Near Death Experience

No...I haven't died.

Yes...I thought I was.

Stomach Flu is "gut renching".  Couldn't eat for 48 hours...had a 101 degree fever and chills and aching hair!

Have survived my Near Death Experience!

Started to recover late yesterday, so my blogs will resume once again. 

Actually able to go out to lunch today with Liz...I have a hunch it will be a light one.  But the conversation will be edifying, I am sure!

Lowes...A Heavenly Experience

Last night I went to Lowe's.  I had to buy a new mop as my old one rusted to the point where the mop head broke off.  Of course, you just can't wander through Lowe's and buy only a mop.  It is almost as if an angelic choir starts singing when I enter that store.  I lose myself in the infinite possiblities of what could be.  Case in point.  I HATED my light fixtures in the kitchen and the bathroom.  They reminded of something from the 1950's and were definitely all about practicality and nothing about beauty.  In fact, you can still buy the same kind for about 10 bucks at Lowe's (I found that out yesterday).  I decided it was tim to update the kitchen a little more by changing out the light fixture.  I wanted to get something that had the same circular mounting as the paintjob underneath that was non-existent and I didn't want to have to haul out the paint again.  There, on a shelf at the end of the light aisle was a BARGAIN.  Two modern nickel plated light fixtures for $20.00.  Wow.  Now how in the world could I pass that up.  In short, I couldn't.  So $124.00 later I took my light fixtures, new eco friendly 60 watt bulbs, white semi-glos paint and paintbrushes, and my ortho pesticide sprayer and headed to my car. 

I got up this morning with a mission.  While I had never done any work electrically of any kind, I figured it was like anything else.  Read the directions.  Well, apparently that can be a good way to do home repair sometimes because in about an hour I had hooked up two new light fixtures.  They work when I flip the switch, and I made sure to connect the grounding wire to the appropriate screw.  It didn't seem very hard and I think I did a better job than the people who put in the last lights.  At least I hope so, I don't want to flip on lights and have the place burn down like the garage almost did.  Anyway, here is the before and the after, and a picture of the bathroom.  Trust the bathroom is much better now!  The old light didn't even have a cover on it and it look down right decrepit.

So my DIY days continue as I enjoy the summer.  I am seriously getting a kick out of these improvements.  I hope I feel the same way when I get next month's Lowe's credit card bill!

What a Difference a Year Makes!

Spoke to the husband again today.  I have to say that he could not be more different from his last birthday.  It's a complete 180.  During our discussion today, I found him to be respectful, humble, and accepting.  He called to tell me that the potential job offer was not nearly as good as the picture that had been painted for him, so he would continue staying with his brother for the time being and would work for ReMax in his hometown.  While the two and half million dollar listing was real, but the apartment was an efficiency apartment with a woman and her three grown children living above (kind of sounds like my neighbors who own the roaming chickens - that's another story).  Also, the woman really didn't have a business plan put in place - it was sort of a random attempt to create a business.  He respectfully declined her offer. 

We talked for about 40 minutes, and it was a healthy, positive conversation.  He thanked me for praying for him,  for not giving up on him and asked me not to give up on us completely just yet.  He said that he will respect whatever decision I make but if I ever want him back to tell him, and he will be here.  If that doesn't happen, he is just glad we are able to talk and that he now has his life back free of alcohol.  He is keeping his realtor's license here in Kentucky just in case, but he is pursuing work in his hometown as well.  He really seems to understand there are no guarantees here, but is hopeful that I might one day decide we should attempt to reconcile.

He apologized for ridiculing the hours I put in at work and understands that it's necessary.  He tells me he won't interfere with that and the drinking stopped him from really working at his job because it kept him from showing houses once he started boozing up.  Had he been acting like a man, he would have been working and not drinking - (his words).  I told him that is a really big deal to me, and that he could have always come to the school to attend many of the functions I had to go to.  He agreed, and apologized for not supporting me at what I do.  Knock me over!  I was shocked!

He has now been sober for one month, and I cried tears of joy for him today.  He is so grateful that God gave him this chance.  He believes God has removed his craving, and I believe him because when I had to stop drinking at one point in my life, God removed the craving for me.  He didn't go out and drink this time when things didn't go his way or because it was his birthday and his life sucks a bit right now.  That is different behavior that I have never seen from him since we have been married.  He said he understands we shouldn't be together right now as he has so much to work through from his childhood, and he wants to get rid of those demons as much as the alcohol.  He feels that will help him stay sober, and I couldn't agree more.

I have never heard my husband this humble, and I must say it looks good on him.  I hope that he continues to stay sober and walk with God.  He wears this conversion very well.  I will not make any decisions on the future but will let time heal wounds for me and listen to God.  I have no doubt that God will clarify the things I am supposed to do and the things I am not.  Maybe this summer is all about learning to listen to God.  I have no doubts he talks to me when I quiet myself enough.  God practically screamed the words "This is not your deal" to me when I kept trying to help my husband while he was drinking (actually, I really think I enabled the drinking looking back). 

Whatever happens, I know that both of us will be better off than we were  a year ago on his last birthday and so much better off before that frightening evening on May 11th.  I enjoyed the day today, laughed, worked, prayed, cried, and felt peace.  It is nice not to have any anger about anything for a change.  It is so much easier to relax and enjoy the ride! 

Birthday Meltdown

Today is my husband's birthday.  Well, I guess he is legally still my husband, but he is now living in Minnesota.  I guess we are legally separated, but he sure sounds like he's enjoying life in Minnesota and I seriously doubt he will want to return to Kentucky.  I have no intention of moving yet again for him.  Anyway, today is his birthday.  I was looking through some of my old scribblings and found the following frustrated personal narrative about last year's birthday.  It explains to me why I am  very happy about living by myself:




6/24/2009


The hardest decision I have ever made in my life is staying married. Each day seems to bring new struggles. It doesn't seem like that warm, fuzzy togetherness feeling I craved when I first got married stayed for very long. Instead, I am always bending to his will. If done right, marriage seems to be the biggest self-sacrifice. The question is – is it worth it? Dealing with someone else’s moods, their past, their present, their addictions, their baggage becomes draining. And that’s exactly how this summer is starting to make me feel – drained. All the reenergizing I usually do each summer has been replaced by his needs, his wants, his desires, his insecurities.


Case in point -  so far this summer, I have been on call 24/7 to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault he was sexually abused, he shouldn’t feel ashamed that he felt sexual desire when being abused, and at the same time, I am supposed to fulfill his voracious sexual appetite which was undoubtedly sparked by these female predators. Thanks a lot, you wolves!

I also, am supposed to forgive him for all of his drunken outbursts and mood swings, many of which he doesn’t seem to remember the next day. When I bring them up as he wanted me to do if he ever took the drinking too far, he looks completely bewildered. I am cursed nightly when I choose to go to bed instead of continuing to endure his nightly drunken rants, then expected to be all warm and fuzzy the next morning and fulfill his sexual needs.

