In the Long Run

I don't know exactly what motivated me to do it...

I mean, when I've pondered it...thought hard about it...spun it around on the tip of my finger...I am still not quite sure what made me do it!

In seventh grade I tried out for the girl's basketball team.
And made it.

Again, it may have been some crazy dream I had of playing against the Generals with Meadowlark Lemon or something...a Truth or Dare game gone awry...I dunno...but for some reason, I wanted to be on the team.

What I hadn't anticipated, however....was the practice time involved!!!

OH. MY. GOODNESS!

We practiced EVERY DAY! For like, 2 hours!!

Can You Believe It???!!!

And do you know what that sadistic, cruel coach made us do?

(Before you read the rest of this....please send your small children out of the room. Parental guidance....is more than suggested! This is truly horrifying information!)

He made us do these things where you run from foul lines and back...and half court and back... and Saskatchewan and back....and do you know what those are lovingly referred to as?

SUICIDES!

Every practice...we got to do those. Run like the wind...and folks...let me tell ya...there's a reason that the drill isn't called "Partytime"....or "Relaxicides".

They're brutal.

And...as if that wasn't enough....we had this other drill where we held a basketball palm up in each hand, arms outstretched...at shoulder level. For 2890834283789247 HOURS.

I Kid You Not.

I thought my arms would fall off!!

But I did it. I went to practice. Every day. I wasn't a starter on the team. I don't think you'd even consider me second string....but I did go to practice.

One afternoon, however, I did not go. Because Robert Sheehan invited me and some others over to his house. He lived three houses away from the jr. high.

It was quite easy for me to skip practice and hang out at Robert's for a couple of hours. No one would be the wiser.

I mean, c'mon....what would you do? Hangin' out with Robert was WAY more appealing than suicides and arm-numbing basketball holding...

I mean, what was the point of going to practice anyway?? I had played in a total of one basketball game. And I had used that valuable playing time to run the wrong way down the court! Luckily, no one passed the ball to me. I was like the 'invisible' guard or something!

I didn't see the payoff involved then, My Friends. I did not see the point of suicide runs and sweat and practicing every day...

The next day, after hanging out with Robert and the 'gang'...I quit the team. My heart just wasn't in it...

And neither was the fun factor. No one had made me understand the fun factor of practice.

That's because there really isn't one.

Practicing is....well....practical. It's not meant to be fun. That is, unless YOU make it fun.

In order for practice to be fun you have to remember something.

The payoff.

My 12 year old brain didn't really comprehend what good those drills were doing for my strength. My performance. How I could play the game better. How it would improve me.

You know, in the long run.

My 12 year old brain thought that it would be EASY to be a star basketball player. That it would be EASY to just shoot the ball and all.

My 12 year old brain had no idea...!

Even now....my 40 year old brain struggles with seeing the payoff of good practice. What difference does this [thing I'm practicing] really make? I'm not seeing the point of the drills!

I mean, sometimes...sometimes I'm just tired...and sweaty...and all I really want to do is hang out at Robert's house...I don't want to go to practice! I don't want to do those drills again! I've been doing them....and really, all I've seen is 40 seconds of court time....doesn't even seem like it's worth it!!!

Have you ever felt that way?

You know what?

There's potential...and then there's practice...and then there's progress....and then perfection.

It will not happen overnight, My Friends...and if you expect perfection overnight...if you think you can be a Star Player without doing some suicide runs...well...you're setting yourself up for humiliation...and hurt...and hate...and hanging out at Robert's house.

And you don't want that. Trust me.

Now go practice. Do a suicide run with me! I'll even give you a head start...

....you know I need Someone...

A couple of years ago, I had to do this 'thing' where I was blindfolded and sent into a maze that I had to find my way out of...

That's right. Blindfolded.

Maze.

Finding my way out of it.

Now....I felt pretty sure of myself going in there. As you may remember, I like mysteries. And puzzles. And I thought that this would be nothing more than a puzzle or mystery that I needed to solve.

