Dear Diary,
I have written about my walks and paths taken before (Killing Time,10/26/12 and Sharing My Path, 9/25/12). I haven't been on one in a while.
It is the middle of winter here in the Midwest. I started walking regularly last spring, when it was
50-or-more degrees outside. I can find no motivation to pile on the layers and attempt to go walking for half an hour when it is 40-or-less degrees outside.
I think about walking; how if I just get out there and do it, it won't be nearly as bad as my inner couch potato wants me to believe.
So while I was thinking about walking today, about where I would go to do it, it dawned on me that even though I can just go out my front door to walk, my preferred place actually involves getting in the car first. Here are my three most walked paths.
The 'Hood
My neighborhood is a big square made up of two blocks. I would need to walk around it several times to reach my 30-minute-minimum requirement. That can be dull. The only time I do this is when I am lucky enough to be with a couple of neighbors. We walk until we are out of breath from gabbing so much! Without the company, this walk is dull and predictable.
The 'Hood II
My backyard borders a different neighborhood. My yard happens to connect to it via a walking path. It is a larger neighborhood, with a windy, circular road and even a couple of inclines. And it is large enough to just meet my time limit. A little less dull, but still a predictable walk. Same houses, driveways, and barking dogs.
The Speedway
It used to be a racecourse for Jaguars and Ferraris in the '50s. It is now a public space preserved into a walking/biking path and is surrounded by woods, prairies, and hills that will make my heart pound and thighs scream. It is ideal. My preferred path. Its twists and turns make it a more interesting exercise. (And with friends, it's even better!)
As I thought about these three paths, the two predictable ones and the one less predictable, I realized why I preferred the one. Because of the unpredictability. I prefer the one in which I can't see too far ahead. I don't know what will greet me around the tree-lined bend. Another walker? A hill? The end?
Sometimes in life I wish I could see into the future, to have a predictable path. It's the safest way, right? But then I would become complacent. Always knowing where I am going would probably breed discontent and laziness.
Better to be kept pondering and alert, wondering what is just around the bend, and delighting in the anticipation of what is to come, be it an uphill climb, or downhill relief.
Yes, it is the middle of winter here in the Midwest. And after yesterday's ice storm, tomorrow will be record breaking 60-degree warmth. Guess where I'll be walking?
Warmly,
LJ
Monday, January 28, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
It's a *Small* Problem
Dear Diary,
I have a problem I must face sooner or later, and really, it is "later" now.
It crept up on me a few years ago, slowly, subtly.
It gave me urges to squint, blink, or force my eyes open as wide as they could go.
But the problem persisted.
I acquired hyperopia.
I now belong to a group of people called the middle-aged hyperopes.
Sounds like great club name for aging rope-jumpers.
No. It's farsightedness.
What a pain.
Over-the-counter readers have helped for a few years. But the visual distance at which I have to rely upon them is becoming a greater one. What was once a use for tired eyes during bedtime reading has now become a necessity for reading price tags, recipes, and menus. Yes, there is a big difference between a 3 and an 8, both in price and in measurement!
My place on the age-eyesight continuum is now to the point that I can't read the writing on the GPS mounted on the front windshield. Kind of important when driving in uncharted territory, so to speak.
Perhaps the latest little mishaps seal my bifocal lens fate. Let me mention two of them.
My body hates the dry air, which is prevalent in winter here in the Midwest. I use a lot of lotions and potions to counteract the effect dry air has on me. I have spent many-a-day squirting a store-bought saline solution up my uncomfortably dry nasal passages. I also use another solution to give relief to my dry eyes, which I use often throughout the day. I stick them in my purse to use when I'm away from home. The problem came one day when, sans glasses, I grabbed from my purse the nasal spray, and proceeded to relieve my eyes with it. Yeah. I can tell you the saline used for the relief of one body part does not transfer to relief in other body parts. And can be slightly irritating.
Continuing with my lotions and potions theme, on a weekend away from home, I decided to make use of those little bottles of shampoo, conditioner and lotion the hotel so generously provides. After my shower, I needed to squeeze out some lotion for my luxuriously soft supple skin, ahem. OK, I actually needed it for my wrinkly, crinkly neck. So I dabbed it on, and boy, did it start a subtle stinging sensation.
My beauty tip for the day: Conditioner may not be used as a substitute for lotion. Rinsing with cool water is recommended.
But I do count my blessings. I was glad I chose not to use the conditioner (i.e.lotion) in the shower earlier. Hey, those bottles are tiny and the letters are even tinier!
So, I shall continue to use my readers, which have become a semi-permanent hair accessory. Reaching for the top of my head to pull down the glasses nestled there has become second nature to me. Who needs bifocals, when my readers have a lovely home atop my head?
One day I will embrace my identity as a MAH (middle-aged hyperope).
Just not today.
LJ
I have a problem I must face sooner or later, and really, it is "later" now.
It crept up on me a few years ago, slowly, subtly.
It gave me urges to squint, blink, or force my eyes open as wide as they could go.
But the problem persisted.
I acquired hyperopia.
I now belong to a group of people called the middle-aged hyperopes.
Sounds like great club name for aging rope-jumpers.
No. It's farsightedness.
What a pain.
Over-the-counter readers have helped for a few years. But the visual distance at which I have to rely upon them is becoming a greater one. What was once a use for tired eyes during bedtime reading has now become a necessity for reading price tags, recipes, and menus. Yes, there is a big difference between a 3 and an 8, both in price and in measurement!
My place on the age-eyesight continuum is now to the point that I can't read the writing on the GPS mounted on the front windshield. Kind of important when driving in uncharted territory, so to speak.
Perhaps the latest little mishaps seal my bifocal lens fate. Let me mention two of them.
My body hates the dry air, which is prevalent in winter here in the Midwest. I use a lot of lotions and potions to counteract the effect dry air has on me. I have spent many-a-day squirting a store-bought saline solution up my uncomfortably dry nasal passages. I also use another solution to give relief to my dry eyes, which I use often throughout the day. I stick them in my purse to use when I'm away from home. The problem came one day when, sans glasses, I grabbed from my purse the nasal spray, and proceeded to relieve my eyes with it. Yeah. I can tell you the saline used for the relief of one body part does not transfer to relief in other body parts. And can be slightly irritating.
Continuing with my lotions and potions theme, on a weekend away from home, I decided to make use of those little bottles of shampoo, conditioner and lotion the hotel so generously provides. After my shower, I needed to squeeze out some lotion for my luxuriously soft supple skin, ahem. OK, I actually needed it for my wrinkly, crinkly neck. So I dabbed it on, and boy, did it start a subtle stinging sensation.
My beauty tip for the day: Conditioner may not be used as a substitute for lotion. Rinsing with cool water is recommended.
But I do count my blessings. I was glad I chose not to use the conditioner (i.e.lotion) in the shower earlier. Hey, those bottles are tiny and the letters are even tinier!
So, I shall continue to use my readers, which have become a semi-permanent hair accessory. Reaching for the top of my head to pull down the glasses nestled there has become second nature to me. Who needs bifocals, when my readers have a lovely home atop my head?
One day I will embrace my identity as a MAH (middle-aged hyperope).
Just not today.
LJ
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Not a Trivial Matter
Dear Diary,
By now I think it has been established that I like to write about trivial things.
I am no longer confident in my ability to use a pen and get my thoughts properly down onto paper, and get it right the first time. I am talking about writing a good old-fashioned letter (a rare, antiquated activity these days). I need to first type it on my computer. If it is a good long letter, I have no problem printing from the word processor and then just scribble my sig at the bottom.
But there are a few occasions when I want to send a hand-written note. However, I start by typing my thoughts onto paper, tweak it, spell check it, and then hand write it out. (In fact, honestly, this is why I decided to blog my writing instead of journal it. Hand-writing vs. typing these posts? Easy choice.)
Yes, much of my daily life is made up of triviality, like decisions on typing vs. writing. Decisions and situations that are mostly unimportant in the grand scheme of life. In fact I think most of my life is white noise trivia. Stuff that takes up my time, which masks what really matters.
So what does matter in my life? What gives my life its value?
My relationships and my faith.
Matters of the heart and soul are never trivial.
Soon I will be writing a letter. Actually two. To strangers across the sea. To prisoners I don't know. And it is no trivial matter.
I will spend a long time fashioning/typing the words I will eventually put to pen. I will look up scripture and think carefully about my message. These letters will probably be some of the most important letters I have ever written. One will go to a man named Alim, in China, and one to Imran, in Pakistan; both persecuted under a government hostile to Christians.