I took his birthday seriously today. I got the present he wanted, created a card from the cats complete with paw prints, and got a card the calls him a sexual dynamo. Then I created a gift certificate good for one fantasy to be fulfilled since that has been his latest concern – watching porn with me. I was ready to sexually be on overdrive, and put myself into a zone of “it’s not about you today…It’s all about your husband.”

My fuck-up? Not getting him the cake he desired. Since the stomach surgery, I knew he couldn’t eat much sugar, so I perused the aisles of the local Walmart for some type of ice cream cake. That wasn’t to be found, but I did find a brownie you cook in the microwave that came with a nice dollop of ice cream smothered in caramel, pecans, and chocolate chips. Perfect, I thought. This won’t be more than he can handle, there won’t be in of Baskin-Robbins’ suicide ice cream cake around, and this only costs $2.25, which is within our budget this year.

The time arrived for cake. Was he happy? Nooooo. Was he an ass? Yesssss. Oh my God! “Why are you putting it in the microwave? This shit is hot! I hate hot cake with ice cream. You should have gone to Baskin-Robbins… “ Grumble, grumble, grumble…I decided to let it slide…no point in continuing the problem. Ignore it – Never mind that my feeling are crushed. The night continues without incident. End of story, right? Wrong.

The next evening, he tells me he dug the fucking brownie out of the garbage and it’s rock fucking hard. What the fuck was I doing cooking it for a year and half in the microwave. I crack. It’s not his birthday anymore and he is being a self-centered dickhead.

“Jeez, honey…I apologize. It’s the one fucking mistake I made on your birthday. Sorry. Next year, I won’t get anything else but an ice cream cake.”

He gets upset with my response, says I am PMS’ing and goes to bed…at 6 PM. That pissed me off, so I drove all the way to fucking Baskin Robbins, spent 18.00 on a stupid ass cake and came back home. I breathe so that I can be calm going in….OH, also, when I come back out of the store, my stupid car decides not to start (something about a sylenoid in the starter….there another $300.00 gone). Car starts, I drive home, and walk in with the cake, put it in the fucking freezer, go into the bedroom, ask him if he wants the cake….HE SAYS NO! ARGHHHHHH! And he says I am fucking moody?

Marriage is give and take they say…I say it’s all give….Yes, I know he undoubtedly feels the same about me. How do you bridge the gap and focus only on another without completely losing your fucking mind? I have yet to figure that out, so don’t be surprised if one day as you are exiting the freeway into some little town, you find me in rags holding up a sign asking you if you have seen my mind. Each day of marriage seems to be a struggle. I just don’t get how something that was done in the name of love becomes so overwhelming.

Upon reflection, I can clearly see that this marriage was crumbling long before this last May.  Re-reading this clearly shows me why I don't feel the desire to continue this marriage.  It was the hardest thing I ever did staying married for six years to this man.  My self-confidence was attacked on a regular basis.  I did exhibit an incredible amount of patience and a lack of selfishness regardless of the hubby's take on things.  The saddest part is all that "giving in" I did only served to make me a doormat and he took advantage of that.  Unfortunately, all the "nice" behavior I exhibited only enabled his drinking.  When God told me (and I heard it loud and clear inside of me) "This is not your deal" when I prayed about Tim's drinking, I can now see what He meant.  Everything I did only helped my husband make excuses and feel sorry for himself.  Had I left as I did in March, maybe he would have stopped, maybe he wouldn't have, but I wouldn't have been around to allow the behavior. 

I called him last night to wish him a Happy Birthday.  We have been able to talk in a friendly way since he has moved.  He has accepted Jesus and goes to church with his brother twice a week.  He has completed stopped drinking (it's been about 4 weeks now).  He has already gotten his real estate license and was offered a job managing several real estate offices.  His life appears to be very on track now.  I feel that he and I are starting to distance ourselves.  He knows I have no intention of moving again (I already moved four times in six years for him), and I seriously doubt he will move back here, so the marriage is probably over.  I really don't know if I could ever accept him as my husband again after that scary choking incident.  But it's so nice to hear him excited about life and starting to work towards goals again. I am so happy for him, and I am so happy for me.  There are worse things that could happen than for both of us to live happy productive live serving Jesus Christ separately.  God's plans/interventions are truly amazing, and they deepen my faith substantially.

I am so glad to be by myself right now.  I have never felt this good with living alone.  Maybe this is truly the first time I like me.   Or maybe it is because God is always with me now.  I do know that every night is pure bliss, calm and peaceful and filled with joy. 

Urishiol is evil!

OK, enough of the heat and humidity already.  It's only June and it seems like it is the end of July already.  The weather is making feel like I only have a few days of summer break left.  Geesh!  As I went out to the garage this morning to get some more paint supplies, I  got hit in the face with wet, sticky air.  It settled on my like a towel that you pull from the dryer that's hot but  is nowhere near dry. I was drenched by the time I got back in the house.  But one great thing about that kind of rude awakening is that the little bit of air conditioning I had running at the time made the house feel like a meat locker. 

And this heat doesn't help my itchy skin like crazy! Apparently when I went out and sprayed all the weeds to tame the jungle out back, I must have brushed up against poison ivy.   I have that rash and bug bites on my legs, my neck, my arms, so I am wasting away in the land of Benedryl today. I hate poison ivy!  What was God thinking?

Here are a few interesting facts about these morbid plants:
*  Urishiol is the chemical that causes the rash.
*  Only one nanogram is needed to cause a reaction (I always wanted to use the words nanogram in a sentence!)
*  It is normal for urishiol oil to be to remain active (in other words able to cause you to itch) from one to five years.  No wonder I can't go outside and not get the rash!

What I have learned from this experience?  Urishiol is evil!

I have had enough of the rash to leave all outdoor work alone for a couple of days.  Maybe by then I won't look like cats before I put flea collars on them!


*  These facts came from http://poisonivy.aesir.com/view/fastfacts.html and there are many more on the site if you are interested.

Family Values

Research makes all the difference when writing fiction, I am finding out!  All characters are completely fictional and any similarities to real people are merely coincidence.  This is just the beginning of a piece that is slowly, ever so slowly being written.

Chapter 1

The trailer was an eyesore, a black eye to its neighbors to the left whose newly constructed homes represented family values and upward mobility in a flagging economy, an embarrassment to its neighbors to the right who represented the simple but clean humility of the area’s hard working farming ancestry. The current tenants of the trailer were the next in a succession of pillbillies who had attempted to purchase the land on a contract for deed. Like those before them, these people could sometimes afford the garbage bill, and sometimes they couldn’t.


The original singlewide was augmented with a homemade do-it-yourself addition made of wide slats of siding which shouted to the neighbors “I may be ugly, but I am here to stay!” undoubtedly a much needed bedroom caused by an unforeseen addition of the human kind. The porch, covered in Astroturf, led out to a half acre of overgrown grass and weeds closed off from the rest of the world by an eight foot chain link fence that clearly indicated those inside wished to be left alone. A neon orange lettered “No Trespassing” sign shouted warnings to passersby who didn’t pick up on the subtlety of the chain link fence. Inside that fence, a trampoline and children’s yellow plastic toys dotted the landscape while a German shepherd and a Rottweiler shared guard duty. Children of various ages were frequently tossed outside like the heaps of garbage strewn about the property when the drug deals took place inside.

