Noteworthy Whims

A Tale of Excitement, Enthusiasm, and Exhaustion

2009-10-31T11:52:00.000-06:00

T'was the night of Halloween, and all through the house
Costumes did flourish and make-up did douse ...

Nope, just don't have the brain power to do this whole story in rhyming prose. If you are judging my lack of effort right now, please see post title and refer to E-Word #3.

We started Halloween night off strong with a Vampire and a Werewolf to create. The kids were so much fun and got so into everything, not to mention their extreme patience as we meticulously painted faces, applied Vampire bite marks, dyed hair, and glued fur to a fake bone for a somewhat gruesome side prop.

Once we were finally done getting all dressed up, we set out adventurously to the streets. The kids started out as one may expect, sprinting from house to house in an effort to overfill their pillowcases with candy in record time.

Then came the hunger, and the weariness, and the cold. Paces slowed and spirits soon began to droop. Jacob, too over-encumbered to make it any further, soon passed his furry bone to Jason to carry.

Then he passed his mask. Shortly thereafter, his gloves. And when finally he could go on no longer, he entrusted his precious candy to him as well.

Caleb followed suit not long after that.

Ok, so maybe I don't have as much reason as Jason to be exhausted.

October Comes, October Goes

2009-10-30T01:39:00.002-06:00

Fall is perhaps one of our favorite times of year, as is evidenced here, here, and here. Unfortunately, this year we fell way behind in our Fall Festivity Extravaganza. Oh we had great aspirations, there's no question there. But do you ever have one of those days (or weeks... or months...), when all of your well laid plans just unravel before you, leaving you grasping for that fleeting loose string that ever alludes you?

We kicked off October 1st with Jason catching a terrible case of the flu. I followed 2 or 3 days after. This was no run-of-the-mill, go-about-your-day-and-pretend-you're-well common cold. This was make-up-your-will-and-say-your-farewells flu. We both spent about a week couped up, drugged up, and grumpy as can be. During that week, we watched Cider Days come and go on the calender.

When we finally started feeling as though we may actually pull through and live to see Christmas, we realized we now only had 3 weeks to fit in all the Halloween hoopla that we were so looking forward to. First on the list was a trip to our favorite pumpkin patch. We loaded into the car and headed off with visions of pumpkins and gourds and hay in our heads. We got to the beloved patch only to find that it was apparently closed this year. No problem... we would be going to a corn maze next week, and they too would have a pumpkin patch. We went to the park instead, which turned out to be a pretty fun time, as always.

A few days passed before Jason was abruptly sick all over again, with seemingly the same exact thing as before. I followed 2 or 3 days after. Another week of couped up, drugged up, and grumpy as can be (I think the kids noticed the grumpy more than us). It was during this time that we noticed a bat hanging out outside our apartment door. Though I do hate bats, and would prefer to stay as far away from them as possible, I couldn't help but thinking it may have been a little wink from God. Ya know, a little taste of Halloween fun on our doorstep. Thanks God... but next time would you mind sending a cute pumpkin instead?

The following week we were again feeling well and more than ready to go jump in some leaves or play in some hay. On our calender for this week: a hayride. On God's calender for this week: our first snow storm of the year. It was beautiful. And yep, it was also enough to cancel the hayride. All turned out well though as we instead spent the evening playing a fun computer vampire game together as a family while we watched the snow. Hey, vampires are way Halloweeny, right?

With only one week left in October, we made plans to try the corn maze again. If you live in Colorado, you know that this past week has not been ideal for venturing into a corn maze. Please see evidence below:

Day 1 of snow storm (12 inches):
Day 2 of snow storm (18 inches):

Day 3 of snow storm (24 inches):
I've got to admit, seeing this much snow outside our windows left me with nothing in the world to complain about. Sure we didn't get to do all the things we had planned, but can you imagine anything more beautiful!?!? (Have I mentioned that I love the snow more than just about anything else in the world?)

SO... My lesson learned for October 2009: Don't stress over failed plans. God obviously has something better up his sleeves (and He may even send a disease-carrying, winged rodent your way to hold you over in the meantime).

Mother's Day

2009-05-25T04:02:00.004-06:00

In keeping with my new role of slacker blogger, I thought I'd post something that required little to no writing. This is a recent video I made for my mom. I liked how it turned out, so why not post it, right?

Parakeet Lost

2009-03-11T14:39:00.015-06:00

Ok, so first and foremost, let me begin by offering an excuse for the unacceptable upkeep of my blog. My work recently implemented a very strict "no internet" policy. Apparently the bulk of my blog time was concentrated at work, as evidenced by my two month gaps between posts. So while there are many things for me to post about from these last few months, I'll begin by sharing a tragic story of love and loss, as requested by Meghan.

Jason's birthday was in the beginning of February. I had given the boys a few simple ideas of what he may want for his birthday, and asked them to try and think of some of their own ideas as well. However, after a family outing to the pet store for some fish food (during which Jason showed some interest in the birds), the kids had made their minds up. They wanted to get him a pet bird. I should mention here that I am actually not a fan of birds. At all. There is just something about a small creature that is both capable of "fluttering" and "pecking" at the same time that terrifies me. Oh yeah, and the talons. I don't like talons. However, much to my dismay, the kids would not be swayed in their idea. And since I knew that Jason really did want one, I gave in.

And thus, the plan was set in motion. Caleb and Jacob and I ventured out to the pet store about a week before his birthday. We spent a while reading all the "Must-Knows for Parakeets" pamphlets, then proceeded to pick out the perfect cage and accessories. On the day of Jason's birthday, we hid the cage in one of our bathtubs, and then led him all over the house on a hunt for his present. When he finally found it, the kids had made cards and put them inside the cage explaining that we would take him to the store to pick out his own bird.

Luckily, Jason was thrilled with the idea, and we immediately piled into the car- all of us in eager anticipation of our new pet-to-be (well, most of us anyway). After debating for an unbelievably long time, Jason finally settled on a grey and black parakeet (while trying to upload my pictures to my computer recently, I accidentally deleted them all instead... so this is not our actual bird, just a close resemblance). With the help of the kids, he named him Grundy. For those of you that do not live with a house full of comic book boys, Grundy is DC Universe's super-strong, zombified, mobster villain. You can see the likeness, I'm sure.

And so began our new life as bird owners...

When we got Grundy home, he was quick to warm up to us and eager to explore our apartment. (All those "Must-Knows For Parakeets" had told us that it's important to let your bird out of his cage for at least half an hour a day). Day by day, little Grundy seemed to feel more and more comfortable in his new home, and even began to perch on our fingers or shoulders on his own will. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was growing to like Grundy as well. I still don't like birds, but Grundy was ok in my book.

Then came that fateful day, only four days after bringing home the new addition to our family. Jason and I were the only ones home, and Grundy was freely exploring the apartment. Jason asked me to keep and eye on him for a few minutes while he went and took a shower. I nodded a quick "sure, yeah, whatever..." and went about my business. Grundy was peacefully perched atop our windowsill, and I was a mere 10-20 feet away finishing up the dishes.