The maze was made out of lengths of rope. You could hold onto the rope...which I did. But I found myself getting confused after a while. It(the maze) was outside...and there was a small tree in the middle. I kept going to that tree to calm down. Because I knew that if I started to get anxious or panicky...it would take me twice as long to find my way out.

There were others in the maze with me. And while we weren't allowed to talk to one another, we could talk to the few who were not in the maze.

All of the sudden, someone got out. There was cheering. You felt the relief in the air.

I felt two things:

1) I was glad to know that there was a way out.

2) I was totally ticked off about not being the first one out. Of not being able to figure out a simple maze!

So...I stubbornly set my jaw and went back to the task of finding a way out.

After that...you'd hear more folks say happily, "I'm out!"

I was still in the maze. Still holding onto the rope. Still calming down by the tree. But still stuck inside.

I was becoming more and more disappointed.

I heard someone ask me if I needed anything.

"No," I said, trying to sound confident. "I'm fine."

What? Like a hint or a clue? I was smart enough to figure out this stupid maze! Didn't they know that? And I'm NOT a cheater at games! I didn't want a hint, thank you very much!!

I kept going.

I wasn't passing by anyone, or bumping into them anymore. They were all out of the maze.

I felt totally alone and miserable.

So...I talked to myself, "You can do this!"

I'm not sure I believed it.

I heard someone ask again, "C., how are you doing?"

I felt somewhat ashamed. I felt defeated.

"I need help." I said.

Suddenly, there was someone's hand in mine...and within moments I found myself out of the maze.

"That's all you needed to do to get out." I was told. "You only needed to ask for help."

Wow.

So often I think I can do it all myself, you know?! There's that idea that I need to have all the answers...to fix things.

And I don't.

And you don't.

We need to be able to ask for help sometimes. If we find ourselves in that maze...we could spend a lot of our time going in circles...and not fixing anything.

You don't have to be the strongest. You don't have to be in charge of the universe.

Let Someone else do His job there, okay?

My Friends, it's okay to ask for help.

I Dreamed a Dream

I don't feel like I've slept at all. My dreams have been just crazy lately.


I had a really freaky one the other night. My daughter was in it...there was this green and white (yeah...I said GREEN and white) dog named Mountain Dew that my husband wanted to take home...someone gave me a baby to take care of because these two high school/college aged girls weren't taking care of it properly...I was in this store of junk/antiques and it was a maze. I kept going around, looking for an exit.

A green and white dog....wow! Where did THAT come from???

No more soda for me before bed...(snort!)

When I was younger, my Mom would accuse me of making my dreams up...because they were so detailed. I'd sit there and tell the whole dream at the breakfast table and she'd look at me for a second and say, "You're making that up."

I have a very overactive imagination.

I have a lot of dreams.

You know something? My husband doesn't dream. I'll ask him what he dreamt about last night and he'll say..."I didn't dream".

I think that's a little odd.

Maybe my brain needs an outlet or something. Maybe I HAVE to dream to get that 'creativity closet' of mine cleaned up once in a while.

Tomorrow is my birthday. Looking back on life, there are things that I have dreamed about that have not happened...whether by my own choice or someone else's.

Now...I can dwell on those dreams all day long...the ones that didn't happen...the nightmares that did...and not even see the really, good dreams. (You know, the ones where you get awakened and you try to get back "INTO" the dream but it never really works!)

What am I going to do with the next year of my life? Do I have some goals? Do I have some vision for that year? What's my dream?

What are your dreams? Goals? Visions for the year? Do you have any?

I have some things I want to work on. There's some planning going on in my head.

Maybe next year, while reviewing what has happened this year in my life...my Mom may say, "Did that year really happen? I think you made it up!"

It takes one...

So I'm watching one of my favorite shows "Numb3rs" last night, and CBS is advertising a new show..."Dexter". Apparently, the guy is a serial killer hunting for other serial killers.

Hm...stay with me Friends...I do have a thought about this....

I have no desire to watch this show. However, in the advertising it stated this:

"It Takes One to Know One"

That's what I want us to talk about today. "It takes one to know one"...

