Friday, December 30, 2011

Christmas

Christmas has arrived and vanished.  Luckily, I stock piled some Starbucks Christmas blend so I still have that.  Did you try any of Blue Bell’s Spiced Pumpkin Pecan ice cream?  Many people in my life were whispering about how excellent it was.  The word on the street was get-it-while-you-can.  I actually never tried it.  My parents offered some to me, but I declined.  This Christmas was different because we have a baby in the family.  He did not want to sleep.   Unfortunately, you can’t reason with a baby.  You can’t explain to him how in the big picture it’s better for him to rest.  If I had to pick a word to describe my holiday it would be interesting.  New Years is right around the corner.  I have never been one to make a big deal about New Years.  Have you made any resolutions for 2012?  In my opinion, it is always helpful to have a goal.  Goals help us navigate thru the crossings and the stops in life.  I am also a big fan of lists.  Santa Claus and I share that list-making quality.  He would probably point out to me that his list is longer though, because he’s a guy.  Guys like to compete.  I did not get the competitive gene.  Cheers.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Chaos Never Dies

Shall I come out of the closet and confess my true feelings? Honest to blog, I dislike Christmas shopping.  I realized the other day that this is November.  Most people associate this month with Thanksgiving (with good reason), but there are other unrecognized days that exist.  November 9th is Chaos Never Dies day.  Today draws attention to the sheer volume of clutter and turmoil in our lives.  In addition to all that we normally juggle, now it’s time to think about gift giving.  Unfortunately in this modern society, people don’t want Frankincense or Myrrh (like the wise men gave to baby Jesus).  I wish I could give the gift of truth and justice or love and hope, but alas I don’t have that kind of power.  I’m not a fairy godmother and this isn’t a Disney movie.  I carved a pumpkin for the first time in my life.  With my knife in hand, I prayed this short prayer before commencing with the carving. “I believe in the Grand Pumpkin, almighty gourd, who was crustified over Pontius pie plate and ascended into oven.  Whence ascended and sitteth on the table and for the seeds, the shell, the pulp I give thanks. amen.”  My gourd carving adventure ended happily.  As tribute, in honor of the pumpkin that died so that I could express myself artistically, I baked pumpkin cornbread muffins.  I drove to Dallas yesterday to meet my good friend at Whole Foods.  We browsed the multitude of eats, proceeded to check out, then gobbled our grub.  I rarely make it to Dallas.  Why?  DUH, because chaos never dies!!  How does your turmoil look these days?  Turmoil can look like a phone that never works, like a blonde with long legs that never calls you back..it can look like a traffic jam, or a sweet chihuahua that has gum disease and needs her teeth brushed every day...on that note I hope you have a memorable-holy-mess-kind of day!  Cheers

Thursday, October 20, 2011

birthday

It is the anniversary of the day of my birth.  My parents have already called to sing a comical version of the happy birthday song.  (I always look forward to that)  I will work today, more than likely performing the silent version of myself.  I can’t shake a sense of melancholy.  33.  Last night I went to the dogpark with Pooh, and I was able to cast off my gloom and feel cheerful for a minute.  If you ever got the impression that I’m an odd bird, pat yourself on the back, because you are correct.  The evidence supporting that conclusion is that recently I joined a married couples with kids Sunday school class.  I was invited to the class before they knew my status.  The first visit upon learning of my status, I thought they’d boot me out for sure.  Excuse me, I think you’d be more comfortable in the single-with-no-kids class down the hall.  But they surprised me by making me feel very welcome.  It is weird sitting in class sometimes because I’m reminded of being different.  I have always been unique, but in a good way.  Happy moments... Occasionally my store will be visited by two little dudes, Chase and Oliver, they are in 6th and 7th grade.  They ride their bikes up there and come inside for a cup of water.  Whenever they see me their faces light up.  I ask them about school and we talk.  I mainly ask them questions and listen.  (Kids are sometimes shy about sharing their opinions.) There is also another girl who comes in a lot.  She’s in 9th grade.  I think the world of her.  I love that she is generous with giving out smiles.  The other day, I told her “I would love to be a teacher just to have a classroom filled with 25 people just like you.”  I went to a party a couple of weekends ago.  It was not ideal.  My idea of the “perfect party” involves a bathroom with toilet paper AND hand soap.  I just don’t relax well, when I know that germs are freely flowing from person to person with nothing to stop them.  I saw a guy I used to work with and I said hello. We talked for a bit.  He knew everyone at the party, but he wanted to jump on the trampoline with me. (so he could go back to work the next day and say I bounced with Leigh last night and it was awesome)  It made me feel good to be singled out like that, so of course I jumped.  Mind you I’m not used to jumping on a trampoline by myself so with another person added it was tricky.  I screamed to high heaven a couple of times.  My right foot landed at odd angles so that by the end of the experience my skin burned and appeared black like it had been beaten.  I limped back to my chair and said goodbye to my friend.  Even though there was no hand soap and my right foot hurt like hell, this experience made me smile.  

