Can't Sleep

Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Can't sleep.

Can't sleep.

I'm trying a new cure for insomnia. Type the same words over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over

I think it might be working. I'm getting sort of tired sort of tired sort of tired sort of tired sort of tired sort of tired

It's an alternative to counting sheep. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Except that I'm sitting up at the computer so I won't be able to just fall asleep.

Sleep is a funny thing. I mean, isn't it weird that we just have to shut down for hours at a time. That we're still alive but our whole body is unconscious. Shut down to such a degree that I don't even hear things or remember things, except for dreams of course. And those are weird too. That my whole being is barely conscious but my subconcious is creating something in my mind. Crazy. What if right now I were sleep-typing instead of sleep walking or something? No, I'm not. I promise. Just can't sleep.

I've been having insomnia for about a week now. I hate it. At least I usually get to sleep pretty late in the morning. Which always makes me feel like a lazy ass, but I've reconciled that by now. I'm a musician and that's just how it goes. Musicians get sleep late passes. It's just how it goes. Has anyone ever heard that Ben Folds song, "Not Tired." That is one rad song. He played it at the John Floofyhair concert, but I also heard him play it with the Houston symphony and that was friggin amazing.

OK, so I'm gonna try to go to sleep again. G'night.

Riddle Me This (4)

Fancy: If it rains one more time in this forsaken town...I swear it's gonna be like that movie...what's the name of that movie?...The one with Kevin Costner...Aqua Land? Somethin' like that.

Seth: Um. Water World?

Fancy: Yes.

*********************************************

I can't remember the context of this next one, but it's the newly created word "submotage" as in:

The office employee brainstormed ways to "submotage" his co-worker competing for the raise.

Dangerous Prayer

I found these quotes from The Anchoress.

Once conform, once do what others do because they do it, and a kind of lethargy steals over all the finer senses of the soul.
- Michel Eyquem de Montaigne

Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired.
- Mother Theresa of Calcutta

There is just one life for each of us: our own.
- Euripides

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
- e.e. cummings

Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.
- Oscar Wilde, De Profundis, 1905

How much easier is self-sacrifice than self-realization.
- Eric Hoffer

If God had wanted me otherwise, He would have created me otherwise.
- Johann von Goethe

"One of the most dangerous prayers to make, in a world full of dangerous prayers: Lord, help me to be what you have made me to be. Lord, help me to be myself, in all the vulnerability that comes with authenticity." - The Anchoress

Catholicism: Where To Start?

The science of the voice has much to do with the utility of breath. When one learns to sing properly, the singer understands that breath is essential to creating beautiful sounds. However, when the singer first begins to use the fuller capacity of the lungs and executes rapid exhalation procedures for more challenging phrases, or to reach that fearful high note, the singer can often become dizzy or light-headed.

I am inhaling the Catholic Church at a rapid rate and find myself a bit disoriented.

And I haven't even skimmed the surface.

Where do I even begin? Thousands of years of doctrine and history, all of it fitting and weaving together, one doctrine depending on another, and leading to yet another. Colossal movements of history defining where Christianity is today.

A bit overwhelming, really. But! I stay the course. Well, first I should decide on one...a course that is. And I think that it would help us all to first look at areas in which we agree. It may be safe to say that we are not all assured of where those agreements lie. It's tempting to get right down to it and throw darts at the statues of St. Peter and the Blessed Mother, Queen of Heaven. But I'm not sure our aim would be skillful, or we'd find ourselves aiming at only illusions of what we suppose our intended targets to be, our darts passing right through, and the attempt, ridiculous.

If, along the way, dialogue ensues that reaches into those depths of differences, then by all means, please proceed forward. Or if questions arise or topics change, good. Most assuredly, I will post on the most desired of topics in time, those which highlight our differences, but I welcome any such discussion that occurs before, as it only helps me as I learn.

Which brings me to an important point. I believe it is necessary, while studying the Catholic church, to remain open minded when faced with theological ideas foreign to the thinker. Not to do away with judgement altogether. Of course not. But to realize that one cannot make an educated conclusion on anything without considering there be truth somewhere in that thing before excluding it.

I thought I would make a new blog for all of this, but it seems the success rate in the multi-blog area is low. What's the point really? I'll post here. If you're interested, then read it. If you're not, then don't.

So there we are. Rules stated. I'll get on with it soon. I promise.

Things I Learned From My Husband...

How to make the most kickin'A ham and cheese sandwich:

**Of your two pieces of whole wheat bread, spread one with equal amounts of mayo (Miracle Whip in our house) and mustard.

**Sprinkle salt, pepper, and oregano on top of the mayo/mustard combo. (Yes!, she exclaims gleefully. Oregano!)

**Add desired ham. Try brown sugared ham for the best results

**Add swiss cheese. Cheddar or Pepperjack will suffice.

**Add sliced deli pickles. For best results, use Claussen Sandwich Slices. I like good 'ole dill. He likes dill or hearty garlic.

**Close sandwich with other piece of bread.

**Enjoy

And Things My Husband Learned From Me

How to replace the above items to the proper place from which they came:

**bread, complete with twisty tie, thus sealing its freshness

**ham, tightly sealed in container and in the drawer of the fridge, not just anywhere in the fridge

**cheese, contained within ziplock baggy, in the drawer with the ham

**salt, to the cabinet

**pepper, beside the salt

**oregano, likewise

**mayo, with lid screwed completely on

**mustard, without excess yellow splurts dripping down the side of the bottle

**pickles, with lid screwed completely on, so as to prevent pickle juice from spilling on hand, fridge, and floor at next sandwich opportunity

**knife, rinsed and placed in sink

Tunesday: Folsom Prison Blues

Johnny Cash is a hero of sorts to me. I loved his autobiography and highly recommend it.

I read somewhere else of his beginnings with his band, the Tennessee Two. Johnny had come back from the Air Force and wanted to start a band. He met these guys, Luther and Marshall, and so they'd all get together to play. Problem was they all strummed a guitar, and that's pretty much it. Not much of a band there. Johnny had the voice, and that was OK with everyone, so he'd sing. But they needed a bass player, and they needed a lead guitarist. So Marshall buys a cheap upright somewhere and finds a friend who could teach him how to tune it. Since none of them knew how to play an upright bass, Johnny, Marshall, and Luther sat around finding where the notes were on the strings, and marking them with noted sticky tape. Johnny'd play a note on his guitar, Marshall would find it on the bass. He'd mark it, and onto a different note.

So lead guitar went to Luther. He'd practice for hours and hours, day after day, weeks upon weeks. It didn't come easy, and when it finally came, it still wasn't easy, so he'd stick to the same line every time, methodic, simple, direct, but clear and precise.

It was this fumbling that brought them the sound for which they became famous. A train-like boom-chuck-boom kind of sound. I love that: the sincerity in music, stripped of its pretense, played by guys whose weaknesses became their corporate strength. The idea that what you have to give, nothing more, is good enough. It's liberating as a musician. So here is:

Song: Folsom Prison Blues
Artist: Johnny Cash and The Tennessee Two

Father's Day Flub

I mailed my dad a Father's Day card that never arrived at my parents' house. After cursing the American mail system, and amicably arguing with my mother, insisting that it is highly unlikely someone would have intercepted the card along the way in hopes of finding cash, I decided that I would send my dad a card that couldn't be lost. At least not in the immediate future. Here it is.