My Friend, you are special. You are unique. You have an interesting story to tell about the particular struggles and successes that you have experienced in your life and you should take advantage of the opportunities that come your way, to share them with others....

Because there is someone else out there...who's experiencing similar stuff...and could use your help.

The irony is...as unique as we are....there IS someone who is struggling like we are. Which sounds like we're not that unique at all!

It's our human-ness. That's what binds us all together. And that's why we need each other.

Be aware of how your life story could help someone else through a difficult time. Or celebrate with someone who's celebrating a victory!

Man, I gotta stop watching so much tv....anybody out there feelin' my pain?? :)

That fine line

I believe it was the late, great Johnny Cash who said, "I walk the line."

Or maybe it was me. I'd have to check my notes...because, My Friends...I walk a line...frequently.

That fine line between 'preparedness' and 'controlfreakedness'.

That fine line between 'procrastinate 'til it hurts' and 'micromanaging the micromanager of micromanagement'.

I don't know about you, but I'll be going along really well for a while and then BAM!

I'll trip.

Over to the dark side. It's like I'm Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader sometimes!

Like one day, I'm capable of preparing for things. I like being one step ahead of the game. I like to know what's coming up. I'll ask for help, I'll take instruction, I'll train. So I'll be ready...

And then there's those days where I feel like I'm striding confidently around a space ship barking orders to others in my James Earl Jones voice and laying the smack down on anyone who gets in my way!

That's usually Thursdays.

(snort!)

Okay...enough Star Wars Metaphors.

I want to control the future. Did you know that I've tried to a couple of times?

Once to my advantage...and once...well, it didn't work!

Here's what happened:

My sis and I were in the backseat of the family car. The radio was on. It was WLS out of Chicago. The DJ would do this thing where he'd announce that, "Coming up next...Elton John and Queen. We've also got Billy Joel on the way. Stay tuned!" and then go to a commercial.

Well, I don't remember where we were driving....but I. was. bored. And what better way to pass the time than to mess with Jill?

(I know. I need to re-read my entry from yesterday. But this was years before that happened!)

So, the DJ says that spiel with the 'coming up next thing'...and I see that Jill's not listening. At least, it doesn't appear that she's listening. So I say, "Hey, Jill! I'll bet that they (WLS) will play a Billy Joel song next!"

And she looks at me like I'm crazy.

Which she did a lot when we were growing up....anywhooo...

The commercial plays and then a Billy Joel song comes on. And the look on my sister's face was PRICELESS!

She looks at me like I'm crazy. Only now it's...."Carrie is spooky crazy"...not "Carrie is annoying crazy".

It was cool. My Friends, I just nonchalantly yawned and turned to look out the window...like it was no. big. deal.

Flash forward a couple of years and again, I tried to control the future. And again, it involved my sister.

(Ohh...I hope she's not reading this. You know, I don't know if I ever told her about this!!)

We went on a vacation one summer and there was this boy there. And he liked my sister. (Which means that he did not like me!)

Well, I got home from school one day a few weeks later and found that he had written a letter to my sister. She wasn't home yet...so I opened it.

I know.

And read all about his undying love for her.

I KNOW!

And, as if that wasn't awful enough....I wrote him back...as Jill...and told him that I (Jill) wasn't interested in him and that he should write to Carrie instead.

I KNOW! I KNOW!!!

I never heard from him.

My friends, we cannot control the future. But...we can't put off the future either. You're gonna walk that line.

It's good to pay attention. To listen to others. To 'do your homework'. Preparing makes you more disciplined and ready to face the future confidently...regardless of what will happen.

It's not good to think that you can change the future. You can't. You can only change yourself.

The Tongue Karate Kid

This is a difficult entry for me. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it...

Sometime around her eighth grade year, my sister decided to take Karate lessons.
So...each week, we'd take her to Champaign and she'd learn Karate. She got stronger physically.
I have to admit, I was a little scared of her. But...I had my own weapon to use...so I felt the scales were even...

