When I first met her, frankly, I never thought she'd last as an employee at the gym. She was too cute, too young, and she came off a bit snooty.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Little Miss AG is a doll! I love everything about her. She is sharp as a tack, witty, and so fun to work with. She fell in love with our gym girls and in return they adored her.
A few months ago she asked me if I thought she should apply for a job in her field, even though she lacked experience. She has a degree and was working at our little gym to make ends meet. Little Miss AG was too smart to toil away her days and her brains at the gym. Of course, I encouraged her to apply even if the job seemed a little out of her league. The mother hen in me rejoiced when she was offered a part time position with a great company.
I suppose we all knew that sooner or later her new boss would see what the rest of saw: AG is a rock star!
Today was AG's last day at the gym. I'm so happy for her and so sad to see her go. I'll miss her curly hair. I'll miss her funny laugh. I'll miss how she rolls her eyes when someone is ridiculous and the way those same eyes dance with mischief when she's joking with someone.
I'm gonna miss this kid.
I asked if we could keep in touch and if we could be Facebook friends. AG looked at me with a shocked expression and said, "Aren't we friends?" Man, I love this kid! I remember the first shift she worked after New Years, when she burst into the gym to show me her new engagement ring. She told me how excited she was to get to work so that she could share her big news.
I swear it's like she's one my kids.
Goodbye pretty little girl. You will be dearly missed.
Showing posts with label Friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friendship. Show all posts
Saturday, March 05, 2011
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Fighting the Good Fight
I mentioned a few months back that I've got some friends who are in trouble with Child Protective Services. It's the most frightening thing I have ever witnessed and the accusation are beyond ridiculous. The one thing that keeps coming to mind is the Salem Witch Trials.
For once, I am not exaggerating.
I've been careful not to share information with too many people, because if you don't know these folks, you might actually believe some of the tripe that is being thrown about. It hurts my heart in so many ways that I don't even know where to begin.
It also ticks me off.
I keeping wondering about constitutional rights. I ask about Due Process. I'm waiting to hear about anything being fair and balanced.
I'm also waiting for this crap to hit the media.
What truly disturbs me is that someone in that CPS office actually thinks he/she is SAVING these children. Regardless of the fact that their "star" witness is mentally unstable. Regardless of the fact that doctors and therapists are siding WITH the parents. Regardless...
My friends are weary. It's been a long, hard fight.
Yet, they fight on, because they know they are innocent.
Thousands of dollars
Sleepless nights
Lies
Betrayals
Wounds that may never heal
Thank you Child Protective Services. You've taught me an invaluable lesson.
Justice is dead
Social Workers may very well be the Nazi's of our time
Parents have NO rights
To my friends down south: FIGHT! I, and those like me, will stand beside you come what may.
For once, I am not exaggerating.
I've been careful not to share information with too many people, because if you don't know these folks, you might actually believe some of the tripe that is being thrown about. It hurts my heart in so many ways that I don't even know where to begin.
It also ticks me off.
I keeping wondering about constitutional rights. I ask about Due Process. I'm waiting to hear about anything being fair and balanced.
I'm also waiting for this crap to hit the media.
What truly disturbs me is that someone in that CPS office actually thinks he/she is SAVING these children. Regardless of the fact that their "star" witness is mentally unstable. Regardless of the fact that doctors and therapists are siding WITH the parents. Regardless...
My friends are weary. It's been a long, hard fight.
Yet, they fight on, because they know they are innocent.
Thousands of dollars
Sleepless nights
Lies
Betrayals
Wounds that may never heal
Thank you Child Protective Services. You've taught me an invaluable lesson.
Justice is dead
Social Workers may very well be the Nazi's of our time
Parents have NO rights
To my friends down south: FIGHT! I, and those like me, will stand beside you come what may.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Watching it Fade
I'm watching what may be the end of a marriage.
It's agonizingly painful.
I can't help but wonder if all the folks involved will come out the other side okay.
This isn't a made for television movie. This is real life, in real time.
It's not Jon and Kate.
Instead it involves a person I care about very much.
And I'm torn.
I know too many details and sometimes I just want them to split. Get it over with. Move on. Assess the damage, make what repairs can be made, and get on with life.
There have been too many hurts. Too much pain. Too much injustice.
Far too much blame shifting.
Then again I worry about the grass.
You know, the grass on the other side.
It's not always greener.
As twilight falls on this relationship I could only think of one thing to say,
"No matter what, I will always be your friend."
And so I will.
It's agonizingly painful.
I can't help but wonder if all the folks involved will come out the other side okay.
This isn't a made for television movie. This is real life, in real time.
It's not Jon and Kate.
Instead it involves a person I care about very much.
And I'm torn.
I know too many details and sometimes I just want them to split. Get it over with. Move on. Assess the damage, make what repairs can be made, and get on with life.
There have been too many hurts. Too much pain. Too much injustice.
Far too much blame shifting.
Then again I worry about the grass.
You know, the grass on the other side.
It's not always greener.
As twilight falls on this relationship I could only think of one thing to say,
"No matter what, I will always be your friend."
And so I will.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Has it Been a Year Already?
Saturday was my one year anniversary at Curves. I cannot believe how time has flown. Last year I was simply hoping to find a part time job to add some extra pennies to our bank. Remember the price of gas last year? Ouch!
I wasn't looking for friends when I went back into the job market. Yet, I've found them in abundance. I didn't know how sheltered my life had become, now I know better.
Not that I regret my many years at home, homeschooling my babies and baking cookies. It just that I've found new fields and the work is good.
My job isn't perfect, whose is? There are the crabby ladies, the thoughtless ladies, the down right mean ladies, perhaps you've met them too. There are also the sweet, wonderful women, the smart and sassy women, and the women who have overcome great odds who inspire me every. single. day.
I can't speak for every Curves, but I know my gym is an amazing place with beautiful women (in all shapes, sizes and ages) who have built a community of support. They rock my world and I'm thrilled to be a part of it.
Yet, it's not just the members who have made my place of employment so amazing.
The owners (big wave: Hi Kristen!!) are great. I couldn't ask for better managers who are thoughtful and understanding. They have put together a terrific team and are the core of our little group.
The manager is the best manager I have EVER worked for. She's got my back and that's nice to know. She's also so tactful (something I sometimes lack) and caring. I've seen her take a bad situation and turn it into something positive and motivating. I guess that's why she's the manager.
My fellow employees are equally amazing. From the sarcastic and snarky to the downright sweet, they are a joy to work. Everyone has their strengths and everyone works together to make our gym the very best.
Just ask anyone, they'll tell you, we are the best.
So, thanks Kristen and Barbara for taking a chance on a mommy who stayed home for seventeen years. Thanks Mel, Linda, Felicia, Julia and Theresa for making our team so wonderful.
And a huge thanks to the amazing members of Curves gym. You have enriched my life and inspired my health journey.
I wasn't looking for friends when I went back into the job market. Yet, I've found them in abundance. I didn't know how sheltered my life had become, now I know better.
Not that I regret my many years at home, homeschooling my babies and baking cookies. It just that I've found new fields and the work is good.
My job isn't perfect, whose is? There are the crabby ladies, the thoughtless ladies, the down right mean ladies, perhaps you've met them too. There are also the sweet, wonderful women, the smart and sassy women, and the women who have overcome great odds who inspire me every. single. day.
I can't speak for every Curves, but I know my gym is an amazing place with beautiful women (in all shapes, sizes and ages) who have built a community of support. They rock my world and I'm thrilled to be a part of it.
