broken

Not sure what to even post today. Yesterday was an awful day. He was going to leave. No plan, no job, no place to go. But he'd had enough of me. I went home at lunch -- furious-- and thinking I'd make things easier and just pack my things, since I did have a place I could go. But I stopped to talk to him. And we talked and we talked. We talked, finally, like our marriage depended on it.

We picked things up in conversation and turned them over for examination -- and then we tossed most of them aside with the clarity that comes with knowing that we couldn't waste precious time on pebbles when there's a boulder rolling down the mountainside. At 1:30, after almost two hours, he very suddenly went around the corner and I couldn't follow him. He said he'd stay. Then I didn't want to. I didn't want him to. I went upstairs to pack, feeling angry, manipulated and very, very tired. He came upstairs to help. That makes exactly one time he has ever followed me in to a room to talk. He carried one of my bags to the living room. I took it back upstairs and threw it so hard that it smacked against the far wall. I left -- empty handed.

Today the storm is over. After work I lay down next to him and we both cried. Because "I love you, I'm sorry" doesn't fix everything. And we have no idea how to fix what's broken. But we promised. We promised. And so I guess we'll try, even though we have no idea what we're doing. And one thing we do agree on is that counseling is just a good way to throw away several hundred dollars we don't have. We've both been down that road before.

Look at me
I'm in a place
I never thought I'd be
Don't have the strength
To fight anymore
Or a reason not to leave
So tell me why I still keep holding on
To something I just cannot see

What makes you stay
When your world falls apart
What makes you try one more time
When it's not in your heart
At the end of your rope
When you can't find any hope
You still look at him and say
I just can't walk away
Tell me what makes you stay

I'm not afraid
Of living alone
I was alone before he came
I've been in love
Many times before
But this time's not the same
I've always been the first to say goodbye
Now it's the last thing I can do

What makes you stay
When your world falls apart
What makes you try one more time
When it's not in your heart
At the end of your rope
When you can't find any hope
You still look at him and say
I just can't walk away
Tell me what makes you stay

When it goes this deep
And feels this strong
I can't convince myself
That this love is wrong
What makes you stay
When your world falls apart
What makes you try one more time
When it's not in your heart

At the end of your rope
When you can't find any hope
You still look at him and say
I just can't walk away
Tell me what makes you stay.

-Deana Carter

I'm not panicking

I must not panic. I must not panic. Angie has lots of expensive tuition to pay and T doesn't have a job. But I must not panic.

How many times must I learn this lesson, God? To trust to wholly, without doubt or hesitation. To believe that you only want good things for me. To believe. To believe that you will carry me. To believe in him.

A friend stopping by while I was writing this. And while I was talking to him I realized something. Every problem, every situation has at its root a solution that is stupidly simple. Love or don't love. Stand by the decisions you make or take the easy way out. Believe or don't believe. Once we make that go/no-go choice everything else becomes easier, more clear. And there is always an easier choice and a harder one. It takes guts to not take the easy way out.

As for me I continue to believe, to love, to stay, to honor, to obey. I will learn and relearn this lesson as often as I must until God is through with me.

Faith and love are apt to be spasmodic in the best minds. Men live the brink of mysteries and harmonies into which they never enter, and with their hands on the door-latch they die outside
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

birthday

Let it be known for posterity that I am about to turn 38. One week from tomorrow.

Let it also be known that I don't feel 38. Or 37 for that matter. Many days I think my maturation process halted at 17. Well, that's not true. I still think and do stupid stuff. Only now I regret it more and sometimes I think about the consequences before I do it.

Such is the price for growing older.

Celebrities also turning 38 this year: Nicole Kidman (on Monday), Lili Taylor, Pamela Anderson (oh, goodie), Carrie-Anne Moss, Maria Bello, Anna Nicole Smith (oh, goodie x 2), Faith Hill, Paul Giamatti, Harry Connick, Jr., Julia Roberts, Rufus Sewell, Chris Rock, David Boreanaz, Melina Kanakarides.

This is my way of confirming to myself that I could still be hot. Who's hotter than Julia, Nicole and Faith?

Oh, me, that's right.

the unbearable lightness of being alone

T and K left yesterday -- he to Colorado to see his brother and she to her mother's. Weeks ago I had a really strong craving to be alone and I wasn't... now I am and I'm kind of hating it. I fixed myself a huge salad for dinner and a cucumber and chicken salad sandwich. I flipped channels for a while, watched a few minutes of three movies I'd seen before. Then out of sheer boredom I decided to try a yoga tape I bought a couple of years ago and never opened. K actually tried it the other night and had fun with it so I thought it would be a nice switch from the treadmill.

I thought it was kind of a weenie workout until the jelly legs kicked in 20 minutes after I was done. I will say it was very relaxing and the stretching woke up muscles that haven't been doing much besides holding me upright for the last 2 years. It's hard not to snicker when the yogi starts talking about my eyes getting smaller and my front brain resting on my back brain. I had to fast forward through that part. More than 2 minutes in the relaxation pose and I'll be relaxed until 6 a.m., sister.

The yoga got me through until shortly before 9 p.m. I fed the dogs, ran laundry, picked up, rattled around and headed upstairs to lay my clothes out for today. A sure sign of boredom ... the willingness to iron. I hate ironing yet there I was, starching a crisp white shirt for work. Hey, at least I feel pretty today...

I think being alone with other people in the house is better -- even if I don't get control over the remote.

3 more days until K comes home and 5 until T is back. I used to be great at being by myself. Used to get that light, don't-worry-about-anything feeling: I enjoyed just taking care of me. I've clearly forgotten how to do this. And of course, by the time I figure it out and start to enjoy it, they'll be back.

In a totally non-related note, Skippy "Nutty Smores" trail mix bars are awesome and only 3 points. But the name just sounds too much like "$lutty wh0res". Or maybe that's just my particular mind warp.

next stop

I’ve blathered on fairly frequently about my need to lose weight (note the list on the lower right hand side of my blog). I say I’m going to do something and then I do something: I eat. I eat sour cream raisin pie, dark chocolate m&ms, valomilks, corn chips, french onion dip, Nachos Bell Grande, chocolate covered raisins, Snickers popables, guacamole.

We see here why we’re not making any progress?

So yesterday I started again. It was a good food day. I had vegetables. I worked out. I limited my intake of dark chocolate m&ms to 1/8 cup (enjoyed in bed while reading Weight Watchers magazine)! I had 22 points.

If I can’t control anything else in my life, I can control this. Next stop, 135. 5 pounds less than this picture. I love this picture. I want to be this picture. Again.

See more progress on: Lose 30 pounds

Bookish

A meme I picked up from "The Main Point" - minus the pictures of the books next to my bed. Use your imagination. There are plenty and also a large stack of magazines, mostly travel and home improvement.

Number of books I own: probably in the neighborhood of 300-400. They're in every room except the bathrooms and the laundry room.
Last book I purchased: Don't Know Much about History, Good Grief, I'm Not the New Me
Last book I reread: Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
Five books for a desert island: The Bible, Don Quixote - and three books from my bookshelf at home -- "Strangers in High Places", "Don't Know Much About History" and "the Poisonwood Bible"
Book I'd thwack someone on the head with : The Unabridged William Shakespeare comes to mind. The one I had in college was the largest book I ever owned. But the only one I could find on Amazon was just 3.5 pounds. Whereas the Webster's Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged is over 10 pounds.
Book I'd like to burn : Farenheit 451. Delicious irony.
Book that is overrated : The Corrections. I tried to read it but it's so mean-spirited I just couldn't enjoy it. I will try again, one of these days.
Fun Classics: Pride & Prejudice. Jane Austen's dialogue is so perfect.
Last Book I Read: Last Book I finished was "I'm Not the New Me". I'll be done with "Good Grief" probably today. On deck: "Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell".

Surviving open auditions

Stood in line in the rain – total wait for 2 minutes of camera time: 4.5 hours. I had a great time talking to people in line and just people-waching.

I met someone who absolutely should be on the show—Staff Seargant Hazel B., who is petite, loud, funny, smart and tough. Imagine Rob C and Alicia having a love child… that’s Hazel. Her friend Hillbilly was kind enough to recon the auditions for us and tell us what not to do. Her tips:
- do not writhe on the floor
- don’t say you survived anything
- don’t drink before your audition
- don’t look at the floor and mumble
- if you’re a fat guy, don’t take your shirt off
- if you’re a fat girl, keep your tatoos to yourself.

We “early voted” several types of candidates out: anyone wearing high heels, anyone who complains about the rain while standing in line for Survivor, anyone who complains about standing up for 4 hours while standing in line for Survivor.

Lately I’d have a better chance of being hit by lightening that getting picked but I’m pretty sure the lightening thing wouldn’t be as fun.

See more progress on: Audition for Survivor

i guess...

http://www.petfinder.com/pet.cgi?action=2&pet=4320792

OK, yeah, I guess Fluffy loves people -- but if you ask me, Fluffy doesn't love cameras. Fluffy looks pissed, OK?

