry and fridge offered up. I wasn't a regular coffee drinker yet, but Kenny definitely was. My dad drank instant (goo!), but we did have a coffee maker and coffee, but no filters. Kenny, who also worked in the restaurant business, went to work crafting a filter out of paper towels, and I remember thinking how clever it was, and it worked, too!
Too often, people put away the things that remind them of those they've lost, they neglect the activities they once shared. Maybe they're scared to have a moment as I did while brewing coffee today. As for me, I'd rather have a candid split second of vivid, poignant memory, followed inevitably by tears, than a lifetime of premeditated recollections ushered in by flashbacks to a funeral.
Krystal, who in time became Kenny's wife, received very wise advice from her pastor in California following the news of her loss. Paraphrased, he told her to carry out the plans she and Kenny had made - they might have to be altered a little, but they didn't have to be cancelled altogether.
I eventually started the coffee and came back to my office to start writing this post while it brewed. When I returned to pour a cup I habitually picked up the bottle of creamer and gave it a good shake. The lid wasn’t closed tightly and creamer flew from one end of the room (incidentally, the pastor’s office) to the other. I cleaned it up with another oversized coffee filter and set my mug behind me on the pastor’s desk. Of course, there was more creamer on the bottom of the cup and it was now congealed in a nice ring atop the pastor’s desk. One more coffee filter, and a chuckle – it was just the sort of domino-effect comedy of errors that Kenny would appreciate.
Our loved ones live on when we remember to enjoy the things we enjoyed with them. They stay with us when we allow ourselves to laugh at something they would have laughed at. And, they are honored when we strive to be a little better person because of the things we learned from them. These are all evidence that the person lived, and left a legacy.
Kenny, I look forward to many more cups of coffee with you.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Look at the ant
I don't know what to write this morning - I only know I want to write. That's refreshing, as it's been some time since I felt words pulsing in my fingertips. My natural creativity often slinks back and stays silent, intimidated, even exhausted, by the seeming importance of parent letters, web revisions, board meeting minutes, and ho-hum e-mails.
Several months ago, my pastor taught a message about keeping your personal walk separate from your ministry. God always knows what we need. I always knew I needed to take care of my personal relationship on some level, but I wasn't practicing it. A pretty important part of living for God is helping, serving and ministering to others. That's indisputable. However, it's very difficult, nigh impossible, to help others if we don't seek strength for ourselves daily.
I was praying and studying, of course, but the time I spent for my personal growth always seemed to be done in preparation for praying for someone else, or teaching a lesson. Should we pray and study in that manner? Absolutely. But, should we also make time every day to just have a personal talk with God about our own growth? Yes. That's what I was missing.
I find the same is true for my writing. I use the talent and skill I have for a bunch of other things, which is fine - I'm supposed to. But, I let those tasks fill my writing shoes. I have four goals every day (minimally): pray, study God's Word, write, and exercise. For too long I have let my mundane daily writing tasks, those listed in the first paragraph, slide by as "writing." I go to bed at night and mark things off my mental to-do list and allow "parent policy revisions" to ease my conscience over not nourishing this precious gift from my Creator. This is not acceptable.
You lazy fool, look at an ant.
Watch it closely; let it teach you a thing or two.
Nobody has to tell it what to do.
All summer it stores up food;
at harvest it stockpiles provisions.
So how long are you going to laze around doing nothing?
How long before you get out of bed?
A nap here, a nap there, a day off here, a day off there,
sit back, take it easy—do you know what comes next?
Just this: You can look forward to a dirt-poor life,
poverty your permanent houseguest!
Proverbs 6:6-11 The Message
I'm not claiming to be lazy, but I'm not working as hard as possible every day for my writing, either. "You have a full-time job, Rachel!" Yes, I do, but there are a lot of writers with full-time jobs that still make time for their passion. That's what this is about - whether I ever publish or not, writing is my passion, my outlet. I owe it to me to make time for it every day.
Several months ago, my pastor taught a message about keeping your personal walk separate from your ministry. God always knows what we need. I always knew I needed to take care of my personal relationship on some level, but I wasn't practicing it. A pretty important part of living for God is helping, serving and ministering to others. That's indisputable. However, it's very difficult, nigh impossible, to help others if we don't seek strength for ourselves daily.
I was praying and studying, of course, but the time I spent for my personal growth always seemed to be done in preparation for praying for someone else, or teaching a lesson. Should we pray and study in that manner? Absolutely. But, should we also make time every day to just have a personal talk with God about our own growth? Yes. That's what I was missing.
I find the same is true for my writing. I use the talent and skill I have for a bunch of other things, which is fine - I'm supposed to. But, I let those tasks fill my writing shoes. I have four goals every day (minimally): pray, study God's Word, write, and exercise. For too long I have let my mundane daily writing tasks, those listed in the first paragraph, slide by as "writing." I go to bed at night and mark things off my mental to-do list and allow "parent policy revisions" to ease my conscience over not nourishing this precious gift from my Creator. This is not acceptable.
You lazy fool, look at an ant.