Approximately 4 minutes after Jason had entrusted his dear new pet to my care, I heard a very brief fluttering of wings. I glanced up to check on Grundy's whereabouts, but couldn't seem to find him anywhere. After a few short moments of panic and confusion, I heard a tremendous splashing sound come from our fish aquarium, and looked to find our two largest fish flopping and flailing about in mortal fear of some unknown cause. Upon closer inspection, I was horrified to find Grundy frantically swimming laps along the top of the tank, seemingly trying to escape from the hysterical, gargantuan bala sharks below.

In the fleeting moments that followed, I mustered my inner heroic instincts and scooped Grundy out of the tank. I was sitting on the couch and cradling him in a towel when Jason emerged only 10 minutes after leaving me alone with the poor bird. His eyes darted from me, to Grundy, to the towel, to the open fish tank. Suspicion set in.

I explained what had happened, and promised that Grundy's "accident" had absolutely nothing to do with my prior avian-directed hatred. Grundy seemed more or less ok after the event, if not slightly lethargic. I tried to stress the heroic part of my story to Jason while placing Grundy back into his cage. Thinking all was well, and assured that disaster had been avoided, we headed off to work. We came home that night to find Grundy on the bottom of his cage... very dead.

I've maintained my innocence in the days following the loss of Grundy, despite great scepticism and accusations from those around me. According to the kids, "Molly defeated Daddy's birthday present" (Jason doesn't like them to say "kill" or any other such related words... it's always "Batman defeated Joker"... "Molly defeated Grundy"...etc.).

Shortly after the above events transpired, we headed back to the pet store for a second try as bird owners. This time Jason picked a yellow and green one (this picture is actually him), and together with the kids settled on the name Loki. Loki is Marvel Universe's adopted brother and enemy of Thor... just in case you didn't know. Again, the resemblance is uncanny.

I'm proud to say that Loki has been with us for over a month now with no incident. While I have lost some of my previous privileges, I have been granted supervised visits due to good behavior.

Roundtable Friday

2009-01-16T01:33:00.002-07:00

Despite the fact that my brain has felt like exploding recently due to over use, I can’t seem to think of a single interesting thing to blog about. So for that reason, I’m going to ask anyone out there that may be reading this to answer a few questions that I’ve been meaning to ask for a while. They are random and in no way related to each other (other than the fact that they have all crossed my mind in recent days), but perhaps if someone out there can provide any answers and lay these fleeting queries to rest, then my brain will have slightly more room to think of something blogworthy.

1. How does one efficiently grocery shop for all needed items using coupons and store deals, without spending a straight week organizing said coupons, documenting said sales, and drawing up detailed blue prints of the grocery store layout? I have been trying to find my niche in this area, and I am failing miserably. I have always loved lists, and can organize with the best of ‘em, but this task has proven to be far more overwhelming than I ever imagined. Does anyone out there have any tips or magical systems for this that I could possibly use to my advantage?

2. Is it possible to make my blog prettier and break away from the standard Blogger layouts without actually paying for a new layout? Is there a certain site that people are going to that I just don’t know about? Or are all the people out there with pretty blogs just less cheap than myself and are actually paying for them?

3. How much would you pay someone to come and paint a mural on your wall? I realize the answer to this one may differ greatly depending on wall size and mural size… so for the sake of the question, let’s just say it’s a one wall mural, and takes up approximately ¾ of the standard household-sized wall. Any ball park idea of what a fair price would be for commissioned work?

4. In the end of Reservoir Dogs, did Mr. Pink die too?

5. What is tapioca made of? Really?

Thank you very much for your assistance in these matters. Perhaps if this works well I'll make it a regular Friday thing, as I spend most of my time somewhat confused and in need of answers.

For Just A Day

2009-01-07T01:04:00.004-07:00

Today is my dad’s birthday. He passed away 7 years ago, and while I miss him deeply, I take an abundant amount of comfort in knowing that he is experiencing something now that truly makes me envious. Yet, I would be lying to say that there aren’t certain days, or moments, which make me feel the ache of missing him a little more than others.

I would never wish upon him this broken world that he’s left behind, or the broken body that he’s free of now. But I do sometimes wish he could come hang out for a just day or two. I wish he would have had the chance to meet my nieces. I know that he would take absolute joy in them. I love to picture the delight in his eyes, and the childish grin he’d be unable to contain while doting on them.

I want him to meet the man I married, and spend a day watching football together with him. I want Caleb and Jacob to go fishing with him.

I wish he could see the grace with which Meghan has grown into her role of mother, and shake hands with the godly man that she’s committed herself to. I want him see how selfless Chad is in everything he does, and see what an honorable man, father, husband, and brother he is. I want to hear him laugh with Matt, and see how excited he gets for the things that he’s passionate about.

I want to draw with him. I want him to see the Jelly Bean Machine that Chad made for me for Christmas. I want him to watch Meghan with her girls, and to see her finish a triathlon. I want him to recognize his own sense of humor and sparkle mirrored in Matt’s eyes. I want him to see the ways that he’s woven into each of us, and I want to tell him how proud it makes me to know that I’m his daughter.

I know the value of dwelling in the joy of where he’s at, rather than hanging on the ache of where he no longer is. Still, it brings a smile to my face to wish for just a day or two, bittersweet as that wish may be. And if I’m really going to be honest with myself, a tinge of that bittersweet ache may be due more in part to my jealousy than to his absence; because as much as I long to invite him into my world for just a day, oh how much greater it would be to be invited into his world- to see that what he’s seeing- for just a day.

...oh, that's where I left my blog...

2008-12-30T23:18:00.018-07:00

Oh my goodness, I haven’t posted anything in over a month. How did that happen? I know I’m new to this blogging thing, but I think it’s safe to say that I am more of a January-November blogger, rather than the year-round type. So, in the interest of not writing a whole novel to make up for lost posts, I think I’ll dabble in the art of picture story to recap some of this past month’s highlights…

As the rest of the country has been pounded with snowstorms and cold fronts, Colorado seems to have been having ridiculously mild weather. Our first real snow storm did not even hit the Denver Metro area until the very end of November. As someone who spends all year eagerly awaiting winter, naturally I have been disappointed. But, here’s a picture off our balcony of our first snow in our new apartment!

Ironically, this storm hit us the same weekend we had scheduled to go pick out a tree to bring home and decorate. It was a very cold day, and Jason was having much less fun than this picture would suggest… (Caleb was cheering because we had finally settled on a tree and could go home).

We then spent the night decorating and making Christmas cookies.

Jacob made three valiant attempts to place the star on top of the tree before Jason finally gave in and did it for him.

My favorite highlight of the month was when my friend lost her job. Wait, that makes me sound like a jerk. Nope, I definitely meant it. Miss Annabella, I am so glad that you lost your job and had to move home sooner than expected! A year and a half is far too long to live in a different time zone than you.

The week before Christmas, we spent one cold night at Zoo Lights with my family. It was very cold. Denver Zoo’s website assures that they offer plenty of inside attractions, warming stations, and hot cocoa/cider for the weary and weather-worn masses. This is a generous description. In reality, there were 2 very small warming stations, limited inside attractions (all of which were packed and smelled of hippo dung or other pachyderm matter), and the cider came in really cool insulated cups that radiated no heat whatsoever. However, despite this paragraph having sounded a lot like whining and complaining, we really had a lot of fun. Cold fun.