Dear Dad,

Remember when I was 6, and Grandmother gave us her piano, and when it arrived at our house in Corpus Christi, I stood behind you and watched you play.
Remember the family "rassling" matches where our chief objective was to find out how in the world to tickle you without getting tickled first, and how you could somehow pin me, Eric, and Mom down with one arm and tickle us all at one time. We won on occasion, but only because mom got free and was the only one who could make you laugh.
Remember how you taught me to pitch in slow-pitch softball, and how we would practice in the front yard for hours. I could strike 'em out because you taught me how to pitch with an arch high enough to fool the batter, but drop right behind the plate. It got'em every time.
Remember how I could usually get out of a spanking with No daddy No daddy No daddy, pleeeeeease!
Remember that game we used to play, where I tried to match my footsteps to yours.
Remember how you could always help me with my math homework.
Remember how I used to show all my friends that came over this picture of you:
because I thought it was so cool that my dad used to have an afro, and "he even got it permed sometimes." (Heh heh)

I remember how you never missed a show, or a solo, or a game, or a recital, even if you had to drive miles and miles. That you've always encouraged me to follow my dreams, that you've always been right behind me, smiling, nodding, helping. That mom is the love of your life, that your work gave me opportunity, that your worry was my security. That I could look at you and know that my husband should be like that. And he is.

Thank you for loving me....
for better....

or for worse...

I love you, Dad.

Happy Father's Day,
Your One and Only Daughter....

Consumer Craze

I heard an interview on NPR the other day while I was driving to rehearsal. The interview was with this water specialist whose name I don't think I even heard, but wouldn't be able to remember anyways. He was talking about the consumption of bottled water instead of tap water. He said that Americans now consume more bottled water than any other beverage, including coffee. When asked about the reasons for why we enjoy drinking bottled water over tap water, he replied that it had to do with the perception consumers had about the bottled water. That it was somehow more elite to drink it. Back in the 80's, before what he called "the fitness craze" took place, there was Perrier and Evian. He reminded us of what a big deal it was when Madonna appeared on stage with a bottle of Evian, which I don't remember but maybe you do. Since then, with other brands available like Dasani, owned by Coca-Cola, and Aquafina, owned by Pepsi, it has become a consumer frenzy to drink bottled water rather than tap water. His point was that this consumer frenzy is wasteful. It's an unnecessary use of facility, transportation, resources, and money spent. Our water system in America is incredibly safe and healthy. And that Dasani and Aquafina were nothing more than regular tap water filtered and bottled. The craze didn't have anything to do with the fact that the bottled water tasted better than the tap water.

I wondered if he'd ever lived in Houston, TX.

Church That Calls Itself Catholic

This church that calls itself Catholic, what's it all about? It's a topic that has intrigued me for some time now. As many of you know, unity through Catholic and Protestant dialogue interests my husband as well. If you've ever been to Seth's blog, and the majority of you have, you know that Catholic ideas are discussed frequently there. My interest in the Catholic church goes back to pre-Seth days. Since most of you have only known me since I've been married to Seth, it might seem that I merely adopt the Catholic interests of my husband and call them grand. On the contrary, I enjoy thinking for myself, which leads me to my post today.

I should stop here and share with you my spiritual upbringing in regards to church and such. I was raised Church of Christ. My mother was raised Church of Christ, and if you've ever been raised Church of Christ, you know that it's considered a grievous sin to leave the Church of Christ. Strangely enough, we did. The elders of our congregation felt that our preacher taught too much on grace, and so he was asked to resign. He did, and a number of families left with him, one of those being ours, to start a new church: a non-denominational church. Our preacher could preach on grace as much as he desired, and we could have as many instruments as we wanted, and we all loved each other very much. But my mom's parents weren't so happy about it, and to this day, as gentle and loving as they are, they refuse to speak of God or church or Jesus with my family.

Our non-denom church was a happenin' place to be, until our preacher announced he no longer believed in hell and that the whole world would be saved. So most families left, my family being one of them. By this time I was in high school and had some best friends that went to the Baptist church. The big one that had everything to do, that took cool trips, and had the cool kids. So I told my parents I wanted to go there, to the Baptist church, with my friends, and my parents said OK.

At this Baptist church, I attended a Bible study on Tuesday nights led by a man I highly respect, that taught me the Catholic church was a cult. I didn't really believe it, but I also didn't challenge it. I was told the Catholic church worshipped Mary, and so that's why I should consider it a cult. I was led on mission trips to Mexico to witness to Catholics, because they couldn't be saved. "Why? I thought they believed that Jesus was the Son of God." Because, well, they're Catholic, they don't really know what they believe. That's what I was told. So I handed out my tracts, and I felt really spiritual.

And then I went to college and tried to interpret the Scripture on my own with some other friends. I studied and studied, hours and hours at a time, by myself and with my friends. We came up with some ideas we thought were really smart. We thought we could start our own church because we knew how to use a Strong's concordance. But we only invited certain people to our meetings. People that wouldn't question our studies. People that we felt were saved enough, that were called out enough. But we were wrong. And when I realized we were wrong, I didn't pick up my Bible for a very long time.

Along the way I read wonderful writers like Chesterton, St. Francis of Assisi, and Brennan Manning: Catholic writers, introduced to me by my brother (who, like me, isn't Catholic). My brother and I would share ideas and we'd read things to each other that were beautiful. These writers' love for Christ was strong and deep and full of adoration. Surely they were Christians....

And then I met Seth. And he knew these writers, too. We liked to talk about them, and did quite often, before we were dating. He had this other girlfriend at the time. (A story for another day.) He had Catholic friends and even tried to set me up with one. (Another story for another day.) I remember a lunch Seth and I shared together. We were discussing Chesterton's Orthodoxy, and were debating what Jesus meant when he prayed in John 17. The prayer goes like this: (v. 20-23)

"My prayer is not for them (Apostles) alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me."

So it's only natural I wonder about this church that was supposedly a cult, but seemed to love Jesus so very much. I wonder where many of their beliefs come from. Tradition, Mary, the Pope, the Eucharist, Purgatory. I wonder at the church history. That they claim an apostolic line succeeding from those like St. Peter who walked with our Lord. I've wondered for a long time now, but have known that learning all of this would take a great deal of effort, and I guess I wasn't ready to exert that effort.

I would like to learn more of what my Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ believe. I think I'll blog about it. It makes it easier for me to learn. So...if you want to learn along with me, or discuss, or question, or tell me what you know, please do. My intent is to start another blog and when I post, I'll direct anyone who's interested to link over. I'm looking forward to it, and I'd love your input. Thanks for enduring this long post.

Tunesday: My Doorbell

Song: My Doorbell
Band: White Stripes
Album: Get Behind Me Satan



This might be my favorite music video of all time.

Heroes For A Day

I've never actually seen a kitten trapped high in a tree. You know, the kittens that firemen rescue and Superman saves.

Until today.

Between loads of laundry, as I walked in my park, I kept hearing the wailing cry of a kitten, but was for the longest time unable to find it. I eventually looked up, and there it was, high, high in a tree. A tiny little black smudge against the green blur. (I hadn't put my contacts in yet.)

Oh no, I thought. What do I do? Well, what could I do? I'm not a fireman with a great big ladder. And sadly, I don't fly. So I ran in to get my cell phone...and camera, of course. Because it's not every day that you actually see a kitten trapped high in a tree. I placed a call to our apartment complex alerting them of my newfound friend trapped high, high in a tree. Seth, curious of the sight, accompanied me outside to see what could be done.

Can you see him?

We called to it. I used the best, annoyingly squeaky kitty call voice I could muster. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! C'mon kitty! Ohhh, you can do it. I know it's scary, but just try. Heeeeere, kitty, kitty, kitty!

Meooooooow! It stared at us like we were insane. You want me to WHAT?

C'mon kitty!

Meooooooooow!

C'mon!

Meooooooooooooooooow!

And then...He did it! He started a vertical climb down, falling bits at a time onto branches to which he clung for dear life.

Before we knew it, he was right above our heads.

We did it! We saved him! Heroes for a day! Hooray!


And this is how we left him.

No, we did not wait for him to make it completely to the ground for fear of taking him home against our will. We like our couches and would like for them to remain unscathed. We also like our bathrooms free of kitty litter and our clothes worn without the aid of a lent brush.