Here is more information on the persecuted church and prisoners who need encouragement to get through each hour of the day. The Voice of the Martyrs is doing amazing work of supporting the persecuted and their families around the world.
And I am happy to discover they have a blog!
http://www.persecutionblog.com/
These are stories that amaze me. These people are my heroes. They struggle daily for survival, while I harp over trivial matters. It humbles me. It points me to the awesomeness of God.
Now that is no trivial matter.
LJ
By now I think it has been established that I like to write about trivial things.
- Household chores
- Vacations
- Post-Its
- Deer Sightings
- Parakeets
- Sitting around a parking lot
- Etc.
I am no longer confident in my ability to use a pen and get my thoughts properly down onto paper, and get it right the first time. I am talking about writing a good old-fashioned letter (a rare, antiquated activity these days). I need to first type it on my computer. If it is a good long letter, I have no problem printing from the word processor and then just scribble my sig at the bottom.
But there are a few occasions when I want to send a hand-written note. However, I start by typing my thoughts onto paper, tweak it, spell check it, and then hand write it out. (In fact, honestly, this is why I decided to blog my writing instead of journal it. Hand-writing vs. typing these posts? Easy choice.)
Yes, much of my daily life is made up of triviality, like decisions on typing vs. writing. Decisions and situations that are mostly unimportant in the grand scheme of life. In fact I think most of my life is white noise trivia. Stuff that takes up my time, which masks what really matters.
So what does matter in my life? What gives my life its value?
My relationships and my faith.
Matters of the heart and soul are never trivial.
Soon I will be writing a letter. Actually two. To strangers across the sea. To prisoners I don't know. And it is no trivial matter.
I will spend a long time fashioning/typing the words I will eventually put to pen. I will look up scripture and think carefully about my message. These letters will probably be some of the most important letters I have ever written. One will go to a man named Alim, in China, and one to Imran, in Pakistan; both persecuted under a government hostile to Christians.
Here is more information on the persecuted church and prisoners who need encouragement to get through each hour of the day. The Voice of the Martyrs is doing amazing work of supporting the persecuted and their families around the world.
And I am happy to discover they have a blog!
http://www.persecutionblog.com/
These are stories that amaze me. These people are my heroes. They struggle daily for survival, while I harp over trivial matters. It humbles me. It points me to the awesomeness of God.
Now that is no trivial matter.
LJ
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Time to Face the Mess
Dear Diary,
I have so many loose ends to tie, which is why I sit here in front of the computer, honing my writing skills and avoiding the unpleasant.
I took a good look at my bedroom this morning. It is this close to being featured on the reality show Help! I Can't Find My Bed, Nor My Spouse.
I have a fairly large bedroom, so it has become the place where I put things that don't otherwise have an active role in the rest of the house. I have a section which is the odds 'n ends holding area. It holds my things I only use seasonally or occasionally --space heater, steam cleaner, empty gift boxes, craft stuff, stuff to give away, and yes, even a crib mattress. And where else does one put the twelve-box package of facial tissues from Costco? Then I have a corner for the bins of seasonal and oversized clothes that will eventually fit my daughters. Then I have the ironing area, complete with hanging clothes, which has already been established in this diary as a limited activity zone in my house.
On top of that, I decided that this year the top of my queen-sized bed would be off-limits to all the birthday and Christmas gift wrapping in December, including removing sticky tags and cutting the annoying sparkly, yet festive, paper to size. (No more sparkly-paper-covered gifts from me.) So I created a folding table wrapping area, which, along with all the gift wrap and bows I had to keep nearby, used up the remaining space I had left on either side of the bed.
It's time to take down and pare down. And it's daunting.
I like to tidy. There is a satisfaction in that.
But it's hard to pare down sometimes. To let go of things I might need again someday.
Well, the time has come to face the mess.
If I were really shameless I would provide a before and after photo of today's work. Nahhh. Some things, like my messy room and my actual ability to clean it up, are best left to the imagination.
Shamefully Yours,
LJ
I have so many loose ends to tie, which is why I sit here in front of the computer, honing my writing skills and avoiding the unpleasant.
I took a good look at my bedroom this morning. It is this close to being featured on the reality show Help! I Can't Find My Bed, Nor My Spouse.
I have a fairly large bedroom, so it has become the place where I put things that don't otherwise have an active role in the rest of the house. I have a section which is the odds 'n ends holding area. It holds my things I only use seasonally or occasionally --space heater, steam cleaner, empty gift boxes, craft stuff, stuff to give away, and yes, even a crib mattress. And where else does one put the twelve-box package of facial tissues from Costco? Then I have a corner for the bins of seasonal and oversized clothes that will eventually fit my daughters. Then I have the ironing area, complete with hanging clothes, which has already been established in this diary as a limited activity zone in my house.
On top of that, I decided that this year the top of my queen-sized bed would be off-limits to all the birthday and Christmas gift wrapping in December, including removing sticky tags and cutting the annoying sparkly, yet festive, paper to size. (No more sparkly-paper-covered gifts from me.) So I created a folding table wrapping area, which, along with all the gift wrap and bows I had to keep nearby, used up the remaining space I had left on either side of the bed.
It's time to take down and pare down. And it's daunting.
I like to tidy. There is a satisfaction in that.
But it's hard to pare down sometimes. To let go of things I might need again someday.
Well, the time has come to face the mess.
If I were really shameless I would provide a before and after photo of today's work. Nahhh. Some things, like my messy room and my actual ability to clean it up, are best left to the imagination.
Shamefully Yours,
LJ
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Audacious for Advice
Dear Diary,
Ever meet an expert or professional of some useful service and want to pick their brain or get free advice? I do all the time.
Oh, you are a hairdresser?
What do you think of my hair? Do you think this cut fits my face? Should I take out the gray? How do I hide my cowlicks? Do you know a good cosmetologist? I need to learn how to accentuate my eyes. Better yet, do you know a good, but cheap, cosmetic surgeon?
You are a family practice physician?
Boy, do I get pains in my (fill in the blank). In fact, right now I am kind of achy in the (fill in the blank). Is this something I should get checked out, or just take Advil, or what? And there is this thingy on my foot. Do you think it's serious? Will I need x-rays/surgery/medicine/therapy?
You work for a talent agency?
You know I used to be on the stage. Loved it. Was told all the time I'm a natural. Always wanted to do ads and TV and stuff. Have you seen my kids? They are pretty photogenic. My oldest did a rad Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz in 6th grade. Yup, they are pre-tty talented. And, well, you know where they get it from...
A techno geek?
Wow, you know my computer runs real slow, and sometimes my keyboard won't type the letter 'a'. Oh, and to properly boot it I have to simultaneously press Shift-F12 while standing on one foot and humming the UW fight song. Can you check it out for me?
You are a photographer?
Wow, we are looking to get the family portrait done again since the last one we did was before our youngest was born. Now she's 10. You think you can pull off the miracle of getting all five of us to simultaneously take a good picture (complete with ten non-blinking eyes)? Oh, and could you give me some highlights and a chin-tuck while you are at it?
Just to clarify, these are not things I would actually say to a specially trained person outside of their office. I may think them, but I am otherwise too shy and conscientious to bother them with my little problems. "Make an appointment," my right-shouldered angel of conscience would say. Audacity is not me.
I am guessing there are some who don't mind answering those questions, even on their day off. Likewise, I'd guess there are many who grit their teeth in annoyance when they are asked for their professional opinion for the umpteenth time at a dinner party.
Thankfully I don't have a vocation like that so I am not peppered with requests for advice or opinions.
"Oh, LJ, you are a wife and mother of three girls? What is the best way to wash a pink, sparkly tutu?"
Until next time,
LJ
Ever meet an expert or professional of some useful service and want to pick their brain or get free advice? I do all the time.
Oh, you are a hairdresser?
What do you think of my hair? Do you think this cut fits my face? Should I take out the gray? How do I hide my cowlicks? Do you know a good cosmetologist? I need to learn how to accentuate my eyes. Better yet, do you know a good, but cheap, cosmetic surgeon?
You are a family practice physician?
Boy, do I get pains in my (fill in the blank). In fact, right now I am kind of achy in the (fill in the blank). Is this something I should get checked out, or just take Advil, or what? And there is this thingy on my foot. Do you think it's serious? Will I need x-rays/surgery/medicine/therapy?
You work for a talent agency?
You know I used to be on the stage. Loved it. Was told all the time I'm a natural. Always wanted to do ads and TV and stuff. Have you seen my kids? They are pretty photogenic. My oldest did a rad Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz in 6th grade. Yup, they are pre-tty talented. And, well, you know where they get it from...