Christmas morning found us at my parents’ house eating our traditional “Christmas Eggs” for breakfast. I don’t think I have ever experienced a Christmas morning without my mom’s Christmas Eggs, and I don’t ever intend to. We stayed there for a while doing a gift exchange and enjoying each other’s company, then headed home to do our gift exchange with the boys. Jason’s mom got to come over and spend the evening with us, and even made some of her famous chili. My mom’s Christmas eggs… Jason’s mom’s chili… all in one day! I don’t think it gets any better than that.

And that brings me just about up to date. I’ve got about 20 other posts flying around my head (yes Annabel, that includes the unfinished “Ode to Bella”), but those can wait for 2009. I hope you all have had a fantastic month!

The Ebb and Flow of Creative Juices

2008-11-15T02:25:00.000-07:00

I’m currently reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon. First and foremost, let me just say that I love this book and would highly recommend it. In short, it’s the story of two cousins- one from New York, the other from Prague, both Jewish- and their success as pioneers in the comic book industry in America during WWII. For those that are not at all interested in comic books, I assure you this book is still fascinating and well worth reading.

The other night I was reading and came to a line that I just loved and that so resonated with me. It’s a scene early on in the book, while the main characters are still just young boys dreaming of creating their own comic book. One character, Joe, had just masterfully scaled the fire escape of an empty New York apartment building, and his cousin looked on…

"As he watched Joe stand, blazing, on the fire escape, Sammy felt an ache in his chest that turned out to be, as so often occurs when memory and desire conjoin with a transient effect of weather, the pang of creation. "

I love that line. I love it because I so understand it. I know that pang and that ache in my chest to simply create. I think this is a God-given desire, regardless of the gifts or talents He has given us. I fully believe that he has fashioned us after His own heart, and that His heart is the heart of a true Creator.

Whatever our ability may be, we all possess the desire to create. One person may make music, while another can capture a blazing sunset within the confines of a painted canvas. One person can produce ideas and methods that push the flow of business, while another person can cultivate a warm and welcoming environment that invites the cold and hungry. One may master a pencil and sketchpad; another may master the kitchen and culinary world. This world is full of thinkers and writers and visionaries and inventors and crafters and dreamers, and regardless of what means we utilize, our end is always a creation of sorts.

Lately I've really been feeling that pang- that ache to use any and all the gifts God gave me and just make something of it. I want a job that I enjoy and that provides me an outlet for my passions (don't we all). I want to draw or write or paint. I want to scrapbook; I want to blog; I want to write a novel. I want to be a published children's book illustrator. I want to learn to cook, and I want to make something worthy of selling in a Christmas craft fair. My problem is that I want to do them all, I want to do them well, and I want to do them simultaneously. The end result is this spewing volcano of creative desire that will probably erupt into one solid week of hibernating and trying to accomplish all at once, followed by an extremely deflated and exhausted me that is devoid of any creative inclinations whatsoever.

Anyone else out there go through these same cycles, or is it just me?

Does Anyone Else Think This Is Funny?

2008-11-13T21:39:00.004-07:00

Ok, so normally I really try to avoid using things like WebMD as it tends to cause me unreasonable amounts of paranoia. One moment I'm experiencing mild cold symptoms, the next I'm convinced that I've contracted some rare form of Mongolian baht fly virus, mad cow disease, or any other number of ailments containing an animal name prefix and an -itis suffix. However the other night at work I couldn't resist doing a little research on some worrisome symptoms my friend was experiencing.

For those not familiar with WebMD, allow me to provide a brief overview... After clicking on the pale little man labeled "symptom checker", you're directed to click on the specific portion of your body that is giving you trouble. It then proceeds to present you with a ridiculously long list of possible symptoms (most of which will make you feel much better, by comparison, about your current complaint or illness). While you scan the list and select all symptoms that apply to you, WebMD compiles a list of all possible diseases, syndromes, disorders, etc. However some of the symptoms you select will then prompt you to provide a more in depth description. The following screenshot is one I came across the other night:

In case that's a little too hard to read, that does in fact say "encounter with an octopus in the south Pacific".

On a side note- my friend went to the real doctor a few days later and found that she has neither Mongolian baht fly virus nor mad cow disease. She's feeling much better, in fact.

A Word About Daylight Savings

2008-11-02T01:22:00.000-06:00

I used to love the “Fall Back” time of year. Seriously, what’s not to love?

Here’s what’s not to love:

Clocks go back an hour at 2:00am. I work an 8-hour swing shift that ends at 2:00am. Therefore, as I sat here tonight nearing the end of my shift and watching that final minute pass from 1:59 to 2:00-- the minute that generally signals my freedom and all-around happiness-- something terrible happened instead. I have never felt as defeated as when I witnessed 1:59am become 1:00am. I imagine this may be what Hell is like (this, and also an eternity of trying to match Tupperware lids to their proper bowls).

I used to hate “Spring Forward” day. Oh how I miss those days…

As Visions of Pez Candies Danced Through My Head

2008-10-31T23:29:00.002-06:00

In light of the this fine Halloween day today, I thought I’d retell the story of one of my favorite Halloweens yet- made great by two of my favorite people ever.

Several years ago- I think my sophomore year of high school- my friend, Tara, and I decided to get really ambitious and make our own Halloween costumes. I think both Tara and I would fall into the category of “over-achievers, primarily in regards to projects that others may find futile and, quite frankly, a waste of time”. This can be made evident by our endless note passing games that we passed the time in class with: the time we tried to write solely in Spanish to each other (for months), the time we tried to write solely with our non-dominant hands to each other (for months), the time we refused to write to each other in any thing other than an intricate and painstaking calligraphy-type font (for months). One may look at our overflowing notebook that is a product the above discipline and think it a profound waste of time. But what can I say… we can now write in shaky, calligraphy-style, poor Spanish with the best of 'em, and I say that is something to be proud of.

Wow, that was quite the tangent.

So anyway, this one October way back when and once upon a sophomore year, Tara and I decided to make our own costumes. After deliberating over the wide array of options before us, we finally decided on the perfect idea. Pez Dispensers. Life-size, walking, talking Pez Dispensers. We went to work, and probably spent a good solid month developing and executing our plan. Being only poor high school students, we were resourceful as possible and completed our project using only felt, poster board, glue, and a few wire hangers. I tried to find the actual photos of our finished masterpieces, but unfortunately came up empty handed. So, without further ado, I present to you my best rendering from memory…

I can’t remember if we wore them to school or not. Did we, Tara? I do, however, remember winning first place in our youth group’s costume contest. Yep, there’s my proudest achievement to-date.

For some reason Tara wasn’t able to go trick-or-treating with us that year, but I did get to go with my other favorite person, Annabel (yes, I went trick-or-treating my sophomore year of high school). Annabel didn’t have a costume prior to that day, so we had to come up with her spontaneous and impromptu attire. Apparently the creative juices just weren’t flowing with much intensity that night, because this is what we came up with…

She was a sleeping bag. Which we accomplished by wrapping her in a sleeping bag. And that is all.

We set off on our merry journey, but VERY quickly discovered the error of our way. You see, neither of our costumes allowed much room for the simple act of walking. So we waddled. Slowly. After an exhausting hour of work, we had only waddled the length of one street. And to make matters worse, people kept mistaking my Pez Dispenser for a mail box (which I still don’t see. I’ve included a head-on sketch of the mask, so you can judge for yourself), and throwing candy in my eye hole… at which point I would have to stop and shimmy it down and out my foot hole, so that Annabel could kindly pick it up for me.