I am terribly afraid that the kitten might have climbed back up the high, high tree once we departed unto our home-without-animals. But as heroes, there is a price that must be paid. Attachment leads all heroes into trouble. Superman would have been just fine without Lois Lane tempting him to go all human and everything. No, no. We resist the urge to befriend our subject. Goodbye, dear helpless, homeless, darling kitten. We will always think of you fondly. Farewell, and farewell. Your humble servants and heroes always.

Ben and His Pants

Seth and I went to the Ben Folds/ John Mayer concert last night. I have since made a deal with myself. I will never again see Ben Folds in concert unless he is headlining AND I have premium seats. I am too big of a fan to be seated miles away on the wet, muddy grass with cigar smoke being blown in my face and into my hair, around people who couldn't give a rat's boohiney about Ben Folds. Nope. Not doing it again. Just wait for the right time and spend the big bucks, I have since said to myself. It's better than watching Ben leave the stage to be followed by Mr. I Love My Guitar Almost As Much As Myself So Sit And Watch Me Play This Solo....Over and Over...In Every Song. And wonder why everyone around me cares so much.

So that's really how I feel about it. It was like this.

Ben Folds

John Mayer

Which, yeah I should have expected but didn't for some reason.

But hey, Ben climbed up and stood on top of the piano. And then dropped his pants. So that was fun. Don't worry, he had boxers on, really long ones. And don't worry, I was too far away to see anything anyway. And don't worry, I wouldn't have wanted to see anything even if I could, and had I been closer I would have shut my eyes and screamed, "Ben, you sinner!" So thank goodness we were so far away, huh?

OK, so I wouldn't have said Ben, you sinner, but I would have definitely closed my eyes and screamed. But seeing as we were miles away I just stood there and laughed with Seth and said, "Oh my gosh! Seth, he's unbuttoning his pants!"

Favorites Game (3)

Favorite fruit.

Ready?

Go.

"When the dog bites, when the bee stings....."

Tagged By Kat

Kat tagged me a while back and I'm finally getting to it. Here it goes:

8 things you don't know about me:

1. I was just cast in a production of The Sound of Music here in Houston.

2. I'm crazy excited.

2. I will be playing the role of Liesl.

3. In the musical, Liesl is 16 years old.

4. I'm 28.

5. What I haven't told anyone is that I have a magic ring that I keep in my coat pocket....

5. Just kidding. Let's try #5 again. I have a love interest in this musical whose character name is Rolf. Rolf is 17.

6. His real name is Mark and he is really 17.

7. I think I have to kiss him.

8. That's really messed up.

8. That wasn't about me so let's try #8 again. I love theater and used to be very involved in it, which people here in Houston don't know because since we've moved to Houston, I haven't done any theater.

6. #6 wasn't about me so let's try that one again, too. My past credits include Maria in West Side Story, Rosemary in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, The Witch in a semi-staged production of Into The Woods, Nellie in South Pacific, Susan in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (7th grade), and Spring in Old Man Winter (3rd grade), in which my arch nemesis was Winter. I wore a pink, frilly dress that was really itchy. I defeated Winter by refracting the sun's rays upon his face with the aid of a mirror. My lines as I defeated him were, "Old Man Winter's got to go! He's got to go! He's got to go!" And then the little spring flowers joined in...."Old Man Winter's got to go! He's got to go! He's got to go!" Glorious!

I am really excited about doing a show again. Rehearsals start this week. Woo hoo!

And I tag....anyone who is reading that....has never seen The Sound of Music.

Tunesday: Nessun Dorma

I cannot watch this video without being moved to tears. It's not just because it's my favorite aria of all time. Nessun Dorma, the most beautiful song ever written for man to sing. The song whose most well-known singer, Pavarotti, was introduced to me by my grandmother. It's not just that Nessun Dorma is the song that we played at her funeral because she adored Pavarotti. It's not because this man in the video has the most perfect vocal technique....He doesn't really...again, just listen to Pavarotti. It's not that.

It's....well, my words cannot do it justice yet. Perhaps I'll attempt in the comment section. But please watch. This is from the show, "Britain's Got Talent."

Toxic Fame

What is it with famous people? Why do I care? Why, when I'm in the grocery store, do I furtively glance at US Weekly while standing in the check out line? I was ticked off at Brad for ditching Jen and getting with Angelina. I was irritated at Tom for eating the placenta of his new born child, or however that story goes. I stayed up last night and watched the longest E Hollywood special on Britney Spears just to see why she shaved her head. I didn't get to that part though, because after 2 long hours of staring at her midriff and a jirating rear end, listening to her say,

"Oh my gaw! I mean, like, the media, was just, like oh my gaw, just after me, like every time I turned around." and

"(Gasp) Madonna, she is like, I mean, I never knew what it was like for my fans when they were crying all after me and everything, until I realized how much I worship Madonna." or

"It was just a kiss. That was no big deal. I mean, at first, I was like, you want me to WHAT? And then I was like, it's just acting, I mean, c'mon! And so we just did it. It was totally Madonna's idea. But I watched the play back and thought, 'Hey, that wasn't so bad. That was pretty hot."

I finally turned it off so that my nausea would subside. But I watched it for two whole hours even though the whole time I didn't want to, and the whole time my face was curled up like a dried apricot.

So what is it that makes me care about the lives of these people any more than the lives of anyone else around me? Why is the media so faschinated with them? What's so different about them? It's not their careers really. Is it their wealth, their beauty, the glam? We know their lives aren't perfect. In fact, we're more fascinated when they screw up. Is it just the allure of fame? Of the whole world knowing who you are? Do we all just secretly want to be famous?

Why?

Riddle Me This (3)

Some riddles for you. Have at it, fancied friends. I think you'll find these....simpler...than others.

The following is a conversation between me, Seth, and Seth's dad, last week on the way to see Seth's sister, (OpMom).

Seth's Dad: Oh, I know I shouldn't be worryin' about those things, but I do.

Seth: Dad, you worry too much.

Me: You're like my dad. Both of you are Papa Hens.

Seth: AGHH HA HA HA!

Seth's Dad: Aww, that was pretty cute.

Me: Dammit! I KNOW hens are girls!

And here is a conversation once we get to OpMom's house. (whose permission I have not received to post this, but I'm sure she won't mind.)

Me: Your house looks great, OpMom!

OpMom: Thanks! I hated the way the previous owner left it. So I stripped the wallpaper in the kitchen and painted, and I'm about to paint the walls in the living room and dining room.

Seth: Wow, OpMom, that's alot of work.

OpMom: Yeah, but I decided it was time to take the ball into my own hands. (Upon saying the word "ball" she holds out her hands in front of her as if she's holding a basketball.)

Silence.

Seth: AGHH HA HA HA!

OpMom: What?

Me: You switched your phrases. It's OK. I do it all the time.

On Sleeping and Waking Up

The other night, Seth was out of town, and I had a nasty cough that made my chest feel like a thousand knives were scraping the insides of my lungs every time I inhaled. So I took a couple of Mucinex DM's, and settled into my cozy bed with a book. The bedside lamp cast its soothing light as I read with head and shoulders propped up by my double-pillowed rig I use for such late night reading occasions.

I was doing just fine.

And then, all of the sudden, my room was lit up by the morning light pouring in through my windows. Glancing over at my alarm...7 AM...I noticed my lamp was still on. Huh? Why didn't I turn my lamp off before going to bed? And then I became aware that my head was propped up in old-woman-sleeping-poistion. It didn't register until I noticed my fallen book on the floor.

Watch out for that Mucinex DM. It'll knock you out.

*********************************************************************************

This morning I woke up and groggily made my way into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. It's important that coffee be the first thing of which I partake when I arise.

A minor problem.

The water that came from the tap as I filled the Brita filtering thingy was yellow. Pale, nasty yellow.

I don't know about you, but I LOVE yellow water. I LOVE that I couldn't brush my teeth this morning without wondering how many germs and how much dirt was entering my body. I think it's so great that, in order to take a shower today, I have to be OK with pale nasty water being my cleansing medium. I am so glad that my coffee was postponed as I let the water run, thinking the yellow tint would just go away, when in fact it did not.