Monday, September 19, 2011

9/11 and searching

The anniversary of September 11th has come and gone.  Ten years ago, when the two towers fell I was at home looking for a job.  I had recently graduated from UNT.  I was 22, newly single and driving a Mercury Villager minivan.  I know what you’re thinking, driving a minivan is hot.  Well, you are wrong.  It is not, but just like a squirrel in the suburbs...you adapt.  I remember watching the news coverage and how my brain could not fathom that it was real.  I recall being grateful that I was safe, sheltered at my parents house and not in New York City.  My heart did feel compassion for my fellow Americans though.  Pain and death are a part of life, but it is staggering to witness on such a large scale, and so abruptly.  Sometimes I will hear people talk about their complaints or grievances about life.  My response is usually, “Hey, at least you are not a polar bear.  They are dying.  One mother bear swam nonstop for nine days on her search for food, her cub died and she lost 100 pounds.  How would you like to switch your problems for hers?”  One of my favorite writers is Annie Dillard, she wrote, “We are morale creatures living in an immoral world.”  We always react with shock and alarm when we feel we have been wronged.  I feel it is important to stay positive, even though deep down... I expect to be thrown under the bus or eaten by a pack of wild chinchillas.  Yesterday, I visited the kind of environment that a respectable chinchilla might call home.  I’ve been interested in learning more about search and rescue teams for a while.  A local K-9 search and rescue team allowed me to visit one of their training sessions.  I have a lot of respect for the rigorous training that canines and their handlers go through.  I pulled up in my tiny marshmallow car at this remote location.  Every inch of my bod was covered by dark fabric.  Even though I was excited to be there, I did not want to take any of that experience home with me (like in the form of a tick or snake bite).  I was wearing my royal blue Mavericks NBA champions T shirt so I stuck out amongst this sea of orange.  When I got out of my car, I walked over to this gathering.  A group of about 30 retired people, with receding hair lines and limited hearing stood around in orange T shirts, safari pants and severe, knee length black boots.  They all had hats on and were constantly wiping the sweat off their faces.  Nothing about this experience was glamorous.  I observed the training of air scent, trailing, tracking and HR dogs.  When I hear HR my mind goes to human resources, but in this context, HR means human remains.  When each dog finds their target they are rewarded: trailing and tracking dogs get an edible treat, while HR and air scent dogs get a to play with a much-loved toy.  I was surrounded by “dog people” yet I was the only one that is a certified chihuahua handler.  My least favorite part of the experience was time spent in the woods.  I had to push prickly branches out of my face, crouch down under tree limbs, be alert to where I was stepping and keep up with the pace of this air scent team.  At one point, one of the team members a sweaty, burly man looked at me and said, “You are not allergic to poison ivy are you?”  I said, “I don’t think so, but I would prefer to avoid the plant.”  He moved his arm in a wide circle and said, “all this is poison ivy.”  A couple of minutes later lightning was visible in a distant part of the sky, so we aborted our mission.  We returned to base.  I got some friendly advice on poison ivy before I left.  The woman asked about how I liked training. I confessed, “I don’t really like the woods.”  She said, “Well, this might not be for you then.  When you go through training you are in the woods for 8 months.”  I drove off, proud that I tried it, but determined never to go again.  At home, as advised, I washed my clothes and took a cold shower.  Hopefully, I won’t experience any itchiness.  I’m just not cut out to be a search and rescue person.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Wild Ocean

This weekend I watched a positive, upbeat IMAX film called Wild Ocean.  It's a documentary that follows the sardines as they migrate along the KwaZulu-Natal Coast.  Sardines and predators fight to survive.  The live action sequences were accompanied by rhythmic beats from native drums.  I carried a towel in my purse just in case this movie turned out to be a tear jerker. You never know.  They might have shot all the dolphins in the back and then laughed about it.  I bet the director is a man and it is unwise to invest a lot of hope in men. (my humble opinion) So, I expected the worst, but was delighted when it ended up being uplifting and full of hope.  I have so much respect and admiration for dolphins.  Animals are so much more in touch with their instincts than us humans.  No wonder when these unfortunate natural circumstances occur like drought, hurricanes, earthquakes.. animals see it coming before we do.  They live 100% in the now.  We live 60% in our head, 20% texting and 20% on Facebook.  The urgent current of instinct flows and the dolphins follow it.  What a harsh and yet exciting existence.  If I spoke the language of the dolphin I might even ask one... “Do you believe in inter-species dating?  I know I’m not tan.  I’m fair skinned.  I realize that I can’t swim... I’m afraid I’ll drown, but I would still like to get to know you Mr. Dolphin.  What was your name again?”  See, I just proved my point.  I’m in my head, not focused on the here and now.  To the other humans that read this post, I would say to you goodluck, and goodbye. 


http://www.bigmoviezone.com/filmsearch/movies/index.html?uniq=489

Friday, August 12, 2011

Hello


I love caramel flavored iced Via.  I drink it stirred, on the rocks, with a splash of breve.  I’m listening to Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation.  I glisten regularly due to this massive heat wave.  I love wedding cake snow cones.  I talked to Jared tonight.  Unfortunately, he had a date with a soft ferret.  I have been reading The Power by Rhonda Byrne.  Currently, my favorite quote is from Albert Einstein, “A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life depend on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving.”  There is not much I can say about my life, other than, I am trying to exert myself, to push forward.  Some nights I wish I were in love, like tonight.  Little baby gets baptized on Sunday.  I am excited.  I love being an aunt.  I love my short highlighted hair.  It makes me feel lighter.  When I talked to my boss this week, I started to cry.  I only did it because this weight has been pressing against my chest, my heart.  I felt better after.  Luckily life goes on.  My mom visited Lynda Carter this week.  Do you remember Lynda Carter as wonder woman?  I made a card for my mom to give Lynda.  She loved it.  Nice...

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Red White and Blue

For the 4th of July, I acted very American.  I consumed a homemade hamburger.  I can’t remember how long it has been since I’ve done that.  Furthermore, I visited friends.  We sat on a sofa and watched Princess Bride.  Then, I discussed the pros and cons of Pokemon with a charismatic 10 year old.  My friends and I watched fireworks on lawn chairs while munching on ham and mayonnaise sandwiches.  I had so much fun that I found myself wanting to celebrate independence again today.  Do you like tea? I do.  I bet if Earl Gray were a man he’d be hot.  Today, a guy came in to work wearing a Canada T shirt.  I told him that I would love to visit Prince Edward Island and not to see a prince either.  I would visit to see the place Anne Shirley grew up.  Anne Shirley is my ultimate favorite fictional character.  She is the bombdiggity.