It was clear this clan wished to be left alone. No God damn nosy neighbors were welcome in this neck o’ the woods. But if you had money and a desire to get high, the trailer seemed to be a popular destination. From the blue collar state worker to the well dressed business man, people of all shapes and sizes could be seen stopping in for just a moment all hours of the day and night. For such a foreboding façade, the family inside sure had a lot of friends from all walks of life.

Behind the fence and the singlewide with its one room addition a quarter acre back stood a shed bigger than the house itself sagging with age and years of neglect. Made of twisted metal reminiscent of the seventies, twisted because wind storms wreaked havoc on it since nothing blocked the fierce winds from the south. The three openings, which could have housed cars at one time, now sagged as if giant dodo birds had once perched there, then flown off in a huff. Inside one stall, however, was one of the tenant’s moste prized possession – a cherry red Ford F-150 that shined like glass and had every accoutrement needed to impress those who saw the owner of the vehicle out on the road. It also funded his source of income and his girlfriend’s addiction.

                                                               ******

Mona had never really been a good mother. Her son hadn’t lived with her in two years. She had lost him to foster care when she was sixteen, partly due to her age, partly to the environment she herself had been raised in, and partly due to her own awareness that if she didn’t give him up, he would be the next victim in a long line of dysfunctional family members. Looking back, the state’s intervention had been a blessing, but the loss had also created an ache so profound that she quelled it with a pill every now and then – a little Oxycodone seemed to dull the sharp stabs of pain the memories of her son evoked in her gut. The memories of her childhood also seemed less acute, easier to deal with.

Besides, she now had Lizzy to care for. Maybe this would be the one she could keep. Lizzy’s curly mop top glistened in the sun when she peeked at her little girl through the hole in the blinds inside the trailer. Her boyfriend Mike, a young man of twenty was off to make a little cash so that she and Lizzie could be happy. He was a sweet boy who had dreamed of playing basketball for UK – maybe even getting a scholarship, but that dream had been torn from him when several ligaments in his knees had been torn in the high school basketball championship. He would walk just fine, but college team material he wasn’t.

Mona, Mike, and Lizzie were staying with Mike’s mom, dad, aunt, and nephew. His parents, recent transplants from Florida, had recently bought this property. She helped with the mortgage by selling off pills Mike brought back from Florida. She never her own stash, however, because she never knew when the demons from her past would try to drag her back. Her memories were too vivid and the vacation that oxycodone gave her from them was just too tempting.

Mona’s life prior to this had been a living hell. Now it was more of a purgatory. She had a roof over her head, food, and a place to raise the girl. While many would have found the environment unbearable, Mona found it comfortable, certainly more luxurious that her life with her parents had been. Lizzie smiled and laughed a lot – more than Mona remembered she ever had as a child.

                                                              ******

Merging onto I-64 from exit 110, Mike thought about the trip he was about to take. He hated it. Everything inside of him knew this would eventually lead to trouble. But someone had to pay the bills and it sure wasn’t going to be his lazy ass dad, his mother’s disability check, or his girlfriend’s body. That is what he had rescued her from in the first place, and he would be damned if he would allow the mother of his child to return to the world where she had gotten hooked on drugs in the first place. No. This was a necessary trip. With the manufacturing plants closing down all around the area, assembly line jobs, which had once been Mike’s way to contribute, were now gone. KDMK was laying people off weekly; Nestle only offered part time work to it beginning employees, and the plant that made uniforms in Owingsville was shutting down in a month. Nobody was hiring unless you wanted to drive a semi across the country. With the DUI’s Mike had racked up after he had ruined his basketball scholarship, he knew applying for those jobs would be useless. Well, if he couldn’t earn money driving a truck, then at least he could earn some money this way. You didn't need a CDL to cart pills across state lines.  His little girl was going to have more of a life then he did growing up.

Of course, he worried about leaving his daughter behind. Mona liked the pills just a little too much, which is why he had chosen to stay with his parents. While neither one was what you would called motivated, he knew they would watch out for their first grandchild, and they had a huge fenced in yard with two huge canine protectors where she could play. His aunt, who drew a disability check, was also willing to help out and keep an eye on Lizzie. His parents knew he didn’t earn money legitimately, but they turned a blind eye to his routine trips to Florida. They just conveniently figured that he was visiting family friends in Fort Lauderdale. He always helped pay for food and the garbage bill when he could. Besides he was family and family stuck together. That’s why they had come down here in the first place. Family always took care of you when you were from Kentucky.

Mike hit the accelerator as he fell in behind a Ford Taurus. Easing his seat back a bit he prepared for his 16 hour trip. He began flipping through the radio stations and caught the tail end of a newscast. Operation Pill Crusher was continuing. Four more people had been arrested. Mike nervously changed the station and glanced in the rear view mirror. Ever since the local sheriffs had united, this trip was getting riskier. But what else could he do? The money paid for basic necessities; the pills helped Mona cope with her past and the loss of their first child. Mike had known they were going to take Billy away. Mona hadn’t had family that was worth anything. Her father had sexually exploited her since she had been a baby, so Mona knew little else as she grew up. Mona’s mother had always looked the other way ignoring the fact that her little girl seemed so withdrawn from the family. As Mona grew up, she had rebelled like most others who were molested did. They did what they knew…had sex, and lots of it. They confused sex with love, and how she needed to be loved.

Mike had found her at a strip club; he had been on a binge of his own – feeling sorry for himself, and he and his buddies had walked into Solid Platinum ready for another beer and some female attention. He never planned on finding her there. But there she was, suggestively kneeling in front of him. It wasn’t her body that drew him to her, although it was perfect. It was her eyes. They were the eyes of a woman much older, who knew more than a girl who was just seventeen should know. They were naïve yet guarded, ready to accept whatever came but never willing to give in. Eyes that had been trained to look past the man, look past the present, and find a place that was shielded from the rest of the world.

He fell in love in that single moment. He stared at her as she stared through him and knew his life would be spent taking care of her.

Perfect Saturdays

What a fabulous day!  The meteorologists (fancy name for weathermen) forecasted 95 and humid today...I don't think it was much past 85 and dry!  I sat outside and read a book all afternoon, watched a movie, and topped that off with a fabulous walk.  Days like this are heaven.

Book of the Day:  Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kinsolver.  Man, can that lady write descriptively!  Check out the opening lines of the book:

     Women on their own run in Alice's family.  This dawns on her with the undindness of a heart attack and she sits up in bed to get a closer look at her thoughts, which have collectred abover her in the dark.