Finally, we decided to give up and head home so we could change out of our cumbersome costumes. Neither of us were quite satisfied with our night’s earnings though, so we resolved to head back out. This time we dressed as ourselves and told people we were Christians. Lame cover, I know.

So… to Tara and Annabel- if you’re reading this- thanks for being so amazing. I think we should all three spend the next year planning an even better costume for Halloween ’09 :)

Blunders from the Cubicle

2008-10-23T02:26:00.004-06:00

It occurred to me the other day that I have been unfair and quite biased in my previous posts pertaining to my job (refer here and here). The picture I have painted has been one extremely skewed image, in which I am portrayed as the faultless, all-knowing voice on the opposite end of a phone line connecting directly to a world of buffoons and drunkards. I am not refuting the fact that, yes, my phone line does connect to a world that contains a shocking number of buffoons and drunkards. But in all fairness, I must admit to another side of the story: I too am a buffoon (but usually not a drunkard).

Evidence Profile #1: The Mute Button

Our phones come with a feature that I find myself both praising and cursing several times each day. The mute button is a simple little button within easy reach that, upon pressing, mutes my end of the line while still allowing me to hear my caller. It’s intended purpose is mostly for sparing the caller from hearing your sneezes or similar interruptions that are not worthy of using the “hold” button for. Most reps also use it when they can’t resist the urge to verbalize their rage towards the caller without the caller actually hearing them.

Several times each day I answer my phone while it is muted and can’t figure out why the caller isn’t responding to my greeting. More than once I have tried to mute my call for the purpose of verbalizing said rage, and not realized that I missed the button. And in one awkward moment, I once muted my phone to cover an urgent and fearsome sneeze- except I had forgotten that I was already muted. On the caller’s end, it probably sounded something like this… “>dead silence, dead silence, dead silence< BOOMING SNEEZE >dead silence, dead silence, dead silence <”. Awesome.

Evidence Profile #2: Ruined by Routine:

We don’t really have scripts to go by in my job, but we deal with enough of the same situations that sometimes things just become scripted. For example, after activating a card for someone, I usually advise them to “sign the back and it’s ready for use”. Similarly, after reporting a card lost, I would advise them to “please contact your bank to order a new card”. I wish I had a dollar for every time I finish reporting a card lost for someone, and then promptly advise them to sign the back of it and begin using it.

Another dilemma…we make both outbound and inbound phone calls. On a normal day, you will do primarily one or the other, but not both. However, if need requires it, sometimes a supervisor will ask you to switch from what you have been working for 5 hours and do the opposite. This is a cruel, despicable trick. I should add here that our phones do not ring for incoming calls, they simply beep into your headset. The beep sounds identical to that of an answering machine. I have left many strangers voicemails on their home phones that sounded much like this… “Thank you for calling >unidentified credit card company<, how may I help…ummm… aww man… *click*” (Before you judge me, know that I always call them back. But there comes a point where you just can’t recover from a failed script and have no other option but to abort.)

Evidence Profile #3: Well, just read on…

Ok, so this one didn’t happen in the cubicle, but it serves to prove the same point. I had to call my cell phone provider yesterday with questions concerning my bill. After a lengthy call in which all my concerns were addressed, our conversation neared its end. It went something like this:
Cell Phone Rep: Ok, so just to review your call today, I have updated this, that, and blah blah blah…
Me: Yep, sounds perfect
Cell Phone Rep: Ok… (short pause, I assume they were making notes)
Me: And is there anything else I can help you with today?
Cell Phone Rep: …excuse me...?
insert awkward pause
Me: ok, sorry. Thanks, bye… *click*

And to think, I don’t even have the excuse of alcohol to blame.

Corn and More Corn

2008-10-19T02:30:00.013-06:00

Is any one else about to burst with seasonal joy, or is that just me?

Honestly, I don’t know how any one can justify living anywhere but here. My only wish is that the changing leaves would stay around just a little while longer. I love waking up in the mornings and being surprised at the cool chill of morning air that you haven’t felt for months. Or taking a walk outside and smelling the faint aroma of fire places being used for the first time. Or watching a hazy sunset over mountains that somehow formed a blanket of snow over night. Yeah, you can’t get much better than this.

But, you can certainly appreciate it all the more by taking in the view from the middle of a corn field.

We spent one amazing day this week at the Fritzler Corn Maize. It was way too much fun. I would definitely recommend this to any one in the Denver area looking for a fun family outing. We got to do two corn mazes, launch a corn canon, jump on an over-sized trampoline pillow, ride a barrel train roller coaster, sport 3-D glasses through a house of jumping paintings, and wander through the insides of a giant inflatable lizard. The prices were very reasonable, and I definitely felt like we more than got our money’s worth.

Ode to Old Man

2008-10-10T23:34:00.017-06:00

While looking through and organizing some of the random photos that I have saved to my computer the other day, I came across a picture of someone very dear to me; someone that I felt deserved his own post.

This is Old Man Baby (but those closest to him often call him Old Man).

And this is his story…

Several years ago I decided, on a whim, that I wanted to start collecting garden gnomes. My collection had grown to about 7 or 8 by the time I took my trip to Romania in 2005. I was elated to find that Romania has some sort of infatuation with garden gnomes, as they could be found in any and every gift or souvenir shop (garden gnomes and Dracula… yep, that’s Romania in a nutshell). After much debate and consideration, I settled on the above pictured gnome to take home with me. I named him Sebastian, after the little boy who had stolen my heart, and whom I would have much rather taken home with me.

Upon arriving home (I was living at my parents’ house at the time), Sebastian assumed his position on the mantle of my parents’ fireplace. One day my sister was over at the house with her two beautiful daughters, Aubri and Rylynn. Aubri took an instant interest in this new addition to my collection, and began toting him around the house with her. (Sebastian is actually made out of a lightweight, rubbery material, rather than the heavy plaster most are made from.)

Aubri already had a few baby dolls that she adored, each with their own names to tell them apart. I don’t remember the exact names, but she referred to each one as “Baby Julia” or “Baby Sarah” or whatever their respective names were. Naturally, Sebastian became “Old Man Baby”. When it was time for her to go home that night, she very sweetly asked me if she could take Old Man home with her. I, of course, said yes. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

From that day forward, she grew more and more attached to Old Man, taking him with her everywhere she went. One day I received a phone call from her asking if she could take him with her to the sand dunes. Thus began the tradition of Old Man accompanying the family on every trip or vacation. When Meghan took the girls for their annual professional photo shoot, Aubri insisted Old Man be in them too. And so he was. I got to experience a little taste of the odd looks that Meghan must get all the time as we walked through the mall that day with a garden gnome buckled into the front of our double stroller.

Old Man has become a staple in the family, and a common sight at any gathering. One night we were all hanging out to play cards at my parents’ house. We had spent the whole night around the kitchen table, and the girls had been in bed for hours, when someone finally noticed that Old Man had been sitting with us at the table the whole time, securely strapped into a high chair with a snack and a drink in front of him. (It has also been realized that there are more photos of Old Man in the family than there are of some of the rest of us).