Have a great weekend everyone!

new blogger

Completing the Rock Lobster family of blogs is Miss Ellaneous, my friends' beautiful and precocious young daughter. Bogging for everyone!

survivor

So I think I'm going to the open audition for Survivor tomorrow. I'm thinking for my 2 minute video I'll do a cheesy commercial for -- myself.



Are you tired of stock characters? Have you gotten bored with the Survivor stud, the camp tramp and the fiesty fiftysomethings that can’t keep up physically? Then you need to meet (the yorkist rose)!

Rose is an intelligent, opinionated thirty-seven year old who has a sharp wit and a big mouth. She comes complete with an MBA, a fantastic work ethic, a husband who won’t miss her very much and a propensity to share her opinions with everyone.

Rose won’t be taking her clothes off for peanut butter and chocolate but she does come with a guarantee of at least 2 minutes of great TV time when she runs her mouth at a tribal council and gets voted off.

Lucky for you, Rose is available right now in the bonus size: normally in a 145 pound package, for a limited time only, she comes with an extra 15% free!

So call today for your exclusive Yorkist Rose Survivor contestant. Enjoy a 39-day trial and only pay if you’re completely satisfied! Dial xxx/xxx-xxxx—operators are waiting!

I like it.

dressed to kill

I'm not going to go there ... I'm not... OK, I already did but I'm not going again. I don't want to go back to feeling crappy and mean again. I want to be nice. I promise.

Maybe it's the outfit. I'm wearing a dress I thought I looked cute in 5 years ago. I put it on today out of laziness and when I got to work this morning I realized I was dressed like every other dumpy middle aged woman here. And I thought "If one person tells me I look cute in this dress who isn't a good looking man today then I know I look as washed-out, middle-aged, plain, low fashion-sense, Wal-Mart variety hausfrau as I feel. Before I hit the front door, an older middle-aged woman I work with calls out "cute dress" and I feel like ripping it off on the spot. This dress is making me homicidal. Much the same way that the wearing of light blue striped seersucker suits makes me want to choke the wearers.

Green plaid is rearranging my brain chemistry in some awful new way.

I'm even being mean to people I like today. I need to stop this mood right now before I start giving people fodder for one paragraph comments in my personnel report. Before I spoil my own day -- to hell with everyone else.

I'm stuck at work, what can I do to make myself be in a better mood? Help please. All I know to do is pray and have caffeine. And maybe some little chocolate donuts. Then I'll be too fat for this dress.

another quick thought

before I have to run off and work ...

Meet Ethan, who has come out to say hi and officially given me the most number of comments ever on a post. I've added Ethan's blog but for my sweet, conservative, easily-offended-by-language friends, this is not for you.

Well, must run and flesh out wierd work thoughts that came to me at 4:20 a.m. Let's hope there's something to it.

batting 1,000

Hurrah! 1,000 hits on "Poetry in the Everyday" and it's not even the 8th yet.

My friend S called me at 10:15 p.m. to let me know and I was roundly chastised by the teenager for receiving a phone call after 9:30 p.m. But that's all right. It was worth it.

Now for my next trick... still thinking about trying out for "Survivor" on Saturday morning. Poll?

bite-sized Monday morning

15 hits to go to hit 1,000 -- and only 2 days left. Is this a goofy little goal? Maybe I should have added it to my 43 Things.

Anyway.

Since the cat's finally out of the bag, I can now mention that T lost his job a few weeks back. He didn't actually lose it -- he knows right where it is. It just doesn't require his presence or pay him a salary any more. As with all job losses (and this is the 5th between us in the last 4 years) we are sure that God will provide. But I have to admit that I'm a little sick of having to keep falling back on God's good graces -- He's a busy guy and I hate to keep bothering Him.

So another piece of the puzzle snaps in to place -- at least you know now that I don't have all stupid reasons for being in a blue mood lately. Although I hold to what I said last week... little by little, the sun is coming out. I finally summoned up the energy to clean the house and I cooked 2 meals, a record!

I'll try to actually have a theme and something to say later in the day. Right now, I'm just doing my Monday thing. Anyone who knows me knows I prefer to take mornings in bite sized pieces.

here comes the sun

So I had an appointment yesterday -- one of those "appointments" we must not mention, you know, with a counselor.

It was wierd. I felt like I was sneaking around. When we talked, I just kind of removed from the story I was telling, like it was someone else's problems we were discussing. Except for the tell-tale 2 tears at the very end.

I asked my friend S last night at our once-monthly therapuetic Chinese dinner whether she thought the idea of just taking action to make myself feel better might actually, well, make me feel better. 'Cause I do. I mean, my old happiness seems to be rising again -- all this week, just a little more.

Dunno if I'll go back to the counselor but I do feel better than I have in a while, with the possible exception of that happy feeling I get after too much wine. Which we all know is not real or sustainable if I want to, you know, work and write and think and stuff.

Today I'm feeling positively inspired by Wendy McClure, who has been a favorite of mine since I found her outrageous WW cards from the 1970s about 2 years ago (see link on right). She is a blogger who wrote a book. Which I am now reading! How freaking fabulous is that?

Little darlin' the smiles returning to their faces
Little darlin' it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it's all right
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
-George Harrison

if only Kari knew...

How much I steal from her blog.

Have added links to "43 Things and "All Consuming". V Cool.

I fight authority, authority always wins

I think I think too much.

I don't even stop while sleeping. I sometimes slow way down while deeply absorbed in some task or a movie, sometimes a book. It's impossible to halt the deluge entirely. Wish I could because my thoughts are often not very enjoyable.

So here's what I'm thinking about today: our Wednesday night church service is discussing a teaching series by John Bevere, called "Under Cover". He's talking about subjecting yourself to the authority of God and other legitimate authority that comes in to your life. It so happens that I am really fighting everyone's authority right now. Anyone claiming to have authority over me right now might get told to screw off. So that's wrong. Can't tell God to screw off, can I? So I have to yield, which means I have to do things I don't feel like doing.

Later, it dawned on me that if I can't yield to it -- how can I ever wield it? When it's my turn, how can I handle authority responsibly if I didn't learn how to respect it in others? If I don't yield -- particularly to God's authority, well, -- I have nothing.

John Bevere says Satan can use the door of disobedience to get access to our lives and create chaos. I can see that. That door is already cracked in my life and I can see exactly what's going to happen if I don't get it shut. The face of chaos is looking right back at me.

I wonder what will happen? What am I really made of? Whose am I?

See, thinking again.

So I call up my preacher I say, "Give me strength for Round 5."
He said , "You don't need no strength, you need to grow up son."
I said, "Growing up leads to growing old and then to dying "
And dying to me don't sound like all that much fun.
- John Mellencamp, The Authority Song

angry all the time

So as Suzanne pointed out in her comments to me on the last post, I seem a little angry about something. I'm not a very oblique person and I haven't been trying to hide my feelings in this blog. In fact, I often use this blog to try to sort them out.

So what am I angry about, you ask?

I'm angry because I'm not a better person
I'm angry because I can't make myself understood
I'm angry because I tolerate things I shouldn't and don't tolerate the stuff I should
I'm angry for not giving my decision to have a child more thought
I'm angry that I'm not more like my father, who is rarely angry
I'm angry because I'm a klutz
I'm angry because my house is in a constant state of disrepair
I'm angry that I got orange cheese on my white shirt
I'm angry that certain people don't like my cats
I'm angry that God isn't more obvious
I'm angry that love stops being fun and turns in to work
I'm angry that no one ever spells my name right
I'm angry that my boss keeps introducing me to people as "her assistant"
I'm angry that my hair is falling out
I'm angry that I've never been to Europe
I'm angry that other people who don't work as hard get more money
I'm angry that some people think all evangelicals are closed minded bigots
I'm angry that kids were cruel to me growing up
I'm angry that I feel so unfinished
I'm angry that I feel unlovable

Is that enough? I don't think it even comes close. I know I have some issues. I'm addressing them.

So what am I happy about?
That I still have friends
That God doesn't abandon me, even when I'm railing on him
That when my husband said he'd never leave he actually meant it
That I'm employed
That tomorrow is another day
That laughter is still possible

Believe it or not, I don't want to be angry all the time.

The angry man will defeat himself in battle as well as in life. - Samurai Maxim

Will the real Christianity please stand up?

I was raised Catholic in a lazy, slipshod, not-tending-the-garden sort of way. I was baptized and then when it was time for communion, my mom bolted and left me with my dad, who was not the Catholic in the family. I did have my first confession though and finally received communion of my own volition when I was 16. Never confirmed. Switched to an evangelical, non-denominational church 5 years ago.

I love my church. But I still get confused about some of the things Protestantism teaches. I understand what this guy is saying about the different views of sanctification/justification in Protestant vs. Catholic doctrine. What shocked me was his statement, if I'm understanding him right, that if you didn't believe in the Protestant version, you're not going to heaven. His whole premise is that it's shameful for Protestants to be so tolerant of Catholics because Protestants bled and died for the right to their beliefs and Catholicism is just, well, wrong. As I understand the Bible, the only thing that's required for salvation is to believe that Jesus is your Lord and Savior. So, I'm thinking, this guy's wacked.