What a powerful and creative ways to say Alice was thinking about something!  Kingsolver always had an excerpt or two in all the middle school anthologies I used when I first started out, but the publishers never picked stuff like that, or maybe I was too green to realize just how amazing she was back then.  Anyway, she lived in eastern Kentucky, then moved to Tucson, Arizona where she now resides which is probably why it her books feel like home to me.  Her details are spot on!  The plot of this story is very good and seems to take some from the plot of The Beanfield, the book which launched her career.

Movie of the Day:  The Book of Eli - Best post-apocolyptic movie I have seen in a while.  Plus, Denzel simply rocks!  I thought the premise was pretty interesting.  I won't say much more as I don't want to spoil it for any of you who haven't seen it.  I did think it was better than The Road, another survival after the world pretty much is nothing but rubble movie.

Well, I am off to play some mindless computer game and then call it a night.  What a perfect day!

NOT Going Postal...

The postman didn't leave me any mail at all yesterday.  Do you think that maybe now, he's ignoring me?

From Interviews to Jail!

Well, I spent the day helping to interview potential math teachers.  Each candidate was fantastic.  I am delighted by the caliber of candidates applying.  They are well rounded, passionate, intelligent, and prepared.  There was a day when I didn't see as many quite high quality candidates.  Each one seemed to have a passion for teaching, a desire to make a positive difference in children's lives, and a willingness to go that extra mile which is integral to a teacher's success with his or her students.  It was fun to see how they reacted as we, the interviewers loosened up and laughed with them.  Most seemed to feel comfortable with us.  I find that you find a lot more out about the candidate when they don't realize they are "on stage".  Their true personalities seem to peek through the formality. I know the success of a candidate is only about 50/50 based on an interview.  Some poeple are just really great at interviews, and their classroom demeanor doesn't match up.  But sometimes, the interview is just the tip of the iceberg, and the teacher offers so much more when they have their own classroom of 6th, 7th, or 8th graders.  If these people are half as good as their interviews, it's going to be an amazing year!

Afterward, I decided to deliver my Mary Kay books to some people in the neighborhood.  I placed some fabulous new stickers on the books, and took them around housing development in the area that looked like they could afford to buy Mary Kay.  I placed each book in its own mailbox and patted myself on the back for being proactive.  As I was crowing about my latest creative idea to Jules, she said in the kindest way possible, "Oh, you could get in trouble for putting things in mailboxes.  That's illegal!" 

EEK!!  Illegal?!  Now, I have got to be the biggest rule follower there is (unless breaking a minor rule will somehow help my students learn something or increase their morale), so this revelation had me quite concerned.  After discussing the latest effect of Julie's new health regiment - see her blog Notes to Self for more details, I hung up the phone and went out to mow the grass.

While mowing, I concocted a reconnaissance mission to retrieve my Look Books from the mailboxes.  I decided I would drive back to the neighborhood after mowing and pull the books that hadn't already been taken in by the mailbox owners.  Then I would speed away and the postal Nazi's would never know I had invaded their mailboxes.  This idea began to take shape and I mulled over waiting until dark.  Would this be a better idea as few people would be able to spot my peculiar behavior?  I then thought about the screeching belt I have in my engine right now and that the headlights might create more concern at night than at dusk, so I opted for the first plan.

To be sure that placing stuff with no stamp on it was illegal I double checked on the Internet.  OMG -- never have I seen so many warnings.  I think people who rob banks get off with a lighter sentence if they are caught.  One guy had the postal worker and two cops show up at his door.  Since my name, address, phone number, and Mary Kay website are all plastered on each Look Book, I determined my best course of action was to carry out this mission.  So I hopped in the car after dusting all the grass from the mower from my shirt and jeans and headed out.

Two miles up the road I took a right into the Wester Estates.  I had never seen so many people outside in my life.  It's 90 degrees here people....We live in Kentucky...we aren't supposed to be used to this I thought as I slowly cased the neighborhood.  I casually waved to a couple of teenagers as I headed for the end of the cul-de-sac and tried to remember which mailboxes I had put the books into.  The first house...no book, they must have taken it inside (Yes!), next one...same thing.  Third house ... and there IT was sitting there for the mailman's eyes tomorrow morning. 

I could only imagine the mailman's reaction if he pulled up in the morning and saw this foreign object in HIS domain.  He would check to see if the owners had forgotten to put up their flag.  He would check for a stamp only to find my name and address on the booklet.  No stamp.  A look of anger would replace the puzzled look as he realized another one of his customers on his route DARED used the United States Post Office's Official Mailbox to attempt to sell Mary Kay.  I could see him tear out of the cul-de-sac as he dialed 911.

"911"
"Yes, this is Postal Master 2391, and I have a post office emergency!  A lady on my route is using the mailboxes ILLEGALY.  I want her arrested right now!"
"Yes, sir.  We will send two officers immediately!  Even though we only have four on duty, this crime deserves half the force!"

I could see them pulling into my driveway.  Panicked, I would check my garage to see if it was on fire or if my husband had returned from Minnesota.  They would knock on the door.  As I opened it, they would immediately pull their guns, tell me to turn around, walk backward toward the sound of their voices, kneel, and place my hands behind my back.  Being a rule follower, I would of course comply.  Then they would read me my Miranda Rights. 

When I ask why I am being arrested, my once friendly postman would icily reply, "You put flyers in Official United States Mailboxes.  You are going to jail!"

I nervously went to the next house and found another Look Book and snatched it out of the mailbox and drove on as quickly as possible.

All in all, I retrieved six books and think I handed out about 16.  I can only pray that the other 10 have made their way into the homes of the people who live in the Western Estates Housing Development. And if I missed any, I will be holed up inside with the blinds drawn tomorrow, especially when the postman delivers the mail!

Demand Studios

I applied with Demand Studios, an online freelance company yesterday.  I spent a hour or two refocusing my current resume from teaching to writing.  Apparently, I didn't do that well enough or the writing sample I sent in bored them because I got rejected in less than an hour.  At least they didn't leave me in limbo or anything.  I would have hated to think they were actually considering me for 10 minutes or anything like that.  Stephen King would be proud of me as this is one of many rejection letters I have received this year.  Anyway, my point was that I got to thinking that since I have been writing so much, it couldn't hurt to at least apply. The applying didn't hurt, and the rejection only stung for a while.  The part that hurts is when I start thinking "I suck as a writer".  Then that freaks me out because I teach students how to write for a living. If I can't succeed at writing, then how in world can I teach kids how to write?  Then I have to take many deep, calming breaths, remember that rejection is the norm in writing and move forward. I then remind myself that I teach seventh graders, not college level students.  Then I can focus on more productive thoughts and get of the worthless writer's pity pot.

The reason I applied with Demand Studios is that I wanted to find a way that I wouldn't have to get overly serious about selling Mary Kay, but that prospect is quickly waning.  Bill time showed up, and like God always promises, all bills are covered with about 96 dollars to spare.  (God doesn't promise the $96 part, just that he will give you what you need)  Yea!!!  However, that leaves me pretty lean until the next payday, where the cycle will begin all over again. 