Thank you, Houston TX, for such a wonderful morning surprise. How delightful.

Tagged by Mz. J

I've been tagged by Mz. J. And man, am I late doing this. Here it goes:

1 person who has changed the course of your life for the better:

The man from Reading Rainbow

2 teachers who have contributed to your learning:

1) Mr. Rogers

2) Grover

2 colleagues who make your job worthwhile:

My only colleague right now is Seth, so...

4 people who make you feel special:

1) Trish McEvoy

2) Whoever makes Bigstar Jeans

3) Whoever makes Aldo shoes

4) My pedicurist

5 people you need in your life and why:

1) A housekeeper

2) A personal chef

3) A chauffer

4) A masseuse

5) A pedicurist

....for obvious reasons


I'm also a little behind on a tag by Kat. Will be coming soon....

Oh, and I tag...whoever is reading that has ever....swallowed a bug.

Tunesday: Eleanor Rigby

The Beatles! It's a Beatles Tunesday today. It's pretty much impossible to pick a favorite Beatles tune. For me it changes with almost every single listen. I can hardly pick a favorite Beatles record. Right now it might be "Revolver." But I don't know, so I've decided that I'll try to pick a favorite from each record. At least the later records.

Ah ah ah...tut tut. Patience, fancied friends. One at a time! I will not disclose them all in one sitting!

I've heard it said that once you've caught the Beatles bug, there's no stopping the rave listening frenzy. It's true, very true indeed. I didn't grow up listening to them. I would hear avid Beatles-lovers go on and on, but I didn't get it. Seth kept saying, "Oh just wait, Fancy. Just wait till it hits you at the perfect time." I thought...eh, whatever.

But lo and behold, it hit me! And in the strangest of circumstances. A high school show choir production of all places. Now before you go getting all huffy puffy about how a show choir singing Beatles is lame (and OK, you might have a point), hear me out.

I choregraphed the show, which as you can imagine, is very difficult. You just shouldn't choregraph The Beatles, but if I wanted to get paid, which I assure you, I did, I had to persevere, attempting to creatively rework various Brit pop rock tunes into musical theater madness.

In the midst of it all, I sat down, exhausted, in one of the auditorium seats as the students worked on stage. They finished a choreographed, cheeky, rhubarb-filled "When I'm Sixty Four," (which actually ended up working, amazingly enough) and assembled into what the musical theater buffs call a "picture," which is just a nicer way of saying "a staged arrangement of bodies." They began to rehearse an acapella version of "Long and Winding Road," and as I sat and listened to these lyrics fitting perfectly into this beautiful melodic line, I was in awe. I HAD to hear more Beatles. REAL Beatles.

Then this kid got up with his guitar and played "Revolution" with the band. That was it. I was sold. I thought, this is INCREDIBLE. Why don't I know this music? And so into Beatles land I went, where you find me now.

This is Eleanor Rigby
Band: The Beatles
Album: Revolver

Arrival

I think the "coolest" kind of people are the people that are so into what they're into, that they have no reason to care what anyone else thinks about them. It's the gangly 15 year old who just wants to play his violin. Maybe it's the lawyer writing novels in his spare time. Maybe they're professors imagining and creating entire other mythical worlds. Something tells me these are the kind of people that go on to do great things. The rest of us stay in one place trying to please each other. Trying to be what we think everyone else wants us to be.

That's a torturous place if you give a flip about being honest. Until you're lulled into thinking that place is what you want, because everyone's telling you that you want it. And then, you wake up and remember to dream. And then you remember to pray. You begin down the long road of hope amidst surrender and then, once you've experienced fear and failure and falling, you try again.

And again.

And again.

And you begin to see that the joy is in the doing, in the going about it. That what we're given is a gift. And then a peace equal to contentment, not lacking motivation, guides you into being who you were created to be. To some this comes easier than to others. For some of us, it takes a while longer, but we arrive, when we realize the arrival is the journey itself.

Today's Headlines

Quite a bit of buzz in the news today.

As I'm sure you've all been informed by now, as I was when a "Breaking News" story interrupted my T.V. movie, Honeymoon in Las Vegas, that Paris Hilton is now back in jail. Previously released to house arrest due to medical conditions by the sheriff, a crying Hilton was taken back into custody today and hauled to court, crying the whole way there. Upon being sentenced by the judge to her original sentence, Paris bellowed, "Mom!....It's not right!" and was escorted from the court room in hysterics.

And in other news, Isaiah Washington has officially been fired from ABC's hit show, Grey's Anatomy, for being rude to gay men.

These are the headlines of our day. And as interesting and enticing as they are, we surely can't overlook the story below. When something like this occurrs and is hardly noticed....what is the world coming to?

Michigan Man in Wheelchair Takes Wild Ride

By JAMES PRICHARD, Associated Press Writer

"A 21-year-old man got the ride of a lifetime when his electric wheelchair became lodged in the grille of a semitrailer and was pushed down a highway for several miles at about 50 mph.

Ben Carpenter was unharmed but was taken to a hospital as a precaution. He had been secured to his wheelchair by a seat belt. Carpenter, who has muscular dystrophy, told a television station that he thought he might not make it through the ride.

"I was probably thinking that this is going to keep going and not stop anywhere, 50 or 60 miles somewhere," he told WOOD-TV of Grand Rapids.

Ben Carpenter's father, Donald, told The Associated Press that his son had started to cross at an intersection Wednesday afternoon in Paw Paw, about 140 miles west of Detroit. The light changed to green while his son was in front of a semi, which started moving.

The wheelchair's handles became lodged in the grille, the father said, and the wild ride started.

Motorists called 911 on their cell phones, and a pair of undercover police officers who happened to be nearby saw what was happening. They pulled the truck over and told the disbelieving driver, Donald Carpenter said.

The chair was undamaged except for losing most of the rubber on its wheels, he said.

"It's a very bad story that ended very well," he said. "We're just thrilled that he's still around." "
*******************************************************************************

It's hardly believable and while I shouldn't laugh and have so far refrained from doing so, can't help but gape in wonder at the circumstance.

Dreambores

That is what I am renaming this movie. Dreambores.

I am sadly dissappointed, folks. I seriously thought I would be more impressed. The only award that the academy should have offered this movie was Best Costume Design, or whatever the academy likes to call it. Those girls' costumes were freaking amazing. Wow.

But I am very sorry to say... that this musical was boring. Of the 15 million cazillion songs, I fast forwarded through half of them, because the songs were so dadgum long. And c'mon. If you're going to tell the story of the Supremes and James Brown, and especially if you're going to throw in Jackson 5 look-a-likes, then at least use the real songs! Not some fake crap that sounds like the white man writing it is trying too hard. I know, I know. They probably either couldn't get the rights or it was too expensive or WHATEVER, but seriously. Jersey Boys is doing it on Broadway right now, aren't they? Real songs, real names, all that good stuff? Sherry Baby? Big Girls Don't Cry? Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons?

Yes, Jennifer Hudson was good. She can out sing anyone, and yeah, she knows how to sell a song. But beating out Cate Blanchett for Best Supporting Actress? No. Jennifer sold the same song wrapped in different packages 5 different times. She's mad and she deserves better. We get it. We got it the first time.

Beyonce was actually alot better than I expected. I've seen her in other movies and always thought it was a joke. But I actually liked what she did here, and in some ways, I thought it had more depth than Jennifer's character. And she's just so strikingly beautiful. All those different hair styles and make overs. Very cool.

Now I will say that I think it is extremely hard to make a musical work on film. Musicals are made for the stage. It's almost impossible to make a good movie musical. I think some have pulled it off in the past. Sound of Music, My Fair Lady, and Chicago come to mind. But they all throw you off guard because they have that bust-out-in-song-instead-of-the-spoken-dialogue-you-expected element. It works on stage because...well it's the stage! You've got a freaking orchestra in between the audience and the actors! It just works. But it's hard to do in film. So with that in mind it was well made. It was a good looking film. Lots of glitter. Cool sets.