One day, my friend Lori and I were sitting in my living room and my sis came in. And I made some smart remark to her about something...the actual remark is lost to me now...but the docs said that might happen after a severe head injury...

Let's pause for a moment...I should clarify:

For the record, I made smart remarks to my sis all the time. This was nothing new for us. And I was REALLY good at smart remarks. The best one, I believe, was this:
"I may be fat, but you're ugly....and I can always lose weight!"

Yeah...I know.

But I digress...back to this particular memory o' mine.

So...I made some smart remark...and my sis didn't say a word to me. She did, however, come over and hit me REALLY hard on the head with her fist. Her Karate fist o' doom, is what I think they refer to it as....all's I know is that IT HURT!!!

Now...you know in those cartoons...when someone gets hit in the head and they see stars or twittering birds or something...that's absolutely TRUE! It happens...trust me....I know.

I couldn't remember my name for about half an hour afterwards. She hit me HARD! That Karate practice of hers was paying off!

And in front of my friend, too! Not only did she hurt my head, she wounded my pride! Imagine, having your younger sister make you look bad in front of your homies!

(okay, we didn't call each other 'homie' then...but you know what I mean!)

I learned something valuable that day. I realized how strong my words were...based on how strong my sister's fist was.

All those years, you see, I'd been taking my own 'tongue Karate class', if you will. Honing my smart mouth skills by sharpening my sarcasm and strengthening my insults.
Folks...it's not cool. And once you've learned Karate...it's hard to forget. My sister still remembers moves she's learned.

Does she use them? Um...I don't know for sure...but I'm guessing that there aren't too many opportunities that come her way.

My tongue Karate though...is something I have to think about EVERY DAY! There are times I feel like I should shout out a warning to people: HEY! I KNOW TONGUE KARATE! AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT! THIS MOUTH IS REGISTERED AS A LETHAL WEAPON!"

So I'm trying to say more kind words...more positive words. That's part of the reason for this blog in the first place. I'm trying to change my 'smart mouth' into a 'smarter mouth'...so to speak...and build people up...rather than tear them down.

I encourage you to do the same. Say something kind to someone today, will you?

My advice? Stay far away from weight and looks....they can get you into trouble!!!

They call this an Amusement Park?

It was dark.

It was damp.

It was chilly.

It was supposed to be fun.

It was part of our vacation, after all.

It was Six Flags over St. Louis.

And I was in a cave.

It was Injun Joe's cave.

It was, in a word...creepy.

I was sitting in a 'canoe' between my Dad's knees. There were four of us in the ride, if I remember correctly, and I was in the middle of the boat....when the ride began...taking us back in time to Injun Joe and Tom Sawyer and Mark Twain. I had my hands resting on Dad's knees. It was kinda comforting...knowing he was right there in case I got REALLY scared.

Now, my Dad has a pretty good sense of humor. Usually. But...on this particular day, for some reason...he had really poor timing.

Just as we were passing under this icky wet seaweed-y feeling stuff, and I was all shivery...he let loose with his Patented, Always Leaves 'Em Screamin', Villian Laugh.

BWOOOOHOOOOHOOO HAAAHAAAHAAA!

It was a deep, loud, belting laugh.

I. Freaked. Out.

Screamed and reacted to my terror by pinching his leg so hard that he had a bruise for a week afterwards.

Oh, he THOUGHT it was hysterical!

Ha. Ha. Very funny.

Well, I was not amused.

And I didn't trust him for a little while after that episode. I had wanted him to be there for me...to keep me safe...and he let me down.

Cuz he's human. It happens.

Good thing I've got another Father to go to when I'm scared. When I'm a little freaked out by things. And my friends...he does NOT have a Villian Laugh. Not even close.

He is warm and strong and loving. He is kind and smart and brave. He is always there when I need Him and He never laughs at my fear.

In fact, He gently reminds me that I don't have to be afraid...

Now don't get me wrong...my Dad is a good guy. But he can make a mistake.

My Father, on the other hand....makes no mistakes.

Too much time on my hands?

Mr. Salt: What is this, Wonka, some kind of funhouse?