A techno geek?
Wow, you know my computer runs real slow, and sometimes my keyboard won't type the letter 'a'. Oh, and to properly boot it I have to simultaneously press Shift-F12 while standing on one foot and humming the UW fight song. Can you check it out for me?
You are a photographer?
Wow, we are looking to get the family portrait done again since the last one we did was before our youngest was born. Now she's 10. You think you can pull off the miracle of getting all five of us to simultaneously take a good picture (complete with ten non-blinking eyes)? Oh, and could you give me some highlights and a chin-tuck while you are at it?
Just to clarify, these are not things I would actually say to a specially trained person outside of their office. I may think them, but I am otherwise too shy and conscientious to bother them with my little problems. "Make an appointment," my right-shouldered angel of conscience would say. Audacity is not me.
I am guessing there are some who don't mind answering those questions, even on their day off. Likewise, I'd guess there are many who grit their teeth in annoyance when they are asked for their professional opinion for the umpteenth time at a dinner party.
Thankfully I don't have a vocation like that so I am not peppered with requests for advice or opinions.
"Oh, LJ, you are a wife and mother of three girls? What is the best way to wash a pink, sparkly tutu?"
Until next time,
LJ
Sunday, January 6, 2013
My Xtreme Vacation
Dear Diary,
So, I'm back from Christmas vacation.
This was not just another pack the dog, kids, and husband into the minivan and "off to grandmother's house we go" kind of vacation.
Nope, this excursion was Xtreme at every turn. Before I go on, I must provide a warning to my more sensitive readers that some descriptions and comparisons may be too graphic for your sensitive natures. Steel yourselves. Or look away.
I originally wanted to write about my first surf lesson -- and it will be mentioned. But I realized there were other things worth highlighting as well. Let me itemize just a few of the Xtreme moments.
Oh. Yeah.
One second, weightless; the next, pulling so-many-G's at 70 mph.
That is Xtreme, especially at my age. My 13-year-old daughter was on one side of me. Another boy about the same age on the other side. I giddily warned him I would be screaming my head off. He gave me the "OK, lady" head nod, then proceeded through the whole ride in the Hallelujah hands-to-heaven position. Showoff.
This was a head to toe wetsuit. I have never put one on in my life. Stuffing myself into this thing took all of the concentration and muscle effort I had. And to boot I was in the bathroom where I couldn't escape the mirror showing me just what I was trying to put into this thing. I panted, pushed, and prodded my flesh into the neoprene tubes. It was like stuffing Jell-O into a straw. I think it took me 10 minutes to get it on, and I was weak, so weak, from the effort. My cousin kindly called through the door, "I'll help you get the zipper up." Good. I was too fatigued to do it myself anyway. I open the door to be told, "Uh, the zipper goes in the back, not the front."
WHAT???? Now I gotta put this thing on ALL OVER AGAIN, after I first EXTRICATE MYSELF from its rubbery grip??? Close door. Tug, pull, peel, pant. Pause. There it lay. A rubbery blob of a body suit that WILL NOT get the best of me! The bathroom walls and mirror were closing in on me. The fatigue was overwhelming, but, no, I am not a wimp! I will show it who is boss! Weakly tug, shakily stuff, and breathlessly prod. Victory! Another assist with the zipper and I was off to the beach, weak-kneed and shakey armed. (Thank you for carrying the board, cuz.)
The rest of the experience I will summarize as a salt water cleansing. I learned that it is very important -- nay, essential, to stay to the back of the board while surfing. This lesson was taught over and over again. The picture here is of a rare moment when I became one with the wave while kneeling. The rest was pretty much a water boarding experience.
So, my Christmas vacation had its moments of new discoveries and experiences along with the familiar traditions and events.
But there is one thing I have wanted to do for a few years now.
Something so horrifying and outrageous that even my husband tells me, "No way."
I know people who have tried it that say "never again."
My Xtreme desire?
To have just one meal at the Waffle House.
It's Xtreme, but YOLO!
LJ
So, I'm back from Christmas vacation.
This was not just another pack the dog, kids, and husband into the minivan and "off to grandmother's house we go" kind of vacation.
Nope, this excursion was Xtreme at every turn. Before I go on, I must provide a warning to my more sensitive readers that some descriptions and comparisons may be too graphic for your sensitive natures. Steel yourselves. Or look away.
I originally wanted to write about my first surf lesson -- and it will be mentioned. But I realized there were other things worth highlighting as well. Let me itemize just a few of the Xtreme moments.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Worshipping the Almighty God on Christmas Eve, who humbled himself to become a helpless, human child, because he loves me so very much. That is undeniably, Xtremely awesome!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Finding myself with my finger stuck in the barrel of a Glock. Surprised? Yeah, I was too. The circumstance of this event is too Xtreme to even explain here, so maybe it's better left to the imagination. Assuredly, it was not loaded and I still have all ten fingers.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Plunging 200 feet on a 90-degree drop aboard SheiKra, the Diving Roller Coaster of Busch Gardens, Tampa Bay. Oh. Yeah.
One second, weightless; the next, pulling so-many-G's at 70 mph.
That is Xtreme, especially at my age. My 13-year-old daughter was on one side of me. Another boy about the same age on the other side. I giddily warned him I would be screaming my head off. He gave me the "OK, lady" head nod, then proceeded through the whole ride in the Hallelujah hands-to-heaven position. Showoff.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Fishing for the big catch 8.5 miles off the coast of Clearwater. Plenty of fish caught, the biggest by my husband (grouper, 26"). Perhaps the Xtreme moment was throwing a cast-off, 12-inch grouper back into the water and watching a pelican dive for it -- and successfully scooping it into his sack of a beak. It was like watching him snag a 5 lb. barbell! How would he swallow that thing? He flew off a few yards to contemplate this without an audience. Good moment for the National Geographic Channel I'd say.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Surfing for the very first time! For all the times in my life that I've been to the coast, surfing was not something I have tried. Not until the spontaneous invitation from my cousin hit my eardrums. Yes, I will try it, but no, I don't have my suit and isn't the water freezing? Oh, you have a wetsuit I can borrow? Well then, I have no more excuses!This was a head to toe wetsuit. I have never put one on in my life. Stuffing myself into this thing took all of the concentration and muscle effort I had. And to boot I was in the bathroom where I couldn't escape the mirror showing me just what I was trying to put into this thing. I panted, pushed, and prodded my flesh into the neoprene tubes. It was like stuffing Jell-O into a straw. I think it took me 10 minutes to get it on, and I was weak, so weak, from the effort. My cousin kindly called through the door, "I'll help you get the zipper up." Good. I was too fatigued to do it myself anyway. I open the door to be told, "Uh, the zipper goes in the back, not the front."
WHAT???? Now I gotta put this thing on ALL OVER AGAIN, after I first EXTRICATE MYSELF from its rubbery grip??? Close door. Tug, pull, peel, pant. Pause. There it lay. A rubbery blob of a body suit that WILL NOT get the best of me! The bathroom walls and mirror were closing in on me. The fatigue was overwhelming, but, no, I am not a wimp! I will show it who is boss! Weakly tug, shakily stuff, and breathlessly prod. Victory! Another assist with the zipper and I was off to the beach, weak-kneed and shakey armed. (Thank you for carrying the board, cuz.)
The rest of the experience I will summarize as a salt water cleansing. I learned that it is very important -- nay, essential, to stay to the back of the board while surfing. This lesson was taught over and over again. The picture here is of a rare moment when I became one with the wave while kneeling. The rest was pretty much a water boarding experience.
So, my Christmas vacation had its moments of new discoveries and experiences along with the familiar traditions and events.
But there is one thing I have wanted to do for a few years now.
Something so horrifying and outrageous that even my husband tells me, "No way."
I know people who have tried it that say "never again."
My Xtreme desire?
To have just one meal at the Waffle House.
It's Xtreme, but YOLO!
LJ
Saturday, January 5, 2013
A New Day
Dear Diary,
Ahhh, the new year. A clean slate in the form of a crisp, new, freshly marked calendar hanging from my fridge.
I find it amazing the psychology that goes into the dawn of one day -- which is no different than any other day except the date assigned to it: January 1. It is a day loaded with meaning and good intentions for the year ahead.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could assign that newness of January 1st to every day of the year?
The high hopes and expectations.
The vows to change our lives for the better.
Somehow it just doesn't work that way, especially come mid-January when we have already
failed our diets,
shirked our commitments,
and given excuses.
Well, I am glad I have this time to feel optimistic and hopeful, and even just a little bit in control of my destiny (ha!)