But unfortunately...boring.

"Z"

When I first met Carol, I thought she didn't have any friends, because she was dying to talk everytime I passed her in the park. But it seems that Miss Carol has made quite a few friends in our apartment complex.

We sat at the picnic table at our park yesterday evening, and Carol brought more pictures. Pictures of her "animal kids" as she calls them, including a pet Ball Python named Rex. And her parrot Pebbles, and her parakeet, Oscar, and of course Misty. It's been almost two weeks since Carol had Misty put to sleep. Pebbles is the only animal child left. Carol has always told me that she used to be fat, but since she never eats or drinks anymore because of her PTSD, she'd lost over 100 pounds. It was always hard for me to believe until I saw the pictures yesterday. It's true. She was hardly recognizable. And then, there was a picture of a pretty middle aged blonde woman playing with Pebbles. I inquired who she was. Carol said that used to be her best friend when she lived in the house. They lived on the same cul-de-sac. But she was dead now. Her husband killed her. That was a little harder to believe....

As I looked at the pictures, Carol was busy talking with friends. She jumped up to go see Jackie. Melody came over to say hi. But Carol was quick to point out those I shouldn't trust. She informed me of the troubled kids running around. She pointed out one of their mothers and told me of how this woman would stand on the street corner at night and get into men's cars.

One Indian woman, in regular street clothes rather than the traditional Indian garb, who introduced herself as "Z", came over while her four-year-old grandson played on the playground. Speaking through a thick accent, she told Carol of how sorry she was that Misty had passed away. That she knew how hard it was to watch a loved one suffer. Z remembered the time when her father was bedridden for years and had to care for him. It was hard to watch, Z said. She suddenly stopped talking as her eyes filled with tears. Carol immediately stood and hugged her. I watched as Carol comforted this older woman. Then Z told Carol that Misty was with Jesus. Now whether or not you believe the spirit of dogs experience life after death, is inconsequential. The thing I found odd, that took me by surprise, was that this Indian woman believed in Jesus. Did she really, I wondered, or was she just saying that?

Carol sat back down, and we all continued to talk for a few minutes. As Z said goodbye she reached down to touch Carol's face, the way a mother does to a daugher, and told her it was good to have friends like me. Z looked over knowingly, almost as if she knew my insecurities, like she could read my mind. And somehow, without saying anything, assured me to keep loving Carol.

I know, it's so strange, and sounds like maybe I'm imagining things. But seriously, it was weird. And I really can't ignore it.

/To be continued/

Tunesday: Hide and Seek

When I first heard this song I was blown away. I sure hadn't heard anything like it before, and I still haven't.

Here it is: Hide and Seek
Artist: Imogen Heap.
Album: Speak for Yourself

Happy Listening.

Here's me and Seth at her concert:

And here's that crazy lady, Imogen, singing Hide and Seek, with that crazy instrument whose name I always forget:

Netflix

It fuels our addiction to 24, but on the other hand, saves us a whole heck of alot of money. I highly recommend this nifty little service.



We started using Netflix only two weeks ago, although the company has had a strong go at it for quite a while now. Strong enough to cause Blockbuster the humility of matching the deal or calling it quits. Except with Blockbuster you don't have to wait for it in the mail. You can either use the store or the mail for the same low price...yeah yeah yeah, you've seen the commercials.

But we don't have a Blockbuster near us, only a Hollywood Video, unfortunately, and Hollywood Video's the biggest scam since 60 cents a minute long distance. No one's ever in there when we go, and upon asking the cashier if Netflix is running them out of business, she replied, "Shoo' yeah. I gots me some Net-flix." as she sheepishly grinned and demagnetized our 3 movies at 3 bucks each. That's 9 bucks for only half a season of 24! Yeah, right! Like I'm gonna keep going there when I can get a whole month's worth of movies (that's probably 2 whole 24 seasons, 3 if you're insane) for 15 bucks!

AND, checking the mail has never been so much fun! Today I got Dreamgirls in the mail, and I can't wait to see if Jennifer Hudson deserved that Oscar she got for Best Supporting Actress. (I mean, c'mon, she beat out Cate Blanchett. Really?)

Hooray for Netflix!

Conclusions on Worship

Last week I wrote about worship and my recent personal experiences with it. Been thinking about it some more, and here's what I know:

I know that worship is a lifestyle and not an event.

I know that when I lead others in worship, I should focus on and care about the God of my worship, and not the reaction of a congregation.
I know that this is hard because while I lead, I am on a stage.

I know that my purpose as a leader is not only to worship, but to help others do the same by meeting their needs as worshippers.

I know that the words I sing should be dedicated to the Lord, even when I don't feel close to Him.
I know that not feeling close to Him when I sing them does not mean I have failed in worshipping Him.
I know that worship doesn't always feel good. It is not always exciting.
I know that when it does feel good there's not a better feeling in the world.

I know that the movement of the Spirit in a congregation is impossible to judge in 20 minutes.
I know that the movement of the Spirit in a congregation is equal to the love they have for one another, not how loud they sing, or how much they clap or yell or smile.

I know that anything the Spirit does is in spite of myself.

I know that worship will not always look the same.

I know that you can market a worship CD, but not a worship experience.

I know that worship cannot be packaged and sold because it is not something I get, but something I give.

Spearmint?

I should drink more water. It's the best thing for you. Good for your skin, good for weight control, good for your overall health, and good for my sadly dehydrated vocal chords from 2 cups of coffee every morning.

But here's my problem. I think drinking water is boring. It doesn't taste very good, just plain. So I thought I'd branch out and try some of that flavored spring water I've been seeing at Target.

Of all the bottled water for sale on the shelf at Target, of all the Ozarka, Dasani, and Evian. Of all the different flavors, watermelon kiwi, mixed berry, grape.....why in the h### did I choose "Unsweetened Spearmint"?

Unsweetened Spearmint?

What was I thinking?

This stuff is disgusting.

Why did I think that water that tastes like minty gum would taste refreshing? Dumb dumb dumb.

I am so mad that I spent 3 bucks on four plastic spearment flavored spring water bottles that are bound together with such tough plastic material that it takes 5 minutes with the scissors to loose just one.

I am so annoyed at myself for not being able to enjoy my water. Just stick with Ozarka, people. Good ole' natural flavored spring water.

Untitled Tuesday

Thought I'd share some of my favorite music with you. Hopefully every Tuesday. Shall we call it Tuesday's Tunes? Or A Tune for Tuesday? Or Tunariffic Tuesdays? I don't know, let me know if it comes to you.

I think a good song writer is one who gets into the soul of a thing. Lyrically, musically, artistically. Ben Folds is one of my favorite song writers. Rather than talk about it, I'll just let you listen.

Let me know if you have trouble playing it. Just click on the link. And hopefully the greatness will not be hindered by the poor sound quality of the squished flat frequencies of an uploaded MP3 file blaring out of your tiny computer speakers. If you like what you hear, I highly recommend purchasing it from iTunes or wherever you do that sort of thing. It's worth it to hear it well. Let me know what you think, and if it makes you think of a song or an artist you like, let me know that, too, so I can check it out.

He wrote this for his son. This is Still Fighting It.

My! What Fancy Pants I Have!

So how do you like my pants? Pretty fancy, huh?

It was a Good Try...

8 and 1/2 hours to Tulsa, Oklahoma. 8 1/2 hours back. 17 hours total. That's how many hours we spent in the car this weekend for my father-in-law's surprise 60th birthday party. Only to find out, upon arrival in Tulsa, that the party was no longer a surprise. Someone accidentally spilled the beans.

At least they didn't tell us before we arrived. When you drive that many hours in a short amount of time, it helps to know that when you get there, you'll get the satisfaction of seeing a 60-year-old man flip out when he realizes that his family drove from across Texas to tell him they love him.