Monday, June 27, 2011

The Reunion

In less than 24 hours there was to be a collision of forces.  A force is any influence that causes a free body to undergo a change in direction.  So it was, that on Friday several free bodies began to move in the direction of Hallsville, Texas.  We are bound to make this annual trek just like electrons of an atom are bound to the nucleaus.  I was noticeably charged up at work.  I had my suitcase packed and ready to go in my car.  Once dad arrived we were off.  First stop, Richardson to pick up my brother-in-law.  We did not get out of Dallas until 6pm.  On the road, I ignored the bone dry pastures, instead paid attention to my book.  I’ve been reading Barbara Kingsolver’s The Lacuna.  The sun was setting, thereby directing soft light on everything.  As we approached East Texas, I was excited to see the trees change from short, flower-bearing angiosperms to tall, cone-bearing conifers.  We arrived in Longview around 8:30pm and quickly evacuated the vehicle.  My legs had been sleeping and they tingled as they regained consciousness.  Inside the house, I saw the smiling faces of my sister, mother, grandmother and grandad.  Commenting on my braids, my sister exclaimed, “Hello Heidi!”  We passed around hugs and kisses before sitting down to eat a light supper.  My grandparents grow increasingly frail each time I see them.  We went to bed soon.  The journey had zapped us of energy and we needed to recharge.  I slept on the sofa in the front room surrounded by mirrors, polished wood, curtains, glass and crystal.  I always feel like a princess visiting this house on Willow Oak.  I dreamed as I slept.  My dream was not pleasant.  I awoke to voices whispering in the den.  Sound travels easily through the thin wall that separates the two rooms.  It was my grandparents.  They are always the first ones up.  I shut my eyes.  I did not get up until I could hear many voices present in the other room.  I noticed baby immediately.  He looked bright eyed, bushy tailed, full of smiles and cooing sounds.  I held him.  His skin is so soft.  Coffee drinking began and spread rapidly like a wild fire.  Fortunately, it was Starbucks Christmas blend because I don’t drink community coffee.  Grandad picked up his great grandson and took him outside to watch the squirrels.  We dined on a simple breakfast of cereal and muffins.  At 10am, we left to go to the reunion.  We navigated through the streets of Longview until we arrived at Super 1 Foods.  Apparently, it is impolite to attend a reunion without bringing fried chicken.  Once we had acquired this cooked bird, we drove to Hallsville in an astonishing 15 minutes.  Some towns are memorable, this one is not.  The water tower is about the size of a large TV.  In a white community center,  two families collided: the Singletons and the Langfords.   Seventy free bodies drifted inside... some alone, some attached and signed in.  Name tags encouraged conversation.  It is natural behavior for mammals to first establish and mark territory.  Consequently, we found a spot at the end of one of the tables to call our own.  I am such an odd bird, at times outgoing and at times withdrawn.  I was mostly quiet, but there was a microphone and a stage.  I looked longingly at the microphone.  I knew in 15 steps or less I could be up onstage, talking, beaming my forceful personality down upon these unsuspecting life forms.  My inner critic reminded me that that action would be inappropriate.  I think too much.  I sat there observing, reading nonverbal communication.  I felt like I was in junior high again (minus the pimples) looking around for where I belong.  It is hard to be different.  AJ was a sensation.  He doesn’t talk, but his facial expressions entertain and delight.  We blessed the food, then ate.  I waited until the line died down.  The food was good.  I was too full for dessert.  The teenagers sat together.  They were busy typing text messages on their phones.  My smart phone had been playing dead ever since we arrived in East Texas.  I have TMobile and it said no service.  No cellphone service is extremely annoying.  Seeing these teenyboppers texting left me feeling bewildered and betrayed.  Instead of seething, I got up and walked outside.  There was a park across the street.  My sister was already there.  I started swinging.  The heat from the sun was powerful, like a bully that keeps applying pressure.  The back and forth movement of the swing combined with the heat, left me feeling dizzy and nauseous. I rested on a bench before retreating inside.  We stayed one more hour.  Finally, our caravan departed: two vehicles carrying our party of 8.  Once we arrived back in Longview, we rested.  Happy hour is mandatory in my family.  I tried mead for the first time.  It’s a fermented beverage made of water, honey, malt and yeast.  I can recall hearing mention of it in stories.  I think Friar Tuck drank mead with Robin Hood’s Merry Men.  I was not impressed with the taste, but I’m glad I tried it.  It was an exciting conclusion to an eventful day.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Monetarily Speaking

Why is it that everywhere you go, signs, businesses and people ask for money?  I can be checking out at the grocery store, sitting in church, driving or even sleeping.  Most people/places/things want my money.  It can be in the middle of the night, my phone lights up and jingles letting me know I have a message.  I open my eyes, scroll down to see I have a new email from Victoria’s Secret trying to get me to spend money on a new bra or whatever.  I get more contact from vendors trying to make a sale than I get from my own friends.  It pisses me off.  I know I am not the only person affected by this, but I resent the intrusion.  One must be relentlessly hardcore and focused to build up a savings account.  I would consider supporting a cause if they supported me.  Would you like to donate money to the fund for orphans?  (anytime someone asks me for money, I throw the question back in their face)... Are these orphan children in a place where they can support me?  At that point, the conversation usually dies and I gather my groceries and leave the premises.  These are difficult times.  You must try to save, but then realize that life is short, so have some fun too!  I had a person say to me the other day, hey did you get off facebook?  Yes.  You should have let everyone know.  I wanted to say my real friends could have called and asked, but I kept my thought to myself.  I got off facebook because I tire of pretending that my ‘friends’ on facebook are real.  A real friend calls you to talk, knows when you are upset and likes to hang out in person whenever the schedule allows it.  I was at the ballpark the other day and several girls present were looking down at their phones, their hands busy pushing buttons in the act of texting.  I had turned my phone off.  I allowed myself no distractions from the present moment.  I guess it makes me sad to think of all the moments in the day that people lose, moments where they could connect in a real way with people around them, but instead they ignore the real world and fix their gaze upon their phones.  I cannot say I am against texting.  I do text.  I try to do it at appropriate times though.  So the moral of this story is save your money, call your friends, and don’t be so caught up in your phone that you miss opportunities!