May 2013 be full of "Happy New Days"!
LJ
Ahhh, the new year. A clean slate in the form of a crisp, new, freshly marked calendar hanging from my fridge.
I find it amazing the psychology that goes into the dawn of one day -- which is no different than any other day except the date assigned to it: January 1. It is a day loaded with meaning and good intentions for the year ahead.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could assign that newness of January 1st to every day of the year?
The high hopes and expectations.
The vows to change our lives for the better.
Somehow it just doesn't work that way, especially come mid-January when we have already
failed our diets,
shirked our commitments,
and given excuses.
Well, I am glad I have this time to feel optimistic and hopeful, and even just a little bit in control of my destiny (ha!)
May 2013 be full of "Happy New Days"!
LJ
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Dear Diary,
This celebratory week is brought to you by:
Originally advertised (including an unforgettable musical number) by:
Proud sponsors:
I also want to share this song by Francesca Battistelli (only 2 1/2 minutes long). Just a fun little ditty -- enjoy!
Have a safe and happy Christmas and New Year!
Merrily,
LJ
Christmas Trivia:
How many wise men travelled to see Jesus? Leave your answer in a comment....
This celebratory week is brought to you by:
the Baby Jesus.
Originally advertised (including an unforgettable musical number) by:
the Heavenly Host.
Proud sponsors:
Yahweh,
Mary, Joseph,
Mary, Joseph,
the Shepherds, Wise Men,
and Santa Claus
I also want to share this song by Francesca Battistelli (only 2 1/2 minutes long). Just a fun little ditty -- enjoy!
Have a safe and happy Christmas and New Year!
Merrily,
LJ
Christmas Trivia:
How many wise men travelled to see Jesus? Leave your answer in a comment....
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Time to Take a Breather
Dear Diary,
Today I read a list of names of (mostly) children who were massacred in Connecticut.
I literally.
Stopped.
Breathing.
It reminded me of my kids' class lists they bring home at the beginning of each school year. We end up marking it up during the year, especially in preparation for the Valentines to be made and handed out in February.
It reminded me of the lists I typed up for parents in my own classroom, for which I was an aide.
But these kids won't be getting Valentines, nor will they be able to unwrap the gifts that were already under their Christmas trees, or hidden in closets.
This list of names has so much gut-wrenching meaning. And I could tack on the names of the victims of the Portland Mall shooting, the Colorado movie theater massacre this summer, and the weekly drive-by shootings of kids in Chicago, to name a few other events of recent memory.
Each person, precious. Each shooting, senseless.
I just needed to write this out tonight, in the hopes that it would help resuscitate my breathing. Who couldn't use a little resuscitation after a day like Friday?
I have been shaken out of my stupor of mundane life. I am newly revived to make the most of each day as I look forward to the celebration of Christ's birth, and the coming of Jesus again. And the kids are getting more hugs than usual these days too.
In Remembrance,
LJ
Today I read a list of names of (mostly) children who were massacred in Connecticut.
I literally.
Stopped.
Breathing.
It reminded me of my kids' class lists they bring home at the beginning of each school year. We end up marking it up during the year, especially in preparation for the Valentines to be made and handed out in February.
It reminded me of the lists I typed up for parents in my own classroom, for which I was an aide.
But these kids won't be getting Valentines, nor will they be able to unwrap the gifts that were already under their Christmas trees, or hidden in closets.
This list of names has so much gut-wrenching meaning. And I could tack on the names of the victims of the Portland Mall shooting, the Colorado movie theater massacre this summer, and the weekly drive-by shootings of kids in Chicago, to name a few other events of recent memory.
Each person, precious. Each shooting, senseless.
I just needed to write this out tonight, in the hopes that it would help resuscitate my breathing. Who couldn't use a little resuscitation after a day like Friday?
I have been shaken out of my stupor of mundane life. I am newly revived to make the most of each day as I look forward to the celebration of Christ's birth, and the coming of Jesus again. And the kids are getting more hugs than usual these days too.
In Remembrance,
LJ
 |
| Source unknown, copied from Facebook |
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
If You are a Worrier, Don't Read This Entry
Dear Diary,
Lately I have been inundated with "Don't be afraid" messages from blogs, books and Bible studies. Don't let fear keep you from saying "yes" to God. Don't let fear keep you from following your dreams. Don't be afraid to step out of your comfort zone. Don't be afraid to try something new. Etcetera, etcetera.
These are certainly worthwhile messages, which are usually either preceded or followed by several chapters of reasoning, rationalizing, or how-to-ing. Doctors, psycho-analysts, and the spiritually gifted are available to offer life-changing solutions for our life-changing fears.
Except the message I need to hear is "Don't be afraid of the little things." The little worries that keep me up at night, or steal away productive time during the day. Petty, sometimes irrational things that are not in my control -- which is obviously the reason I worry about them.
Here are some useless worries I have:
Did the dog take full advantage of his "outside time" before bedtime? What if he needs to pee in the night? How will he sleep if he's uncomfortable? He may suffer in silence and not get any sleep at all. Or he will whine and then I'll have to get up and take him outside. Ugh, I'd hate that.
One may insert a child's name in place of the dog. jk!
Or this one:
What time is it? 10:06? Isn't the host of WXYZ radio station supposed to stop for traffic and weather on the fives? But it's 06....nope, now its 07. They are really running behind this time. They need to get that caller to stop yapping and cut to the traffic girl. Why don't they interrupt? Can't they see the time? I don't even need to know the traffic and weather since I heard it 10 minutes ago, but their programming will be all messed up if they don't wrap this up. What will their boss think? Oh, finally. Two minutes late by my clock.
Yeah. I get bothered if the schedule is not followed. I blame this on my paternal genes and not on any character trait unique to me.
Oh, great, here I am revealing to all who read this diary what my petty little worries are. I am really setting myself up for some ridicule now. They are going to think I'm an idiot. Or a control freak. I don't want them to think that. I want my vulnerability to be unifying, or at least somewhat entertaining. Or worse, what if my worries make someone else start to worry about my worries. First they'll think I'm an idiot control freak, and then they'll worry that I worry too much. Or maybe naming my worries will just be a trigger for their own worries to surface. I don't want them to become even more worried worriers. But if I go back and erase those worries I won't have much of a post today. Oh bother.
Now I have revealed a sampling of the little worry wars that rage inside my head.
And here's where my readers can help me. Feel free to post uplifting comments about how I'm not alone, that you fret about the radio station's timely newscasts too, and that it's normal to worry about night-time potty breaks and other meaningless things that are out of my control.
Cuz if you don't, I'll worry.
LJ
Lately I have been inundated with "Don't be afraid" messages from blogs, books and Bible studies. Don't let fear keep you from saying "yes" to God. Don't let fear keep you from following your dreams. Don't be afraid to step out of your comfort zone. Don't be afraid to try something new. Etcetera, etcetera.
These are certainly worthwhile messages, which are usually either preceded or followed by several chapters of reasoning, rationalizing, or how-to-ing. Doctors, psycho-analysts, and the spiritually gifted are available to offer life-changing solutions for our life-changing fears.
Except the message I need to hear is "Don't be afraid of the little things." The little worries that keep me up at night, or steal away productive time during the day. Petty, sometimes irrational things that are not in my control -- which is obviously the reason I worry about them.
Here are some useless worries I have:
Did the dog take full advantage of his "outside time" before bedtime? What if he needs to pee in the night? How will he sleep if he's uncomfortable? He may suffer in silence and not get any sleep at all. Or he will whine and then I'll have to get up and take him outside. Ugh, I'd hate that.
One may insert a child's name in place of the dog. jk!
Or this one:
What time is it? 10:06? Isn't the host of WXYZ radio station supposed to stop for traffic and weather on the fives? But it's 06....nope, now its 07. They are really running behind this time. They need to get that caller to stop yapping and cut to the traffic girl. Why don't they interrupt? Can't they see the time? I don't even need to know the traffic and weather since I heard it 10 minutes ago, but their programming will be all messed up if they don't wrap this up. What will their boss think? Oh, finally. Two minutes late by my clock.
Yeah. I get bothered if the schedule is not followed. I blame this on my paternal genes and not on any character trait unique to me.
Oh, great, here I am revealing to all who read this diary what my petty little worries are. I am really setting myself up for some ridicule now. They are going to think I'm an idiot. Or a control freak. I don't want them to think that. I want my vulnerability to be unifying, or at least somewhat entertaining. Or worse, what if my worries make someone else start to worry about my worries. First they'll think I'm an idiot control freak, and then they'll worry that I worry too much. Or maybe naming my worries will just be a trigger for their own worries to surface. I don't want them to become even more worried worriers. But if I go back and erase those worries I won't have much of a post today. Oh bother.