Yet, it's not just the members who have made my place of employment so amazing.
The owners (big wave: Hi Kristen!!) are great. I couldn't ask for better managers who are thoughtful and understanding. They have put together a terrific team and are the core of our little group.
The manager is the best manager I have EVER worked for. She's got my back and that's nice to know. She's also so tactful (something I sometimes lack) and caring. I've seen her take a bad situation and turn it into something positive and motivating. I guess that's why she's the manager.
My fellow employees are equally amazing. From the sarcastic and snarky to the downright sweet, they are a joy to work. Everyone has their strengths and everyone works together to make our gym the very best.
Just ask anyone, they'll tell you, we are the best.
So, thanks Kristen and Barbara for taking a chance on a mommy who stayed home for seventeen years. Thanks Mel, Linda, Felicia, Julia and Theresa for making our team so wonderful.
And a huge thanks to the amazing members of Curves gym. You have enriched my life and inspired my health journey.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Sometimes I Learn
Over the years I have had one or two falling outs with this friend or that. The infamous two year silence between the Writer and I is the stuff of legends. Why, it only took a wee brain tumor to jolt us back to reality. We are great friends even though we do not always agree on everything. She makes me laugh, tells me when I'm being an idiot, and always has my back.
Which leads me to the Stalker and her recent visit.
The Stalker and I have known each other since I was sixteen-years-old. We started a business together, traveled the US promoting said business and opened a publishing house. It was hard work and we discovered how different we are in many respects.
She's a, "How are the wife and kids?" kind of boss.
I am a, "What! The project isn't finished? Get it done!"
In many ways she is a finer human being than I am. More devout, more compassionate, and more concerned that other people like her. She's a pleaser. Then sometimes she's an in-your-face, don't tell me what to do, ruler of all she beholds, kinda girl.
Funny that.
She has also been very, very, very ill for the past twenty or so years. She's had a rough road, yet she's so positive. The Stalker has a way of pushing through the pain to get a job done. I suppose that is part of the reason God has blessed her with eight children. Yes, eight.
The Stalker also talks NON-STOP. I think sometimes that she thinks silence is a bad thing and does her utmost best to make sure every second is filled withnoise sound. The girl can talk. I. Kid. You. Not.
Talk the ear right of an elephant, seriously.
My mother nicknamed her Bubbles, for obvious reasons and strangely enough, the name still fits. She is exactly like a carbonated soda, all shook up, and exploding right in front of you. There is just something about her that you either fall in love with, or you run screaming from the room.
I hope though, that you'd stay. Stay and sort through the analysis. Listen and root around until you find the heart of what she's saying. Often times it's worth it.
Over breakfast the other day she and I had a serious discussion. It's one of the best we've ever had and I'm glad we had a few moments alone to sort some things out. Sometimes she makes me want to bang my head against the wall. Really. Hard.
Other times, I am awed by her generosity and her tender heart. It's times like these that I wonder why she's my friend.
As the years have passed I've come to understand that it's okay to be different. It's okay to have friends who do not always agree with me. More often than not it's people like the Stalker, the Writer, the Singer, and the Giver who make me a better person simply because I know them.
So, Stalker? Thanks for the visit. Thanks for the honest, heartfelt words. Thanks for Godiva Cheesecake (oi, my waistline) and Gustav's. Thanks for cheap breakfast and losing your toothbrush (it's in the bathroom by the way), your hairbrush, your purse. Thanks for just being you in all your silliness.
Stalker, you rock babe.
God bless and God's speed.
Which leads me to the Stalker and her recent visit.
The Stalker and I have known each other since I was sixteen-years-old. We started a business together, traveled the US promoting said business and opened a publishing house. It was hard work and we discovered how different we are in many respects.
She's a, "How are the wife and kids?" kind of boss.
I am a, "What! The project isn't finished? Get it done!"
In many ways she is a finer human being than I am. More devout, more compassionate, and more concerned that other people like her. She's a pleaser. Then sometimes she's an in-your-face, don't tell me what to do, ruler of all she beholds, kinda girl.
Funny that.
She has also been very, very, very ill for the past twenty or so years. She's had a rough road, yet she's so positive. The Stalker has a way of pushing through the pain to get a job done. I suppose that is part of the reason God has blessed her with eight children. Yes, eight.
The Stalker also talks NON-STOP. I think sometimes that she thinks silence is a bad thing and does her utmost best to make sure every second is filled with
Talk the ear right of an elephant, seriously.
My mother nicknamed her Bubbles, for obvious reasons and strangely enough, the name still fits. She is exactly like a carbonated soda, all shook up, and exploding right in front of you. There is just something about her that you either fall in love with, or you run screaming from the room.
I hope though, that you'd stay. Stay and sort through the analysis. Listen and root around until you find the heart of what she's saying. Often times it's worth it.
Over breakfast the other day she and I had a serious discussion. It's one of the best we've ever had and I'm glad we had a few moments alone to sort some things out. Sometimes she makes me want to bang my head against the wall. Really. Hard.
Other times, I am awed by her generosity and her tender heart. It's times like these that I wonder why she's my friend.
As the years have passed I've come to understand that it's okay to be different. It's okay to have friends who do not always agree with me. More often than not it's people like the Stalker, the Writer, the Singer, and the Giver who make me a better person simply because I know them.
So, Stalker? Thanks for the visit. Thanks for the honest, heartfelt words. Thanks for Godiva Cheesecake (oi, my waistline) and Gustav's. Thanks for cheap breakfast and losing your toothbrush (it's in the bathroom by the way), your hairbrush, your purse. Thanks for just being you in all your silliness.
Stalker, you rock babe.
God bless and God's speed.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Driving, Doodle, and Dancing
I'm house sitting for the Singer. She's gone for...three weeks. Three. Weeks. The dogs, Chess, Winnie, and Doodle needed company and someone to feed them. Those duties fell to me.
I'll post a picture of the Doodle later. She's a teacup poodle and fierce! Why she even scared Dingo the Cat who isn't afraid of anyone. Gasp!
So, I'm splitting time between houses which means I have two houses to keep tidy, double the animals to care for, and extra driving to do.
Saturday was the Narnia Ball. We found Girls dress at Goodwill, brand new with price tag still attached: $188.00. We picked it up for a mere $14.95. What a find!
Per tradition, our friends gathered here for a meal and the primping that takes place before such an event. Everything was going as planned...till the power went out. Seriously.
Thankfully, the meal was already prepared and we simply moved outside and enjoyed the mild weather where we feasted on shredded pork and white bean burritos. I made the MOST amazing chunky avocado salsa - recipe to follow.
I'm off to do more driving and leave you with pictures from the weekend.
Waiting for the Narnia Ball to begin
Friends! Dress for the evening ranged from ball gowns, WWII costumes, classic school girl attire, to knights, the white witch, and an imp or two.
Girl and her Daddy
Beloved and I saw this one and our mouths dropped open. Where did SHE come from? She's our pretty, pretty girl!
I'll post a picture of the Doodle later. She's a teacup poodle and fierce! Why she even scared Dingo the Cat who isn't afraid of anyone. Gasp!
So, I'm splitting time between houses which means I have two houses to keep tidy, double the animals to care for, and extra driving to do.
Saturday was the Narnia Ball. We found Girls dress at Goodwill, brand new with price tag still attached: $188.00. We picked it up for a mere $14.95. What a find!