There’s a quote from an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond that always makes me smile, and turns my thoughts towards Old Man; “Sometimes I forget how weird this family is, until someone new comes in and looks at us like that."

Although it’s been nearly 3 years since their first meeting, Aubri and Old Man are still great friends. Last year she honored him with the utmost symbol of flattery by insisting to dress up as him for Halloween (the costume is the handiwork of Meghan and my mom, as not many party stores offer Old Man Baby costumes among their line of merchandise).

Who wouldn’t want these two for their garden?!

Cider Days

2008-10-08T01:01:00.015-06:00

Have I mentioned that I love fall?!?!?

Jason gets really into the holidays (any holidays), and makes it his mission to soak up every little ounce of atmosphere that this time of year has to provide. This works out well for the kids and I, as it means that we get to go to every carnival, event, or Oktoberfest that comes within a 100 mile radius of home. Continuing our fall festivities, we spent last weekend at a local annual festival called Cider Days.

It was a perfect day for such an outing. The sky was overcast with the dreary clouds of autumn, and a light breeze was in the air keeping the temperature as comfortable as anyone could ask for. And of course, we were surrounded by the best part of any Colorado fall…

Not that we would need anything more to make the day complete, but the festival provided the icing on the cake. The kids got to jump in a bounce house shaped like an overturned cow…

(yep, those are udders)

And ride a donkey…

Feed the farm animals…

We all pet a yak (incidentally, I think I’m allergic to yaks. Who would’ve thought?)

We made cornmeal…

And ate turkey legs…

And of course, we drank cider a plenty.

Does it get any better than this?

Quirky is as Quirky Does

2008-10-03T01:05:00.004-06:00

I’ve been tagged! Does that make me officially a blogger? Oh dear…

Oh well, that revelation can be picked apart and examined another day, because for today Leslie has provided me with all the post content I need. 6 quirks, huh? I’m afraid of what deep personal issues this may bring to the surface for me, but here goes…

6 Quirks of Mine…

1. I am as clumsy as clumsy can possibly be. I cannot hold a drink without spilling it, I cannot walk up stairs without missing one, and I cannot brush my hair without poking my eye out at least once. In fact, I’m wincing a little as I type this, due to the excessive swelling of the finger that I slammed in the dishwasher today. Perhaps I’ll share about the time I zipped my face into my jacket in another post…

2. I don’t like getting out of bed at any time that doesn’t end in a 0 or 5. Sometimes this OCD-like behavior is so prevalent that I make myself late. For example, if I set my alarm for 8:00, and accidentally sleep in until 8:16, I will most likely lay in bed until 8:20 before making the mad rush to get ready.

3. As Meghan so lovingly shared with everyone on this post, I am a closet Lion King fanatic. I will never tell you that it is my favorite movie, but deep down we all know that it is. I claim that the only reason I have a Lion King sketch book spanning 7 years of my life is because it’s an excellent art form against which to hone one’s drawing skills. The truth is that I love The Lion King to an unhealthy extreme. (In my own defense Meghan, I partially blame you for all those nights you left your Lion King soundtrack playing on repeat all night long. I was at a very impressionable age).

4. I hate feet and often ask God what He was thinking in creating such disgusting things, much less permanently attaching two of them to us. This, coupled with the fact that I am insanely ticklish in mine, causes an unreasonable fear of people touching my feet. Another story due a post of its own- Worst Nightmare Realized: A Pedicure Story. Similarly, I cringe at the thought of someone else’s feet on me. Especially if they have socks on that they have been wearing all day.

5. I have a fear of heights, and I hate it. If there was one thing I would change in a heartbeat, it would be this. As a result, my role at any amusement park has become “pack mule”, waiting on the ground and holding all the belongings of those brave enough to actually have fun. As a result, I cannot remember much about my trip to the Royal Gorge, other than an overwhelming feeling of nausea and impending doom. And as a result, I missed out on riding the giant ferris wheel on Santa Monica pier by sunset.

6. I once ate a bee. I suppose that’s not really a quirk, and maybe it falls more into a sub-category of quirk #1, but I really felt that it deserved mention. No, it was not on purpose. Yes, it did sting me right on the tongue before meeting its fateful demise. In one of the scariest 20 minutes of my life, my tongue grew to the size of baseball and was rendered useless in the art of communication, making it near impossible to convey my desperation to those around me. However, this one event has given birth to another small quirk of mine… I will never again leave my soda can unattended on a summer day.

And now it’s my turn to tag someone (yep, I’m officially a blogger). I think I’m going to tag Abby and Annabel (because I think Angie and Amy have already done this one…if not, consider yourselves tagged... geez, do I know anyone who's name doesn't start with "A"?) And, I’m going to break the rules a little and tag Meghan, too. Maybe this will convince you to start your own blog :)

Sauerkraut and Hefeweizen

2008-09-30T15:23:00.018-06:00

This past weekend we decided to kick-off our fall festivities of the year by heading downtown for Oktoberfest. The event itself wasn’t as great as I was hoping for. It was fairly small, and most of the merchant tents were just advertisements for things like Naked Juice or local credit unions. That, in addition to the giant SpongeBob bounce house, kind of ruined the atmosphere you would expect at Oktoberfest. However, there was plenty of bratwurst and beer of all kinds, so not all was lost. Plus a small stage at one end where some people put on a brief performance that was fun to watch.

The kids seemed to have a lot of fun, which was probably more due to the fact that we rode the light rail to and from the festival. They love riding the light rail (but really, who doesn’t?). At every stop and start they’d compete to see who could hold their balance longer. Contrary to what this picture depicts, Caleb did not lose either eye throughout the course of this trip.

Once we got home, we decided to dig out the Halloween decorations and spent the rest of the evening hanging cob webs and skeletons. Who says you have to wait for October to hang up your skeleton?

Finally, to finish off an overall amazing day, we turned off all the lights and watched Monster House while basking in the orange glow of all our newly hung décor.

And did I mention that all the leaves are changing!?!? I love fall. Maybe even more than the light rail.

Mourning Toby

2008-09-27T21:59:00.003-06:00

I am a sucker. There’s just no other way to put it. If a movie or TV show wants me to be sad, I will be sad. If they want me to get angry, I will get angry. If they want me to cry, I will likely cry… even when it’s something totally sappy and cheesy that I know does not deserve to be dignified by my emotional outpouring. I can’t help it. I’m every director’s dream audience: easily manipulated.

And I’m not ashamed to admit it, because I know that I am in good company.

I just finished catching up on The Office season 4. I am so sad to see Toby leave. Even though I knew it was coming due to a certain “someone” spoiling it for me (*cough* Meghan), I feel like I am still in mourning. I love Toby.

Similarly, I spent 1 ½ seasons rooting for Jim and Pam. I was elated when Jim kissed her, and heart broken when she turned him down. I had an underlying dislike for Karen, despite how likable they made her. And I think I shed a tear of joy when Jim interrupted Pam’s monologue to ask her out to dinner.

This sickness goes far beyond The Office. My heart swells a little every time I see Rachel kiss Ross after watching the famous prom video. I was utterly exhausted about 20 minutes into the Pursuit of Happyness, and may have said a real life prayer that Chris Gardner might catch a break. I gasped out loud when Tony Almeida was shot in the neck, and gasped even louder when Michelle’s car exploded. I feel motivated in all areas of living when Maximus reminds me that “what you do in life echoes in eternity”. And a small part of me thinks I would make a great Scottish warrior every time William Wallace talks about freedom.