Birthday for Pooh

It was a bright and beautiful day from the get go.  The cheerful sound of birds chirping in the trees.  Pooh ran faster than a jackrabbit while we were exploring a local park. Afterwards, I tasted the moose with my gal pal.  This private selection ice cream blend was packed with flavor.  Explosions of dark chocolate competed to dominate our taste buds.  Suddenly, out of the darkness, a surprise attack by smooth caramel enhanced by crunchiness.  We took turns alternating between grabbing spoonfuls of yummy and giggling like school girls.  Smiling, we stood there sucking the cream off our utensils until all of it was gone.  Call it a labor of love... Pooh turned 7 years old.  She has reached midlife with no crisis.  We are going to throw a party in her honor on Friday.  I can’t help remembering her as a puppy, how adorable she was.  I would not trade my memories of her puppyhood for a million dollars.  Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night and she was right in my face, looking at me with her large round eyes.  I smiled and she kissed my nose.  Pooh’s life is definitely impacted by the pull of bed gravity.  She sleeps a lot.    She does not engage in premarital texting behavior like a lot of teenagers do.  I am proud of that fact.  I tried to raise her to be the best chihuahua ever.  She is good looking, smart, funny, makes great eye contact, and loves to have her belly scratched.  Cheers to Miss Pooh, Pooh bear....