Now I have revealed a sampling of the little worry wars that rage inside my head.
And here's where my readers can help me. Feel free to post uplifting comments about how I'm not alone, that you fret about the radio station's timely newscasts too, and that it's normal to worry about night-time potty breaks and other meaningless things that are out of my control.
Cuz if you don't, I'll worry.
LJ
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
What Was I Thinking?
Dear Diary,
The Hobbit movie is now in a theater near me.
A few in our household are excited about this. Yes, that includes me.
I have enjoyed the J.R.R. Tolkien books and Lord of the Ring movies. But I have a mind that sometimes strays from the story at hand. In this movie scene of Lord of the Rings, Liv Tyler's elfin character whispers sweet nothings into the human ear of Aragorn, played by Viggo Mortensen. While watching it, I let my mind marvel over a couple things about the creation of that scene.
First,
Tolkien had to create the ancient language for those beautiful, magical elves to speak. (Have I mentioned Orlando Bloom was an elf? I digress. But only slightly.) Back to the language thing. Tolkien did not whip up a spoken, jibberish language, no. He created a written language, with sentence structure and linguistic rules. He not only created the 'Elvish' language, he constructed almost 20 for his books set in Middle Earth. Wikipedia would be happy to share their knowledge on the subject of Tolkien and his created languages.
And second,
Once the written story became a movie, this originally written language had to now be spoken by actors as if it were their first language, while English subtitles flash across the screen for the benefit of us humans.
Yes, this is where my mind goes sometimes.
And now for something completely different (but I promise there will be a connection).
I am s-l-o-w-l-y reading through a devotional book called Praying the Names of God, by Ann Spangler. In it, week by week, I am introduced to a Hebrew name for the Christian God of the Bible. The names are taken from the Old Testament, which was written in the ancient language of Hebrew. What could be more awesome than calling God by names in His own language? For example, Elohim means God, Mighty Creator. In English I need to use three words to express the meaning contained in one hebraic word, Elohim. And it sooo cool to say! Go ahead and try.
Yahweh Yireh is another example, meaning The Lord Will Provide.
Cool, huh. These are ancient names of God that have been translated nicely into English in my Bible. But it is so much cooler to learn how God's chosen people said and prayed His name, way back when the Scriptures were written.
OK, wake up, here is the connection I promised.
As I am learning these names, I got to thinkin'. Hebrew sounds alot like the Elvish language of Tolkien. Go ahead a try it. Lean into someone's ear and whisper:
Ehad, shenayim, shelosha/ani tsame/ yim huledet sameah/layla tov
Make sure you say it Liv Tyler-style: breathy, whispery, elvishly. And don't worry about pronunciation, unless you are speaking to a Jew. Then you may need to practice first. Sounds just like elvish, yes?
Well, I guess I could have saved Tolkien many hours -- no, probably weeks-- creating a language for the elves of Middle Earth. But while the Hebrew language is beautiful, especially if it were to come out of Liv's (or Orlando's) mouth, the subtitles of the above sample would have really changed the meaning of the romantic scene. Translated into English:
One, Two, Three/I'm thirsty/Happy Birthday/Good night!
Yup, this is what goes on in my head. Welcome to my world.
Layla tov!
LJ
The Hobbit movie is now in a theater near me.
A few in our household are excited about this. Yes, that includes me.
I have enjoyed the J.R.R. Tolkien books and Lord of the Ring movies. But I have a mind that sometimes strays from the story at hand. In this movie scene of Lord of the Rings, Liv Tyler's elfin character whispers sweet nothings into the human ear of Aragorn, played by Viggo Mortensen. While watching it, I let my mind marvel over a couple things about the creation of that scene.
First,
Tolkien had to create the ancient language for those beautiful, magical elves to speak. (Have I mentioned Orlando Bloom was an elf? I digress. But only slightly.) Back to the language thing. Tolkien did not whip up a spoken, jibberish language, no. He created a written language, with sentence structure and linguistic rules. He not only created the 'Elvish' language, he constructed almost 20 for his books set in Middle Earth. Wikipedia would be happy to share their knowledge on the subject of Tolkien and his created languages.
And second,
Once the written story became a movie, this originally written language had to now be spoken by actors as if it were their first language, while English subtitles flash across the screen for the benefit of us humans.
Yes, this is where my mind goes sometimes.
And now for something completely different (but I promise there will be a connection).
I am s-l-o-w-l-y reading through a devotional book called Praying the Names of God, by Ann Spangler. In it, week by week, I am introduced to a Hebrew name for the Christian God of the Bible. The names are taken from the Old Testament, which was written in the ancient language of Hebrew. What could be more awesome than calling God by names in His own language? For example, Elohim means God, Mighty Creator. In English I need to use three words to express the meaning contained in one hebraic word, Elohim. And it sooo cool to say! Go ahead and try.
Yahweh Yireh is another example, meaning The Lord Will Provide.
Cool, huh. These are ancient names of God that have been translated nicely into English in my Bible. But it is so much cooler to learn how God's chosen people said and prayed His name, way back when the Scriptures were written.
OK, wake up, here is the connection I promised.
As I am learning these names, I got to thinkin'. Hebrew sounds alot like the Elvish language of Tolkien. Go ahead a try it. Lean into someone's ear and whisper:
Ehad, shenayim, shelosha/ani tsame/ yim huledet sameah/layla tov
Make sure you say it Liv Tyler-style: breathy, whispery, elvishly. And don't worry about pronunciation, unless you are speaking to a Jew. Then you may need to practice first. Sounds just like elvish, yes?
Well, I guess I could have saved Tolkien many hours -- no, probably weeks-- creating a language for the elves of Middle Earth. But while the Hebrew language is beautiful, especially if it were to come out of Liv's (or Orlando's) mouth, the subtitles of the above sample would have really changed the meaning of the romantic scene. Translated into English:
One, Two, Three/I'm thirsty/Happy Birthday/Good night!
Yup, this is what goes on in my head. Welcome to my world.
Layla tov!
LJ
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Crossing the Line
Dear Diary,
This is the last post I'll mention this. OK, the last one for a few weeks, anyway.
As a parent of a toddler there are many firsts to record: first tooth, smile, word, etc. The trend of firsts does continue, it just doesn't get recorded in the baby book. Since our firstborn is now learning to drive, it is a momentous first for this parent and household. It is a novelty that won't soon wear off. So, I must write, again, on the topic of driving.
I will admit that with a budding driver now by my side in our well-worn loved minivan, I am a bit more careful with my driving.
I use my blinker light 100 feet prior to my turn. [Don't ask me how far that is. Oh, too late, Sarah already did.]
I make sure I come to a full stop at lights/signs. ["Now see what that black car did? That is what we call a 'rolling stop'. Daddy got chased down by a cop for that once." Oh. Is she old enough to know that now?]
I don't text and drive, nor do I apply makeup, shave body parts, or play instruments.
The long-forgotten three second rule has also come to my attention. It now becomes an obssession with me to count down the seconds between myself and the car ahead of me. [Okay, he passed that road-kill; one....two...three...yup, I have established a safe distance.]
I am not a tail-gater, or (much of) a speeder. [I will provide sunglasses to any who need protection against the glare of my halo.] But I do have one "glaringly" obvious flaw which has come to my attention only because I have a budding young driver watching my every move.
It's the white line.
Not the dividing line between lanes. I mean the big, fat line at all stoplights and stopsigns.
Yeah. I roll right on past those -- but I do stop, thank you very much.
I will be working on that. It's amazing how many of those I ignore on my daily routes. Now that I am not ignoring them, it sure gives a different perspective to those intersections.
So while I have a renewed spirit of good driving habits, I would be remiss if I didn't include this link.
Animal crossing signs won't ever be the same for me.
I think I will market a new bumper sticker:
Drive Safe!
LJ
This is the last post I'll mention this. OK, the last one for a few weeks, anyway.
As a parent of a toddler there are many firsts to record: first tooth, smile, word, etc. The trend of firsts does continue, it just doesn't get recorded in the baby book. Since our firstborn is now learning to drive, it is a momentous first for this parent and household. It is a novelty that won't soon wear off. So, I must write, again, on the topic of driving.
I will admit that with a budding driver now by my side in our well-
I use my blinker light 100 feet prior to my turn. [Don't ask me how far that is. Oh, too late, Sarah already did.]
I make sure I come to a full stop at lights/signs. ["Now see what that black car did? That is what we call a 'rolling stop'. Daddy got chased down by a cop for that once." Oh. Is she old enough to know that now?]