Therefore, today  I will begin creating labels  for my Mary Kay Look booklets and start strategically placing them about the town for maximum exposure.  Who knows, I might make a few friends and increase my clientele.  There could be worse ways to spend my days.  I am pretty lucky.  I don't have to work full time during the summer, I can play with money making ventures, and I have food, shelter, and a really good life.  I spoke with my next door neighbor (their chickens like to peck at my tomato garden - there's an upcoming blog entry for sure), and he has laid off for over three months.  He doesn't have the education I do, so that definitely limits his options.  Yes, I am very lucky and I need to remember that!

Time Passages

I randomly selected four phrases and created a story using them.  This is a great exercise to use with beginning writers.  I have had amazing results with my students when doing this!

little boy      
torn page
market
cart




The little boy looked down as he saw the torn page of his book. The medieval tale was now severed, and the boy had to work hard to keep present day from bleeding into the tapestry weaved by the original book. Carefully, he repositioned the page so that the fibers found their mates. Inside each fiber he could see the scenes before him. In a stall at the farmer’s market where plump tomatoes sat waiting to be bartered, he could now see a package of 100 calorie Oreo crisps sitting next to a display of smooth skinned potaoes. This small insertion of present day enmeshed with the past so subtly, but this single change could have frightening implications for the future. He quickly attempted to mend the page before other changes could occur.

As he carefully matched up the “c” and the “art”, he prayed he had kept other present day remnants from the rest of the market’s wares; however he saw that atop the various goods that had originally been placed in the wooden cart – the burlap sack, the bowl made of pewter, the bed of straw, his prized transformer toy was now in the hands of the toe headed boy clothed in woolen trousers. He quickly taped the page together with ½ inch Scotch tape – the transparent kind, and reviewed his repair. Hopefully the present day items that had now found a place in the place would cause no trouble. Only time would tell.

The Bitchy Waiter

I have to recommend wholeheartedly the blog "The Bitchy Waiter"!  I read his/her recycled blog post from earlier and laughed until my sides hurt.  Maybe it was so ridiculously funny because I spent 10 years waiting tables to get through college...yes it took me 10 years to get my bachelor's degree.  I may be slow, but I am determined.  Had to be to wait tables all that time.  I actually credit those years with many of my current neuroses as well as my foot problems. 

To this day, if one of my students shouts "Hey" and snaps his or her fingers at me, I fly into a tirade that clearly leaves them shaken.  "My name isn't "HEY".  It's Mrs. Moriarity, Mrs. Mort, Mrs. M...if you want, but it isn't HEY.  You don't get to snap your fingers at me and make demands.  That stopped years ago when I turned in my Coco's patchwork quilt skirt and maroon apron.  Address me with respect and I won't bother you when you are trying to impress that girl or guy from afar!"

Yes, I tend to get a little heated.  I then, later, have to make the apology.  I explain all the years of waiting tables, how it leaves you a bit testy about being ordered around, and we did a quick life lesson on proper restaurant etiquette.  Now mind you, in this part of Kentucky, that isn't too much concern as the only restaurants most of my kids visit on a regular basis is Mickey D's, Dairy Queen, or one of two pizza joints.  If they want to really live it up, they might get to go to Appleby's in my town, Mt. Sterling.  One day, I would really love to take kids to a really nice restaurant.  What a fabulous opportunity.  Can you imagine several of my brightest and best at a Ruth's Chris Steakhouse?  What an incredible opportunity...Hmmm....one day I may find a way. 

Anyway, go check out the Bitchy Waiter.  It is well worth your time!

More Lucille Ball Moments...

As a teenager, I knew I was clumsy.  I knew this because at six years of age, I was the only person I had known who had been unceremoniously beaten up by a wallaby.  That's right, a wallaby.  I was  beaten about the head (I was after all just the right size for a wallaby to beat me about the head) by a furry miniature kangaroo, an animal I had heretofore held in awe and high esteem.  That all changed after my beating.

You can never live down a wallaby thrashing... especially when it occurs in the supposedly safe confines of Sydney, Australia's famous zoo -- in the petting zoo  no less.  Had it not been for my Uncle Paul, I would have been launched into the air courtesy of two very large hind paws.  But I am getting ahead of myself...

My mother is originally from Australia, and I was lucky enough to go with her to meet family members I never knew I had including uncles, aunts, cousins, and great aunts and uncles.  Many firsts occurred on that trip...first plane ride, a stopover in Hawaii (ok, a 15 minute stopover), first earache due to air pressure buildup, first sausage pie, first reading of the Australian children's book series "Snugglepot and Cuddle Pie", first taste of vegemite, first snubbing by my arrogant male cousins from Down Under who refused to play "football" (soccer for us Yanks) because I was a girl.  There were my first farm experiences which were not very pleasant either but deserve their own special blog post some other time.  Yes, many firsts filled my six year old brain.  But the most powerful legacy belonged to that damned wallaby.

My uncle Paul was kind enough to take my mum and I to the Sydney Zoo one afternoon where I got to see animals I had only heard about.   Australia has white sand and black swans, platypusses (an odd creature that looked like God grabbed some leftovers from a few ducks and beavers put them together, then decided to make the males poisonous to even out the whole black widow things from earlier).  I climbed a circular ramp that lifted me high into the branches of the eucalyptus tree (think about Hall's cough drops and you will know what the area smelled like) where koala bears stared at us as we watched them while they munched quietly on eucalyptus leaves.  I saw emus, kin to ostrich because they, too, can't fly.  I was having the time of my life...until we visited the petting zoo.

The petting zoo wasn't much different from those in the states.  They had a lot of sheep in there, some goats, rabbits I think...but I only had eyes for the wallaby on the opposite side of the pen.    My uncle suggested I go pet it and he would buy some food for it and be right over.  My eyes widened and I looked at him as if to say, "Are you serious?  I can go touch that amazingly magnificent creature?"  I looked over at Mum, and she, too, nodded in tandem with Uncle Paul. 

"Sure.  We'll be right over."  Oh, this was just to good to be true.   I was about to pet the animal that was know as the Australian symbol...ok, the miniature symbol of Australia since wallabies max out at four and a half feet tall.  It's cousin, the kangaroo, is often over six feet tall.  I looked once again at the creature across the pen and began to walk toward my destiny.  Its big brown eyes seemed to put me in a trance, to beckon me, spur me forward. I robotically placed one small foot in front of the other and raised my arms as I prepared pet the wallaby.  Left, right...left, right...

I seemed to have this rhythm down pretty well and was about a foot from the wallaby when, apparently six year old body forgot how to walk smoothly.  My right foot grazed the side of my left leg.  I wobbled as my right foot hit the ground.  My left foot raised up in the air and took an overly large step in an attempt to regain the balance lost from the previous step and then landed...right on the wallaby paw.  The big one.  The one that could kick.  Hard.