Monday, May 9, 2011

Full of Flavour

May 5th-7th
I attended the Flavour Conference 2011 in Grapevine, Texas.  I drove to Fellowship church.  The parking lot was full of cars.  A smiling, waving tribe of men guided my car to an available spot.  I got out.  The Texas heat was in full force.  I could feel the beginnings of sweat beads on the back of my neck and arm.  A man that looked like Lance Armstrong pulled up on a golf cart and asked if I wanted a ride.  Just say yes. “YES!” I moved towards the party cart.  It had a hot pink feather boa wrapped up in the top along with ribbons and bows.  Once inside, we glided through the rows of cars as smooth as peanut butter on bread.  The face of the church was cavernous and decorations were everywhere.  Greeters stood out front welcoming guests.  I usually don’t trust people that are soooo cheerful.  It seems to me that their merriment must be forced.  (Like when you are in sales and you want that sale so bad, you act like an angel but really that is not who you are)  I walked in and waited in line to get into the sanctuary.  The women in line looked like they were having fun.  Everyone had someone with them, a sister, mom, aunt, best friend etc.  The inside or “creamy filling” of the church truly was exquisite.  I couldn’t help admiring the sparkle and shine.  I was reminded of Mary Kay because there was such an abundance of pink, jewelry, and free gifts.  Mary Kay makes you feel like a princess but constantly asks for the sale.  This conference was full of things to buy and after each speaker, time would be devoted to reviewing items for sale. I wished I had taken more pains getting ready.  I felt plain and tall compared to all these stunning women.  I waited in line quietly, occasionally glancing down nervously at my phone.  A text appeared, my friend was at the entrance.  I walked out to see her.  We hugged and had our picture taken together.  She was dressed like me, blue jeans and a white “Flavour” Tshirt.  As we put on our Flavour bracelets and found our place in line, the doors opened.  We walked inside.  Let me state again for the record that pink and shiny lights were everywhere.  The large stage stood out prominently along with the 3 gargantuan screens.  Throughout this conference one was confronted with the omnipresence of media; whether watching the screens, getting twitterpated, befriending on facebook or being textually active.  On Thursday night the speaker was a blonde from the UK named Charlotte.  She strode onto the stage wearing black leggings, knee high 3 inch heel flesh colored boots and a simple dress cinched in around her tiny waist.  Her hair was in a pony tail.  When she smiled, I could hear the angels sing.  The main thing I recall her saying, “God is saying to you come back.  Start feet first.  What is your internal posture? You can’t just go.  You must be on your mark, then get set, then go.” The evening concluded with an after party. Women meandered whilst munching on free candy filled in their free cups.  They browsed the pieces of art that hung from the walls on the second floor of the church.  It was an auction.  You placed a bid and the proceeds went to stop human trafficking.  The art was impressive.  My friend’s favorite was a painting of the face of a child from Haiti.  A multitude of women exited the building that night full of candy, dreams and hearts warmed by the thought “God is at the table.”  Even through all my cynicism, I could feel God’s light.  I slept well that night.  Day 2, it was Friday and the session started at 9:30am.  My friend had to work so I went with the goal to absorb as much as I could to then regurgitate it back to her.  I found a seat in the middle of the auditorium sitting next to a cute bubbly blond named Katie.  She was very friendly.  Worship started with singing then a warmup activity.  A long dark haired man with a figure as plump as a bowl full of jelly jiggled onto the stage wearing a hideous frumpy jump suit.  With his ego fully intact, he declared his intentions to whip us into shape.  First we partnered up and took turns massaging the shoulders of the woman standing next to us.  Then, we warmed up the smile muscles by massaging the face.  Finally, we did the “bend and snap” (remember that move from Legally Blonde).  This fleshy man modeled the move with his back to us.  The large screens zoomed in on his butt.  It looked like someone had taken a permanent marker and written on the back of his jumpsuit, “Juicy.”  Everyone laughed.  It was funny.  The speaker during this session was a lady named Julie.  She was originally from Mississippi, but currently lives in Austin.  What’s that saying, you can take the girl out of the cheer squad but not the cheerleader out of the girl?  Julie literally jumped onstage.  Whilst speaking, her hands flailed about with the intensity of a person trying to flag down a taxi. Her speech reminded one of the country.  I am talking country where you’ve got woods and completely dark nights... country where you slap them pesky skeeters that keep bitin’ ya.  Dang it!  Julie had shoulder length dirt brown hair.  She told us about her “near Oprah” experience.  When Julie turned 40, she decided that it was high time to act like a grown up.  To mark this milestone, she decided to have a chemical peel.  She took the bull by the horns and booked an appointment.  When in the chair, she could feel the skin on her face start to burn.  The pain of this sensation was so sharp and pointed that her thoughts ran like this, “My face is burning off!  How can this woman do this to me!  It hurts.  I am gonna have no face left.  Sweet Jesus, please don’t let my face burn off!  ...but if it is part of your vision for me to have my face burned off then let your will be done!  Ouch!  (the attendant walked out of the room) Where is she going?  I bet she’s going to get the attorney because she know’s I’m gonna sue her since she burned my face off.  What am I gonna do?  How am I going to minister with no face?  She’s gonna come back in here with her attorney and I am gonna tell her, I forgive you.  Then, my story is gonna be on the news......Burned, Christian woman forgives the person that stole her face....and Oprah is gonna hear my story and ask me to come on her show.  Then I will tell her what happened, the excruciating pain.  I will tell Oprah how the woman recognized her mistake and I forgave her.  Suddenly Julie’s daydream is shattered when the attendant walks back into the room.  The woman says, “You’re all done.”  Julie felt disenchanted, what no Oprah?  The highlights of Julie’s talk (in my opinion)...God what’s my story? How are you gonna use me?  Don’t look around and compare yourself, instead go straight to the author/artist...When do we stop dreaming?  Life knocks it out of us.  God has a wide, expansive life for me.  Everyday recite this cheer... I’m his child, made in his image, I’ll do things his way because together we are awesome!! Later on, like in the show “The View,” the speakers assembled onstage for Q & A.  How does one juggle being a mom, a wife and being a minister?  Charlotte answered, “by keeping the joy. When I become joyless I start flapping my wings, struggling...”  How does one recapture joy? Charlotte said, “We put joy in things or in a result.  Joy is in him.  Take a step back and reflect on what is God’s vision for my life. Life is full of valleys.  Feelings lie.  Joy is not a feeling. It is a discipline of life.”  How does one deal with social injustices?  “Pray God break my heart for the things that break yours.” Jesus wasn’t religious, he was relational.  Put a name on suffering, then it’s personal.  Changing the world starts with saving one life.  We took a break for lunch and afterward were allowed some free time.  Later that evening Session 4 began but I was not there.  My friend had to take notes for me this time.  I went to watch the Rangers get beat accompanying the-loudest-and-most-obnoxious-Yankee-that-ever-was at the Ballpark in Arlington.  Anyhoo, back to my story, Saturday was the final day of the conference.  I waltzed in holding my grande Americano from Starbucks.  The pastor’s wife Lisa spoke to the crowd.  She looked like the queen bee, fashionably dressed and draped with sparkling jewels. Lisa preached. Her story was about her own struggle as a woman of faith.  She touched upon Wilbur and Orville Wright. The brothers who invented the first airplane.  Lisa was not as charismatic as the other speakers but she sure did sparkle.  Some women look more attractive from afar.  Lisa attracts from afar and became increasingly dazzling up close.  I teared up twice during this lovefest/conference.  I couldn’t help it.  Crying can be a release.  It is healthy in moderation. The important thing is not to live your life from that sad place.  I left the conference feeling refreshed, like renewing my relationship with God.  I stepped into the sun, walked to my car impressed by this sense of hope and gratitude.  The women who placed bids ended up raising a total of $2500 dollars that goes to stop human trafficking.  What a blessing.  Amen!


It’s a good day, at Flavour conference
Full of bidding and candy too
Smiles, sales and sisters everywhere
Lovin God and Jesus too, yeah yeah
And voices proclaim inspirational messages
There’s a British Charlotte, Texans too
Lisa Young was hostess with the mostess
We sang, prayed and worshiped God
And I’m free, free flyin, flyin
And I’m free, free flyin, flyin
Life has many shadows and valleys
We look around and compare
Instead of going straight to the artist
Feet first, on your mark, get set, go
And I’m free, free flyin, flyin
And I’m free, free flyin, flyin
I am a child of God, made in his image...
I will do things his way, because
Together we are awesome
Break my heart for the things that break yours
Come with me, free flyin, flyin
Now I’m free, free flyin, flyin
Can’t you see, free flyin, flyin
I will be, free flyin, flyin

Friday, April 15, 2011

The Pledge

Remember when you were in school? Each day, you were expected to recite two pledges: one to the flag of the United States of America, another to the Texas flag?  Why does that ritual or expectation of people stop after you graduate from the school system? I feel it is unfair.  I think college students and grownups should be expected every morning to recite the pledges and pause for a moment of silence too.  Honestly, I would love to stand each morning, rest my hand over my heart, and recite the words I know from memory.   Think about it.  These days all of us have problems.  Newspaper articles on any given day support the argument that the devil is in full control.  My thought is that expecting the pledge from grownups and wayward young adults might remind us of our ability to be decent.  The act of honoring the flag could raise our awareness of being honorable in real life.  Just a thought.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Churchiness