AHHhhhh, oh well. I love my in-laws, so I was excited to see them, surprise or no surprise. And my father-in-law was grinning from ear to ear the entire party.


He couldn't have cared less if it was a surprise.

Riddle Me This (2)

1) Prior to Seth's doctoral comprehensive exams:

Mom: What did you guys do last night?

Me: Well, I stayed up and read while Seth studied. He was burnin' the midnight hour, let me tell ya.

Mom: Oh, really?....?

2) After Seth passed his doctoral comprehensive exams:

Seth: Man, I am SO glad those are over.

Me: Yeah, no kidding. But I'm really proud of you. I mean, you worked hard, really put the iron to the...oh wait,
this isn't gonna be right...iron to the mill?

I caught myself that time.

Jews and Tax Collectors: How the Crowd Viewed Zacchaeus

So, about Zacchaeus.... Now I'm not sure how interested you are in this subject. I assume most of you don't click over here for sermons or history lessons. But humor me, because this Biblical figure is quite interesting to me, for good reasons, which I'll share at a later time. For now...

Following our look into the Biblical figure, Zacchaeus, we ask the question: How did Jewish custom or law perceive those Jewish men who opted to become Roman officials by way of the publican, or tax collector?

The Talmud, which began as an oral tradition or law explaining what the Torah (Genesis - Deuteronomy) means and how to interpret the five books and apply the Laws therein, was compiled and written down around the 2nd century C.E., after the fall of Jerusalem and her temple in 70 C.E. Orthodox Jews believe God taught the oral law (Talmud) to Moses, and he taught it to others, down to the present day. It is from the Talmud that we draw societal conclusions and laws governing Jewish tax collectors.

We know that during the time of Christ on earth, the Pharisees were the Jewish sect that strictly followed this oral tradition. In fact, it was a Pharisee that later compiled the written Talmud in 2nd century C.E. What we don't know is how much weight these laws had with the other sects of Judaism at the time of Christ.

I have not gone to the original sources here but rather take mostly from the writings of Alfred Edersheim, a Messianic Jewish scholar of the late 1800's in The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah. Brief internet sources are cited.

1. The lawfulness of paying Roman taxes was questioned by Rabbinical teaching. Why? For one, Roman rule over the Jewish nation was against the expectation, hope, and redemption of Israel. The Jewish publican was seen as the embodiment of antinationalism, a man gone to work for the other side, so to speak. And second, religious conviction, especially of the most devout Jews, demanded no homage to any lord but the one true God.

2. There were two types of tax collectors. Those who collected the regular dues of ground, income, and poll tax. And the custom house official, of greater Roman importance, and the object of chief hatred. It was the custom house official that could inflict greater hardship on the people, taxing them on anything imaginable. Imports, exports, all bought and sold, road money, harbor dues, axles, wheels, animals, bridges, etc, etc. Even the research of modern scholars has not been able to identify all the names of exacted dues. Tax collectors often stopped travelers on their journeys, forcing them to unload all goods, animals, and searching through private letters and such. Quite an annoyance to any traveler in route to a necessary destination.

3. Both classes of publicans fell under a Rabbinic ban: Tax collectors were disqualified from being judges or witnesses in law suits, because they "exacted more than was due." It was also believed and stated that repentance was especially difficult for tax-gatherers and custom house officials. Jews were forbidden the changing of money from the chest of the custom house officials who did not keep to the tax appointed by the government. Those that volunteered their service to Rome did so in hopes of making profits on their own account. Or at least that is how they were viewed. The Talmud charges the custom house officials with gross partiality, showing favor to those they wished, and exacting from those who they did not favor. They were considered a criminal race. If a Jewish tax collector belonged to a sacred association, they were at once expelled, though restoration was possible through repentance. They were said to be oppressors, and against them every type of deception was allowed so as to avoid their oppressions.

4. Records of the brutality of the tax collector: Recorded by Philo (30 B.C.E - 45 C.E.), Hellenized Jewish philosopher from Alexandria, Egypt: "They [Romans] deliberately choose as tax collectors men who are absolutely ruthless and savage, and give them the means of satisfying their greed. These people who are mischief-makers by nature, gain added immunity because of their "superior orders," obsequious in everything where their masters are concerned, leave undone no cruelty of any kind and recognize no equity or gentleness . . . as they collect the taxes they spread confusion and chaos everywhere. They exact money not only from people's property but also from their bodies by means of personal injuries, assault and completely unheard of forms of torture." From De Specialibus Legibus (http://www.taxhistory.org/thp/readings.nsf/cf7c9c870b600b9585256df80075b9dd/a5321448c7e17ff185256f0a0059a4ba?OpenDocument)

5. Records of favorable Jewish publicans: There are cases of recorded religious custom house officials showing favor to Rabbis, or giving them notice to go into hiding. There is an instance related of a tax gatherer becoming a Rabbi, though the more rigid of his Jewish brothers refused association with him.

Married to a Music Man

(The following takes place Saturday night between 11 PM and 12 AM.)

I love being married to a music man. It's just hilarious ALL the time.

Right now I'm sitting in the living room, laptop out, surfing the blogosphere, waiting for Seth to finish working. He's in the middle of producing someone's record. He just purchased some kickin-major-A headphones, so he works with them on. Which is beneficial for me, because I get to enjoy the dear silence, with only the occasional sound of the silent keys of the keyboard pounding out an unheard tune.

So here I am, enjoying the blissful silence, the hum of the air conditioner, pondering deep life issues, while he works on the record in the music room. Suddenly I hear, with no warning at all, Seth burst out in song at the top of his lungs.

YEEEAAAAAHHH! YEAH, YEAH, YEAH! AHEE CAN ONLY IMAGIIIHHHH, YEAHHH, YEAHHHH! Hmmmm, Hmmmm-mm-m.

The outburst of song fades into humming, then interspersed Yeah's amidst pauses, a couple more hums, and once again,

Dead silence.

This has happened before. Sometimes instead of singing it's sudden and alarming drum sounds he creates vocally that I couldn't even begin to sound out so as to type them. Wup...here we go again.

YA TA TA TA, YA TA TA TA, 1 EE AND UH, 2 EE AND UH, YA TA TA TA.....

I love my life.

He just stopped and yelled out to me from the other room, "AM I TALKIN' LOUD? AMBER? AM I TALKIN' LOUD?" Yes, dear, you're talking extrememly loud. "I CAN"T HEAR BECAUSE OF THESE HEADPHONES."

I'm laughing so hard I can hardly see my computer screen. I think I should rephrase my first sentence.

I love being married to my music man.

An Honest Look at Worship

I don't know a thing about Brian McLaren or the Emerging Church Movement. I know people in Evangelical circles question his theology, and I know the Emerging Church Movement is considered by some to be Postmodern, whatever the heck that means. But when I heard Brian McLaren speak on worship and art and God, it rang true deep down inside.

We led worship for about a year at a "contemporary" service at our church. And on tour last fall we usually incorporated worship into our set. But the more we led the worship, the more uneasy I felt, the more ackward I felt. There were times when a genuine feeling of corporate worship would grab hold of us all, and I felt at one with the Christians in front of me. And that was great, but I confess it rarely felt that way. I don't know about the people in front of me, but I didn't necessarily feel close to God or true to Him. Most of the time it felt like I was being watched, judged, depended upon to make the Holy Spirit move. Or maybe the latter was the inane expectation I placed on myself.

Here's what Brian says about it:

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

I've been thinking alot lately about how much I love CINNAMON. Cinnamon and Zacchaeus, that's what I've been thinking about. A great number of my favorite things to eat include cinnamon. When I was a little girl, my dad would make cinnamon toast on the weekends. I was so excited to get out of bed on Saturdays because I knew that Dad would be in the kitchen. And I would sit down at the table in my PJ's with scrappy hair and ask Dad to make me Cinnamon Toast. He would mix cinnamon and sugar together. Sometimes it was already mixed together in a plastic container. Butter the bread. Sprinkle LOTS of the cinnamon and sugar mixture onto the buttered bread. Place the bread on a cookie sheet. And put it in the oven until the butter melted, and the cinnamon sugar would soak into the butter and get all mushy, but the outside of the bread would toast at the same time. Oh MAN was it good, right out of the oven. So, in honor of my dad's famous Cinnamon Toast, here are my top 10 favorite cinnamon items.