I don't text and drive, nor do I apply makeup, shave body parts, or play instruments.
The long-forgotten three second rule has also come to my attention. It now becomes an obssession with me to count down the seconds between myself and the car ahead of me. [Okay, he passed that road-kill; one....two...three...yup, I have established a safe distance.]
I am not a tail-gater, or (much of) a speeder. [I will provide sunglasses to any who need protection against the glare of my halo.] But I do have one "glaringly" obvious flaw which has come to my attention only because I have a budding young driver watching my every move.
Not the dividing line between lanes. I mean the big, fat line at all stoplights and stopsigns.
Yeah. I roll right on past those -- but I do stop, thank you very much.
I will be working on that. It's amazing how many of those I ignore on my daily routes. Now that I am not ignoring them, it sure gives a different perspective to those intersections.
So while I have a renewed spirit of good driving habits, I would be remiss if I didn't include this link.
Animal crossing signs won't ever be the same for me.
I think I will market a new bumper sticker:
Save a Deer, Move a Sign
Drive Safe!
LJ
Sunday, November 25, 2012
I Can't Believe...
Dear Diary,
I can't believe Thanksgiving has come and gone.
But I am grateful for the leftovers so that I can make my Turkey Florentine recipe tonight.
I can't believe it is November 25th and I am panicked about running out of time to buy gifts (I guess the early Christmas - I mean, "holiday" - marketing is doing its job).
But I am grateful I still have exactly one month to get the job done.
I can't believe Lee got up at 3 a.m. for his super duper Black Friday Deal.
But I am grateful he let me sleep in and do my shopping at 10 a.m.
I can't believe my oldest is learning to drive.
But I am grateful there were no tears for her first hands-on lesson with dad.
I can't believe how many school concerts I "get" to attend in the next two weeks.
But I am grateful my kids love to perform.
I can't believe how low my bank account is right now.
But I am grateful my husband has a job.
I can't believe I am actually going to see my siblings-in-law in a couple weeks.
But I am grateful we are all looking forward to the meeting.
I can't believe I am a no-good-lousy-sinner.
But I am grateful that while I am yet a sinner, Christ loves me enough to be born a man,
die a criminal, and make me righteous in his sight.
This is the season of Believe.
I just need to make sure I Believe in the right thing.
LJ
I can't believe Thanksgiving has come and gone.
But I am grateful for the leftovers so that I can make my Turkey Florentine recipe tonight.
I can't believe it is November 25th and I am panicked about running out of time to buy gifts (I guess the early Christmas - I mean, "holiday" - marketing is doing its job).
But I am grateful I still have exactly one month to get the job done.
I can't believe Lee got up at 3 a.m. for his super duper Black Friday Deal.
But I am grateful he let me sleep in and do my shopping at 10 a.m.
I can't believe my oldest is learning to drive.
But I am grateful there were no tears for her first hands-on lesson with dad.
I can't believe how many school concerts I "get" to attend in the next two weeks.
But I am grateful my kids love to perform.
I can't believe how low my bank account is right now.
But I am grateful my husband has a job.
I can't believe I am actually going to see my siblings-in-law in a couple weeks.
But I am grateful we are all looking forward to the meeting.
I can't believe I am a no-good-lousy-sinner.
But I am grateful that while I am yet a sinner, Christ loves me enough to be born a man,
die a criminal, and make me righteous in his sight.
This is the season of Believe.
I just need to make sure I Believe in the right thing.
LJ
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Happiness is Thankfulness
Dear Diary,
I am a firm believer in counting my blessings. I have a few friends who believe that too. ;-)
If one is disciplined in this practice, I believe one's heart (mind, will, emotions) fills with optimism and happiness, crowding out self-pity, envy, and depression*.
In Jr. High, my chorus sang the song, Happiness, [click for link] from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. It describes what "happiness is:"
While Charlie Brown and friends sing about happiness, they are really proclaiming that a thankful heart breeds happiness. Which segues into another song, a la Veggie Tales [click for link].
Madame Blueberry is never satisfied with what she has, and therefore is (fill in the blank) . Yes, children, the answer is unhappy. It is the poor, simple family who reminds her that a thankful heart is a happy heart.
People notice happy people.
People envy happy people.
Envy no more.
The answer is here.
Be Thankful.
Have a blessedly Happy Thanksgiving,
LJ
For everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving.
1 Timothy 4:4
*Just clarifying so I don't get messages about this, I am referring to being depressed, not the clinical kind of depression, which can't usually be solved solely with the formula mentioned.
I am a firm believer in counting my blessings. I have a few friends who believe that too. ;-)
If one is disciplined in this practice, I believe one's heart (mind, will, emotions) fills with optimism and happiness, crowding out self-pity, envy, and depression*.
In Jr. High, my chorus sang the song, Happiness, [click for link] from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. It describes what "happiness is:"
- five different crayons
- two kinds of ice cream
- knowing a secret
- learning to tell time
- finding a nickel
While Charlie Brown and friends sing about happiness, they are really proclaiming that a thankful heart breeds happiness. Which segues into another song, a la Veggie Tales [click for link]. Madame Blueberry is never satisfied with what she has, and therefore is (fill in the blank) . Yes, children, the answer is unhappy. It is the poor, simple family who reminds her that a thankful heart is a happy heart.
People notice happy people.
People envy happy people.
Envy no more.
The answer is here.
Be Thankful.
Have a blessedly Happy Thanksgiving,
LJ
For everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving.
1 Timothy 4:4
*Just clarifying so I don't get messages about this, I am referring to being depressed, not the clinical kind of depression, which can't usually be solved solely with the formula mentioned.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Lessons from the DMV
Dear Diary,
Oh, Department of Motor Vehicles, let me count thy ways!
Really, you don't spend 1.5 hours of your life at the DMV without observing humanity at its finest. Or do I mean without observing the finest of humanity?
I step into that cold, cement-walled building with all the optimism of a 15-year-old getting her driver's permit. (Did I mention my daughter was with me?)
Yes, there is a sea of humans seated in the waiting area behind the glass wall dividing my line from their masses; but, no, I don't let that sway me. I don't falter. I stride up to the first DMV checkpoint. I have my file folder full of every ID paper known to me and my daughter. And the first thing we are asked is, "Do you have the blue and white form the driver instructor gave you?" Blink. What? Huh? Blue form....blue form. A few moments of shuffling past the credit card bill, school report card, birth certificate, and voila! I find a white form with blue ink: the permit application. Phew! Crisis averted. Not exactly a blue form, but it's mute now, let's move on. We are given a number and told to "Please take a seat. Computers were down for a bit this morning, so I'm not sure what the wait is." (Why do I feel like the "computers were down for a bit" every time I walk into the DMV?)
LESSON: Be prepared. Show confidence. And don't hesitate to clarify what is asked of you.
Well, the wait is thirty-plus minutes of sitting with the masses, staring at the number board along with everyone else. Numbers are called, and we all peek with envy at the person who stands up in response, a pleased-as-punch look on his/her face. And the calling system was not exactly numerical, so we waited for the next number posting with eager anticipation. Are we next? I remember years ago when I was getting my permit. We didn't have the luxury of sitting down to wait our turn. We had to be herded, weaving around the room Disney-line-style, to the next available clerk. Only this ain't Disney.
LESSON: Sometimes waiting is part of life. [For more on this, reference The Cell Phone Lot, 9/15/12] In a lull? Anticipate. Be ready when your number is called.
Our number was called, and with our "pleased as punch" expressions, we approach checkpoint #2. I can tell this guy is a seasoned employee. But he is a pleasant fellow, not a bitter one. Nice to banter with. First-time-permit-obtaining-mom type of banter.
LESSON: Pleasant encounters lead to good impressions.
Checkpoint #3 was the payment line. A very quick, no-hassle line in which to hand over our cash. Not hard to find a lesson in that.
On to checkpoint #4: The Written Test. This is the first emotionless, blank-faced employee we've encountered. But this is the written test! This is the time we need assurances that everything will be alright! We need that warm smile, those kindly eyes, telling us: "I don't know you, but from the looks of you, I'm sure you are smart. You will be fine. Don't let this colorless, windowless, room full of old desks intimidate you. I'll be here for you when its over."
LESSON: Sometimes our success needs to be determined by our own will, because we may not always get encouragement from others.
This is getting long, so I'll wrap this up. My daughter passed, and we breezed out the door with a driver's permit in hand.
LESSON: When faced with an unpleasant task, get the hubby to do it.