Yesterday, I underwent an initiative to visit and sample all the rules and regulations at a countrified church.  I shall not disclose the name (for reasons that you can probably guess).  The plan was to arrive at the designated location before 9:30am.  I got into my smallish, marshmallow-colored vehicular transport and drove for miles down a dirt road.  I finally saw my turn street.  I activated my signal light to communicate my intentions because you know, that I know, that you know, that I love to communicate... plus that’s just how I roll.  The parking lot was packed, so much so that grim faced men wearing neon vests stood all around making rapid, primitive hand gestures.  I am a sensible person so, of course, I ignored the neon men completely!  Duh.  I found a practical, yet assertive parking spot and got out.  I was wearing a navy blue sleeveless dress that went down to my knees.  Upon exiting my car, I was hit by a gale force of wind.  The wind was pounding me and I still had a long way to walk to the entrance of the church.  I realized I must take action.  My hands grabbed the end of my dress holding it down with a force equal to the wind.  I raised up to my full height, to attempt to look as dignified as possible while all this dress drama was happening.  I finally arrived inside the building.  Greeter people were everywhere, but I managed to avoid them by not making eye contact.  I was meeting a friend, but she was running late.  I sat down and waited for her to arrive.  Momentarily, I noticed an agitated curly haired blonde woman coming towards me.  It was my friend.  We entered the packed sanctuary and sat near a fairly large sign that clearly said, “Family Section."  A worried look appeared on my friend’s face as she whispered, “I was told that we are supposed to sit in the section for singles.” I looked at her, on my face I wore my best “fuck it” expression.  I lovingly declared, “If we had arrived on time, we could have sat in the proper section.  Since we are late, we forfeit our right to be picky.” She nodded in agreement.  I could not help, but be slightly annoyed that this church is soooo bossy, such a control freak, that they have to tell people where to sit.  I thought I bet, if Jesus were here, he would not tell me where to sit.  The sanctuary looked like a concert hall except for the wooden cross in the center of the stage which added a certain zest of churchiness.  Six adults were onstage clapping, singing and smiling so brightly that the shine could probably be seen from space.  I liked that the group was around my age and demographic.  The praise group had diversity and looked real, not perfect.  I bet each member won their position from talent and ability, not looks.  Some churches have singers that look like they could be Gap models or look like they just stepped out of a Cosmopolitan magazine.  I am more likely to distrust a church whose appearance or surface is so pristine, so perfect and good looking.  The music sounded great, but I did not sing.  Typically, when I encounter a new experience I behave simply as an observer.  I watch.  I listen.  I look.  So I watched the song lyrics that appeared and disappeared on the 2 large screens up front.  It was dark except for the light onstage.  I scanned the faces in the audience to see if anyone I knew was there.  Nope.  I love music.  I do.  However, when I worship God I prefer more form and content.  I noted how little form and content this service had.  It was song, after song, after song, then sermon, one prayer, then another song.  The pastor was dressed conservatively. He had a chin like Jay Leno and a voice for radio.  The sound of his words filled the room.  My favorite sentence that he said was, “God change me.” I like that a lot.  God change me.  It is not without a hint of sadness that I say worship has evolved into a spectator sport.  I am cognizant of how sedentary our lifestyle is as Americans.  We sit and watch.  I found myself wishing that more was required of us.  In my own life, I am making a concentrated effort to become an action woman versus a sit-and-watch woman.  Anyhoo, enough about me and my grandiose thought bubbles!  Sincerely, the end.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Sparrow's Fart

On my days off, I rarely visit my laborhood.  Most assuredly, I put in my time and speak proper work mouth. For example, I say yes m’am or sir, no bullocks, thank you goodbye, not piss off you son-of-a-motherless-goat.  The chasm between management and labor is an adversarial atmosphere.  My hope is to lead, inspire labor to greater form and discipline while on the clock and admonish only when it is required.  I opened this morning which meant I was out of bed at the crack of sparrow’s fart.  You are probably wondering right now if sparrow’s really do “float an air biscuit” in real life.  It is one of life’s great mysteries, if you will.  Since I blogged last, I have celebrated my dad’s birthday, attended the North Texas Irish Festival, transferred to another store, babysat my nephew by myself for the first time, skyped with my sister, bought a fancy juicer, and read the contents of Bridget Jones Diary.  Cheers!

Monday, February 21, 2011

Speaking Toothfully

According to the comedian Sarah Silverman, “Death arrives in the gums."  As of late, I have been open to the “dental experience."  I feel like a foreigner when sitting in that chair or, at least, the village idiot.  I don’t understand tooth speak.  I hear words like lingual, canine, localized and my mind draws a blank.  Why do they call the teeth at the back of your mouth wisdom teeth?  Do they exhibit any wisdom whatsoever--NO!  Most people get their wisdom teeth removed anyway so why not call them.. absent.  Or name them something that closely describes what they are.. a-pain-in-the-ass.  My dental ninja found one area of suspicion in my mouth.  I was told to keep a close eye on it.  It is a pit in a tooth at the back of my mouth.  I was surprised to know that (just like in real life) drama happens inside the oral cavity.  There is at this moment the potential for a crime to occur in that pit while I am unaware.  I want to be good and brush gently, but when I grab my toothbrush I transform into this superhero.  I become the avenger in the war against gum disease and all that excitement rises to the surface.  I end up brushing hard and with ferocity.  I confessed this misbehavior to my dental ninja. It will be difficult to change, but I have faith.  I can do it.  

Monday, February 14, 2011

Heart Day Dad

“Remember the Alamo. Never shake hands with a rattlesnake. You know my love is with you today, yesterday, day before yesterday and within 24 hours of tomorrow. However, my love can only extend 72 hours beyond infinity.  Okay, so take it for granted.  You got it, kid?”  These are some of my favorite quotes from my daddee-o.  The revered Monsieur Longfizzle or Dr. Jackovich Langhorn if you will.  