Then there's the argument that there are only 2 reasons to leave a marriage: adultery and if one spouse is a Christian and the other is a non-believer. Many Christian resources state that abuse is NOT a reason to divorce, only a reason to separate. I think this is a totally irresponsible teaching in any church and honestly, I reject it. After 2 years as a volunteer at a battered women's shelter, I can't believe God would want any woman to endure what I've seen some people suffer.

Here's what I worry about: that my fellow Christians are getting too caught up in dogma created by radio show hosts and book authors and not reading the Word for themselves, then listening for the "still, small voice" that informs them.

What happened to love? Not "love, but..." -- but "love and..."

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
-Corinthians 13:4-8

Random thoughts for Memorial Day

I'm still alive.

Vegas was so very busy and I spent a great deal of it on the show floor (National Hardware Show). Meetings, dinners, lots of vodka and wine and very little sleep. That pretty much sums it up. I do recommend to anyone that if you go to Vegas, check out the VooDoo Lounge which is very high and when we were there, pretty tame (about 9:30-11:30 on a Wednesday) but I hear it's gets really crazy. I didn't want crazy, just a drink and a view. And I got both. Also Michael Mina at the Bellagio has the most perfect service of any restaurant I have ever been to. But I could never afford it on my own... for what we had it would be about $300 for 2. But oh, wow. Amazing.

Since then, it's been strictly ground floor. Meetings, work, a doctor's appointment and trying to catch up on my zzzz's.

On another subject: you know how everyone always has those "most embarassing moments"... I never could really think of one but I just got one the other day... my mother gave me a beautiful silk skirt (wrap) that ties on the left hip. I kept meaning to throw on a slip (even though it was lined) but it was 5 a.m. on the day of my meeting and I was in a hurry to catch a plane. So when the plane lands in Nashville I'm fighting with my bag (luckily my co-worker was a few bodies in front of me) and I get almost to the door and the skirt ... just ... falls OFF. See, silk comes untied all by itself. So as smoothly as I could I grab up the fabric and step sideways in to the row of seats to my left. Sit down, retie, rearrange and get off. Don't look at anyone. Don't look sideways, back, say nothing, just collect up my tattered pride and pretend. Next time I'll put on a damned slip. Thank God I don't wear thong underwear. I could almost pretend nothing happened except I HEARD a woman gasp just at the moment it fell. Perfect. I'll be double-knotting in the future.

I see I'm getting close to 1000 visitors -- I'd like to hit it by June 8 for the yorkistrose one year anniversary. So keep reading and I'll try to keep writing until then.

Happy Memorial Day all,
rose

Decoration Day is the most beautiful of our national holidays.... The grim cannon have turned into palm branches, and the shell and shrapnel into peach blossoms. ~Thomas Bailey Aldrich

all geeked up and no where to go (for at least 6 months)

http://adisney.go.com/disneypictures/narnia/index.html

Thanks Kari! Her "Beside Dry Creek" blog points out that the First Chronicles of Narnia movie now has a trailer... and it's very cool.

Of course, I loved Lord of the Rings. Got 'em on DVD. Got a DVD player so I could own them, actually. So this looks like a perfect next step. The movie opens (sigh) December 9.

(Oh, please, Disney, don't screw it up.)

Gotta get on those books soon. Haven't read them for (ahem) a few years. OK, like 24 but who's counting?

The other men in my life

How Workplace Couples Keep Each Other Happy

I thought it was just me.

I'm on what my real spouse and I call my third "work husband". I've always been inclined to make friends with men and have very friendly relationships with many of my male co-workers, past and present. In fact, my strongest and best work relationships are with guys.

Yes, it can lead to looks, gossip, questions. Like when the accounting department starting spreading the rumor that work husband #2 and I were sleeping together last year. Because we went to a couple of movies together when we were traveling. Utterly bogus conclusion. And I was really hurt. But I've decided that it shouldn't matter because the only person that should be concerned about my extra-marital activities doesn't worry about me being unfaithful. Work husbands #2 & #3 now joke that it's a threesome.

The WSJ article is just more fodder for my developing theory that healthy friendships outside of marriage are not just important -- they're essential. Work husband #1 is still one of my best friends and I always look forward to talking with him and getting pictures of his new daughter. And we still give each other career advice and encouragement.

What it is, really, is knowing that you have a safe harbor in the sea of politics that is corporate culture. It trumps loneliness on the road to travel with someone who can order your drink for you while you're in the ladies'. In my industry I'm always outnumbered by men -- sometimes 10 to 1. It's only natural to have a guy or two in your corner in case things get crazy.

And on that note, if you don't hear from me again, I'm off to Vegas Monday-Thursday for work. Mom is going with me. My stepdad had a dream that she's going to win $2.5 million on a dollar slot while she's there. If she does, I told her we're spending the weekend.

Cautious Optimism

There is a person who lost his job but keeps a brave face for his kids and his wife.

There is a person who just lost a baby.

There is a person who takes medication for the depression she's suffered from for years and no one knew.

There is a person whose wife threw him out.

There is a person whose ex-wife is taking the kids and moving away.

There is a person who worries at night about if the cysts in his child's body are cancerous.

There is a person raising a toddler alone.

There is a person who nearly lost her home.

There is a person whose drinking has gone out of control.

There is a person whose husband almost walked away.

I know all these people. I watch them all keeping their secrets so only the actor's mask is what the world sees. Collectively their hearts break, heal awkwardly and break again, sometimes along those old wound lines and sometimes in fresh places. How do they keep smiling? How do they wake up each day and face whatever comes next?

Cautious optimism. It's my favorite phrase by which to live.

Here's my theory in a nutshell:If you concentrate only on the bad stuff, that's all you see. And really, something bad happens every minute of the day. Some bad things are really bad (death): some just seem so at the time (losing a job-- but later you get a better one). Some things are good -- but subtly so -- and maybe you miss them (clean kids in PJs hugging you goodnight). Some things are awesome, once-in-a-lifetime good (swimming with dolphins). I want to look for the good. I want to anticipate being happy. I have to believe. I won't pretend that there isn't a dump truck of crap looking to unload in my yard but I'm going to believe that it's not coming today. That's what I call cautious optimism.

Share it. Maybe it will help someone you know -- the one whose heart is breaking.

books, dresses and other secrets

I'm on a big reading kick lately. I finished "The Time Traveler's Wife" last night and will start on "Middlesex" sometime today, though I don't know when I'll have any time. I can't remember the last time I finished a book in a week! Books have become my place to hide. With some good reading material, I can go anywhere. Consequently I've spent a lot of time in Medieval England and Wales, and more recently Southern Missouri, Chicago and Maine. No one kind find me in any of those places.

Dinner with my friend S last night -- we fan our secrets like hands full of cards, while we joke and laugh and eat. We shopped a little and I bought a kicky bohemian looking skirt to wear to our dinner thing in Vegas (business trip in 2 weeks) and she helped me pick out a shirt to go with it. I had bought an embroidered black satin dress a while ago but decided it was too dressy (can't overdress the customers) and, oh yes, T said I looked like a hooker when I tried it on for him. I don't - but OK. Thankfully I only spent $18 on it (it was a $120 dress I found on a clearance rack in Dillard's.) Maybe someday I'll have an occasion.

But I digress. Back to S and our once-monthly (or more) dinner date. It feels good to share secrets with someone... to say out loud the things that nibble away at my confidence, my being. S and I have stepped up our friendship on recent months -- it has become more trusting, more tight. I take great comfort in this little oasis of commiseration and girl talk. Our lives seem soapy and overblown to ourselves but take on a more normal texture when we see that other's lives are just as goofy as our own. In her company I am the most real me and the mask comes off. And she doesn't even mind.

mayday

Day begins with screaming fight.
Day ends with raspberry cheesecake concrete from Sheridan's.

Day begins with racing, eggs and sausage.
Day ends with pillow-throwing argument.

That's my weekend in a nutshell.

There were other moments in between. I saw an old friend and thought how lovely she looked, with her bright green eyes and long, glossy dark hair. She had a casual, peaceful grace that made me want to sit down and hold her hand for a while to see if her beauty was catching. I cleaned my house. I cut the grass. I ate homemade pizza and I made enchiladas. I read about half of a very good book in the small chunks of time I carved out late at night.

I did not laugh as much as I wished but I watched T and K laughing together and that made me happy.

I am exhausted by the fighting but too scared to give in and quit.

I was accused of being in love with someone else.

Impossible, as love takes many, many years of knowing and understanding and compromising. It is a secret language, a routine, a place where separate lives touch and create a unique space.

One day, leaning on another. A house of cards?

retail therapy

OK, so maybe the problem is a little more than the blues, in which case, I'll talk to my dr. next month and try to get to the bottom of whatever is bothering me.

Be that as it may, I decided to medicate in one of the least offensive ways I know how... retail therapy. I got my hair trimmed and actually let her style it this time (nice! it even came with a scalp massage). I bought shoes to replace the favorite pair I tore up in Hawaii, a new purse, some hair styling products and a new lipstick. I came home actually feeling pretty.