Most patiently,
LJ
Oh, Department of Motor Vehicles, let me count thy ways!
Really, you don't spend 1.5 hours of your life at the DMV without observing humanity at its finest. Or do I mean without observing the finest of humanity?
I step into that cold, cement-walled building with all the optimism of a 15-year-old getting her driver's permit. (Did I mention my daughter was with me?)
Yes, there is a sea of humans seated in the waiting area behind the glass wall dividing my line from their masses; but, no, I don't let that sway me. I don't falter. I stride up to the first DMV checkpoint. I have my file folder full of every ID paper known to me and my daughter. And the first thing we are asked is, "Do you have the blue and white form the driver instructor gave you?" Blink. What? Huh? Blue form....blue form. A few moments of shuffling past the credit card bill, school report card, birth certificate, and voila! I find a white form with blue ink: the permit application. Phew! Crisis averted. Not exactly a blue form, but it's mute now, let's move on. We are given a number and told to "Please take a seat. Computers were down for a bit this morning, so I'm not sure what the wait is." (Why do I feel like the "computers were down for a bit" every time I walk into the DMV?)
LESSON: Be prepared. Show confidence. And don't hesitate to clarify what is asked of you.
Well, the wait is thirty-plus minutes of sitting with the masses, staring at the number board along with everyone else. Numbers are called, and we all peek with envy at the person who stands up in response, a pleased-as-punch look on his/her face. And the calling system was not exactly numerical, so we waited for the next number posting with eager anticipation. Are we next? I remember years ago when I was getting my permit. We didn't have the luxury of sitting down to wait our turn. We had to be herded, weaving around the room Disney-line-style, to the next available clerk. Only this ain't Disney.
LESSON: Sometimes waiting is part of life. [For more on this, reference The Cell Phone Lot, 9/15/12] In a lull? Anticipate. Be ready when your number is called.
Our number was called, and with our "pleased as punch" expressions, we approach checkpoint #2. I can tell this guy is a seasoned employee. But he is a pleasant fellow, not a bitter one. Nice to banter with. First-time-permit-obtaining-mom type of banter.
LESSON: Pleasant encounters lead to good impressions.
Checkpoint #3 was the payment line. A very quick, no-hassle line in which to hand over our cash. Not hard to find a lesson in that.
On to checkpoint #4: The Written Test. This is the first emotionless, blank-faced employee we've encountered. But this is the written test! This is the time we need assurances that everything will be alright! We need that warm smile, those kindly eyes, telling us: "I don't know you, but from the looks of you, I'm sure you are smart. You will be fine. Don't let this colorless, windowless, room full of old desks intimidate you. I'll be here for you when its over."
LESSON: Sometimes our success needs to be determined by our own will, because we may not always get encouragement from others.
This is getting long, so I'll wrap this up. My daughter passed, and we breezed out the door with a driver's permit in hand.
LESSON: When faced with an unpleasant task, get the hubby to do it.
Most patiently,
LJ
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Chores I Could Do Without
Dear Diary,
Here are a few chores I really would like to limit to just an annual occurrence. Believe me, I have more, but I am keeping it to three so that I can get to bed at decent hour tonight.
Ironing.
I have my ironing board set up in my bedroom. I place all of the wrinkled clothes on hangers, which I then dangle from the edge of the ironing board to await the day they will join the other, wrinkle-free clothes in the closet. I figure the pull of gravity on those wrinkles can only help me while they wait. Which is a really --- long --- time. One way I keep the ironing chore to a minimum is by keeping the ironing board in the bedroom. I am only there a couple of times a day. When I wake up. ("Gotta get myself showered and out the door.") And when I go to bed. ("So tired, gotta read my Grisham under these glaring lights and turn in.") Yup, outta-sight, outta-mind really does help keep the ironing down to a minimum.
Cleaning the tub/shower.
I love my Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, made specially for the bathroom. It "erases" away all the soap scum and buildup on those walls. I keep it handy right there next to my Zest bar of soap so that I can just use it spontaneously when needed (HA!). (Let's hope I don't magically erase myself one day by grabbing the wrong "bar.") Oh, and "magic" doesn't mean it will turn into a self-powered sponge, like Mickey's enchanted mop in The Sorcerer's Apprentice. It just sits there, unless someone picks it up and scrubs with it. Darn.
Changing the bed sheets.
With four beds to change on a "regular" basis, this can tucker me out. I am working out a rotation system so I don't strain myself. (Hey, being over 40 does have its hangups.) That's a lot of peeling, piling, putting, washing, softening, drying, folding, pulling, tugging, and smoothing just for one bed. And if bunk beds are involved, boy, I'd need to be Mary Poppins to enjoy doing that while balanced atop the tiny step ladder. The reward is the fresh sheets at the end of the day. Too bad that's only a one-day kind of moment.
Well, now that I've gone on about that, it's time to stop stalling and do it. Well, maybe not all at once. Pacing oneself is a good way to get through the icky chores of life. I just happen to be a slow pacer.
Where's Mickey when you need him?
LJ
Here are a few chores I really would like to limit to just an annual occurrence. Believe me, I have more, but I am keeping it to three so that I can get to bed at decent hour tonight.
Ironing.
I have my ironing board set up in my bedroom. I place all of the wrinkled clothes on hangers, which I then dangle from the edge of the ironing board to await the day they will join the other, wrinkle-free clothes in the closet. I figure the pull of gravity on those wrinkles can only help me while they wait. Which is a really --- long --- time. One way I keep the ironing chore to a minimum is by keeping the ironing board in the bedroom. I am only there a couple of times a day. When I wake up. ("Gotta get myself showered and out the door.") And when I go to bed. ("So tired, gotta read my Grisham under these glaring lights and turn in.") Yup, outta-sight, outta-mind really does help keep the ironing down to a minimum.
Cleaning the tub/shower.I love my Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, made specially for the bathroom. It "erases" away all the soap scum and buildup on those walls. I keep it handy right there next to my Zest bar of soap so that I can just use it spontaneously when needed (HA!). (Let's hope I don't magically erase myself one day by grabbing the wrong "bar.") Oh, and "magic" doesn't mean it will turn into a self-powered sponge, like Mickey's enchanted mop in The Sorcerer's Apprentice. It just sits there, unless someone picks it up and scrubs with it. Darn.
Changing the bed sheets.
With four beds to change on a "regular" basis, this can tucker me out. I am working out a rotation system so I don't strain myself. (Hey, being over 40 does have its hangups.) That's a lot of peeling, piling, putting, washing, softening, drying, folding, pulling, tugging, and smoothing just for one bed. And if bunk beds are involved, boy, I'd need to be Mary Poppins to enjoy doing that while balanced atop the tiny step ladder. The reward is the fresh sheets at the end of the day. Too bad that's only a one-day kind of moment.
Well, now that I've gone on about that, it's time to stop stalling and do it. Well, maybe not all at once. Pacing oneself is a good way to get through the icky chores of life. I just happen to be a slow pacer.
Where's Mickey when you need him?
LJ
Friday, November 9, 2012
Just Reach Out
Dear Diary,
Life is full of surprises, isn't it?
Back when my peers and I were in our prime fertile years, finding out the gender of the baby-under-construction was starting to become standard. A question that was once never an option and only a guessing game from old wives tales was creeping into our language: "Are you going to find out what it is?"
In answer to this question, a friend once told me, "There are few, true surprises in life." (And I think she meant happy surprises.) She and her husband would wait until due time for the gender of their baby to reveal itself. Ahhhh, delayed gratification... a topic for another day, I'm sure.
Anyway, I always remembered her statement. And I have a terrible memory, so it must have been worth remembering. It is said that death and taxes are a sure thing. That leaves pretty much everything else in life on shaky ground, right? Hence, life's little surprises. Of course I'm not going to name them all here. That would be boring and depressing, and I would certainly overlook a multitude of experiences others have had that I have not.
Suffice it to say that we all experience times of lulls. Our solid ground times.
Humdrum, comfortable predictability.
Then BOOM!
A phone call, a comment, an election, a doctor visit, changes the solid ground into:
SURPRISE!
In one week, I have seen two examples of desperate people who couldn't handle life's surprises anymore.
I can't even fathom the helplessness and hopelessness they felt in order to make the decision they did.
Surprises were meant to be shared.
The happy ones are easy. Usually they are hard to contain, like some bubbling, carbonated liquid, which by nature, must spill over.
But the surprises which are sad, bitter, and hard need to be shared too.
Reach for a phone, a friend, a minister, a Bible. Just reach out, and spill it. There will be relief --solid ground-- again.