Today is Valentines Day.  A typical American holiday that celebrates love or coupledom.  When I think of love, I think of my dad’s actions growing up, from the time when I was a tiny sparrow of girl to now the full bloom of adulthood.  My childhood was truly hunky-dory-dandy.  It was satisfying to the max like a glass of ice water during the hot-dog-days-of-summer.  I remember my first day of school.  My dad and I walked hand in hand to the front door of the school building.  My nerves were distracted by his wearing a large fake nose.  It stood out from his face like Pinocchio.  The whole time I was begging him to take the nose off, but these days I would not trade that memory for anything.  I have treasured the numerous JL cards I received over the years, each one bright, creative and original.  I recall interviewing him when I was in the sixth grade.  I tried to be like Barbara Walters.  He was a celebrity and played the role to a tee.  Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on your point of view, I could not stop laughing.  My whole person shook with laughs as he came up with responses that were beyond anything I could ever imagine.  Luckily, this explosive memory was recorded and I still have the cd.  At 15, while most kids were babysitting or picking their nose, I travelled to NYC with my father.  We embraced the cold weather, the celebrity sightings and the cussing cabdrivers.  I recall us navigating the streets of Manhattan while eating Filet-O-Fish sandwiches from McDonalds.  The holy grail moment came in Radio City Music Hall, whereupon Annie Lennox’s song “Money Can’t Buy It” rocked every fiber of our being to its rhythmic, lyrical core.  We left dazed and dazzled.  Music has always been a connect for us.  While still a teenager, dad and I would frequent a popular club that pulsed with music and energy on the dance floor.  Dad was always the first one out on the floor.  I eventually joined in.  “Those who hear not the music, think the dancers mad,” was the saying on one of the cards I gave him during our footloose, fancydancy years.  I recall how happy I was when my dad got a brand new silver Volkswagon bug.  As long as I could remember, he drove that old 74’ VW bug.  The color silver was significant because it was my parents 25th wedding anniversary.  It was fitting for a person that gave as much as my dad to finally receive such a worthy gift.  I recall being moved by my dad’s story of a precocious four year old hospice patient that he was caring for at the time.  He went above and beyond the call of duty for this little girl.  When asked why he did it, his response was “I just imagined if one of my girls were dying, how would I want them treated.”  In an instant, that story reminded me of how much I love my dad.  It reminded me of the W. H. Auden poem that goes... “He was my North, my South, my East and West..”  He was my school week and Sunday best.  Don’t forget pancake and cartoon Saturdays or the many fun runs! He was my laugh and is my joy.  His personality was larger and brighter than the moon.  I reflect on these memories as his birthday approaches very soon.  I thank God for that light you shine on me.  Happy 60th!

Monday, February 7, 2011

Snow Long, Farewell

The remix below is based on Twas The Night Before Christmas poem by Clement Clark Moore and the “So Long, Farewell” song from The Sound of Music.  The “flavorful expressions” in italics are words from UrbanDictionary.com.  

Twas the day after Superbowl XLV, when all through traffuck
Every creature was stirring and it did vacuum (or suck)
The Green Bay Packers stockings were hung from the pickup with care
In hopes that the “beer fairy” would soon be there
The teachers were back to work in their usual place
The memories of snowbookingboregasms put a smile on their face
Snow long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, give it a rest
Next time around I will build a bigger internest
OH! Sugar Honey Iced Tea! I exclaimed, as I saw the arch douche go down 
Steelers Quarterback Ben Roethlisberger can get out of town 
Meanwhile back at the ranch, my whole family is under-the-influence of Twig
Even though he is only 11 pounds, his effect on us is B-I-G 
We are wearing Twig goggles, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week 
I see the joy of motherhood growing in my sister so-to-speak 
Now Monday! now Tuesday, Thursday and Friday in my sight! 
On we go! Dash away! The promise of family makes everything right!

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Golden Nuggets

Historically Sunday has been the day of rest.  My Sunday experience was full of rushing from point A to point B.  It was full of almost peace.  I had a rendezvous with my chum Susan.  We drove in a train formation to Arlington where there was a happy meditation center.  From the front door you could clearly see “Jerry’s world” all dressed up for the upcoming small community event.  You might have heard of it.  It’s called the Superbowl.  Smiling faces greeted us as we walked inside.  We slipped our shoes off, all the while giggling like school girls attending our first NSYNC concert.  Marshmallow colored walls framed the rather large worship room.  My eye immediately was drawn to the temple shaped wood and glass case.  Inside were enormous buddha figures.  Some were smiling.  Some looked like they had recently been reprimanded for misbehavior.  They say silence can be golden, well in this case, the buddha’s were.  The shine of the golden skin cast a spell on me that was so strong I could not look away.  Suddenly, a small caucasian monk walked quietly in. His figure was hidden underneath long yellow and maroon robes.  He bowed repeatedly, then moved up front to speak.  His voice was soft, but powerful.  The sound of it was calming.  He spoke of love and kindness.  It sounds cliche right?  A buddhist monk talking about love and kindness is as predictable as a cow eating grass.  Have you ever noticed an unhappy cow though?  An unhappy monk?  Exactly my point.  The nuggets of wisdom that my mind did embrace include:
  1. Kindness does not expire.  
  2. Delusion is like a disease of the mind.  
  3. Learn your faults but do not identify with them.  
  4. Be mindful of my potential.  Be mindful of others potential.
  5. Look for kindness. 
  6. Do not focus on faults, rather focus on kindness and potential.
We sat there listening intently.  Unfortunately, I had to exit sooner rather than later.  I whispered goodbye to my friend.  I moved to the door as quietly as ants at a picnic.  In the hallway, I found my shoes exactly where I left them.  It took all of 2 seconds to slip them on.  Outside, the sun and sky looked kind and full of potential.  Once I was inside my marshmallow sized vehicular transport, the journey to work began in earnest.  I navigated through the streets of Arlington purely on instinct.  Eventually, the landscape became more and more familiar.  It took 20 minutes for me to arrive at work.  It was unfortunate that the peacefulness of the monk’s message did not stay with me longer.  My mind had already slipped back into it’s normal state of agitation and anxiousness.  Happiness is difficult to hold onto.  I believe it was 3 hours into my shift before I felt happy.  It wasn’t anything that anyone said to me.  I think my disposition cheered due to singing.  I find that singing at work somehow helps me to not-feel-like-a-slave.  My coworkers laugh with me, not at me, but I know deep down they want to sing too.  They are simply not as bold and outgoing as I am.  As we say in Texas, you can warm your socks in the oven, but that doesn’t make’em biscuits.  The end.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Status Free