I'm glad it's the weekend. I'm totally digging my new book and I have 3 hours of shows taped. I'm also going to try to get some rest and some exercise.

false start

OK I tried to start Jonathan Franzen's "The Corrections" but it was depressing the crap out of me and I don't need more of that. I'm already sulky and moody enough, thank you. So I grabbed "The Time Traveler's Wife" instead and if that isn't better I'll have to take drastic measures and break out the Jennie Crusie mindcandy I have stashed away.

I think I'm having a midlife crisis. T says he doesn't know what's wrong with me, "We've been plugging away just like always," he says. This says to me that he is happy doing what he's always done. Which is great. But I feel furious even thinking about it. I think I should be happy but I'm not. I'm bored, restless, irritable, lonely and my back hurts.

I think this restlessness is a way of courting disaster. Part of my drama queen psyche seems to like to shake things up to feel something, which is a seriously messed up way to be. WHY can't I just be happy?

Supposedly exercise helps "the blues" or whatever you want to call it. Maybe I should try it. I do enjoy throwing myself in to a big project, something that takes hours because then I just get wrapped up in what I'm doing and don't have the opportunity to overthink things.

I'm really in danger of becoming a crazy cat lady.

My

My happiness --
a small kernel planted in shallow soil
in a box full of roots
in the half sun.

My changing heart--
a fruit broken open on the sidewalk
spilling its insides out
on the dry stone.

My lifetime choice--
a small house and a small garden tended
nothing new, one day that
leans on the last.

Things I'd like to do:

1. get a massage
2. get a mani/pedi
3. see Yellowstone
4. see the Grand Canyon
5. spend a few days in the Smithsonian
6. read all the books on my bookshelves
7. go to Europe
8. write a book
9. lose 30 pounds
10. meet my sister
11. pet a tiger
12. go to Maui
13. get a makeup consultation
14. grow beautiful tomatoes
15. find the perfect haircut
16. rock a baby
17. laugh every day
18. participate in community theater
19. live without regret
20. publish a poem

Is it possible to live without regrets? What would you undo, if you had a do-over? And where would you be now?

Messed up kind of love

Last night, T started to watch Oprah as I was heading upstairs for a little on-on-one time with “Empire Falls”. Oprah was featuring a woman named Ayelet Waldeman, of whom I became an instant fan. With one foot on the staircase, I started watching -- and I never got to “Empire Falls”.

This little 5-foot-nothing mom faced off a crowd of angry moms who were offended as hell about what she had written – with only Oprah and another petite mom named Muffy to back her. And what did she write that so enraged the mob? That while she loved her children, she was not in love with them. Her husband is still the center of her universe.

Wowch. (My new word for painful revelation). You should have seen how ticked those moms were. But Ayelet is right. And even though I don’t have biological children, I see how having a kid in the house changes the focus and affects couplehood. If’n y’aint careful, kids can take over every nook and cranny of the house and your heart. Leaving no room for daddy. Or mommy. Making couples forget how those kids got made in the first place. Sadder yet, was the mommy mob’s vociferous insistence that hubby will wait until the kids are grown and she has time to give him a little of herself, oh, 15 or 20 years from now.

Get real. No man wants to have bad sex or none for 15 years. No man wants to be relegated to the way back while wife is doling out the juiceboxes and doing flashcards. Sorry. Even I was shocked (and I think T was too) that 1 in 5 marriage are zero sex marriages (or less than 10 times per year). What happened to balance, for heaven’s sake? What happened to setting aside time to nurture your marriage so your kids can have a stable and loving home?

And what kind of kids are getting raised? Lavished with over-the-top love, parents orbiting their children like moons, the kids are encouraged to be selfish, self-centered and oblivious to anyone else’s needs or feelings. They miss out on the chance to observe and learn from a loving romantic relationship. They never see that sometimes other people’s needs should come first because their needs drive their mother’s every action. I think it’s important to make children a priority – otherwise don’t have them. But they can’t be the only priority. Nor should they believe they are the most important people on the planet.

I’ve added Ayelet’s website to my bookshelf. I’ve never read her stuff – except “Truly, Madly, Guiltily” but after her graceful, classy appearance on Oprah, I plan to.

Yes

Love is a choice, not a feeling.

Today I choose to love my husband. Today I choose my family and all its hassles over the whatever that is out there. Because the whatever is not for me..

My mom always said my grandfather must have had gypsy blood because he loved to move around. I used to think about this as a little girl and I thought once I had a place of my own I'd never want to move. But now I find this is not true. And in fact I've spent the last 6-12 months of my life thinking of nothing but moving around. Some women fantasize about other men -- Ben Affleck or the dude in the coffee shop. I fantasize about quiet little loft apartments, neatly furnished and easy to clean.

A few days ago I came one sentence away from that little apartment. I say one sentence but it was really just one word, yes or no.

He asked me, "What is it that you really want to do? Do you want to stay or not?"

All that is selfish in me, all that wanders away from the keyboard and the kitchen sink to other lives lived elsewhere, the old me, worldy and gypsy -- wanted to say "no". But somehow I found myself forming the word "yes". Yes to sinks full of dishes, to shimmying washing machines, to weeds in the backyard. To listening to his breathing in deep sleep. To sending a daughter to Europe when I would rather go myself. Yes to clothes on the floor and yes to the house that we thought we would have sold and moved away from by now. Yes to forgiveness for all my hurts, both real and imagined. Forgiveness 70 x 7.

Maybe the gift of a mature relationship is the realization that not everything that I need can or will come from him but some things must. I can talk about books and film and history with other people. I can have dinner with girlfriends and a healthy career. And for unconditional love and acceptance I can go to God. But when it's time to go home, it's to him I will return because that is the deal I made. I swore before God to have him, for better or worse.

Yes. Yes. and Amen.

Murcia me

So an update on the Israel post. I have not felt the pull and tug of the Holy Land, nor have I received any divine hints that I should go. So I will not go. Someday, I will. Some year, when A is not headed off for a semester abroad at Murcia. Someday when I can go and share it with someone I love. Someday when I am more spiritually ready.

Touching history and seeing the places Jesus saw just seems too easy. I can't explain it. I just know that my faith would be solidified if I could put my feet on the Via Dolorosa or see the Garden Tomb, where for us Christians, everything began. Or stand on the Mount of Olives, eat fish at the Sea of Galilee. It would be so much easier for me to believe then -- like Thomas, I have a foolish need to put my finger in the wound. But that isn't how faith is supposed to be.

"Now Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Hebrews 11:1

For a little while longer I need to keep nurturing my faith.

Oh, I don't know if this makes any sense at all. Suffice to say, I just know that this is A's year for Murcia, not my year for Jerusalem.

audience of one

20 years ago, my mother sat in a darkened auditorium watching me act on stage. She sat in the audience while I sang thin, slightly off-key solos at school concerts. She attended the music department awards breakfast when I got my vocal award -- not for being good but for being tenacious. Her smile of approval meant more to me than the cold words from a so-called friend who said I sucked and didn't deserve it.

She was there for every single thing I ever did. In 4 years, she never missed. She was my audience of one.

Last night, I became K's audience for the first time. And I never appreciated my mother more than in that moment, feeling exhausted from the day, sitting in a darkened auditorium with a quarter tank of gas in my car, 2 hours worth of work to do at home and another day just like that one tomorrow.

In so many ways, I have become my mother. What an honor.

April is ...

Every day I look out from our building at work up to the scrubby trees and brush growing along the low cliffs that separate downtown from the West Bottoms, looking for signs of life. At last, I see a pale green haze... the first buds and news leaves of spring.

The crabapples, forsythia, pears, daffodils and hyacinth are blooming -- it's supposed to be a beautiful weekend: our first camping weekend of the year.

April around the midwest means spring but it's also Autism Awareness Month. My friend S sent me this e-mail today... her daughter is autistic.


Dear friends and family,
I realize you all are busy with kids, jobs and life...but I have a little thing to discuss with you. It will only take a minute.

April is autism awareness month. I know you are all "aware" of autism because of M, but I just wanted to chat about a few things:
*Although it may be a factor for some kids, we DO NOT think vaccines caused or prompted autism in M's case.
*When you ask questions about her behavior/sleep/words etc. it does not bother us. We prefer that you ask, rather than guess.
*Kids with autism do not understand personal property. So if you have a Coke, M may pick it up and drink it. She's not trying to be rude - she just doesn't process why she can't have it.
*Most kids with autism do not understand facial expressions/social cues/body language. It is like a secret code they can't crack.
*Autism is a neurological disorder.
*Autism occurs 1 in 250 kiddos.

If you want to support autism research , you can go to www.asjck.org, www.autism-society.org, or call me.
If you would like to support a local family with their in-home therapy: Mason's parents are trying to continue in-home therapy due to insurance restrictions. They are selling blue Autism Advocate bracelets (same type as those LiveStrong ones) for $5 each. Let me know if you want one. Mason is in M's communications class.

Please don't feel obligated to spend any money. Just say a prayer that some kind of cure or therapy or cause will be found someday to help these kids achieve all they are capable of.