Firmly planted,
LJ
I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
Psalm 18:1-2
Life is full of surprises, isn't it?
Back when my peers and I were in our prime fertile years, finding out the gender of the baby-under-construction was starting to become standard. A question that was once never an option and only a guessing game from old wives tales was creeping into our language: "Are you going to find out what it is?"
In answer to this question, a friend once told me, "There are few, true surprises in life." (And I think she meant happy surprises.) She and her husband would wait until due time for the gender of their baby to reveal itself. Ahhhh, delayed gratification... a topic for another day, I'm sure.
Anyway, I always remembered her statement. And I have a terrible memory, so it must have been worth remembering. It is said that death and taxes are a sure thing. That leaves pretty much everything else in life on shaky ground, right? Hence, life's little surprises. Of course I'm not going to name them all here. That would be boring and depressing, and I would certainly overlook a multitude of experiences others have had that I have not.
Suffice it to say that we all experience times of lulls. Our solid ground times.
Humdrum, comfortable predictability.
Then BOOM!
A phone call, a comment, an election, a doctor visit, changes the solid ground into:
SURPRISE!
In one week, I have seen two examples of desperate people who couldn't handle life's surprises anymore.
I can't even fathom the helplessness and hopelessness they felt in order to make the decision they did.
Surprises were meant to be shared.
The happy ones are easy. Usually they are hard to contain, like some bubbling, carbonated liquid, which by nature, must spill over.
But the surprises which are sad, bitter, and hard need to be shared too.
Reach for a phone, a friend, a minister, a Bible. Just reach out, and spill it. There will be relief --solid ground-- again.
Firmly planted,
LJ
I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
Psalm 18:1-2
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
My Post-Election Day Post
Dear Diary,
This is a bit lazy, but to me it summarizes the emotions of the day. I have friends on both sides of the aisle. So this should be a nice, safe, non-offensive, totally PC post. Oh, except that I put God into this. For that I don't apologize.
It is from Jon Acuff's Stuff Christians Like blog. On days like today, God's word is especially comforting.
Uptight,
LJ
P.S. Oh and you wouldn't believe what happened to me on the way to the voting booth.
Imagine being told you already voted when you give Table #2 your signature on the paper you signed at Table #1. Yup, something fishy going on in the major metropolitan area of the midwest city near which I live.
Double Uptight,
LJ
This is a bit lazy, but to me it summarizes the emotions of the day. I have friends on both sides of the aisle. So this should be a nice, safe, non-offensive, totally PC post. Oh, except that I put God into this. For that I don't apologize.
It is from Jon Acuff's Stuff Christians Like blog. On days like today, God's word is especially comforting.
Uptight,
LJ
P.S. Oh and you wouldn't believe what happened to me on the way to the voting booth.
Imagine being told you already voted when you give Table #2 your signature on the paper you signed at Table #1. Yup, something fishy going on in the major metropolitan area of the midwest city near which I live.
Double Uptight,
LJ
Monday, November 5, 2012
A Luxury I Love
Dear Diary,
I love the library.
Lately, as one of our "filling time" activities [see post on Filling Time 10/26] I head to the library with or without a kid in tow. Thankfully, the library is in close proximity to our school, the locale for most of my kids' time-filling activities.
Now, reading is a luxury for which I can find some uninterupted time during one of these moments:
I was at the library today and decided to pick up yet another book -- yes, a third, if you are keeping track -- and a couple of DVDs (Carousel and The Artist, if you must know-- and don't even ask how I will find time to watch them. My Netflix dvd has been sitting by my TV, unwatched, for over a month.)
2 + 1 = 3 books I now need to find time to read.
But the library is like a candy store for the brain! How could I not get another when I am surrounded by shelves and shelves of delectable, delightful pages of escape? Historical fiction -- queens and castles, spies, horses and the guillotine; mysteries -- cloaks and daggers, lawyers, detectives and clues; dramatic fiction -- estranged spouses, unexpected illnesses, and trips to secluded cabins, or Europe -- or secluded cabins in Europe -- to become a writer and find one's self.
Yes, the library is a luxury of leisure. If I had to play the "Would You Rather" game, I would rather be locked up in a library than, let's say, a craft store.
Well, would you look at the time! I think bedtime may come a little early tonight! Maybe a baseball hat or sunglasses will do the trick.
Inquisitively yours,
LJ
I love the library.
Lately, as one of our "filling time" activities [see post on Filling Time 10/26] I head to the library with or without a kid in tow. Thankfully, the library is in close proximity to our school, the locale for most of my kids' time-filling activities.
Now, reading is a luxury for which I can find some uninterupted time during one of these moments:
- My lunch -- a blissful break during which I get to simultaneously do two things I enjoy: eating and reading. I open a book over my sandwich and hope I don't get orange Cheetos smudges on the pages.
- In bed -- a quiet break during which I can't find a good, reclined, reading position without the overhead lights glaring into my eyes like some inquisition torture chamber. So then I have to use the book as a light shield, which shades the pages and really tires out my arm. Feelin' sorry for me yet?
I was at the library today and decided to pick up yet another book -- yes, a third, if you are keeping track -- and a couple of DVDs (Carousel and The Artist, if you must know-- and don't even ask how I will find time to watch them. My Netflix dvd has been sitting by my TV, unwatched, for over a month.)
2 + 1 = 3 books I now need to find time to read.
But the library is like a candy store for the brain! How could I not get another when I am surrounded by shelves and shelves of delectable, delightful pages of escape? Historical fiction -- queens and castles, spies, horses and the guillotine; mysteries -- cloaks and daggers, lawyers, detectives and clues; dramatic fiction -- estranged spouses, unexpected illnesses, and trips to secluded cabins, or Europe -- or secluded cabins in Europe -- to become a writer and find one's self.
Yes, the library is a luxury of leisure. If I had to play the "Would You Rather" game, I would rather be locked up in a library than, let's say, a craft store.
Well, would you look at the time! I think bedtime may come a little early tonight! Maybe a baseball hat or sunglasses will do the trick.
Inquisitively yours,
LJ
Thursday, November 1, 2012
And the First Runner Up Is.....
Dear Diary,
How can I not write about this on the heels of yesterday's post? Yesterday I noted that I was waiting for a call on a job for which I interviewed twice.
Well, it came while driving my kids to school. I was in both a school and construction zone, and in Illinois that is a double no-no for cell phone use. So yes, I did pull over to park and talk. I knew this would be a serious phone call.
Yeah.
Being told you are second choice is never easy.
Sure you got the smile, cheerful demeanor, and "thank you very much" attitude, but inside your gut is squeezing your heart into your throat. I new there was a reason I didn't put on mascara today. I thought it was because I was under the weather.
Out of 88 teams, second place is really great, right?
Well, I know the answer to that. My daughter's volleyball team had a great tournament recently in which they ended up with the first place trophy. Yup, that second place team didn't feel good to be second best I can tell you that.
Grocery shopping was on my to-do list after dropping the kids at school. Probably not the best idea when you are on a downer. But boy I can't wait to dig into those pumpkin pie pop-tarts! I did see a friend at the store who was quick with the hug. Thank you!
So now I take just a few more moments for self-pity. Then I shall dust myself off (at least no mascara racoon eyes to worry about) and roll up my sleeves. There is a pantry that needs cleaning out. I bought a few extra items I need to make room for.
Count Chocula Treat anyone?
LJ
How can I not write about this on the heels of yesterday's post? Yesterday I noted that I was waiting for a call on a job for which I interviewed twice.
Well, it came while driving my kids to school. I was in both a school and construction zone, and in Illinois that is a double no-no for cell phone use. So yes, I did pull over to park and talk. I knew this would be a serious phone call.
Yeah.
Being told you are second choice is never easy.
Sure you got the smile, cheerful demeanor, and "thank you very much" attitude, but inside your gut is squeezing your heart into your throat. I new there was a reason I didn't put on mascara today. I thought it was because I was under the weather.
Out of 88 teams, second place is really great, right?
Well, I know the answer to that. My daughter's volleyball team had a great tournament recently in which they ended up with the first place trophy. Yup, that second place team didn't feel good to be second best I can tell you that.
Grocery shopping was on my to-do list after dropping the kids at school. Probably not the best idea when you are on a downer. But boy I can't wait to dig into those pumpkin pie pop-tarts! I did see a friend at the store who was quick with the hug. Thank you!
So now I take just a few more moments for self-pity. Then I shall dust myself off (at least no mascara racoon eyes to worry about) and roll up my sleeves. There is a pantry that needs cleaning out. I bought a few extra items I need to make room for.
Count Chocula Treat anyone?
LJ
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