Per tradition, our friends gathered here for a meal and the primping that takes place before such an event. Everything was going as planned...till the power went out. Seriously.
Thankfully, the meal was already prepared and we simply moved outside and enjoyed the mild weather where we feasted on shredded pork and white bean burritos. I made the MOST amazing chunky avocado salsa - recipe to follow.
I'm off to do more driving and leave you with pictures from the weekend.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Places We've Been, The People We've Seen
We've been busy. That's right! We've been the uninvited guests at a surprise party. CAKE! We've been to see those tarty machines at the laundry mat. Then we took a wee trek south to see what there was to see.
Our first stop was to the Abbey. It's such a peaceful place (except for the grounds keepers who were making plenty of racket). We had a little debate as to whether or not the Brothers still wore the traditional monks robe. I said, "Nay!" Twas, wrong. Girl was right. She and friend nearly squealed and begged for the monk's autograph when he suddenly appeared on the scene. They maintained a respectful distance but both were sad they didn't get his photo.
On our last visit to the Abbey we hadn't noticed the HUGE pipe organ that fills the balcony. My, oh my, how I want to hear that thing in action. I bet the pews shake. I really do.
Girl and friend. I noted Girl's silence the other day as she, the Singer, and myself drove along. She loves the Singer, but a day trip is always, always better with a friend.
The Abbey's grounds are beautiful and the roses delightful.
Here she is! The Singer having her photo snapped. She doesn't like this picture. Gahh! She's so beautiful!
We then traveled on and found the falls. I love this place and the Singer had never been. It was a muggy day, but the overcast sky kept us fairly cool. The hike wasn't bad and I'm happy to report that my back only hurt a wee, tiny, bit. Tis true Singer! Tis true!
After our visit to the falls, we headed to town and browsed the shops. It's funky town and one of its greatest claims to fame is the mayor, who is a transsexual. Singer saw him/her. For my part, I'd never seen him/her up close and I thought to myself, "What an ugly woman" (I need to get off farm more). Singer gasped, "Is that HIM?" Dang. We shoulda gotta photo.
We picked up Boy and headed to dinner. Then we hung out at camp and were entertained by Boy as he sang for the Singer. As you can see in the photo above, they are both goofy. Singer and I were pregnant at the same time with our children (both times, I might add) so the pride that I saw in her eyes as she listened to Boy sing was something very much akin to my own. She's been a part of our lives for sooooo long and I simply love this photo of them together.
Our day ended with our cat, Dingo, jumping up on the Singers lap. This is NOT a normal, everyday, experience. Dingo hates everyone who isn't family. He hisses. He'll refuse to let you pass. He's a pain. However, he likes the Singer. Strange that.
It was a beautiful day and we still have a few days left! Dinner party on Thursday and Lemon Cake recipe and pics later.
Ahhh lemon...
Our first stop was to the Abbey. It's such a peaceful place (except for the grounds keepers who were making plenty of racket). We had a little debate as to whether or not the Brothers still wore the traditional monks robe. I said, "Nay!" Twas, wrong. Girl was right. She and friend nearly squealed and begged for the monk's autograph when he suddenly appeared on the scene. They maintained a respectful distance but both were sad they didn't get his photo.
On our last visit to the Abbey we hadn't noticed the HUGE pipe organ that fills the balcony. My, oh my, how I want to hear that thing in action. I bet the pews shake. I really do.
Girl and friend. I noted Girl's silence the other day as she, the Singer, and myself drove along. She loves the Singer, but a day trip is always, always better with a friend.
The Abbey's grounds are beautiful and the roses delightful.
Here she is! The Singer having her photo snapped. She doesn't like this picture. Gahh! She's so beautiful!
We then traveled on and found the falls. I love this place and the Singer had never been. It was a muggy day, but the overcast sky kept us fairly cool. The hike wasn't bad and I'm happy to report that my back only hurt a wee, tiny, bit. Tis true Singer! Tis true!
After our visit to the falls, we headed to town and browsed the shops. It's funky town and one of its greatest claims to fame is the mayor, who is a transsexual. Singer saw him/her. For my part, I'd never seen him/her up close and I thought to myself, "What an ugly woman" (I need to get off farm more). Singer gasped, "Is that HIM?" Dang. We shoulda gotta photo.
We picked up Boy and headed to dinner. Then we hung out at camp and were entertained by Boy as he sang for the Singer. As you can see in the photo above, they are both goofy. Singer and I were pregnant at the same time with our children (both times, I might add) so the pride that I saw in her eyes as she listened to Boy sing was something very much akin to my own. She's been a part of our lives for sooooo long and I simply love this photo of them together.
Our day ended with our cat, Dingo, jumping up on the Singers lap. This is NOT a normal, everyday, experience. Dingo hates everyone who isn't family. He hisses. He'll refuse to let you pass. He's a pain. However, he likes the Singer. Strange that.
It was a beautiful day and we still have a few days left! Dinner party on Thursday and Lemon Cake recipe and pics later.
Ahhh lemon...
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Singer has Arrived
She's here!
It's been seven years folks. Seven years since I've see her beautiful face or heard her squeal. Seriously, she squeals, but I love her anyway.
Thus far I've shown her quite the time.
We've been to the Dollar Tree
We've been to Starbucks
We've gone to Winco and purchase groceries
We ate pizza & salad
We watched a movie
We washed the dishes
Pretty darn exciting stuff!
Tomorrow we're going to the gym, we'll pick up water, and we may go to the laundry mat.
We'll also be baking cake. CAKE! Remember, it's the summer of cake and tomorrow promises to be delicious.
Do I smell lemons?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Five Bucks Goes a Long Way
A few months ago one of the members at Curves was trying to sell Campfire Girl candy. Seriously. I said, "Um, no, I don't think so!"
Sure I was tempted. Who doesn't like candy?
The lady looked at me, smiling, and asked if I'd donate my candy to the troops, that way I wouldn't have to eat it. Every year the Campfire Girls send candy to the troops and this year was no exception. Now that is candy I can sink my teeth into.
I donated my $5.00 (the only cash I had on me) and never gave it a second thought.
Until last week.
The lady came in with a story and a photo. The story, went something like this:
This year this Campfire Troop sent 2095 boxes of candy to the soldiers. In past years, they seldom received any thanks for it. That didn't bother the girls, they were just happy to have sent something to those men and women serving their country.
However, this year was different. This year the girls received four thank you cards and a photo. It's a great picture and the story behind it is even better. It seems that the troops received their candy, ate it, and discarded the boxes. Then someone suggested that they should have taken a picture. Into the trash receptacles they dug, pulling out the empty boxes. The photo below says it all.
Looking at the picture, I wish I'd donated more. Can you really put a price tag on giving someone else joy?
I don't think so.
Sure I was tempted. Who doesn't like candy?
The lady looked at me, smiling, and asked if I'd donate my candy to the troops, that way I wouldn't have to eat it. Every year the Campfire Girls send candy to the troops and this year was no exception. Now that is candy I can sink my teeth into.
I donated my $5.00 (the only cash I had on me) and never gave it a second thought.
Until last week.
The lady came in with a story and a photo. The story, went something like this:
This year this Campfire Troop sent 2095 boxes of candy to the soldiers. In past years, they seldom received any thanks for it. That didn't bother the girls, they were just happy to have sent something to those men and women serving their country.
However, this year was different. This year the girls received four thank you cards and a photo. It's a great picture and the story behind it is even better. It seems that the troops received their candy, ate it, and discarded the boxes. Then someone suggested that they should have taken a picture. Into the trash receptacles they dug, pulling out the empty boxes. The photo below says it all.