Thanks for your time!!

My friend Stacie is a tough, wonderful, loving mom and friend. She's like a lot of moms and dads out there -- just trying to help their kids make it in a world that doesn't always make sense. I include this today to honor her and let her know how much I respect her and all she does.

If you want to help Mason's family, let me know. If you want to just donate to the association, you can get a bracelet through the Autism Association website (listed above). And -- at no cost to you-- you can pray. I hope you will.

"A man is powerful on his knees." -Corrie ten Boom

pilgrimage

My church is organizing a trip to Israel in November. T asked me if I had thought of going. He doesn't feel it is "his time" but thinks it could be a life changing event for me.

I don't know. I don't know. When I think about it, I feel fearful which makes me think maybe I should be going, because fear isn't a God thing.
"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind" - 2 Timothy 1:7(NKJV)

All my life I've longed to "go". I love travel, I love history, I love God. This should be a slam dunk decision.

If anyone is out there reading this, I'd like your thoughts. If you pray I'd like those too. I have to decide by April 10.

mellowing with age

Saw my ex yesterday. While running an errand I jumped off the highway to grab lunch (mmm, love eating in the car) and apparently some massive construction project took out the power for the traffic signals in 2 intersections in Roeland Park. Yup, there he was in his utility blues, patrol car lights flashing, directing traffic. Funny, 12 years later I can still tell his mood by how he's moving his arms and hands. Course no one's going to be happy to be a traffic cop in the rain. And he most certainly did not appear happy.

He looked nice though. In a rounder, grayer sort of way. Unmistakable profile. Made me check the mirror to see how I'm holding up. Not bad, I think. Made me also think lots of wistful things, mostly relating to failure and the crystal clear hindsight I now have about that marriage, and me in that marriage. Some of us carry baggage and some of us just stuff it in a closet somewhere because we can't quite bear to part with it.

I hear he's a daddy twice over and belongs to a church now. I've heard people mellow with age.

Even me. Even him.

i am unfashionable

When I was a non-custodial stepmama, I walked round in ignorant bliss of urban fashion, pop music, cell phone couture and conversations involving the use of the word "dawg". I liked that.

Now I know way more than I want to know about Southpole, Marc Ecko, Baby Phat and Enyce. These are what has replaced Abercrombie, American Eagle, etc. in my girl-child's fashion vocabulary. Her migration from preppy surf & skate wear to urban baby-got-back wear is, I know, a product of her new school. Her mother hates it. I worry about it because I don't want her to start acting like something she's not. She's ever one to take on the colors of her surroundings, like a pretty little chameleon. Although in fairness, she's always preferred sporty clothing and these brands do run along those lines.

I just wish she would lead, instead of always following.

I wonder when I became unfashionable?

not really that dark

The blog is looking kind of gloomy lately... I'm not really as grouchy as I appear in print. Actually I'm starting to feel better. More sun, longer days, the promise of spring. I feel like I'm waking up from my long winter's nap. I just realized that Easter is next Sunday. And mushroom season in the midwest is drawing ever nearer -- as is camping season, a prospect that makes me happy and T delirious with joy.

I'm ready for a quiet evening out by a crackling fire with a drink and a marshmallow stick. But this weekend I get to collect up our tax stuff and perhaps even clean out the garage. It's not as bad as the stuff I found here (uh, this stuff makes me dizzy just looking at it) but it's getting to the point where we're ready to start throwing things away. Or setting them afire. Perhaps I can grab my marshmallow stick and a drink and settle down for a nice crackling fire in the driveway.

Nothing makes me feel better like cleaning. How sick is that?

Spring, glorious spring!

for shame

I wish someone would explain to me how removal of a feeding/hydration tube from an incapacitated woman is not murder. How can they look in to her eyes and do that?

I'm not opposed to DNRs for terminal patients but it seems to me that Terri just isn't dying fast enough for her husband's liking.

Disgusting. I can't believe we live in a world that allows this kind of thing.

feel sorry for myself day

Lately I have been feeling like I have a little black cloud over my head. I've been feeling like picking a fight. I've been wishing I could go away. I've been wishing everyone else would go away.

Blog as confessional. Now you are all scandalized.

So what came first? The extra weight or the blues? They feel married in my mind somehow. I'm up to very high 150s again. My pants don't fit. I'm snarling mad ... at myself. Look, I've made myself a little self-loathing stew. mmm, mmm good.

God is either very merciful or really perverse in that He gives us this brand new day, every day. And He lets us decide what to do with it, even if we mess it up. Is He laughing at me or with me? I can't tell.

So how do I get out of this? Start again.

Ah, see? Have I just proved my friend's point? Am I one of those that's never happy unless I'm unhappy? Attention whore? Drama queen? Or perhaps just a silly, self-centered, shallow girl.

So what do we do? Anything. Something. So long as we just don't sit there. If we screw it up, start over. Try something else. If we wait until we've satisfied all the uncertainties, it may be too late.
-- Lee Iacocca

"What's the Matter with Kansas?"

A friend at work loaned me Thomas Frank's book and I've finally finished it, although I have to admit it was sort of a struggle, since even with a journalism degree from Mizzou and an MBA I needed a dictionary to read it. He likes big words and so do I but I think he is trying too hard to look smart, which, quite honestly, I find exhausting.

Frank, from his high, high perch looks down on sad little Kansas. He never admits that he could actually be seen as one of those blue-stater, liberal intellectual elitists that conservative Kansans dislike so much (he has a PhD from the University of Chicago). Since he grew up in the comfortable confines of Prairie Village he probably doesn't know much about one of the only "blue" counties in Kansas -- that would be the home of that NASCAR track he mentions and my current home, Wyandotte County. After all, I can see how the Democratic machine in Wyandotte County has so lovingly served the populace there -- it's one of the poorest counties in Kansas. And this is a county that didn't produce one single Republican mayorial candidate but did manage to yield nine Democrats. He never mentioned any of that. Nor did he menton how the Democratic government happily drifted toward the middle to catch the track and the ensuing economic boom it's providing, all while uprooting roughly 100 families from their homes. Or how the Democratic candidates are currently courting the religious community for the upcoming election.

In truth, some Kansans should probably vote for the Democratic party, since many of these guys are still trying to scrape out a living farming and the Republicans are not farm-friendly. But I guess what I find sad is that Thomas Frank lends no credibilty at all to the idea that social and religious ideals might be more important that economic ones. There are a lot of people here that believe this life is just practice and the part that really matters is what you stand for -- family, God, protecting unborn babies. Thomas Frank thinks this is wrong, I guess. He most assuredly finds it embarrasing. He gets a kick out of laughing at political candidates who mention God, prayer or any divine assistance they may have or may be receiving. I guess if you're smart, you should know better than the believe in God -- or invoke the name of Jesus in public.

He also seems to go way out of his way to describe the Johnson County suburbs in the worst possible light, a practice I don't get, since I do the majority of my shopping in Shawnee. (WYCo has few to no services, although the dreaded NASCAR track for which our Democratic mayor and city council prostituted us is starting to attract a large number of businesses.) He describes a church I used to attend as "ramshackle" (web definition: bedraggled: in deplorable condition; "a street of bedraggled tenements"; "a broken-down fence"; "a ramshackle old pier"; "a tumble-down shack"). I attended church there for a year -- thought it was a pretty nice place.

What I can't fault is the miserable state of small towns everywhere -- not just those in Kansas. Of course, small towns have been in decline for decades, even before the farm crisis of the 1980s. But I would argue that towns are rusting and collapsing because they have no jobs, not because the ones they have don't pay well.

Unfortunately, I'm not smart enough or well-read enough to go toe-to-toe with Mr. Frank and I guess I'm just blowing off some steam here. I'm not going to go so far as to say he's wrong. On some issues he might be very on-target. But what I do know is that for all his research he still doesn't understand that having faith doesn't make you a wingnut and big business and a free market economy didn't create all of the economic ills he describes.

If anyone reads this book, tell me what you think.

40 Days of Purpose revisited

We have officially completed the 40 Day of Purpose group study.

The answer is: I'm doing what I was set here to do only I need to do still more.

I need to be a gentle, loving witness for Christ. I need to keep loving my family, raising the girls. I need to keep keeping my mouth closed and my ears open when other people talk. I need to keep serving, keep worshipping, keep being a friend.

I'm allowed to have fun. Christians can do that, you know? The secret is to remember that fun isn't what it's all about. That helps us get through the bad times but it also helps us appreciate those moments that do come -- the good ones, like snuggling with your family and laughing so hard your stomach hurts. Giving a gift, spending some down time with a book or having dinner with a friend.

This last week I have had some bad moments. I hope they're gone for a while. But when I'm down I still remember -- valleys fill first.

This is the valley that I'm walking through
And if feels like forever since
I've been close to you
My friends up above me don't understand why I struggle like I do
My shadow's my only, only companion and at night he leaves too

Down in the valley, dying of thirst
Down in the valley, it seems that I'm at my worst
My consolation is that you baptize this earth
when I'm down in the valley, valleys fill first

Down in this wasteland I miss the mountaintop view
but it's here in this valley that I'm surrounded by you
Though I'm not here by my will
it's where your view is the most clear
so I'll stay in this valley it takes 40 years
And it's like that long Saturday your death and the rising day
When no one wrote a word, wondered is this the end
But you were down there in the well, saving those that fell
Bringing them to the mountain again.