No amount of reminding myself that these are not real people suffices in consoling me. Sure, Wallace was based on a real man… but the fact remains that the man raving about freedom is Mel, not William. Why in the world do our brains let us become so invested in fictional characters and fabrications?

This is not intended to be a profound post, nor a breakdown of the human dilemma of reason verses emotion. I just wanted everyone to know that I am caught up on The Office (by “caught up” I mean through season 4… I have not seen any of season 5, so thank you Abby for the little spoiler you posted on Facebook). And I am terribly sad to see Toby go. He will be sorely missed.

For anyone that has read this far (which is admirable, being that this has been my most pointless post yet… I apologize for those few minutes that I just stole from you), and claim that you cannot relate to the emotional instability described above, I leave you with this:

One Touch

2008-09-24T13:11:00.008-06:00

There were a lot of things this past weekend that really spoke to me, but the part I really find myself still thinking about days later is one of the songs that Nicole C. Mullen performed. This is actually a song that she did last year as well, and I was so glad she chose to share it again. It's called "One Touch", and it's based on one of my favorite storys from Jesus' ministry.

Mark 5: 25-34
Now a certain woman had a flow of blood for twelve years, and had suffered many things from many physicians. She had spent all that she had and was no better, but rather grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came behind Him in the crowd and touched His garment. For she said, “If only I may touch His clothes, I shall be made well.” Immediately the fountain of her blood was dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of the affliction. And Jesus, immediately knowing in Himself that power had gone out of Him, turned around in the crowd and said, “Who touched My clothes?” But His disciples said to Him, “You see the multitude thronging You, and You say, ‘Who touched Me?’” And He looked around to see her who had done this thing. But the woman, fearing and trembling, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell down before Him and told Him the whole truth. And He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be healed of your affliction.”

There are so many reasons that this woman's account is dear to me. Have you ever read something in God's word and just felt like he put that part in there specifically for you? There is something about this woman's story that always seems to strike me that way, no matter what circumstance I'm in at the time.

I think it's interesting that the passage mentions that she had "spent all that she had and was no better, but rather grew worse". How often we spend our everything trying to fix our own situation and get absolutely nowhere- sometimes even to point of sheer exhaustion and defeat. I love when God throws a little sentence in here and there just to show us that we are not the only ones fighting our fight.

I also love the disciples' response to Him when He asks "Who touched me?" Given the situation, that really is a funny question to ask. And, really, why would He ask that? He knew it was her, even before she touched him. I'm no scholar, but I have my own guess as to why. I think He wanted her to be a testimony to the crowd. Maybe he also wanted her to let go of her shame and boldly share what He had done for her.

And finally, my favorite part is when He calls her Daughter. I think I heard once that this is the only time in the Bible that He calls someone "daughter" directly, rather than "daughters of Jerusalem" or something similar. But again, I'm no scholar and may be wrong about that. Either way though, I love it. She came to Him with a desease that made her unclean and unacceptable in the eyes of the people around her, and He didn't stop at just healing her. He offered her acceptance and belonging in the deepest form.

I can't wait for the day that I am face to face with Him, hearing Him call me daughter. And until then, I can only pray that I find the faith to believe that one touch is all it takes to be made well.

Patsy and Lucy and Marilyn, Oh My!

2008-09-18T00:51:00.003-06:00

Women of Faith! Tomorrow! Woohoo!

I LOVE Women of Faith. I’ve gone almost every year for the past 8 years, and some how I’m not sick of it yet. Sure, like every conference, there are parts I like more than others and parts I could do without. But overall, I LOVE Women of Faith. There are a lot of things to love about it. If you’ve never been, you’re missing out on some of the most incredible (and hilarious) speakers ever.

The first year I went I was a freshman in high school. I was pretty involved in youth group at the time, and the only conferences I had been to were things like Dare to Share or Acquire the Fire. You know, where you walk into the arena and the music is blasting so loud that you can feel your stomach vibrate; where the speakers are all young and relatable and have spiked hair and skater shoes; where the band members have more combined piercings than there are Nalgenes in the audience (but barely). When I walked into the Pepsi Center for Women of Faith my first year and saw this line-up of speakers…

(Ok, so some of them have spiked hair...but I'm willing to bet none of them have peircings.) I’m not going to lie, I thought I was in for a long weekend. Fortunately, I was proven utterly wrong. These women have such incredible hearts, and they share them with more energy than I could ever hope to have.

As great as all the messages are- and the skits, and the worship, and the fellowship- there’s one thing that always strikes me at Women of Faith more than anything else. It always struck me at Dare to Share and Acquire the Fire, too. I’m always in complete awe when I find myself in the middle of an arena that holds 20,000 people that is full to the capacity with followers of Christ. It leaves me speechless really. Women of Faith brings only a fraction of the Body of Christ to one place- this is only a handful of female believers in the Colorado area. But it’s enough to make me feel tiny sitting among them. Imagine just how staggering it would be to have the entire Body of Christ before you. There are so many of us, even though it doesn’t always feel like it.

This picture gives me chills for two reasons really. The first thing it usually brings to mind is the fact that this is how we will spend eternity. I’ve always read the verse and heard the idea of “all the saints” before Jesus on that day. But I never really wrapped my mind around what that would really be like. Obviously even in the middle of the Pepsi Center I have yet to wrap my mind around it, but it sure gets me one step closer to realizing the enormity of it. It will be mind-blowing, to say the least. I, for one, can’t wait.

The other shock that sets in each year is the thought of what this many people could accomplish together. What if each and every person there was constantly serving and giving of themselves? What if each one of us was jumping in with dangerous abandon and living a life of outward service and selflessness? I know that we are a broken people, and the thought of all of us being right on the mark at the same time is an unrealistic “what if”… but it’s a pretty amazing one to daydream about.

Anyway, with that said… I’m off! I’ll be back after I’ve had my much needed fill of Patsy Clairmont :)

Step-WhatNow: One Step Closer

2008-09-07T15:04:00.003-06:00

A forewarning: The following post makes at least 8 references to vomit and vomit related things.

This weekend, I came one step closer to figuring out this new role that I’ve found myself in.

Jason and I took the boys to Toys-R-Us today to buy a present for a birthday party they would be going to. While we were there, Jacob started to mention that his head was hurting. We tried to pick up the pace so we could head home, but it was apparently not fast enough. After about 10 minutes, Jacob said his stomach was hurting too. He seemed noticeably miserable instantly, and we were sure he wasn’t exaggerating (I mean really, what kid fakes being sick in order to leave a toy store?).

We gathered what the kids had already picked out and hurried to the check-out line. When the cashier handed us our bags, I had a moment of genius. Knowing that I had recently cleaned my car out, and disposed of all bags, cups, or other possible vomit-catchers, I asked the cashier for an extra bag. At first, I flattered myself thinking about what a wise thing that was to do. Maybe my parental instincts were really starting to kick in. Then I decided it was probably more likely the fact that I myself get car sick very easily. Those weren’t parental instincts; those were just well-developed vomit preparation instincts.