Looking at the picture, I wish I'd donated more. Can you really put a price tag on giving someone else joy?
I don't think so.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
My Evil Twin Sistah
I sat at the table feeling slightly out of my element. Not that anyone had said or done anything to make me feel that way, but the facts were glaringly obvious. I was surrounded by writers; published, successful, writers. My resume, which is short, sweet and not terribly impressive, stared at me and shook it’s sad, tiny head. If only I’d written more…
I listened as they talked shop. I smiled at their jokes and tried to wrap my mind around zooming off to New York to meet with a publisher or promote my latest literary achievement. I looked at our hostess, the beautiful, talented, and amazing, Jane Porter. She was so gracious, so very real and I was sitting at her table watching her smile and connect with the other women there.
Was I dreaming?
Sending an email to Jane and asking to schlep along with my best friend and published author, Teri Brown to Jane’s pre-book signing dinner party is something that I considered bold, yes, even brash. After all, Jane is living the dream! She’s successful (and beautiful). Why would she want someone like me, a no body to join her for drinks and dinner. Why?
After meeting her last night, I know it’s because she’s wonderful. She’s real. Some days she stays in her PJ’s all day. I don’t believe she walks on water…
There were other readers at the party and I noted that Jane spent a good deal of time at that end of the table getting to know her fans and making them feel the way I felt: welcomed. That girl knows her PR and knows the value of being genuine. In a world where too many women take joy in making other women feel inferior, Jane Porter is authentic (and did I mention beautiful?).
I was thrilled to be a part of that evening. I observed something that was a wee bit shocking, but so wonderful to behold. I saw my friend all grown up. In order to understand that last sentence, you need to know that a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away my friend Teri was a stay at home mom (like me).
Unlike me, she didn’t drive. She didn’t have access to any money. Her DH (whom I have come to adore) left her lists of chores. “Oh my word! Someone liberate this woman!”. She was my polar opposite and yet, last night I witnessed a mature, confident, successful woman. I am so proud to call her friend.
The only thing that was a little strange was that several people, Jane included, felt that they knew me. We don’t move in the same circles, in fact these days, I don’t move in any circles.
If they had been homeschool mom’s I would have asked if they’d attended any conferences in the past seven years or so. If that were the case, they may have heard me speak there. Maybe they’d subscribed to my Homeschooling Mommies newsletter. Perhaps they’d purchased books from my little publishing house.
Not these women. They didn’t know me and it was a little eerie that several of them were certain we’d met. Hmmm…
On the drive home Teri and I discussed the evening and agreed that it was indeed wonderful. We chuckled that some claimed to know me. I joked that maybe it’s my twin and I hoped she was nice. Then it occurred to me…If she’s the nice one that means I’m the evil one.
Teri’s laughter assured me that this was most likely the case.
Dang it.
I listened as they talked shop. I smiled at their jokes and tried to wrap my mind around zooming off to New York to meet with a publisher or promote my latest literary achievement. I looked at our hostess, the beautiful, talented, and amazing, Jane Porter. She was so gracious, so very real and I was sitting at her table watching her smile and connect with the other women there.
Was I dreaming?
Sending an email to Jane and asking to schlep along with my best friend and published author, Teri Brown to Jane’s pre-book signing dinner party is something that I considered bold, yes, even brash. After all, Jane is living the dream! She’s successful (and beautiful). Why would she want someone like me, a no body to join her for drinks and dinner. Why?
After meeting her last night, I know it’s because she’s wonderful. She’s real. Some days she stays in her PJ’s all day. I don’t believe she walks on water…
There were other readers at the party and I noted that Jane spent a good deal of time at that end of the table getting to know her fans and making them feel the way I felt: welcomed. That girl knows her PR and knows the value of being genuine. In a world where too many women take joy in making other women feel inferior, Jane Porter is authentic (and did I mention beautiful?).
I was thrilled to be a part of that evening. I observed something that was a wee bit shocking, but so wonderful to behold. I saw my friend all grown up. In order to understand that last sentence, you need to know that a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away my friend Teri was a stay at home mom (like me).
Unlike me, she didn’t drive. She didn’t have access to any money. Her DH (whom I have come to adore) left her lists of chores. “Oh my word! Someone liberate this woman!”. She was my polar opposite and yet, last night I witnessed a mature, confident, successful woman. I am so proud to call her friend.
The only thing that was a little strange was that several people, Jane included, felt that they knew me. We don’t move in the same circles, in fact these days, I don’t move in any circles.
If they had been homeschool mom’s I would have asked if they’d attended any conferences in the past seven years or so. If that were the case, they may have heard me speak there. Maybe they’d subscribed to my Homeschooling Mommies newsletter. Perhaps they’d purchased books from my little publishing house.
Not these women. They didn’t know me and it was a little eerie that several of them were certain we’d met. Hmmm…
On the drive home Teri and I discussed the evening and agreed that it was indeed wonderful. We chuckled that some claimed to know me. I joked that maybe it’s my twin and I hoped she was nice. Then it occurred to me…If she’s the nice one that means I’m the evil one.
Teri’s laughter assured me that this was most likely the case.
Dang it.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Travis Erwin & Writer Girl offers a Challenge
On yesterday's dismal, whiny, not-so-nice post about FIL, Teri (aka Writer Girl) suggested a challenge: do two nice things for FIL every week.
gag
choke
grumble
massive (and I do mean MASSIVE)eye-roll here!
But...
She may be on to something.
The situation is hard, heck even the sound of his breathing make me crazy! Yet, I have a choice. I can decide to be a grown-up or I can choose to act like a spoiled brat whose tired of not getting her way.
I told Writer Girl that I was too tired and too crabby to think about this. That I do nice things for him all the time...excuses, excuses, excuses.
For now, I'm going back to bed (I just saw beloved off) and I'll think about this more later. It has value.
Do YOU have any thoughts?
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Here's to Parenting
I met with the Writer today. 'bout time, I know. I miss seeing her on a regular basis, but between both our jobs, families, and sleep, time has become something of a precious commodity. It was grand to sit and chat about things that I can't really discuss with others. See, she's one who knows me, really knows me. She has enough dirt on me to blackmail me. Of course since she knows me so well, she knows I haven't a dime, so she'd rather stay friends than try to squeeze blood from a turnip.
One of the topics we always discuss is our respective kiddos. My boy and her boy are bestest friends and have been for nearly their entire life. They are a good combination and I think they balance each other out pretty well.
Our daughters are close in age, but don't have much in common. However, after the recent, "she's too worldly" episode we experienced, the Writer's daughter made it very clear what she'd like to say to those nasty girls. She even offered to come over and "explain a thing or two" if needed. I'd say she got her hackles up and I know if my girl needs it, the beautiful chicken has got her back.
As my friend and I discussed the kiddies, we both agreed that parenting older children, meaning adult and nearly adult, is very different and in some ways harder than it was years ago. We are both now in the place where our "advice" is not always welcome. It isn't that they are disrespectful, it's more that they have their own ideas and are prepared to move forward on their own.
Don't get me wrong, this is what we want! We don't want them sitting on our sofas, eating our food, and unemployed when they are forty! We want them to grow up and become functioning adults. But what about when you wonder if they are making the best choice? Do you gently suggest another path or let them learn for themselves?
Learning for themselves is best...it's just hard to watch them make mistakes isn't it? That is the heart of it. We are still mommies, regardless of how old the children are.