I regain my balance as I fell into the wallaby and stared into its soft brown eyes.  I swear each eye closed and reopened as small beady black orbs of hatred.  The wallaby went into Terminator mode, raised each small paw and began some of the quickest combinations I have ever seen.  Left.  Right.  Left-Right-Left.  My head bounced back and forth in perfect rhythm, much like a boxer's speed bag. 

Too shocked to say a thing, I just stood there while the wallaby turned me around.  The paws continued to pound me, blows glance my ears, the combinations pummeling the entire circumference of my head. 

What I didn't know then that I know now is that wallabies and kangeroos  can use their tail as a third leg and can balance on that tail while they raise both hind paws.  You can imagine how strong their legs are since all they do is hop, hop, hop all day.  If I hopped everywhere I went, I bet my quads would look like theirs, too.  Well, that was this wallaby's intention...to launch me back to the United States.  Thank goodness I didn't know this was occurring at the time or I would have probably fainted right then and there.  Instead I kept trying to cover my head amidst each round of combinations.

My uncle Paul finally saw what was going on and went into superhero mode.  He ran to me, grabbed the wallaby and flung him (or her) in one direction while he flung me in the opposite direction.  I took flight, slid on the dirt and landed at the fence.  My mother rushed over, looked at me...and began laughing hysterically.  My mother had a penchant for laughing in situations like these.  She always saw the humor in things.  That is when I started to cry.  I started noticing the small crowd that was gathering outside of the petting zoo confines.  My mother picked me up, checked my scratches and dusted me off.  Then we headed to the car.

From that moment on, I knew that I was not going to ever be selected as the most graceful student, the most athletic, the most coordinated.  I would have to find other talents.  This event was the catalyst for all the other Lucille Ball moments in my life, as my friend Julie puts it. 

I don't know whatever happened to that wallaby.  I am sure he was far more afraid of me than I was of him.  But one thing is for sure.  Anytime people tell you a wild animal is tame, remember it earned the adjective "wild" for a reason!

Final Stage - Written July 12, 2009

                                                                       Final Stage




                                                                … “We are going to see the King” …

Flashing silence frames the

Brilliant red atop ebony and ivory.

Pastor reassures the shocked and awed

At Staples, the Lyric, and Neverland.

                                                                      … “I’ll be there” …

A Queen pays homage to this King,

His flawed perfection, complex duality,

(Forgive us our frailties
As we forgive those who judge.)

                                                                      … “Gone too soon” …

Old in youth, young in death

Colorless, Androgynous Prodigy

Who lives on even though

He’s now in chamber.

                                                                … “Never dreamed you’d leave” …

Praised for one unknown,

Ridiculed for another,

All touched in some way (good or bad)

By his legacy.


                                                 … “Wadn’t nuttin’ strange ‘bout yuh daddeh!” …

Millions sympathize, criticize, politicize

This barrier breaker whose

Jekyl and Hyde personas

Accentuated human nature's paradox.

                                                            … “Be your best, do your best, live life well” …

One of many Kings who shares her father’s oratorical gift
Tells of calls to the Middle East where This King

Wished others well, got on his knee to The King,

And ensured the music kept playing.

                                                               … “We are all innocent until proven guilty” …

Resolution 600 –

American legend, world humanitarian

Posthumously earns more salutes

Than many dead soldiers

                                                                     … “Who’s lovin’ you” …

Child prodigy materializes

As another dissolves

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust



What should we do while here?

                                                                              … “Heal the world” …

Kissing Chaos*

It is amazing how we humans choose chaos over peace and serenity so frequently.  How many of us choose people that are simply no good for us because of a "feeling"?  When asked why we choose them, the most common response is "I love him/her" or "The chemistry we share is amazing" or  "I didn't think (insert flaw here) was that big a deal" or "I thought he/she would change".  I have uttered all these blinding phrases at several points in my own life.  Each significant man in my life made me "feel" a certain way.  I stayed with a guy until PEP (pain exceeded pleasure).  Sometimes pain was emotional; occasionally, as in the last relationship, it was physical.

My point is that I didn't have to go through all that pain, and had I been following God's principals, so clearly laid out in any holy book - mine being the Bible (most religions share the same tenets which explains spiritual universality), I could have clearly avoided so many of life's "punch in the gut" moments.  I chose not to follow these basic precepts and, as a result, my life was filled with needless chaos for many years.

For example, my husband - let's call him Bruce since he always referred back to his Glory not realizing that he had no need to impress me or anyone else for that matter.  He was a fine person without all the bravado, or could be when he wasn't drinking. 

Anyway, Bruce told me the first time I met him in person that he loved to drink and asked me if I had a problem with that.  I had been six years without a drop and had seen my father's life turned inside out by the almight Chivas Regal.  I myself had spent far too many mornings of my own regretting choices made while partying at the local bar.  Those choices often involved male strangers in my bed and horrendous hangovers.  Both are not welcome visitors when the sun is shining in through your bedroom skylight.  Yet I chose to tell "Bruce" that his drinking was fine as long as it didn't impact me.  What a prescient statement that would  be. 

Now, my previous relationship had been with a man who used to have two gin and tonics nightly, never a drop more or less.  His mood didn't change (he was always indifferent to me - but that's a completely different story that is also sadly amusing), so I guess I was used to that kind of a drinker.  My blindness had already occurred.

At first, Bruce didn't overindulge...much. Silly, silly me.  Now mind you, I had been aware that he had been a partyer in the past, all those backstage Betties we talked about when he played in bands in his late teens/early twenties.  We had had many conversations late into the night over the phone where I had blindly assumed his silliness was due to being tired from 12 or 14 hour shifts and yes, a couple of drinks loosened him up.  But he kept the overindulgence to a minimum while I was there and had most of the time on the phone as well.  This is another reason why you shouldn't "fall in love" with someone in another state without spending some get to know you time in person.  People put on their best faces for each other...Duh...I know...

I started to realize how much he drank after I moved all my things to Nebraska to be with him.  We were planning our wedding and I was filled with all sorts of possibilities for the future.  Again there is that blindness.  I didn't have a close relationship with God at this time.  Had I, I probably would have read those passages that talk about the foolishness of a drunkard.  But then again, we wouldn't have been living together either.  There were a whole lot of things that wouldn't have happened.

I kept excusing the behaviors; after all he was a successful businessman, smart, well-respected by others in his field.  I was uptight about drinking.  He was funny when he drank - most of the time.  He was just relaxing.  I was the world's best enabler, and I had moved across the country to marry this man; I wasn't about to admit I might be wrong.  And...I didn't have a close relationship with God yet to help me see the truth. 

Wedding plans were made and in a few months we were officially married - in Vegas (go figure - a drunk's favorite hangout for sure).  There had been so many reasons not to do this, but I ignored them all.  The trip from Phoenix to Nebraska, the drunken evenings in Nebraska, the insane behavior after the wedding brought on by rum and cokes.  But the way I saw it now, there was no going back.  As a result, I figured I owed to this marriage to try.  Besides, when sober Bruce returned each morning he was amazing, the guy I had fallen in love with.