We loaded into the car, setting the bag in an easily accessible and open position next to Jacob. It was about a 10 minute drive home, but he was looking greener by the minute. We drove about 8 minutes successfully, growing evermore hopeful that we may just make it home vomit-free. But alas, there was no such luck. We pulled up to the last stop light, with our apartment complex in sight, and it began. I think it must have been the stopping motion. Poor Jacob made every effort to grab that perfectly positioned bag. It’s all kind of a blur and I’m not sure exactly what went wrong, but when all was said and done, there was none in the bag. None.

Once we got home, Jason took him upstairs to clean him up and do all that other stuff parents do. Me? I spent the next hour cleaning vomit out of my car. Someone else’s vomit. I even learned how to dismantle a car seat and clean out all those little cracks and holes where the vomit inevitably seeps into. Yep, I’m now one giant leap closer to owning this role of step-mother.

It didn’t occur to me until later that night just how pivotal and iconic this moment actually was. When I was in second grade, I threw up in my step-dad’s glove box in a strikingly similar situation. I wonder if he spent the next hour cleaning it all up and thinking the very thoughts I thought this weekend. I feel like I’ve gone through some sort of step-parent initiation.

Unrequited

2008-09-06T02:32:00.006-06:00

Unrequited.

That’s a really heavy word to me. Usually the first thing that comes to mind when you hear it is unrequited love, which Wikipedia defines as “love that is not openly reciprocated, even though reciprocation is usually deeply desired.” But the word unrequited by itself simply means “not reciprocated or returned in kind”.

Have you ever been on a house-building mission trip? You spend all week there laboring in the hot sun, giving your time and strength and sweat in servitude to someone else. Sure, this is sacrifice. This is honorable service. But this is not unrequited service. At the end of the week, you get to hand the key over to the family that will live there, and you receive more thanks and appreciation than you could possibly understand. At least in my experience, these people that you thought you were serving end up serving you immensely more in return. They will bask you in gratitude, hospitality, and love. They will teach you more about your Father through their actions and their hearts. You took the trip to make a change for someone else. You ride home knowing that you are the one that has been changed.

I had the opportunity to spend some time in Romania a few years ago, working in a hospital for abandoned babies. I wasn’t prepared for the sharp contrast this trip would bear to any previous mission work I had done. Our main job there was simply to love the children. There was a two-story hospital with about 10 rooms, and 5-6 babies in each room. Most had been left on the doorstep by desperate mothers – many of whom had grown up abandoned on the streets themselves. The cycle continues. Several of the babies had spent their entire lives within these walls. Several of these babies would end their short lives within these walls.

On any given day, there would be 1-2 nurses to care for these 50-60 ill children. The nurses seemed numb and devoid of emotion, carrying each child the way you might expect them to handle meat. I never could decide if I could blame them for this. Would I be the same way if I faced this world day in and day out, never given hope for improvement? Most of the babies displayed failure to thrive and sensory disorders. Several of them had aversions to human touch and felt only pain when held. Some of them had cigarette burns lining their arms. One little boy was hooked up to an IV the entire time we were there. The IV was constructed of a 2 liter soda bottle, a wire hanger, and an old tube colored with rust.

We showed up at this place day after day. We held the babies that could be held. We sang to the ones that couldn’t. We pulled some of them up to their feet for the first time in their lives. We waved at them. We talked to them. We rubbed their backs and wiggled their little arms. We rocked them. We held them. And at the end of each day, we’d lay them back down and walk away with heavy steps and breaking hearts.

For the greater part of this trip, I believed that this was unrequited service, and I struggled with the thought. The nurses did not like us and did not thank us. We seemed more a nuisance to them than anything else. The few mothers that we did see on occasion were cold and unresponsive. The children… did they even notice us? Would they remember us years from now? Would they even live to see years from now? Would our time with them make an impact beyond our short month together?

Though it was hard to feel it at the time, we learned the impact of our actions later. By the end of our trip, two little girls were walking for the first time. They were 4 and 6. By the end of our trip, babies who had spent their days staring up into stark ceilings had learned to pull themselves up on their crib sides. By the end of our trip, the bleak, broken little hospital had heard laughter.

Walking away from those children for the last time was heartbreaking, but we found comfort in knowing that God would not stop with us. We were part of a pretty amazing organization that already had another team of people to take our place. The end of our trip was the beginning of theirs. With continued love and attention, some of those babies grew into children, and many of those children moved on to loving foster homes-homes where they will be raised and taught to love others like them. I hope the cycle continues.

I’ve been told that in situations like this, it’s normal to have one or two children that grab your heart and won’t let go. Mine was Sebastian. His crib was tucked back in a corner by a glass window that faced the front door. By the end of our trip, he would pull himself up and greet me each day with a smile. It broke my heart to leave him there, and I still think of him often. I’ve been told that he was moved to a home sponsored by our contacts.

I don’t know if he will remember me when he is older. But there is one thing I am sure of. For a brief month in his life, God used my arms to hold him. And for a brief month in his life, God used his eyes to break me. I hope that we will meet each other one day, in this world or the next. And I hope that I can thank him for the difference he made in my life. I went on that trip thinking I could make a change for someone else. And I flew home knowing that I was the one that had been changed.

When God is our ultimate desire, there is no such thing as unrequited love or service.

Playin' in the Big Leagues

2008-08-28T22:08:00.007-06:00

For my sister’s birthday this year, I decided I wanted to give her something that would encourage us to spend some time together, since we’re generally not very good at that. After discussing a few ambitious options- i.e.: kayaking lessons or a small white water rafting class- we settled on a much more realistic option.

Golf.

I have only golfed once in my life (putt-putt aside). It was a few years ago, and I was with my sister and brother. My sister has her own set of clubs in a fancy bag (don’t be fooled, this is only a façade). My brother had a few clubs that I think he got at garage sale, and he carried them in his own homemade bag that would make Martha Stewart applaud. The bag was made from a pair of old jeans. One leg was tied off at the bottom, and the clubs could rest securely inside. The other leg was looped around and tied to the other leg to form a “P” shape. This leg was the part he wore over his shoulder. Perhaps I should check with him before I publish this post, in case he wants to copywrite his design first. Upon arriving at the golf course, we were told that each golfer needed their own clubs to play, so I carried 3 of Meghan’s clubs around all day. I don’t remember our final scores at the day’s end, but I’m inclined to guess that our skills paralleled our classiness pretty closely.

So, why not give it another go, right? This time we were better prepared, knowing ahead of time that I would need my own set of clubs. My sister still has her fancy set, complete with fancy bag. Her husband has a fancy set too. He also has an ancient, stained, held-together-with-a-belt, sack disguised as a golf bag. Poorly disguised. Guess which one he decided to loan me for the day?
When we arrived at the golf course (I should mention that we originally had reservations at a much fancier club, but the above mentioned brother-in-law forbid us from proceeding with these plans, insisting we had neither the skills nor the class to show our faces on such a course. I thank God for his discernment in the matter.) we decided to purchase a bucket of balls to practice on at the driving range. I set my ball in front of me, stood in the most pro-golfer stance I could manage, and then made quick glances from my ball below out to the driving range ahead, like I’ve seen them do on TV on the rare occasions I’ve watched golf. Finally, I lifted my club behind me while maintaining my proper golf pose, then let it drop towards the ball with ample strength and perfect precision, following my swing all the way through to a finality.