Yet, it's nice when someone else gives your off-spring the same advice you would give. Perhaps, if the words are coming from someone else, the adult child is more apt to listen. It's certainly a possibility anyway.
So, dearest Writer Girl, thanks for your words to boy about saving money and getting on with life. It meant a lot to me and I'm thankful that we are on the same page.
Oh, and thanks for the coffee :)
One of the topics we always discuss is our respective kiddos. My boy and her boy are bestest friends and have been for nearly their entire life. They are a good combination and I think they balance each other out pretty well.
Our daughters are close in age, but don't have much in common. However, after the recent, "she's too worldly" episode we experienced, the Writer's daughter made it very clear what she'd like to say to those nasty girls. She even offered to come over and "explain a thing or two" if needed. I'd say she got her hackles up and I know if my girl needs it, the beautiful chicken has got her back.
As my friend and I discussed the kiddies, we both agreed that parenting older children, meaning adult and nearly adult, is very different and in some ways harder than it was years ago. We are both now in the place where our "advice" is not always welcome. It isn't that they are disrespectful, it's more that they have their own ideas and are prepared to move forward on their own.
Don't get me wrong, this is what we want! We don't want them sitting on our sofas, eating our food, and unemployed when they are forty! We want them to grow up and become functioning adults. But what about when you wonder if they are making the best choice? Do you gently suggest another path or let them learn for themselves?
Learning for themselves is best...it's just hard to watch them make mistakes isn't it? That is the heart of it. We are still mommies, regardless of how old the children are.
Yet, it's nice when someone else gives your off-spring the same advice you would give. Perhaps, if the words are coming from someone else, the adult child is more apt to listen. It's certainly a possibility anyway.
So, dearest Writer Girl, thanks for your words to boy about saving money and getting on with life. It meant a lot to me and I'm thankful that we are on the same page.
Oh, and thanks for the coffee :)
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Mama Mia: Was this film Bad!
Last night Writer Girl and BFF Teri (click here to read what she thought) invited me to go see Mama Mia. The reviews of this flick told me it was horrible, but horrid in a kinda sweet way.
The story (which apparently is a WELL KNOWN Broadway play that first opened in London in 1999 and hasn’t stopped running since – who knew?) is about Sophia who longs to know who her father is. She’s been raised on a beautiful Greek island by her ex-singer and hippy mother. When Sophia finds Donna’s (Meryl Streep)diary she discovers that one of three men may be her father. Since she’s getting married, she sends each prospective father an invitation…from her mother. The men arrive, mayhem abounds with lots of singing and dancing.
One review said:
“Yet let's give "Mamma Mia!" credit: It's bad in so many ways, yet you can't say that these ladies lack spunk. Their what-the-hell moxie lights up the first girl-power musical to target girls over 50. (And just wait until Pierce Brosnan warbles "S.O.S." You'll laugh. And then you'll be charmed.)”
http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/07/18/ew.review.mammamia/index.html
Frankly, I wasn’t charmed. I thought it was stupid. Stupid on so many fronts that I don’t think I have enough space on this blog to go into it. I admit, I laughed. There were a few scenes that made me laugh out loud, along with the other women sitting around us. The ABBA sound track reminded me that I use to like some of that music. I mean really, who didn’t dance around their bedroom to Dancing Queen?
However, I have been damaged beyond repair. Really.
Pierce Brosnan cannot in any way, shape, or form sing (and yes Teri I get it that he was soooo bad that they made that a part of his character).
Colin Firth (sweet, shy, wonderful Mr. Darcy!!!!) turns out to be gay.
I may never recover...
Watching Meryl Streep, Julie Waters and Christine Baranski act like complete idiots made me want to throw my popcorn at the screen., except I didn’t have any popcorn.
The best thing about last night was spending time with MY bff and laughing. That is always a good thing.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Stinky, Corn Pone, and Saved Princess
Life: It’s a real pickle.
Take today for instance. We are waiting on our stimulus check. They said it would be here today. Actually they said it would be here before the 11th. It’s really important that the check get here tomorrow. I have to buy an airline ticket and you know those nasty things go up every day you put off buying it. Grr!
I’ve got Soldier Girl and Master W arriving sometime this evening and The Dude and Kat arriving on Monday. The house isn’t as ready as I’d like it. I’ve been rushing around doing this and that, but it’s never really clean enough. You know how it is. But what’s really bad and I do mean BAD, is that something died in our chimney.
Do you smell that?
I cannot believe some stupid animal got into the chimney NOW and departed this earth. It left its stinky, decaying carcass in MY CHIMNEY. The smell isn’t overwhelming. It’s more like a gently wafting of fragrance at odd and intermittent intervals.
Isn’t that just swell?
And don’t even get me started on the yard. I’m beginning to feel like Elly Mae Clampett. Oh for Pete’s sake. Okay, it’s more like Granny Clampett, but did you really have to point that out? Geez, some people.
Currently taking up residence in our yard is one sink, one vanity, one water storage tank, a child’s kitchen (left over from the Tiny Tyrants for Master W), a stack of wood (half covered), and a ladder.
Just makes ya hungry fer sum fried chicken and corn pone don’t it?
Shoot me. Just shoot me now.
And a special note to a secret pal –
SavedPrincess, I love you and will always, always, always love you. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, I’ll stick with you through thick and thin. I have no stone to throw. I have no right to throw it even if I had a one. You know that path you need to take. Hold my hand. I’ll walk with you.
I’ll be moseying along now. Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?
Take today for instance. We are waiting on our stimulus check. They said it would be here today. Actually they said it would be here before the 11th. It’s really important that the check get here tomorrow. I have to buy an airline ticket and you know those nasty things go up every day you put off buying it. Grr!
I’ve got Soldier Girl and Master W arriving sometime this evening and The Dude and Kat arriving on Monday. The house isn’t as ready as I’d like it. I’ve been rushing around doing this and that, but it’s never really clean enough. You know how it is. But what’s really bad and I do mean BAD, is that something died in our chimney.
Do you smell that?
I cannot believe some stupid animal got into the chimney NOW and departed this earth. It left its stinky, decaying carcass in MY CHIMNEY. The smell isn’t overwhelming. It’s more like a gently wafting of fragrance at odd and intermittent intervals.
Isn’t that just swell?
And don’t even get me started on the yard. I’m beginning to feel like Elly Mae Clampett. Oh for Pete’s sake. Okay, it’s more like Granny Clampett, but did you really have to point that out? Geez, some people.
Currently taking up residence in our yard is one sink, one vanity, one water storage tank, a child’s kitchen (left over from the Tiny Tyrants for Master W), a stack of wood (half covered), and a ladder.
Just makes ya hungry fer sum fried chicken and corn pone don’t it?
Shoot me. Just shoot me now.
And a special note to a secret pal –
SavedPrincess, I love you and will always, always, always love you. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, I’ll stick with you through thick and thin. I have no stone to throw. I have no right to throw it even if I had a one. You know that path you need to take. Hold my hand. I’ll walk with you.
I’ll be moseying along now. Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?
Thursday, June 26, 2008
For Wen: Hearing Not Included
It’s officially summer here in the Pacific Northwest. That means I don’t have to wear a jacket to go walking in. So, logically, you would think that I would have purchased walking/jogging/running (ha ha) pants with pockets. You’d think that wouldn’t you? Well. I didn’t. Idiot girl.