-Caedmon's Call

manicurious

Last night as my friend and I wandered the mall (another old friend voting for the semi-drama queen description, dear me) we went in to Aveda. Aveda was pretty hoppin' -- there were makeup consultations and hand massages going on all over the place. The consultant asked if I'd like a hand massage and I declined, self-conscious about my gnarly hands, broken nails and ... well ... being touched. I love hugs. I live for T to brush back a strand of hair or touch my cheek. I wait a long time for those things to happen because they don't often. But the longer I live my life the more I find myself shrinking back from being touched by other people! It's so strange, I feel such a rush of gratitude and relief when someone does but I have become very shy about expressing that one need out loud. And that is such a lonely feeling. Hard shells are neat for M&Ms, not not people. The other day a co-worker and I were discussing manicures. At first he joked about how he and another friend should hire a manicurist to come at 4:30 a.m. to the hotel we were at (I am decidedly not a morning person). Then we saw a place in the mall we were at and he kept saying "let's just go look". I refused. I don't even know why. I'm manicurious -- but afraid to be touched. Lonely but mostly unhugged. Would love a massage, a pedicure, a facial -- but intimidated by people in my space. I kept the raincheck from Aveda. One day soon I plan to use it.

confessions of a grown up drama queen

Someone told me last night that I was a drama queen. According to this highly scientific quiz, I test out at 50%, which means (surprise, surprise) I can be OK sometimes and highly emotional at other times. It's a little roller coaster in my brain.

A part of me refutes the "drama queen" title because other people who act this way drive me crazy. But then again, I do sometimes seem to be in a kind of maelstrom and there's no doubt that I can be an attention whore. Not Anna Nicole Smith-extreme but, baby, you better not forget my birthday. And yes, I have a pink sparkly Sleeping Beauty Princess tiara on my computer.

This friend also told me I gave up having a normal life when I opted not to have children and that I'm not being challenged intellectually. And some other painful stuff I won't repeat.

That's the great thing about a real friend. They can leave you bleeding on the floor but you know they still love you.

Why I Love Racing: Daytona 500 weekend

I am one of approximately 30,000,000 women in this country that love NASCAR. There I've said it. Go ahead, look at me funny. Most people do.

If there are supposedly 75,000,000 NASCAR fans in the US, how come I can find a million who like pro basketball or college football, soccer or even curling, but I can only find a few who love the loud, pounding, screaming, rubber-crumby, exhaust-fumed, chili-cheese fry scented intensity of a day at the race track. Except, of course, the 75,000 people who actually go there. But they don't go to my church, work with me and they're not related to me for the most part. So I keep saying I'm a fan and I still keep getting that "oh my, you've grown an embarrassing second head" look.

I don't mind. I think it's awesome to watch two ridiculously expensive metal objects hurtling across the finish line at Daytona going almost 200 miles an hour and in closer proximity to each other than I would drive to another car on I-70 at 55 in perfect weather with new brakes and tires.

I think it's wonderful to spend a day in the sun, sing the anthem, salute the flag and look on in humbled, respectful silence as a Stealth Bomber flies overhead. I love the camaraderie of the other fans, the hot afternoons turning over slowly to a dusty pink twilight as the spectators filter out and we munch contentedly on chips and brats in the parking area while we hold forth with our post-race rundown.

I understand those drivers better than any football player on any team I've ever watched on the Sunday afternoons before NASCAR took its place. I've gotten to know them and even if they are multi-millionaires, they are just a few lucky breaks removed from the guys and women bumming around our own home tracks. For all their fame and fortune, I can still see Dale Jr. changing oil in his daddy's dealership or Kurt Busch working for the water department.

I've seen their spouses, their motor coaches, their kids, their hobbies, their homes. I've seen them in moments of triumph and in times of intense pain, frustration, unbearable sadness and sheer, silly fun. They are friends. They're arrogant and airheaded and slightly insane and they live a big life, which they share generously with those of us who admire what they do when they get behind the wheel. And man, can they drive really fast. Don't tell me that doesn't take amazing guts and skill.

So, happy Daytona 500 weekend, all you fans out there who are still slightly embarrassed by the corn-pone, tobacco-spitting, redneck reputation of your favorite sport. Break out the barbecue and the beans and the Bud Lite because Sunday afternoon is our SuperBowl, our World Series, our Championship.

Like Forrest Gump, that's all I got to say about that.

Oh, except, "Gentlemen, start your engines!"

Pimp Someone Else's Blog

A quick note on yesterday's post. I did in fact clean the window, although it was sort of unsatisfying in that my arms got tired and I didn't get the glass perfectly sparkling. So now I have to gaze through smeary glass. I'll have to bring glass cleaner tomorrow and maybe a razor blade... A word of advice -- don't let your friends have the spray mount while you're on vacation. And for those of you who think now that I am one sandwich shy of a picnic, perhaps you're right.

I still wonder about the birds.

Anyway, this morning I'm pimping someone else's blog. I read Rabbi Gellman now and then and I have to say I really enjoy his writing. I also like the spirit of what he's saying and how it ties in to what we're discussing in "40 Days of Purpose". Too often we think if we throw the poor a bone, we've done something special. But dignity and self worth is the meat on that bone. And if you're in the family of God, these people we're deigning to "help" are not some scrubby strangers but rather our brothers and sisters. They're family.

Random Wednesday afternoon-ness.

It's time to take down the window.

When I went to Hawaii in November, my office mates papered my office window( about 3' x 4 1/2' worth) with many tiny Hawaiian-themed pictures and backed it all with hot pink copy paper. I have a sudden urge to rip it all down. I want to see out the window in to the hall.

I'm just daring someone to come and do it again, really. Or daring Fate to hand me some massive work project I can't possibly finish before going on the road. Because if I take an hour to clean up that window, something will happen.

It's just an impulse, really. Like that one I get to cut my past-the-shoulder length hair all off. Or pass my exit on the way home some night and keep driving until, say, Colorado.

The inner hallways of people's brains are complicated places. A few days ago I had the most breath-taking dream. Like, it sucked the breath completely out of my chest. I dreamed someone was trying to kill me. They pointed the gun at my chest and pulled the trigger. It clicked. Again. Click. 4, maybe five times. Then I reached over and we wrestled over the gun and I took it and it fired harmlessly in my hand.

What does that mean?

Do birds like to fly? Or is that like asking if we like to walk?

OK, I'm taking down the window now.

thoughts about love

One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, "Which commandment is the first of all?" Jesus answered, "The first is, 'Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.' The second is this, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these." Mark 12:28-31

I have never fallen out of love. I have allowed love to cool, diminish. I have ignored it until it went away. But I never had a day when I just woke up and said "I don't love him anymore".

While going through "The Purpose Driven Life" I see how important it is to do both of the things Jesus tells us -- Love God, love people. Annoying, tempermental, untrustworthy, difficult, moody people. People like me. People like you. People like the guy in my church that always looks like he just woke up, talks a mile a minute and either yells at his girls or ignores them. I see the failures I've had, when I've promised to love and neglected it until that love was a rotting albatross I just had to get away from. I see there are a lot of people I've never loved at all.

I want to live a purpose driven life but more than that -- I want to live a loving life. I wouldn't mind just closing the book here and taking a few years to work on this commandment from Jesus. Love -- love God first, then my family, then my brothers and sisters in Christ (even the annoying ones) -- then the world. Because by love, we prove who we really are and who loves us.

Woah. Some Valentine I got -- the never-ending, never-fail, always-enough, incredibly perfect love of my God. How awesome!

Belated Happy Valentine's to everyone reading. I love you!

Homeward Bound

The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then, moves on.
-Carl Sandburg

Homeward bound, I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
-Paul Simon

And so Gordy has moved on. While I was in a meeting in another part of the building, he went off to a new home with one of my coworkers.

And I feel that in some small way, I did something good.

But I wish I could have said goodbye.

Gordy in from the Cold

There I was in the warehouse, minding my own business, when suddenly I hear this pathetic sound reverberating through the doors.

"meow, meow, meeeeooooooow."

Off to investigate, my co-worker and I discover that there's a cat outside the loading dock. Dirty, beaten, starving and dehydrated, this little boy had once been loved and was now wandering around the West Bottoms alone, hoping for a handout.

Well, he got more than one.

Let's say maybe he found his way in to the offices. Maybe everyone in the marketing department sorta fell in love. And a couple of someones brought food. And someone else donated a litter pan and then litter -- then he got a quick check up and tests for those most deadly of all kitty killers - feline immunovirus (FIV) and feline leukemia. And he was negative.

Say he's sleeping on my desk even now.

I must be crazy. Perhaps it's the water.

Anyway, Gordon needs a home. Gordy is a nice boy. Loving, middle aged, slightly tom-like attitude. Declawed, peachy-creamy marmalade. But Gordon can't stay in the marketing department forever. So if you know anyone in the Kansas City area that can take him, please let me know.