Much to my dismay, my ball still lay at my feet. I tried again and again, missing each time. Finally on about the 7th or 8th attempt, I made contact. The ball flew directly up at a 90 degree angle (maybe an 80 degree angle), and after a few seconds it dropped down about 10 feet in front of us. Meghan’s luck was very similar to mine. She usually made contact on the first attempt, but our balls rarely landed as far as the very closest yardage sign.

Once our practice balls ran out, we reluctantly headed to the first hole. We were disappointed to find that there was a group directly behind us, which meant that we would no doubt be holding them up as we hacked our way out of lakes and marshes. Because of this, we decided to take on this hole with a “speed golf” approach. This is exactly what it sounds like: hit and run, hit and run… no time to set our bags down, much less wait for each other, as is proper etiquette. The end result? We scored 15 and 12 on a par 4 hole… in less than 3 minutes.

We then realized that the people in front of us were quite slow, as were the guys behind us that had intimidated us so. Thus, we decided to slow down and act like we knew what we were doing. It turned out to be a really fun day, and I’m proud to say that we both improved with each hole. Kinda. I still had to take several swings on each new tee, but Meghan was nice enough to only count one.

In the end, we both scored around 90, on a 31 par course (that means we’re less than three times worse than the average person!). We only lost one ball, but found two more. And as far as class goes… well, some things never change.

Thanks for going with me Meghan! I had fun!

Social Conundrums

2008-08-14T02:13:00.003-06:00

For the most part, I like to think of myself as socially apt. Perhaps those that know me well would disagree, but it’s better for my self-esteem to not think about that. I do, however, admit that there are several social situations in which I have no idea how to appropriately respond. I decided I would throw a few of them out there, in case you too struggle with such conundrums. If anyone reading this has found a proper way to deal, please, do share.

Eating peaches and plums in public…
This dilemma may very well be mine alone. Plums, peaches, and other such related produce do not have cores. I have no idea what is socially acceptable regarding the manner in which you eat these. Do you eat down to the seed? Or do you eat as much as you would on an apple, even though you don’t have the hard, stringy core to tell you when to stop? I have no idea. For this reason, I make it a point to avoid eating such fruit in public places, lest I be judged by onlookers as I savagely nibble down to the seed.

Meeting someone on a long sidewalk…
I encountered this constantly on campus when I’d walk to class. I now encounter it daily in the halls at work. This is when you’re walking down a long sidewalk or narrow hallway, and you spot an acquaintance off in the distance. If you make eye contact, you’re then required to give a polite smile or wave. Once you do this, you then have several more seconds, bordering on minutes, before you’re within audible range to say hello or pass them. Do you have to maintain your cheesy smile and eye contact for the full length of the sidewalk? Is it rude to look away once you’ve given your obligatory nod? Both answers provide awkward results. My solution thus far has been to stare straight at my feet any time I enter a corridor or long walk way. (This causes people to often ask “what’s wrong?”)

When the dentist talks to you…
Perhaps this one is more a lesson in etiquette for the dentists themselves. You know when you go to get your hair cut and the hair dresser strikes up a conversation with you? This is ok. You know when you go to get your teeth cleaned and the dentist shoves a hand in your mouth and then strikes up a conversation with you? This is not ok. Are they really expecting you to answer? Maybe they're around it enough to understand your muffled and gurgly answers, like a second language or something. Or maybe they just think it's funny. Bill Cosby did a stand-up routine about this very situation. It was hilarious. I think the answer is to respond to the best of your ability, but fling as much spit as possible so they take cover and cease all conversation.

Returning a poorly aimed wave…
You know- when you're at the grocery store, or any other public place, and a stranger enthusiastically waves at you with a big friendly grin. You wave back, slightly caught off guard, slightly flattered, and slightly worried that this person knows you but you don't know them. Then you see from the corner of your eye that the person behind you is waving back with the same enthusiastic fervor. Realizing you've sheepishly returned a mis-aimed wave, is an apology required? Do you slink away pretending it didn't happen? Or do you proudly own your wave, telling yourself you're just a friendly, personable socialyte? I slink away.

Selecting Ripe Watermelons...
While writing this, I read a post from my cousin Amy regarding proper watermelon selection. It cracked me, and totally deserves a "Social Conundrum" catagory of it's own.

Excuses

2008-08-13T21:21:00.003-06:00

If you look up the word “excuse” in the dictionary, you will find this: a plea offered in extenuation of a fault or for release from an obligation, promise, etc. If you’re looking in a recent dictionary, you will also find my picture. This bothers me more than I can possibly put into words.

I used to think of myself as extremely reliable and dependable, and prided myself in that. I was generally the first one to volunteer my time, show up to every invitation, and take advantage of every opportunity. A few years ago, a lot changed.

I was very involved in my church, happily living on campus and going to school, and working full-time in childcare. I was busier than was probably healthy, but I was enjoying every second.

Then I was blindsided.

Without going into details, I found myself in the middle of a situation that snowballed and left devastation in its path. It was fueled by my mistakes, the mistakes of others, rumors, selfishness, and fear. It left many relationships forever changed. It hurt a lot of people. It broke me beyond the point I ever thought was possible. I left my church hurt and burnt-out. I left my school a failure. I left my job exhausted. I lost a lot of friends, and I changed.

It has been almost 3 years since this all came to pass, and while God has been good in healing and mending the pain, I am still making excuses. I have an excuse for not being in school. I have an excuse for being absent from my friend’s lives. I have an excuse for not having found a new church home yet. While some of these excuses may be rooted in truths, for the most part they remain excuses- pleas offered for release from a promise.

I’ve been leisurely “church-hopping” for almost a year. One week going here, one week going there, the next just staying home. I haven’t chosen to call one home, for no better reason than I don’t want to. I’m afraid to plug in. I’m leery to join a small group. I don’t feel like being vulnerable with strangers. I don’t want to make them more than just strangers.

I don’t make a concentrated effort to see my friends and family. I have a difficult schedule at work, but not so difficult that I should cease to have a social life. I tend to isolate myself, and honestly can’t think of a reason why. It feels almost instinctual.

I haven’t been in school for two semesters. I claim I don’t have time, but the truth is that I simply don’t make time. I’m afraid to commit to it, knowing that if I don’t wholeheartedly commit, I will likely fail again.

Recently though, things have been changing for me. Thank God. The desire for a church home has started to outweigh my fears. I miss being a part of something larger than myself. I miss the support system found in a church family, and the accountability. I miss the passion.

I miss my friends and family. Every time I’m blessed with even a small dose of them, I can feel my cup overflowing. I want to make the time for what’s important. I know that it’s not in my God-given nature to live in isolation, and I want to conquer the recent need I seem to have for it.

If you happen to be one of those people in my life, and you happen to be reading this right now, I’m asking for your help. I want you to know, and maybe understand a little better, where I am at and what I am struggling with. I ask for your continued patience, for prayer, and for accountability in righting those wrongs that are still fixable.

I found it fitting when I saw this in that same dictionary- right below the noun definition of “excuse”, you’ll find the verb: to regard or judge with forgiveness; to pardon.

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I think there are some of you that read this and never comment (…eh hem, Ma, Meghan, Tara…) feel free to say hello so I know you’re there :)