Instead, I figured out a way to wedge my cell phone between my Incase Ipod arm strap and my arm. Works like a charm. I also figured out that my keys can be oh so carefully stuffed into my sock. I am a walking fashion statement, let me tell you. Red and white Incase with red cell phone scrunched between my dazzlingly red Ipod and my fleshy arm. White and blue Fila’s in which my white sockies fit neatly, one leg BULGING with keys. Hair pulled into a tight pony tail. Yeah, it’s all about the look. I’m one hot mama.
No, really. It’s summer. I’m really, really hot. The hill wanted to kill me today. It wanted me to melt with the black top. Snicker. No way Jose!
So, I’m kickin’ the hill, Ipod urging me on, phone so close to my ear that I would surely hear it. You’d think that wouldn’t you? I didn’t though and missed a call from my new boss (yeah, I gotta boss and she so rocks).
Later I compared notes with another geriatric girl. She’s a girl I've labeled the Singer. She’s also known as the Driver. Personally, I like to call her my Wen. Anyway, The Wen and I laughed about the fact that neither one of us can hear our cell phones.
Now in case you are missing the point here, we are women who could hear a tinker toy plunge through the skin of a child on the second floor of the house before the injured party started screaming. We could hear water drip ever so gently onto rose petals. Bats had nothing on us.
Sadly, our hearing seems to be waning. But what’s most troubling is that unless that darn phone is in our hot little hands, we don’t feel them vibrate either. Huh? In my pocket? Nope, won’t feel it. In my purse at my feet, daughter sitting next to me will feel it, I won’t. So, I purpose to Verizon, Kyocera and all makers of the cell phone that they consider a new line.
A phone for the woman over 40. See, the problem is we haven’t quiet hit menopause, so we’re not snake spit mean (yet), but we’ve lost the ability to hear a train in the distance, a child crying down the hall, or our cell phones. So please, Mr. Cell Phone Maker, make me phone. Make it with a LOUD ring. Make the vibrate option on the phone so strong that Wen in Southern Cal will wonder if there’s been an earth quake. In fact, while you’re at it, make GPS a standard feature for The Stalker with a loud commanding voice so she’ll know where she’s at or where she’s going. Make it artsy and pretty for The Giver. Design it with one of those replicating windows like on Star Trek so that The Writer can get her Luna bar after her run.
And could you make chocolate scented?
What about margarita scented?
Yeah...
Instead, I figured out a way to wedge my cell phone between my Incase Ipod arm strap and my arm. Works like a charm. I also figured out that my keys can be oh so carefully stuffed into my sock. I am a walking fashion statement, let me tell you. Red and white Incase with red cell phone scrunched between my dazzlingly red Ipod and my fleshy arm. White and blue Fila’s in which my white sockies fit neatly, one leg BULGING with keys. Hair pulled into a tight pony tail. Yeah, it’s all about the look. I’m one hot mama.
No, really. It’s summer. I’m really, really hot. The hill wanted to kill me today. It wanted me to melt with the black top. Snicker. No way Jose!
So, I’m kickin’ the hill, Ipod urging me on, phone so close to my ear that I would surely hear it. You’d think that wouldn’t you? I didn’t though and missed a call from my new boss (yeah, I gotta boss and she so rocks).
Later I compared notes with another geriatric girl. She’s a girl I've labeled the Singer. She’s also known as the Driver. Personally, I like to call her my Wen. Anyway, The Wen and I laughed about the fact that neither one of us can hear our cell phones.
Now in case you are missing the point here, we are women who could hear a tinker toy plunge through the skin of a child on the second floor of the house before the injured party started screaming. We could hear water drip ever so gently onto rose petals. Bats had nothing on us.
Sadly, our hearing seems to be waning. But what’s most troubling is that unless that darn phone is in our hot little hands, we don’t feel them vibrate either. Huh? In my pocket? Nope, won’t feel it. In my purse at my feet, daughter sitting next to me will feel it, I won’t. So, I purpose to Verizon, Kyocera and all makers of the cell phone that they consider a new line.
A phone for the woman over 40. See, the problem is we haven’t quiet hit menopause, so we’re not snake spit mean (yet), but we’ve lost the ability to hear a train in the distance, a child crying down the hall, or our cell phones. So please, Mr. Cell Phone Maker, make me phone. Make it with a LOUD ring. Make the vibrate option on the phone so strong that Wen in Southern Cal will wonder if there’s been an earth quake. In fact, while you’re at it, make GPS a standard feature for The Stalker with a loud commanding voice so she’ll know where she’s at or where she’s going. Make it artsy and pretty for The Giver. Design it with one of those replicating windows like on Star Trek so that The Writer can get her Luna bar after her run.
And could you make chocolate scented?
What about margarita scented?
Yeah...
Monday, May 05, 2008
In Search of REAL Christian Sisters
Saturday night proved to be something all together different than I expected. I don’t attend “Ladies Events” at church. Been there, done that. I have NO desire to spend ANY time with a group (and it’s a LLAARRGGEE group) of phony women.
If that last sentence offended you, I suggest you stop reading right now, cause sister, it’s gonna get worse before it gets better!
When I first became a Christian I was under the delusion that all Christians were your family; your brothers and sisters. I mistakenly supposed that we’d be a cozy little group whose goal was to build up, not tear down. Imagine my surprise to find just the opposite to be true.
Now, I’m an emotional girl, I can’t help myself. I’m what Patsy Clairmont calls “A Soggy Saint”. I cry over everything, coffee commercials, greeting cards, sappy made-for-TV movies, etc. In fact if YOU cry, it won’t be long and I’ll be crying right along with ya! It ain’t pretty, but it’s true (and that’s what you get here; truth).
I’ve always known that women can be catty, snotty, down right rude, (I am one after all, snicker) but I was surprised to find that even within the church, women have sharp claws. After being burned a few times, I retreated into my own little circle and decide, in a self preservation sort of way, to keep under the radar. If you don’t step out you can’t be stepped on. I hate being emotional in public. If I find myself starting to get teary-eyed I will chew my tongue, my cheek, I’ll count something and block out what ever it is that is making me choke up. I try my very hardest to keep it under wraps. After all, no one likes to see an idiot cry.
I also learned from the behavior of others that I really didn’t want to behave like them. I made it my goal to look for those who looked as pathetic as I did and be friendly. It was a good lesson in stepping outside my comfort zone and I found that there actually are a lot of very nice Christian woman who are looking for authentic people. As a speaker at homeschool conventions, my business partner and I spent a great deal of time talking with woman and encouraging them. We tried to be transparent.
While this all sounds very lovely (and it was) I also began to harden my heart towards those in the church who moved in the “inner circle”. Holy guacamole, it’s like high school all over again. The clicks! Why on earth are there clicks in church? Because I’d been hurt on several occasions, I was less receptive to any gesture by a woman in or around ministry. Shame on me.
I have friends who move in that circle now. They are the beautiful ones. Those ones who have talent, grace, and style (exactly what they are doing with this idiot girl is beyond me). Of course, because they are involved it means that I receive invitations to “Ladies Events”. Gaahh!
Usually, I politely turn them down. I don’t want to hurt my friend, but I loath those events. I know that one of two things will happen; I will either get emotional over something I’ve heard or I’ll sit there alone feeling like a leper. In all honesty, if both of these things happen at once, I’ll refuse to leave the house for days!
However, Saturday night would prove me wrong. Very, very wrong.