Music to My Ears

This little meme was posted on Liquid Sky Arts -- I thought I'd bring it over here and add that I have finally ended my rebellion against Columbia House and re-upped. The prospect of cd's for less than $4 each was too much for me.

1. Total amount of music files on your computer: 0, I am not smart enough for this highly technical function yet.
2. The last CD you bought was: Maybe Jars of Clay's "Who We Are Instead". But that was a while ago. However, as I mentioned, I just ordered 12 cds from Columbia House:

"All That We Let In" - Indigo Girls
"Here For The Party" - Gretchen Wilson
"Between Here and Gone" - Mary Chapin Carpenter
"One Moment More" - Mindy Smith
"Ollabelle" - Ollabelle
Soundtrack of "Cold Mountain"
"Down the Old Plank Road" - Chieftains
"Further Down the Old Plank Road" - Chieftains
"Songs About Jane" - Maroon 5
"Just Because I'm a Woman" - Various (Tribute to Dolly Parton)
"Undone" - Mercy Me
"Almost There" - Mercy Me

There's some variety for ya.

3. What is the song you last listened to before reading this message? "Gratitude" by Nichole Nordeman.

4. Write down 10 (OK she said 5 but I'm going for 10) songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you:

1. "Landslide" - written & performed by Stevie Nicks. If my life has a soundtrack, this is the opening song.
2. "Lincoln Avenue" - Train. Dunno, just slow and sad and pretty and I can't leave it alone.
3. "Home" - Sheryl Crow. For when I'm feeling restless and angst-y
4. "Who Am I" - Casting Crowns. For when I'm tired of feeling restless and angst-y.
5. "Red Headed Stranger" - Willie Nelson. Or any other Willie Nelson. Because it reminds me of my dad, way back in the days when I listened to him "sing" to his reel-to-reels.
6. "Somewhere North of Here" - Caedmon's Call. A song that mentions my hometown and has that haunted love-you-but-you're-not-here thing going on. Made me fall in love with the band. Nothing else they ever did sounded better to me than this song.
7. "Breathe" - Sixpence None the Richer. The first worship song that really connected for me.
8. Something, anything by ABBA. Reminds me of the good part of being 12.
9. "All the Things We've Never Done" - performed by Martina McBride. Says, hey, even if marriage hasn't been perfect, there is something beautiful about sticking it out.
10. "If These Walls Could Speak" - originally recorded by Nanci Griffith & Jimmy Webb (I think it was written by Jimmy Webb), it appears on the Red Hot & Country project. I've never heard Shawn Colvin's version, but I'll bet it's great too. If I ever move from my home, it will be the last song I play to my empty house, as a sort of "thank you".

Rock and Roll my World

I've maintained an uncharacteristic silence regarding the refusal of the Zondervan ad in Rolling Stone. Like so many I probably wrote it off as worldy stuff and not likely to change. This is a direct result of my having sent "Entertainment Weekly" a letter a few years back asking the reason behind their refusal to ever review Christian contemporary artists. My letter was met with stony silence, as was the second letter. The third letter was a cancellation of my subscription. I was very sorry to do it and I still read the magazine now and then, when I can catch a copy at the library.

Two things just happened: Rolling Stone changed their mind. And I read this. (Great job, Rabbi.) Wow. I'm happy that this week, anyway, a little battle was won.

Oh and also, there's a great article about Dominic Monaghan in Rolling Stone -- since I'm a fan of both LOTR and Lost, it was double the pleasure.

The Randomness of Thursday afternoon

Place I would live if I suddenly found myself single again: Library Lofts
Soaps I would buy if I were independently wealthy: Lush
Happiest thing that happened to me today: Weight Watchers On the Go
Finally, I get to see it: Nascar 3-D
Is this what heaven looks like? Four Seasons Maui

This is the kind of day I should just go home and go to bed. I'm no good for anyone and I know it. It started this morning over frozen slabs of ribs and continued on this afternoon over procedural stuff at work.

K said something profound to me the other day in the car: "I realized that every second, once it goes, you can never get it back. So I figured I just need to deal with it and be happy." This was in the context of all the things she hates to do, like homework and chores. She's a smart girl. Smarter than me, I guess.

I wonder if young girls know that even when they're middle aged girls, sometimes they'll still daydream of being somewhere else, you know, better. I want to tell K and A this but I think it will just depress them.

On the 30th, our church begins the "40 Days of Purpose" a Bible study based on the Purpose Driven Life. I'm hoping for something wonderful. "Cause on every drive home, I blank out in traffic wondering over and over -- why am I here?

I don't subscribe to either of these guys' philosophies but these quotes do seem apropos in my current frame of mind. Actually, the Kierkegaard is kind of funny. I know the answer but it doesn't prevent me from asking the question from time to time.

Where am I? Who am I? How did I come to be here? What is this thing called the world? How did I come into the world? Why was I not consulted? And If I am compelled to take part in it, Where is the director? I want to see him.
-Kierkegaard

Being religious means asking passionately the question of the meaning of our existence and being willing to receive answers, even if the answers hurt.
- Paul Tillich

If I am here to please God, then let me begin. I hope there is just some small thing in my daily life in which He might find pleasure. But how do I know? It's not like He's tapping me on the shoulder and saying "Hey kid, good job.". It would be nice if He did.

Weighty Issues

Q: If you could change one physical thing about yourself, what would it be?
A: weight. No, wait.... no, weight.

I am back on my Weight Watcher's program again after a long hiatus and an 18 pound weight gain. Of course that's still 30# less than what I weighed 2 1/2 years ago.

I told T last night that the real reason I wanted to get the weight off was not for my health or well-being but because truly I am vain as Snow White's stepmother and when spring rolls around I want to be able to peel off my woolies and bulky sweaters to reveal a bathing suit appropriate body underneath. Actually, what I'm after is a solid fit on the one piece of shiny clothing I own, a green & white satin blouse I bought for my work escapade to Vegas last year.

"Vanity, thy name is woman." Well, Hamlet said that but basically T did too. I don't blame him. My attitude toward weight loss is dysfunctional at best, self-destructive at it's pinnacle. As if the shiny blouse dilemma isn't enough, I also have a 20 year high school reunion this year, should I choose to attend. okaaaaay - stop!-

Weight issues really need to be about what you feel good about and what is healthy. There is no perspective on what a healthy weight is anymore. It's been "thinner is better" since I was old enough to crawl. It's not that I want to be 5'4" and 110# (although it looks pretty good on Natalie Portman, Michelle Williams, Carmen Electra, Shania Twain and Jodie Foster). At that height/weight I would be 4 pounds under my lowest ideal weight by most charts. I'd like to be 5'4" and maybe 135, a weight no self-respecting Hollywooder would ever claim. Of course models and actresses aren't allowed to weigh more than an average-sized chihuahua without being told they're fat.

I guess when it comes down to it, all those weight loss catchphrases, like "fuel is fuel" and "nothing tastes as thin as good feels" just irritate me. If I'm going to lose weight and keep it off, maybe feeding my vanity instead of my face is a justifiable means to an end. I honestly feel better at 147 than I do at 157 and certainly a heckuva lot better than I did at 189 ... plus. I wonder how much better it might feel to be 137? Or 127? I was once -- I just can't remember now.

If it seems like I'm going back and forth on this topic with no clear direction, that's how my weight "life" has been since the 8th grade. Up, down, out, in, no direction, no compass pointing north. Just an endless Bermuda Triangle in which the compass spins and every day I get up only to face this mess again.

Maybe someday I'll get it right.

What Ifs

http://www.theyaremissed.org/ncma/


If that was the final kiss, or
if I let your hand go
and never saw you again
or you never saw me
would we do this differently?

What would you tell me, or
What would I tell you?
That I love the way I saw
time mark your face
these many busy years?

Would you love me laughing, or
how the sun made my hair
look honeyed and wild
and that you were glad that
I made it home in a storm?

What things are never said, or
what feelings stay tucked in tight
while we stand side by side
in the kitchen, not talking
the world turning without mercy.

Would we say thank you, or
just "goodnight, sleep well"
would we even know that this would be
all there was of the "us" and that
tomorrow may change it all?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just some thoughts put to paper after I saw this website. It was a link from a link from a link that originated with a new theater/events venue in downtown KC: www.screenland.com. I can't imagine how much pain the families and friends of those missing people must feel-- to say goodbye for the last time, to have an arguement, to get a hug and kiss and assume that they'll be home later -- and then they just aren't.

For the 150-millionth time, how blessed I am.

The Past

I opened this up with not much to say -- just knowing that I should write something because it's been a while. Then an odd thing happened. The commercial carpet sales person that came to measure my office turned out to be a man I worked with from my very first job out of college. He no longer works for the company but as he talked, he told me about people who were there that have either left or died. As he talked, I could envision them perfectly: each quirk and habit, the way this man held his diet soda or pushed up his glasses, the posture of the secretary as she walked along the halls. The way that man looked behind his desk as he laughed and reached for his coffee cup. It reminded me of how small our world is (especially one you've lived in for 15 years) and also it reminded me of the very fresh, very young girl I was then.