10) Spiced Cider brewed all day over the stove at Christmas

9) Brach's Cinnamon hard candy

8) Old Fasioned Cinnamon Donuts from Dunkin Donuts

7) Cinnamon Toast Crunch Cereal

6) Cinnamon Wheat Thins (These are new and incredibly delicious.)

5) Snickerdoodles!

4) Cinnamon Graham Crackers (spread some peanut butter on these, and wow.)

3) Cinnamon Raisen Bread

2) Cinnamon Vanilla Creme coffee creamer

1) CINNAMON TOAST!!!

Carol Update

This week was hard. We met in our park and talked, but the conversation was exhausting. According to Carol, most everyone is out to get her. Her evil sisters and her evil neighbors, the evil credit card company, the evil apartment managers, the evil electric company. She talks with a low, harsh, monotone voice, like her parrot, Pebbles. And when she's especially anxious, her large hazel eyes dart back and forth, scanning the park for evil suspects. She went on and on and on. I spoke a total of...probably ten minutes...in one and a half hours. I'm not exaggerating. When I did speak it was to mention that, possibly, her evil neighbors weren't so evil because they asked her an insensitive question about her husband's death. Maybe they just didn't know what to say. Alot of times people don't know what to say. She ignored me. Talked over me. Acted like she didn't hear me. I got tired. My back hurt. My head throbbed. She called someone a bitch every 20 minutes. She trusts me and Seth and another girl in our apartment complex, halfway trusts the woman across the way, and that's it, she says.

It's starting to weird me out. I don't know if that's good or bad.

She brought me two cards she wrote to Tim when he was alive. One for their 10th anniversary and one for their 11th. Just so I could see what she wrote to him, how she felt about him.

She made an appointment to take Misty to the vet to put her to sleep. The tumor on Misty's lip is getting too big, and she's having a hard time eating. She showed me an email she received about a place where dogs go when they die. A place "this side of heaven" called "Rainbow Bridge", where they wait for their owners in the afterlife. Carol seemed disappointed. She said she wasn't sure about it, because she wanted Misty to be with Tim, not waiting for her on Rainbow Bridge. I didn't know what to say.

Friday's the day. I think I'll send her a card. She'd like that.

Bad Habits

When I get mad at Seth for refusing to use the dirty clothes hamper, he reminds me of this little habit of mine.


Here it is at another angle:


Those are all my shoes, except that one greenish pair. Those are Seth's really rad green shoes. And those are my incredibly pink sandals. Wow, those are really pink.

Anyways....

So I can't get mad at Seth for not using the dirty clothes hamper until I defeat this habit of taking off my shoes and leaving them under the coffee table. Or else he'll always be equipped with ammunition to strike back.

Me: Seth, the middle of the bedroom is not the place for your dirty socks! Why can't you just drop them in the hamper?

Seth: Well, under the coffee table is not the place for all your shoes. Why can't you just drop them in the closet?

Dangit. See, then he doesn't have to pick up his socks because all my shoes are strung out.

I've got to break this habit. I've got to. This logic can't be fair. You mean I have to be neat and tidy to expect him to be neat and tidy? Dangit. That's not how it's supposed to work.

Zacchaeus (con't)

I've been thinking alot of Zacchaeus lately. We had a great discussion going a few posts down, and I can't get it out of my head. You can follow it there if you'd like, but at the core of the discussion was a matter of Biblical translation: the use of verb tense that changes our understanding of Zacchaeus, depending on which way it's read.

We all know the story of Zacchaeus. We sang the song in Sunday School. He's a short, mean tax collector. Jesus hollers for him to come down from the tree. "For I'm going to your house today."

But we should take another look at the story. On account of one translation (NIV, among others), Zacchaeus tells our Lord, when accused by the Jews of being a sinner, "Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount." (Luke 19:8)

So by this interpretation, the story is that this Chief Publican, Zacchaeus, a Jew, excited by the arrival of Jesus into Jericho, expectantly climbs a tree, most likely a tree close to his house, to see our Lord walking by on the road to Jerusalem. Jesus looks up, notices Zacchaeus, sees something unexplainable to the crowd, and asks to be his guest, a high honor in Jewish custom. The Jewish crowd sees Jesus walking to Zacchaeus's house, and they become indignant. "Surely Jesus would not be guest to a sinner. A man who has taken wrongfully from us to give money to Rome. Blasphemous Rome. Causing us to pay allegiance to one other than the God of the Jews. And getting rich at the same time, by taking more than necessary and keeping the excess." And so Zacchaeus, moved by the acceptance given by Jesus that had been refused him by his own people, utters his conversion. To which Jesus replies, "Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost."

But the New King James, among others, translates Luke 19:8 as: "Then Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord, I give half of my goods to the poor; and if I have taken anything from anyone by false accusation, I restore fourfold.”

So here we see that after the complaint of the crowd, Zacchaeus testifies to our Lord that the crowd had it all wrong. They had cast wrong judgment on account of a man's career, his wealth, his appearance. Because of their laws they had considered him unworthy, an outcast. Not righteous enough. And Jesus restores Zacchaeus to his rightful place in Jewish society by looking beyond the outward appearance. And Zacchaeus experiences the love he so desperately sought when climbing the tree to see the man who healed the sick, raised the dead. drove out demons, and claimed to forgive sins. The love he was refused by his own.

Two different stories. Two different accounts of Zacchaeus. So what do we do with this? Where do we go from here?

I don't believe in signs or anything, but I saw a link on Yahoo that I couldn't resist. It was a list of famous people with the Taurus sign. I clicked on it hoping to find Audrey Hepburn shared my birthday, or someone really great like that.

Guess who I found shares my birthday?


THIS guy!

Great. That's just great.

The Crack Show

We are addicted to 24. The show. We have 24 marathons. It rocks. We're only on Season 3 so I will not be clicking on the comments link in case any of you think it's funny to tell me what happens in Season 4, 5, or 6.

Season 3 is by far the best. My stomach actually aches from the intensity, and I'm not kidding. Or maybe it's just queasy. Season 3 is about a bio threat. I won't say anymore.

Last night during a 24 marathon date with Seth, I found myself praying for Michelle.

Michelle is a character in the show.

This is getting ridiculous.

If you all watch the show and would like to discuss, feel free. I will not be clicking on the comment link, just so you know.

Jesus in My Backyard

Someone very close to me passed away about a week and a half ago. Carol and I were supposed to have lunch that week, but I had to cancel to fly out for the funeral. I told her I couldn't be there because the man who was like a second father to me passed away.

It was a nice day today, so Carol and I met in our park. We talked about Amber from the Bachelor. Carol thinks I should go knock on Amber's door. We both think we almost remember the apartment number we saw as Amber and Andy were leaving her place. Carol hopes Andy picks Tessa in the end. I hope so, too.

Carol showed me pictures of her and Tim, her late husband. Tim, who passed away a year ago on March 30. Her dog, Misty, was in the pictures, too. Misty was rolling around in the grass when I walked outside to meet Carol. Carol had told me in our last meeting that Misty had cancer on her mouth. To be honest, I didn't believe Carol. I thought she was just seeing things, or creating it in her head, because too many bad things happen to Carol for them all to be true. I saw the tumor on Misty's mouth today. It was bigger than a golf ball. And pink, bright pink, like an extended growth of her lip. Carol wasn't imagining it. She's had Misty for 14 years. Carol says it will be the end for her when Misty dies.