My dear, dear friend (The Giver) invited me to a ladies dinner at her church. Now, her church is not your run of the mill hymn singing, sedate church. Nope. It’s loud. It’s tattooed. It’s real, baby. I’ve visited it before but had managed to avoid the clutches of the women’s group. So, I owed her one.
The room was beautifully decorated. I am always amazed at women who have such creative minds and the way they can make a bare room bloom to life with candles and cloth. There were 400 (yeah, easy to get lost in the crowd, that’s what I was thinking too) women at this event. The music was LOUD. The food was good (I ate only three bites of dessert then handed my plate to The Giver). The woman who spoke was funny and transparent about her brain tumor and that fact that she has two to five years to live. She was real. She was joyful. She was really funny. Wow.
Her story puts all my blathering here to shame. It really does.
Then came the part I was dreading. It was the announcement that we were going to sit at our tables and share. I despise sharing with strangers and knew in my hard little heart that it would be another phony, gossip session that would leave me empty. I decide to be aloof, silent, simply a body taking up space. (Of course I was kicking myself in the hind end for not driving my own car! Gah! Idiot girls rises again!!)
I listened as first one then another shared some very real, very personal struggles. I was amazed as one woman started to cry while she shared. What? Real tears, real problems, real sin, being shared with total strangers. I sat amazed, my eyes getting teary, while my mind shouted, “Keep your big mouth shut! No one wants to hear what you have to say!!!!” Of course, I didn’t listen, I had to say something. And I did.
I told them how much I appreciated their transparency. They had removed their Christian masks and stood, hearts exposed, for every stranger at that table to see. I explained that I don’t “do women’s events” and why. They smiled, shaking their heads in agreement.
I learned Saturday night that authentic Christian womanhood is alive and well. I guess you just have to know where to find it. It gives me hope, it really does.
If that last sentence offended you, I suggest you stop reading right now, cause sister, it’s gonna get worse before it gets better!
When I first became a Christian I was under the delusion that all Christians were your family; your brothers and sisters. I mistakenly supposed that we’d be a cozy little group whose goal was to build up, not tear down. Imagine my surprise to find just the opposite to be true.
Now, I’m an emotional girl, I can’t help myself. I’m what Patsy Clairmont calls “A Soggy Saint”. I cry over everything, coffee commercials, greeting cards, sappy made-for-TV movies, etc. In fact if YOU cry, it won’t be long and I’ll be crying right along with ya! It ain’t pretty, but it’s true (and that’s what you get here; truth).
I’ve always known that women can be catty, snotty, down right rude, (I am one after all, snicker) but I was surprised to find that even within the church, women have sharp claws. After being burned a few times, I retreated into my own little circle and decide, in a self preservation sort of way, to keep under the radar. If you don’t step out you can’t be stepped on. I hate being emotional in public. If I find myself starting to get teary-eyed I will chew my tongue, my cheek, I’ll count something and block out what ever it is that is making me choke up. I try my very hardest to keep it under wraps. After all, no one likes to see an idiot cry.
I also learned from the behavior of others that I really didn’t want to behave like them. I made it my goal to look for those who looked as pathetic as I did and be friendly. It was a good lesson in stepping outside my comfort zone and I found that there actually are a lot of very nice Christian woman who are looking for authentic people. As a speaker at homeschool conventions, my business partner and I spent a great deal of time talking with woman and encouraging them. We tried to be transparent.
While this all sounds very lovely (and it was) I also began to harden my heart towards those in the church who moved in the “inner circle”. Holy guacamole, it’s like high school all over again. The clicks! Why on earth are there clicks in church? Because I’d been hurt on several occasions, I was less receptive to any gesture by a woman in or around ministry. Shame on me.
I have friends who move in that circle now. They are the beautiful ones. Those ones who have talent, grace, and style (exactly what they are doing with this idiot girl is beyond me). Of course, because they are involved it means that I receive invitations to “Ladies Events”. Gaahh!
Usually, I politely turn them down. I don’t want to hurt my friend, but I loath those events. I know that one of two things will happen; I will either get emotional over something I’ve heard or I’ll sit there alone feeling like a leper. In all honesty, if both of these things happen at once, I’ll refuse to leave the house for days!
However, Saturday night would prove me wrong. Very, very wrong.
My dear, dear friend (The Giver) invited me to a ladies dinner at her church. Now, her church is not your run of the mill hymn singing, sedate church. Nope. It’s loud. It’s tattooed. It’s real, baby. I’ve visited it before but had managed to avoid the clutches of the women’s group. So, I owed her one.
The room was beautifully decorated. I am always amazed at women who have such creative minds and the way they can make a bare room bloom to life with candles and cloth. There were 400 (yeah, easy to get lost in the crowd, that’s what I was thinking too) women at this event. The music was LOUD. The food was good (I ate only three bites of dessert then handed my plate to The Giver). The woman who spoke was funny and transparent about her brain tumor and that fact that she has two to five years to live. She was real. She was joyful. She was really funny. Wow.
Her story puts all my blathering here to shame. It really does.
Then came the part I was dreading. It was the announcement that we were going to sit at our tables and share. I despise sharing with strangers and knew in my hard little heart that it would be another phony, gossip session that would leave me empty. I decide to be aloof, silent, simply a body taking up space. (Of course I was kicking myself in the hind end for not driving my own car! Gah! Idiot girls rises again!!)
I listened as first one then another shared some very real, very personal struggles. I was amazed as one woman started to cry while she shared. What? Real tears, real problems, real sin, being shared with total strangers. I sat amazed, my eyes getting teary, while my mind shouted, “Keep your big mouth shut! No one wants to hear what you have to say!!!!” Of course, I didn’t listen, I had to say something. And I did.
I told them how much I appreciated their transparency. They had removed their Christian masks and stood, hearts exposed, for every stranger at that table to see. I explained that I don’t “do women’s events” and why. They smiled, shaking their heads in agreement.
I learned Saturday night that authentic Christian womanhood is alive and well. I guess you just have to know where to find it. It gives me hope, it really does.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Read My Lips
Continued from yesterday: The Book
My BFF, Teri J. Brown, has been writing her entire life, but only for fame and fortune the last eight years. Her first book has become legend among a certain group of Christian homeschoolers, while her second book, Day Tripping gave parents new and innovative ideas about getting their children out of the house for some family adventure.
I am so very proud to announce that Teri’s first work of fiction will be hitting the bookshelves at the local book stores (of course you can pre-order online) on June 3rd. This young adult novel has all the great elements of teen lit: popularity, cute guys, gossip, and just a wee bit o’ mystery.
Meet Serena:
Serena just wants to fly under the radar at her new school. But Serena is deaf, and she can read lips really well-even across the busy cafeteria. So when the popular girls discover her talent, there’s no turning back.
What I liked about Read My Lips was how real the characters were. Serena has a real desire to fit in, just like we all did back in high school and sometimes that longing to be part of the crowd makes good choices kind of fuzzy. The mean girls did mean girl things, but they weren’t horrific. They were just kids, doing kid things. Then there was the description of Serena’s mom who does one thing that drives her crazy; the mother hover.
Frankly, that sounds a little too much like me and I think I’ll have to have a word or two with Ms. Brown!
The book is a fun, light read. I’m excited for Teri and all the authors over at Class of 2K8. Why not check them out?
And of course you can pre-order Read My Lips from Teri's web page, teribrownwrites.com (click link above) or from my book store on the right hand side of this page. Don't forget you can also purchase it on June 3 at a bookstore near you!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Look at the Idiot Girl
Yesterday is rained. That isn’t exactly breaking news here in Oregon. It rains a great deal of the time; in fact, I’d have to say that it has rained at least five days of every week since October. Again, that isn’t unusual. The funny thing about the rain yesterday was that I was out in it.