And try I did.  We moved from Nebraska to Virginia to Kentucky supposedly to further his career (although they were really lateral moves, looking back), each time leaving a school where I began to fit in  pieces of my life were once again falling in place.

Drunks love geographical moves.  It prevents them from feeling the effects of poor decisions made to others in their jobs that way.  When Bruce spoke of moving yet again, I put my foot down.  This would have been the fifth move for me to another state in four years, so he chose to change careers. This was the beginning of the end, and his drinking increased while his self-worth decreased.  I tried to be supportive, but nothing worked.  He tried every other kind of change he could since I had eliminated the geographical kind.  Everything, that is except quitting drinking. 

In the end, he chose alcohol with a resoundingly clear action..His attempt to choke me made it painfully obvious that I couldn't help Bruce - only God and Bruce could help Bruce.  The fact I got away that day fairly intact proves to me that God chose to intervene on my behalf, and on Bruce's behalf as any further violence could have had far more devastating effects for the both of us.  Just last a week a woman was killed by her husband here in Kentucky who then killed himself.  There had a been a domestic violence order placed on the man; she hadn't left; he had a gun; Two lives are now over and many more are impacted. 

But you see, I started praying to God, letting God take over and direct my life; as a result, amazing changes have occurred in a miraculously short period of time.  The domestic violence order was put in effect, Bruce chose to move away rather than face the consequences (something he had been yearning to do for years and hadn't because I wouldn't leave), and my life is falling into place again.  I am not saying God wants to see marriages end.  I am saying that I wasn't a Christian when I married Bruce and I am now; I was willing to stay with him because of the vows except for two things; adultery or violence.  Bruce knew that.  What's ironic is that apparently Bruce has already been with someone else.  How crazy is that.  We have only been apart for less than a month.

So here we are.  Two people now apart.  Bruce has supposedly accepted Jesus and is now going to church twice a week.  I am happy for him and sincerely pray that he will successfully kick alcohol to the curb.  I can't do that, but God can, so if he is serious about this, I know Bruce will be fine.  And I am happy about that, but sorry that I enabled the behaviors for so long.  Once I gave my life to Christ, I couldn't turn a blind eye any longer.  Funny how that happens.

What I do know for sure is if I had been walking with God the way I am today, talking to him, letting him be my best friend, I seriously doubt I would have had to go through all the pain I did.  What is great is I get it now.  This life is no longer about me because I choose, and very willingly, to do things for God's glory, not my own. Since I have begun to do that, my life has been filled with peace, serenity, and happiness.  What an amazing gift I have received.

*  Title was borrowed from picture above -

Think Outside the Box

The box now huddles in the corner, empty.  Its contents, having provided solace to so many people, now discarded in the small plastic basket below.  There was the middle aged librarian type who had nervously perched on the brown vinyl sofa.  Her eyes, normally so quick to seek out those needing assistance, seemed glazed over as if to say, "I'm sorry. I am fresh out of answers today.  I only have questions myself."  Occasionally, she uncrossed her legs only to recross them again in the opposite direction, her sensible shoes focusing her attention to another part of the room.  Her eyes would then shift to the utilitarian watch fastened to her left wrist.  Deep breath in, deep breath out.  A small tear welled in the corner of her left eye and drifted down the puffy ashen white cheek as she waited.

Yesterday, a toddler howled in pain as a blue towel wrapped around his head turned purple.  He had cut his head on a sharp corner of  his mother's coffee table that was strewn with Seventeen magazines and ashtrays filled with Marlboro Lights and Mountain Dew bottle caps.  After many coos from his young, frightened mother, the boy's shrieks quieted to hiccupping sobs as his wet faced buried into her breast.

Today, an older man takes the final tissue taken from the Kleenex box to blow his nose.  He flinches as he dabs his bulbous red nose and lets out a heavily congested breath.  While his is the least serious ailment, the tissue still provides a barrier from others who silently wonder why he is waiting here.

Lucille Ball Moments

As I was reading Jules's blog this early morning (my sleep schedule no longer exists), I had to laugh out loud at her Lucille Ball moment with the door.  Ahhh, how refreshing to hear someone crack up at their own crazy mishaps instead of stomping around in anger and misery.  Utterly delightful! 

I have had so many of these incidents from my own life that it got me thinking maybe the Lucille Ball show should be resurrected.  That show was such innocent, endless hilarity.  I could provide material for many a new episod, such as my encounter with the CANDLES one Christmas. 

It was a fabulous winter weekend (I know that because my husband was watching football and snow was falling outside), and I decided to dust.  I hadn't done this recently as school had been in session, but I was enjoying some much needed free time thanks to Christmas break.  I got out the Endust and a clean towel and began dusting everything in sight.  I love how everything shines and smells after a good dusting.

 I came to the shelf near the Christmas tree and noticed that an ornament had fallen off (or more likely been knocked off by one of our adventurous cats), so I bent down, grabbed it,
           and stood up...
                                 right into the shelf above me. 

That might have been ok except it wasn't firmly screwed into the wall... and ... there were three large candles that had been burning for several hours sitting on the shelf.  When I hit that shelf with the force of a NASA launch, the candles jumped into air releasing three hours worth of melted wax into the air.  What goes up must come down, and all that wax did.  Some ended up on the wall and floor, but most of it ended up in my hair.  Now I have heard of hot wax treatments at spas, but I don't think this particular treatment would be popular unless you are Sinead O'Connor or Britney Spears. 

The wax quickly cooled and clumped.  I felt a bit like Carrie at the prom just blinking quite in shock about the latest Lucille Ball moment in my life. I reached up and felt my matted locks now superglued to by brain.  I felt my neck begin to stiffen as the wax began to cool. 

Then I just started laughing.  My husband couldn't figure out what had happened, but it didn't take too long when he turned to look at me.  He didn't find this quite as funny as I did at first.  "What in the hell are you doing?"  quickly followed by "Are you ok?"  He did his best to help me get wax out of my hair, but it soon became apparent this was a one woman repair job. 

It took many, many hot showers to melt that wax from my hair, and I was still picking it from my hair here and there until New Year's Day.  Thank goodness I didn't take myself too seriously that day, and I have the ability to amuse myself the way I do.  This became one of our favorite Christmas memories and was retold each Christmas to friends during Yuletide events.  This was one of those memories I will store away for happy occasions that reminds me to lighten up and laugh at myself.



Sometime I'll have to tell you about the parking meter...then maybe I'll tell you about the wallaby!

Fires, Tornadoes, and Clutter

As day 4 of the kitchen renovation comes to a close, I am reminded why yellow is such a tricky color to use on walls. Thanks to my eco-friendly lightbulbs (those ones that look like confused slinkies), the yellow resembles a neon green at night - the kind of spring flourescent green I remember white light created at the night clubs I haunted night after night so many years ago.

I do like the color during the day and in the morning, and I am sure not running out to switch the color anytime soon! One chaotic renovation at a time, please! If I don't need a second coat, I will be putting the kitchen back together tomorrow, adding a couple of new accents, and calling it good for the time being.