Watch it closely; let it teach you a thing or two.
Nobody has to tell it what to do.
All summer it stores up food;
at harvest it stockpiles provisions.
So how long are you going to laze around doing nothing?
How long before you get out of bed?
A nap here, a nap there, a day off here, a day off there,
sit back, take it easy—do you know what comes next?
Just this: You can look forward to a dirt-poor life,
poverty your permanent houseguest!
Proverbs 6:6-11 The Message
I'm not claiming to be lazy, but I'm not working as hard as possible every day for my writing, either. "You have a full-time job, Rachel!" Yes, I do, but there are a lot of writers with full-time jobs that still make time for their passion. That's what this is about - whether I ever publish or not, writing is my passion, my outlet. I owe it to me to make time for it every day.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Crazy Awesome
It’s just shy of two months since my last post. Shameful. What a busy, busy two months it's been. I have felt every emotion, it seems I've done every job. It's been crazy, which brings me to my topic: Crazy Love - the book by Francis Chan. I started reading it about Thanksgiving and just this morning found the time to pick it up to finish it. (Granted, I got Sarah Palin's book for Christmas and read it voraciously, putting all other literature, save the Bible, on the back burner.)
Crazy Love is an amazing look at the depths we allow our faith to fall to, and at the crazy justifications we latch onto in order to live our lives how we choose and still be "Christian." I have been in a state of confusion for some days now, completely dependant upon God to give me direction. The questions in my mind were unprecedented, and have brought on doubt in every area of my life. Usually, I seek out some human as a sounding board. In fact, I usually seek out a person that I know will tell me what I want to hear. This time, however, I needed truth, even if it was going to cut me and send me back to square one. But I couldn't find the right person. I realize now, God designed this trial with that very feature. He desired for me to talk only to Him. To seek guidance only from Him. And I did. It's awesome and almost humbling when you are in a place that only God understands. I didn't even understand where I was, and I simply told Him that. I asked Him to figure it out and let me know. Then I went to sleep in peace.
What an immeasurable gift!! To have a friend, father, and savior, all rolled into one. One who enthusiastically listens to our problems and takes on our burdens. One who works it out for us, gives us a plan, and lovingly walks beside us - just to be there to catch us when we inevitably mess up and fall down!
That was last night. I woke up this morning with the desire to finish reading Crazy Love. Not every question has been answered, but I definitely have a direction to pray in. I truly believe God used the book to make me see where I was missing Him.
God is so mysterious! Foolishly, the past few months, maybe even a year, I thought I had Him figured out. (Pause for ridiculous laughter.) Of course, I don't. God is the same yesterday, today and forever, He doesn't change! So why did I believe He had? It is so clear to me what I have done. I changed. I changed my approach and my attitude, and God didn't change at all.
We can't make an eternal God melt, mold and reshape Himself to fit this century. His rules and plan remain the same. Love Him with everything in you, and love your neighbors as you love yourself. It's so simple, but so hard when you put yourSELF in the middle of it. Nothing is about me, it is all about Him.
Thank you, God, for being patient with me, loving me, and showing me so gently how to get it right again.
Crazy Love is an amazing look at the depths we allow our faith to fall to, and at the crazy justifications we latch onto in order to live our lives how we choose and still be "Christian." I have been in a state of confusion for some days now, completely dependant upon God to give me direction. The questions in my mind were unprecedented, and have brought on doubt in every area of my life. Usually, I seek out some human as a sounding board. In fact, I usually seek out a person that I know will tell me what I want to hear. This time, however, I needed truth, even if it was going to cut me and send me back to square one. But I couldn't find the right person. I realize now, God designed this trial with that very feature. He desired for me to talk only to Him. To seek guidance only from Him. And I did. It's awesome and almost humbling when you are in a place that only God understands. I didn't even understand where I was, and I simply told Him that. I asked Him to figure it out and let me know. Then I went to sleep in peace.
What an immeasurable gift!! To have a friend, father, and savior, all rolled into one. One who enthusiastically listens to our problems and takes on our burdens. One who works it out for us, gives us a plan, and lovingly walks beside us - just to be there to catch us when we inevitably mess up and fall down!
That was last night. I woke up this morning with the desire to finish reading Crazy Love. Not every question has been answered, but I definitely have a direction to pray in. I truly believe God used the book to make me see where I was missing Him.
God is so mysterious! Foolishly, the past few months, maybe even a year, I thought I had Him figured out. (Pause for ridiculous laughter.) Of course, I don't. God is the same yesterday, today and forever, He doesn't change! So why did I believe He had? It is so clear to me what I have done. I changed. I changed my approach and my attitude, and God didn't change at all.
We can't make an eternal God melt, mold and reshape Himself to fit this century. His rules and plan remain the same. Love Him with everything in you, and love your neighbors as you love yourself. It's so simple, but so hard when you put yourSELF in the middle of it. Nothing is about me, it is all about Him.
Thank you, God, for being patient with me, loving me, and showing me so gently how to get it right again.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Thanksgiving thoughts . . . sort of
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?
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?
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.
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