Why do we focus our attention on status in today’s society?  On Facebook, every 6 months you are asked to update your “status.”  In a relationship? Single? When 2 people standing close together approach my register I have to ask, “Are you together or separate?”  These might be total strangers to each other, but now they must publicly declare the status of their relationship.  I saw a sign in the parking lot that read “Single Parking Only.”  I breathed a sigh of relief that me and my car fit that requirement. However, my mind did ask the question why.  Did the maker of that parking lot want the married ones to stay home?  The parking lot had status.  Single majority rules.  I am very aware that live evolves.  What I don’t get is why we must be so quick to define it, name it?  I literally broke up with Facebook because I no longer wanted the world wide web to know my status.  I can’t break up with society.  I simply must live my own private life, no names, no definitions and hope that the status, the drama from society does not pull me down.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Santa Socks

Clothes do not make the man, but they do communicate a message.  I breezed into work today dressed in what “looked like” standard uniform: khakis, polo button down shirt, black slip resistant shoes but something was not right.  As I moved, you might have seen the shine of color: white, red, and green.  You might have seen the smiling face of jolly old Saint Nick. When I was dressing (at the butt crack of dawn) I decided to be political.  I wore Santa socks on a “non Santa” day.   It was a bit of a gamble on my part.  If my secret was discovered I could have been written up.  I must be honest though, wearing those socks added strength and zest to each move I made.  How can you not love Santa?  He is a mammal.  Otherwise, known as an air breathing vertebrate characterized by the twinkle in his eye, the facial hair, and round “bowl full of jelly” figure.  One thing you must learn about me is to expect the unexpected.  

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Tortilla Chip Predator

A woman walked up to the register.  Her shirt said in big bold letters London, England.  I smiled and said, “I love London!  Do you know that is where Peter Pan is from?”  She looked at me doubtfully.  “Well he is not from there originally...originally he was from Neverland but when he grew up, he moved to London to become a regular chap..” She laughed.  Her smile softened the lines on her face.  Later a man and his young son came in to order 2 vanillla lattes.  I told the boy...”Do you know vanilla builds character?  Thats why your dad has a lot of character.  Are you hyper yet?  How many fingers am I holding up?”  (He answered correctly.  I was holding up 4 fingers.)  Later I sat with my friend Susan in her warm cozy kitchen.  On the table in front of us sat a dish with peanuts, a smaller dish with cubes of cheese, and two mugs of tea with crazy twisted straws sticking out.  We sipped and talked about life.  Her fingers busily cracked the shells and poured the nuts into her mouth.  Life and love go hand and hand so, of course, the subject of relationships came up.  I did not touch the food.  At some point she said, “Are you sure you do not want any nuts or cheese?”  I declined.  I confessed that over the weekend I had gone “nuts” with the volume and content of what I ate.  Quesadillas, beer, sausage, sandwiches, pizza, tortilla chips and salsa, you name it... I probably consumed it.  At this point I pulled my shirt up to expose the pooch of a food baby in my belly.  She laughed at the “smallness” of my stomach.  If I were a predator, my prey would be tortilla chips.  The triangular shaped, finger licking, sand colored, crunchy and salty snack that, when coupled with salsa, satisfies some primitive part inside of me.  I am always “open” to chips.  Some people collect coins or stamps.  I collect tortilla chips and salsa.. inside my belly.  Susan again laughed.  As she inhaled nuts and cheese, her delight in witnessing my “crazy self come out of my shell” was apparent.  One of the teenagers I know is taking diet pills.  She confessed the other day when we were at work, saying that she is trying to lose her “love handles.”  Why take pills? “Well I keep having all these cravings.”  “I know what that condition is called (having cravings) that is called real life.  I am 31 and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night hungrier than a blind man in a sugar shack.  Guess what I do to fix it?  I don’t pray, love..I eat.”  Right now I see the evidence of my midnight foraging on my night stand.  1. empty cheese plate  2. one cupcake paper minus the cupcake... Yesterday Stan whispered something about me being a deadly assassin to the other workers.  I said, “Did you call me a deadly ass?”  I gave him a real ugly look to show my disapproval.  He laughed.  “No, I said that you really put the ass in assassin.”  (Well I thought, if you can’t beat them, join them.)  My response, “Thanks.  You really put the i in dick.”  Recently, I had the pleasure of teaching 2nd graders.  There were twenty pairs of eyes trained on my every move.  Furthermore, twenty sets of ears listening to every sound I make.  I felt so special.  (Random thought, It is always easier to be honorable when you are treated honorably.)  I enjoy having an audience. I understand now why teachers covet the 2nd grade.  I would love to go back but I must wait.  I must wait for the “right” school to notice, then want me.  I must plant that seed, water it, give it light, shower it with loving words, then step away and let it grow.  It takes time to get your first teaching job.