My Mary Kay Sales Director who lives in Indiana stopped by today. She shared her story of how she got into Mary Kay and reminded me of how it can boost my self-confidence. I listened to her and took in all she said. Upon hours of reflection, I really don't think my confidence needs boosting. My confidence in myself is what caused me to marry someone who wasn't right for me in the first place. Maybe I need a dose of humility instead and an opportunity to slow life down a bit - learn how not to be so busy for a change. These last few days in the kitchen have really provided that opportunity. It is hard to run around town when you are covered in primer and yellow/neon green paint from head to toe.

One think is for sure. She saw how scattered I am since my house looks like a tornado tore through it. I expect Aunty Em and Toto to pop out from under a pile of chaos at any time. What I do realize at this point is my thoughts are all over the place at the moment and I need to take time to process all that has happened and figure out what it is that is most important to me, and I don't think those are questions that will be answered overnight.

I have been watching for potential fires, then dousing them as they ocurred for the last few years. Life has been far from calm and peaceful, full of nervous anticipation of the next crazy thing my husband would do when he was boozed up. Therefore, it's really no surprise that my house resembles the chaos I no longer have to deal with from him. Looking around this house the last few weeks, I can't get over how many projects my husband of six years began and then stopped. That is NOT the sober man I knew. That is the alcoholic demon that took him over.

So now as I pick up the house and begin putting the rooms back in order, I imagine I will begin to organize the clutter of both good and bad memories from the last few years assigning each one to the appropriate pile. I will undoubtedly discard some memories not deeming them worthy of even the Goodwill pile, tuck others away to be pulled out during fond moments of reminiscence, and give others appropriate drawer space somewhere in my brain to be looked at when a future situation comes up that requires me to use the wisdom God has allowed me to gain. They may serve as warnings or reminders of what not to do as I begin the newest leg of my journey. I am grateful for this time which allows me to sort through all the clutter and put things in their proper place.

Winter Forecast - 2010

(I wrote this as winter was setting in...some of it still applies to me as summer arrives - although the outlook, like my kitchen, is brighter)

Winter Forecast - 2010


Assets freeze. Profits plummet. It’s gonna be a cold winter.

Anticipating Uncle Sam’s frigid mood,
Keenly sentient of impending pecuniary censure,
Creditors take deliberate measures to conserve their energy.
And store food for winter.
Bad acorns are tossed…shouldn’t have ever been stored in the first place.
Feverishly, financial lenders forage the harsh environment for a few good nuts still left in the shell
Ahhh…now these are wise investments.
To ensure they don’t spoil,
They are fortified with raised APR’s and gorged upon,
or
Quickly buried underground in the credit line deep freeze.
These spoils, creditors insist, are the fortunate…
“Hey brother, can you spare a dime?”
“ Sure…at 29.9.”
Momma’s mantra echoes too late as winter sets in.deafened by financial noise:
“Always pay with cash”

Pick Up a Paint Brush and Pray!

As I write, white primer covers me as much as it does the walls of my kitchen. I never have been a neat painter. It's almost as if I need to experience the paint as if I was the wall.

I began washing the walls at noon and it is now 1:30 AM. I didn't know I had so many muscles in my shoulders and back, but I feel alive and strangely rejuvenated by the manual labor exerted today. I feel calm and serene this early morning, and I am looking forward to adding color to the walls tomorrow. I chose an extremely powerful yellow. I will undoubtedly need sunglasses, but I wanted to shake up the color palette, maybe felt the need to brighten my soul and rejuvenate my spirit. Trust me, this yellow will do it!

As I munched on Papa John's pizza yet again this evening (you ought to try the spinach alfredo - It surprised me how tasty it was), I looked at the edges of my walls, etched in the first coat of primer and wondered if I would ever see progress. Then after a couple of slices of pizza and a whole pitcher of Crystal Light, I pulled up the proverbial sleeves and set to work in earnest. Six hours later, my now all white kitchen emerged from the rubble like a phoenix from the ashes. Maybe this renovation is symbolic of my own journey. A little less than a month ago, Julie was taking calls of fear and panic from me as I ran from my home to the local police station and away from a man so loaded up on alcohol that he seemed possessed - and I don't think that is far from the truth at all. Ozzy Osbourne sang a song called "Demon Alcohol" - It is truly an accurate account of what alcohol did to my husband, and his attach on me truly seemed demonic. Some day I might feel like putting that down in black and white so I can truly put the event to rest. Not now -- still too fresh in my mind. Suffice it to say that I am certain God was there with me that day.

I wonder if God ever feels the same way about us that I did about my kitchen today. I am amazed that he never gives up on us, that he just keeps on keepin' on. Maybe that is what I am learning from this project.

It seems as if painting the kitchen has been therapeutic in so many ways. My mind wanders with each new brush stroke. It is a chance to talk to God, and more importantly, listen to God. The peace and serenity I felt today was comforting. So I guess if I don't know how to talk to God, I just need to pick up a paintbrush!

Who Could've Designed This but God?

Once again I find that life hasn't turned out exactly the way I planned it. Apparently, God has a different path for me to follow and if I pay attention this time, I may understand what I can do to show others his strength. I do know for certain that I would never have made it through the last month had it not been for his neverending power supply.

I am now at the point of surrendering my own ego, my own superiority complex, my own arrogance. I am working to defer to His will for me. I am trying to be whatever God wants me to be - nothing more, nothing less. Anything I accomplish from this point on happens only because God chooses it for me.

You see, when I try to run it using my "amazing" brain, everything collides, things don't go according to my master design. Yet when God takes over, I am amazed by the way all things work out. Take, for instance, the fear I felt when my husband tried to choke me on our bed a few short weeks ago. I forgave him right after fleeing the house, but God ensured my safety because the man left the state. Now, I am protected by many miles and a domestic violence order. Who would ever have imagined such an answer to my prayers for guidance and direction concerning this marriage.

This violent episode may have been the catalyst to my husband's conversion and the episode that took place may have very little to do with me. My husband is now going to church on Sundays and Thursday in his hometown with a brother I have never met. I have prayed daily for hubby's salvation since I have been filled with the holy spirit but never guessed this would be the way it came about.

I don't know about the marriage's future. This was the second time in six years this man laid hands on me, and I am not about to put myself in harm's way again. I have prayed and searched for God's will and read endlessly God's belief regarding the marriage covenent. It may be my ego rearing up again, or fear, or anger at the violence I have dealt with, or my husband's continual relapses with alcohol even after his very recent conversion. But how masterfully brilliant is the design that has been woven to allow both my husband and I to reach out for God and deepen our relationship with Him?

Thank you, Jesus, for knowing what is best for each of us even when we ourselves work so hard to fight it and loving us when we don't even know how to love ourselves. I pray that you use me as you intend and help me remove my personal desires from the equation. My only goal in this life from this point forward is to glorify you. Please work through me to further your plans, Lord. In Jesus Name, Amen.