My Mother did teach her idiot daughter to come in out of the rain. She also told me to not eat too much dessert because, “Too much dessert makes too much Ann.” Which is a good part of the reason I was out walking. Hey, she told me, that doesn’t mean I listened!
But, back to the rain.
It wasn’t raining when I left the house. It was in fact, very lovely; light breeze, sunshine, large puffy clouds, a good time, nay, a perfect time for a walk. Cept, its Oregon in the spring time.
I met my walking buddy who had a little gifty for me; her book. It’s the one I’ve been begging (begging!) her to let me read. It hits the book stores in June and I have every intention of purchasing it, but I wanted to read it early! I’m her BOF for heaven’s sake!
But, back to the rain.
We started out on our usual path. I listened as she described a couple of guys she knows who are in a bad way. We cleared the woods as the temperature dropped. Wow, it’s cold, I thought. Just as we crossed the bridge it started to sprinkle.
“I think it’s going to rain on us,” I chirped.
Sure enough. The heavens opened and it began to pour. We laughed about our flimsy, non-rain repellant jackets (Morons! Walking in Oregon without a rain coat, snicker) but we kept moving. I threw my hood on, a fact she noted and grumbled about not having one. I asked if the fact that I’d be sitting in my car for an hour, soaking wet, waiting for Miss C, was consolation enough while she’d be home warm and dry. It soothed her mean little heart just a bit.
That is until it started to hail. Now, I don’t know if ya’ll have ever been out walking, in the rain, dripping wet, being pelted by tiny darts of ice or not, but let me just assure you that it’s not fun. It isn’t fun at all. We cut our loop short and headed for the parking lot. It was then that I decided I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to let the rain beat me. I was going to finish my walk!
Walking buddy thought I was an idiot, “You can stay if you want to, but I’m going home. My pants are sticking to my legs!”
And stay I did.
I finished my walk, soaked to the skin, hair plastered to my head, shoes squishing. The geese laughed at me as I passed them. I could hear them snickering to each other, pointing in my direction squawking, “Look at the idiot girl! She thinks she’s a duck” Quack, quack, quack. The grounds keepers smiled at me in that, “Oh look, a die hard. She must not be from around here, she doesn’t have a rain coat,” kind of way.
But, I did it. I finished my walk and I was proud. Wet, but proud.
And waiting for me in my car: THE BOOK
To be continued
My Mother did teach her idiot daughter to come in out of the rain. She also told me to not eat too much dessert because, “Too much dessert makes too much Ann.” Which is a good part of the reason I was out walking. Hey, she told me, that doesn’t mean I listened!
But, back to the rain.
It wasn’t raining when I left the house. It was in fact, very lovely; light breeze, sunshine, large puffy clouds, a good time, nay, a perfect time for a walk. Cept, its Oregon in the spring time.
I met my walking buddy who had a little gifty for me; her book. It’s the one I’ve been begging (begging!) her to let me read. It hits the book stores in June and I have every intention of purchasing it, but I wanted to read it early! I’m her BOF for heaven’s sake!
But, back to the rain.
We started out on our usual path. I listened as she described a couple of guys she knows who are in a bad way. We cleared the woods as the temperature dropped. Wow, it’s cold, I thought. Just as we crossed the bridge it started to sprinkle.
“I think it’s going to rain on us,” I chirped.
Sure enough. The heavens opened and it began to pour. We laughed about our flimsy, non-rain repellant jackets (Morons! Walking in Oregon without a rain coat, snicker) but we kept moving. I threw my hood on, a fact she noted and grumbled about not having one. I asked if the fact that I’d be sitting in my car for an hour, soaking wet, waiting for Miss C, was consolation enough while she’d be home warm and dry. It soothed her mean little heart just a bit.
That is until it started to hail. Now, I don’t know if ya’ll have ever been out walking, in the rain, dripping wet, being pelted by tiny darts of ice or not, but let me just assure you that it’s not fun. It isn’t fun at all. We cut our loop short and headed for the parking lot. It was then that I decided I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to let the rain beat me. I was going to finish my walk!
Walking buddy thought I was an idiot, “You can stay if you want to, but I’m going home. My pants are sticking to my legs!”
And stay I did.
I finished my walk, soaked to the skin, hair plastered to my head, shoes squishing. The geese laughed at me as I passed them. I could hear them snickering to each other, pointing in my direction squawking, “Look at the idiot girl! She thinks she’s a duck” Quack, quack, quack. The grounds keepers smiled at me in that, “Oh look, a die hard. She must not be from around here, she doesn’t have a rain coat,” kind of way.
But, I did it. I finished my walk and I was proud. Wet, but proud.
And waiting for me in my car: THE BOOK
To be continued
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Yesterday, Kiva over at eclectic granny gave me an E for Excellence award! Thanks Kiva!
If you haven’t visited Kiva yet, I highly suggest you do so. She is a wonderful photographer and can usually be found participating in the weekly assignments from Outpost Mavarin . Aside from being an evil step mother and the granny you wish you had, she’s a terrific writer and knows far more about computers than I could ever imagine!
So, thanks again Kiva you darlin' girl!
Friday, March 21, 2008
“As my friend?”
“To hell with caution.”
-Prime Minister William Pitt to William Wilberforce from the movie “Amazing Grace”
This kind of describes the least few days. I fretted over not being able to go to the hospital to see my friend. Thankfully, Miss C, who is often times wiser than her mama, pointed out that a piano lesson is not nearly as important as ones friend. Thus, caution was thrown to the wind and I trekked to the hospital, a tall, double-shot, caramel macchiato, nifty purple flower and a big, obnoxious smiley balloon in tow.
Friend was well. Friend had nose tampon in place and a wee bit of a Frankenstein look about her…in other words, she was beautiful! My little heart rejoiced to see her with me own eyes. That and witnessing first hand her new tattoo gave me ideas for blog fodder for at least a week, maybe even a month!
I also had a nice little reality check in the form of a district attorney, a gang enforcement officer, three, maybe four police officers, and witnesses to the crime. How is it that I (we) can go so blithely about our business when danger, real danger, is mere feet away. Gulp. Idiot girl I may be, but I have no desire to mess with the gangsters. I think I’ll keep these bones close to the home hearth!
Then…I tackled my mother.
No, I didn’t really get physical with her, but I asked a pointed question. One thing led to another and now my parents are going to join my family at the Easter pot luck at our church.
My parents haven’t set foot inside a church since the day I got married. And that is a wee bit o’ twenty years ago. It has been made abundantly clear that they are not interested in myreligion, which is a boundary I have always respected. Other than my father randomly telling me something the Pope has said or done (in which case I remind him that I am not Catholic) we don’t discuss religion, politics or my views on child rearing. Hey, it works for us.
So, the thought of my very…um…colorful daddy, sitting in a church setting…kinda makes me nervous and giggly. I’m so happy they are coming and I’m hoping Pop will keeps his, um, more colorful tales to himself. Thanks to him, to this very day, I cannot sing, “We Three Kings”. It seems the only version I remember is the one he taught me when I was a child…and it’s not very…Biblical…LOL!!!
I also rectified the colored egg issue. I’ll post pictures later, but I’ll simply say that them eggies are bursting with glorious colors and there are little blue eyes dancing with glee.
Countdown: 12 days
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