Carol talks alot without stopping. Mostly negative. All about the problems she's experiencing. She apologizes for talking so much, but she says the doctors tell her its part of her anxiety problem, her post tramatic stress syndrome. We talked briefly about God, whether or not Carol believes in Him, and whether or not He's good. She says Tim always believed it, and he helped her believe it, but now she's not so sure. Because if there's a God, why is there so much evil in the world? she asks me. I try to expain about how God allows evil because of man's choice to choose himself over God. But that doesn't do it for Carol. But why do the bad things just keep coming? she asks me. I asked her if she believes in Jesus. She said Tim did, but she didn't.

Carol handed me a card today. It said this: "Nothing is harder than saying goodbye to someone you love. May you find comfort in your loving memories." The card is white with very simple, watercolored, purple irises on it. Then Carol wrote on the inside,

"Amber, I am so sorry to hear of the passing of your best friend's Dad. Words are hard, at a time like this, but may it help in some way - to know others care - I care. God bless to you and to Seth, Carol."

People have been very kind in the things they have said to me about Tom's death. But I think I felt most comforted by Carol's card.

Carol's card helped me understand why Jesus says that we give to Him when we give to the least. Mother Teresa says it like this: "Whoever the poorest of the poor are, they are Christ for us - Christ under the guise of human suffering." Strange as it may sound, I experienced Christ today when a suffering, lonely, sick woman told me she cared. I am thankful for Carol.

The Bachelor in Sugar Land, TX

Woah. Woah. Woah.

Fancied friends, I am about to admit to you a little secret that Seth and I share. But it must be revealed so I can share this very weird but exciting circumstance with you.

As of this year, Seth and I now watch.....The Bachelor.

I know, I know. I slap myself every time, but it comes on after Dancing with the Stars, and you know I can't possibly miss THAT. So what do I do when, while glued to the couch dialing the number for my favorite dancing star, The Bachelor shows me scenes from last week's episode. I can't just turn it off! No, no, this stuff is too juicy. It's too catty and ridiculous. I'm watching a sorority house gone utterly maniacal. Girls, girls, girls, crying girls, conniving girls, back-stabbing and malicious girls. And one officer and a gentleman: Andy.

Andy's actually pretty alright. A good guy. Of course, when you consider that he's dating 15, then 8, then 4, now 3 girls at a time, you have to wonder how gentleman-like the guy can be. But, hey, really, and I mean this. He seems like a very sincere guy who took a step of faith to find the woman of his dreams.

So in tonight's episode, Andy goes to each of the 4 girls' hometowns to meet their families. Talk about intense. These girls are all in love with Andy! And all crying about how they're in love with Andy. And then....me! I'm crying! Why am I crying!?!? Because these girls are introducing Andy to their dads, and then one is crying to her dad about how she doesn't want to get hurt, and then HER DAD is crying! Geesh. Reality television, how did we get here? Their pain is my entertainment.

Anyway, that's not my point.

The point is, that as I'm sure you know, one of these 4 girls, Amber, is from Sugar Land, TX. So we're watching, and....Hey! That's the restaurant by our apartment! And then, they're on a playground in a park....and then! They're leaving Amber's apartment, and I say. Seth! That's our apartment complex! The Bachelor was at our apartment complex! Oh my gosh! Wait, lemme check the doors and see if they match up. I run outside and look at our door. Exactly the same, except the number, of course.

Amber lives in my apartment complex!

You should know Amber did not get a rose tonight. She went home, devastated and alone. Poor Amber. Maybe I'll see her soon in my park, and we can have lunch, and we can talk about her roommate and her aunt and her love life. Then maybe I'll tell her that I'm sorry her parents weren't there to meet Andy, just because they didn't agree with Amber being on the show. What a shame. Then maybe I'll tell her how sorry I am that her pain was my entertainment. But then maybe I'll remind her that she signed up to be my entertainment, and ask her why she would do that.

Code 5

So I guess you're supposed to get you're driver's license renewed when you turn 28. Yeah, didn't know that.

I also didn't know that when you go to the airport and hand your boarding pass, along with your driver's license, to the man or woman blocking your way to the security scanner thingy, blocking your way to your gate, that the man or woman is not just checking for a name and face match. They are looking to see if your ID is current.

Mine wasn't.

Expired 4/28/2007.

The date was 5/1/2007. Only three days expired. You'd think they'd give me a break.

Nope.

Old wrinkled man trying to sound in charge: You got another form of ID? This is expired.

Me: What?! No, uh....no, I, uh.....no. (I search frantically in my purse.)

Old man: That's OK. Go ahead. (writes something on my boarding pass.)

Me: (thinking) Yes! He let me by! Sweet.

I take my shoes off. Take the little plastic baggy with small bottles of liquid out of my backpack. Put my shoes, purse, backpack, and little plastic baggy on the conveyor belt, and confidently walk through the security door frame, hand my boarding pass to a grey-haired man whose belly hangs over his belt, and sweetly smile.

He starts to hand it back, then does a double take at my boarding pass.

Belly Man: (thick Texan accent) Wup! I got a Code 5 here! I got a Code 5!

Me: (thinking) A what?!?!

African American, very strong and very tall woman: (yelling) WHAT? WHATCHA GOT? WHAT IS SHE? WHAT IS SHE?

Belly Man: Got a Code 5 here! Code 5!

Very strong woman: WHAT IS SHE? WHAT IS SHE?

Me: What am I? What am I?

Belly Man: Ma'am, just step right over here, please. On this mat. Place your feet on the outlined feet you see on the mat. Wait here.

Me: No, I will not put my bare feet on that nappy mat. (I stand next to the mat.)

Very strong woman: Ma'am, please put your feet on the mat.

Me: (quickly) OK.

I step on the mat wondering how many other nappy feet have been on the mat. I stand and wait, my legs set in a wide stance because my feet have to be on top of the outlined feet on the mat. I stand and wait, thinking that my feet are way too far apart and that it feels weird to stand this way.

Finally the woman pats me down, feeling for weapons, I guess. I try to imagine what it's like for her if she ever actually finds a weapon on someone. Maybe she starts yelling, "CODE 6! SHE'S A CODE 6! Or maybe she nonchalantly stands and slowly walks over to Belly Man, and he yells CODE 6! Or maybe she just throws down and tackles the perpetrator right then and there.

She tells me to watch my bags as they come out of the belt. She doesn't find any weapons. Whew! She takes me to my bags, where two people go through every single pocket and rub my things down with some sort of large cotton round, then run it through some Star Trek machine. I wonder what they're checking for. Traces of invisible chemical lethal substances? A sharp pointy thing lodged in my camera? Definitely probably checking for bombs.

All because I'm three days expired.

Then she says: What'd they get you for?

Me: Expired ID. Three days old.

She laughs and nods her head, like....yeah, thought so.

What, you mean I don't look like a person you should be patting down and screening? Huh, go figure.

Zacchaeus

Still reading Blue Like Jazz. I'm close to finishing. Here Donald Miller writes about hearing Brennan Manning speak. Brennan Manning is one of my favorite writers. I've heard him speak a couple of times as well, and it's a real treat. Here's what Don heard:

"A friend and I traveled to Salem to hear Brennan Manning speak. Manning is a former Catholic priest and a wonderful writer who has struggled with alcoholism and speaks frankly about matters of Christian spirituality. We sat so close I could see the blue in Brennan's eyes and that quality of sincerity you find in people who have turned trial into service. Brennan grew up in New York and speaks with a slight East Coast bite that has been sanded down by years of smoking.

He opened his talk with the story of Zacchaeus. Brennan talked about how an entire town, with their ridicule and hatred, could not keep the little man from oppressing them through the extravagant financial gains he made as a tax collector. Christ walked through town, Brennan said, and spotted the man. Christ told Zacchaeus that He would like to have a meal with him.

In the single conversation Christ had with Zacchaeus, Brennan reminded us, Jesus spoke affirmation and love, and the tax collector sold his possessions and made amends to those he had robbed. It was the affection of Christ, not the brutality of a town, that healed Zacchaeus."