I wonder what she would think of me and the life I live today: different husband, different job, different home and much more complicated concerns. I really was just a girl then -- just 2 years older than my oldest stepdaughter: a novice in marriage and in life. Even my posture in pictures seems to say that not all of me was quite grown up and prepared for what was to come. Some people might think it's sad -- to look at a picture of a girl and say, "Poor thing, she has no idea what's coming." I didn't. But I'm glad I didn't know. I have always dealt best with what's in front of me at that particular moment. The future would paralyze me because I'd spend all my time trying to fix or change it for the better. In the end it all works out, despite my "best efforts".

Life is what it is and sometimes the past drops in to visit. It makes us think of things and people long gone from the world. It certainly blurs and softens with age. It's OK to ponder but I wouldn't want the past to pull up a chair and hang around. Today I will do what's put in front of me and I will remember that girl with some pleasure. And then I will open up the door and let the past go back from whence it came.

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

loud and proud

Last night Oprah did a show about the lives of 30-year-old women around the world. I wasn't going to watch but it was actually really interesting... that's interesting, like I didn't know we were so... such... losers.

I was surprised and to find that I was a little ignorant about some of the other lifestyles and traditions featured on the show-- Kuwait, Rwanda, Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia), Australia, Mexico, Brazil, France, Iraq, etc. Except for the woman living in Rwanda, it appears we U.S. women are missing the international boat on shopping, massage, wine, body upkeep and general merry-making. What really disappointed me though was the constant refrain from all the women in these varied and culturally rich places: American women are fat, American women are culturally ignorant, American women don't take pride in their appearance, American women don't enjoy their femininity, American women are loud, big, pushy, self-absorbed. And so on.

Wow, well, OK. As a fat, loud, comfortably-dressed, ignorant American woman, I'd just like to say -- whatever. I don't want to excuse real ignorance and lack of concern for other people groups. But in my own defense, I can only say that there are are 298 million U.S. residents -- and 6.114 billion other people in the world. We're 4.6% of the world population, according to the U.S. census bureau. And we're supposed to know about every thing that happens in each and every one of those other countries? The really ironic part is that in many cases, the women from those countries don't appear to know us at all.

The average American woman I know is a tender mom, a good friend, generous to a fault, loves to laugh, longs for romance, is a loyal wife or girlfriend. She's thoughtful, funny and really, pretty open minded. She'd like to be thinner, prettier and have more massages but she responds to stress by eating and yet struggles with her self image. She works in and out of the home.

The women I know openly weep over world disasters -- like the tsunami in Asia. They don't have emotional off switches and they don't shout everything they say.

But it isn't just American women: that's what people think of all Americans, isn't it? Dare I say it? I shall! I think it's fashionable to bash Americans, while at the same time holding out a hand for cash. We give -- but not enough. We're rich -- but we're stupid. We're poorly educated -- but our universities are filled with international students. We're lazy -- but we work too hard.

Here's what we are: we're blessed, we're lucky, we're who we are by a simple twist of fate -- that we were born here and not in Bangladesh or Siberia. Now that we are here, we work hard. And we'll share with our world brothers and sisters, even as we're vilified and demonized.

I wouldn't trade it for the world, whatever they say about us.

Merry Christmas

My best gift has already come. My childhood friend came to my dad's house on Saturday. We've been friends for almost 30 years, so there isn't much we can't or don't talk about and it was so deeply joyful to see her. I can't even say how much I love spending time with old friends, I should stop being so lazy and do this more often.

That's Christmas for me -- that feeling of being deep and safe in the arms of family and friends. I'm so lucky, because I love where I work and I am so happy when I come home at night to my husband and kid(s) and critters. There have been times lately when I have felt restless and lonely but I just got a heaping helping of what I need most-- closeness, affection, laughter, trust, friendship, safety. Turkey and mashed potatoes, Scrabble with my mom, the ritual of Christmas morning (even if it's a little early). These are the real gifts -- the ones that don't come with bills and the ones that I will hide in my heart for the dry times.

Thanks to God for his gift that enables all other gifts, tangible and intangible. What we have is so precious, I hope you all stop and savor the flavors and aromas of life this Christmas season.

And if I don't talk to you again, Merry, merry Christmas.

Gloria, Gloria! they cry, for their song embraces all that the Lord has begun this day: Glory to God in the highest of heavens! And peace to the people with whom he is pleased! And who are these people? With whom does the good Lord choose to take his pleasure? The shepherds. The plain and nameless--whose every name the Lord knows well. You. And me.—

--Walter Wangerin Jr.

"Somehow he [Tim] gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant for them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see."

--Charles Dickens (A Christmas Carol)

blogjam

Christmas is coming
It's obvious that Christmas plans have overtaken every part of my life. The writing has gone by the wayside and so has everything else I normally do in the evenings and on the weekends. Now there is just endless evenings of wrapping in front of ABC Family's "25 days of Christmas". Actually I'm moving away from wrapping and on to Christmas cards, now.

I don't think this is a bad thing, I'm just saying...

Getting out in front of the New Year's Resolution
I've given myself an early New Year's resolution, promising myself and God to get back to reading the word each day. I equate my spiritual journey to weight loss -- something I need to do for my own health but also something which is easy to blow off when temptation comes along. I'm ashamed to admit this but it's the reality I live in. I'm easing in to it by switching back and forth between my Bible (in a kind of wherever-it-falls-open methodology) and Nicole Johnson's book "Fresh Brewed Life". Last night I read through most of the first chapter of her book and most of Joel. I don't know what it all means yet but I know I feel better already. I was starting to get a dark angry cloud and this morning it really did feel as though the sun was coming out again. It was so good to read that there are other women who feel just like I do sometimes -- when I think I am going crazy and I must be the only one thinking this stuff...

Ms. Johnson quotes another author, Emilie Griffin:

"HE is the one who can tell us the reason for our existence, our place in the scheme of things, our real identity. It is an identity we can't discover for ourselves, that others can't discover in us -- the mystery of who we really are. How we have chased around the world for answers to that riddle, looked into the eyes of others for some hint, some clue, hunted in the multiple worlds of pleasure and experience and self-fulfillment for some glimpse, some revelation, some wisdom, some authority to tell us our right name and our true destination."

And that is how I feel. Maybe this is a mid life crisis only a little bit early, perhaps. I want to have a talk with God and ask Him, "What is my right name?" Where do I fit? Who needs me and for what?

Blessed Beyond Measure
What makes me most irritated about myself and that grey cloud I've been under is the absolute stupidity of it. I am so blessed it's practically running out my ears. My life is a little glittering diamond of a life, sparkly, hard, full of beauty and promise. I am really, really thankful. I am.

But still, I'd like to know,

what
is
my
right
name?

Food Porn

One of the biggest laughs I've gotten so far this week has to do with the introduction (or reintroduction, rather) of the Monster Burger at Hardee's. First, read this article. You should probably also know that I am a former marketing manager for Hardee's. Hence, the reason I care about this tempest in a drink cup.

After years of some really hard times, Hardee's is getting back on its feet -- using whatever means are available, even "food porn". I love the fact that they are now getting some really high profile PR by flying in the face of the healthy-low carb-diet-ourselves-miserable mentality we're beginning to adopt here in the land of plenty. Not that we shouldn't look in the mirror a little more: we are pretty fat. Believe me, as a lifelong dieter, I don't think people should eat a Monster Burger every day. But come ON --- once in a while is OK.

After all, any guesses on the average fat and calories of a sandwich at Panera? They have 8 sandwiches that are over 800 calories each. How about the Dulce de Leche Caramel Cheesecake at Cheesecake Factory? 1010 cal/71 g fat/84 g carb. There's over a 1,000 calories in the Kung Pao Shrimp at P.F. Chang's, 1,280 calories in the Sweet and Sour Pork. Schlotsky's still boasts the highest calorie single sandwich I've ever seen -- the large Original has 1917 cal/102 g fat/8 g fiber/161 g carbs. Now that's a sandwich any Survivor cast member would love to see in Jeff Probt's hands on challenge day.

Truth is, there's a lot of food out there that is bad for you in quantity. But there's also undeniable pleasure in treating yourself to something decadent and gooey once in a great while. After many years of Weight Watchers, I still eat pizza and I still brake for the s'mores and other yummy things at Silver Dollar City when we go at Christmas time. I've learned that I simply don't trust people who don't like food. The whole "food for fuel" mentality honestly gets me down. So we try to eat light and healthy every day -- and have really good treats once in a while. Shave ice on vacation. Mac & cheese and a dixie cup sized taste of homemade peach cobbler from a soul food place on a Friday night, just before we go burn off some energy decorating the church for Christmas. Italian at a nice restaurant before we go to see a play. These things are, in my estimation, part of why it's great to live in America today.

Some day Americans will be thinner and healthier and then we'll need another movement -- one to restore people's sense of humor, which is being dieted off, or liposuctioned out, maybe.

Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit.
-W. Somerset Maugham