Willy Wonka: Why? Are you having fun?

Yesterday the kids didn't have school. We had a four day weekend.

I know, I hear you...."stop whining, C."

Ah...you know me too well.

And if you've been keeping up with me, you'll know that I've been de-cluttering my home. Too. Much. Stuff. Too. Little. Space.

Someone has actually suggested that what I need is a bigger home. Nope. Not gonna happen.

No...I need less stuff. My kids need less stuff.

I started to really think about that while we were re-watching "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory". The 1971 version. Where Gene Wilder is a little creepy...and Candy Reigns Supreme!

I think that's one of the reasons why I really like the 1971 version of Willy Wonka. Candy is a big deal. No one liked greedy ol' Veruca much. She had it all and still wanted more. Ugh.

Seems though...that my kids have more of that mentality than I'd like. They have so much...and still...they don't have enough. Sigh...let's go back to the movie...

So we're watching the show...and the scene where they're in Wonka's Chocolate Room...and I'm watching them all dive in to the candy...I thought of what I'd choose to eat there.

I always think of what I'd choose to eat there. Although I'll admit...after poor little Augustus' 'tumble'....I stay FAR away from the Chocolate River. Maybe a big ol' sucker...or one of those beach balls...those things are HUGE!

Reminds me of my own 1970's...growing up...

You see, I remember candy being a big deal then.

My sis and I would go to Cissna Park with my Mom on the weekend. Mom would run some errands there and we almost ALWAYS ended up at the drugstore before we went home.

The drugstore with the penny candy. Where you got this brown lunchbag that you could fill.

We got a quarter each...and man! You could get a LOT of candy for a quarter!!

I think though...that what I really liked...was the choices. There were several combinations...so even though I always got a quarter, I didn't have to go home with the same thing every time.

I was like....well, a kid in a candy store!!

My sis liked the candy dots on paper. She called them 'pills'. I kinda liked the candy cigarettes. They had this gum kind that, if you blew into the paper just right, looked like you were ACTUALLY smoking...because the powdered sugar would be blown off.

Hm...pills and cigarettes. Boy, looking at that now, that doesn't look good!! (snort! Some marketing guy knew what he was doing!!)

Let's see....um...what else? OH! I hated those wax soda bottles with the syrup in them. Yuck! Today when my kids get candy like that, where it's liquid-y...ewwwww...don't care for it.

My favorite, you ask? Oh...decisions....decisions...I'd have to say that I really liked Pixy Stix. They are sooooooo good! If you dump 'em down your throat, WHOA! It's like Sweet and Sour all at the same time! Your eyes water...and then you open the next one...

We knew we had a limit though. We knew we couldn't get ALL the candy. We had to be choosy.

Helping my son declutter his room yesterday was interesting. I made him choose. Three boxes. Keep it, give it away, or throw it away. Each toy/item had to go in a box. He had a lot of stuff.

Stuff hides the important things. While we were sorting, I heard him frequently say, "I've been looking for this! I thought I lost it!"

It was there. You just couldn't see it.

When we finished, I asked him what he liked about his 'new room'. His answer was, "I liked being with you, Mom."

Hm...sucking up to me so he could watch tv? Possibly.

Or maybe...maybe I've filled my time up with too much STUFF lately...

My friends...I encourage you to check your calendars today...think of your day as a quarter in a drugstore. You can't have all the candy! You need to be choosy.

And yes....yes...as a matter of fact....I'd LOVE some pixy stix! (I like the purple ones best!)

My Chains are Gone

The other night, me and my best half, Steve...were watching a show on PBS that traced the lineage of current famous African Americans, showing them where they came from.

It was very interesting and intriguing. People, for the most part, seem to want to know where they came from. Who their ancestors are. There are some who can even tell you fascinating facts about the folks in their family.

I've always been interested in my family tree. My particular roots are Scotch/Irish, Dutch/German and English. European immigrants mostly...I don't know that I have any famous 'branches' on my tree...but I do have some idea of where I came from.

On this tv show we were watching, some of the people came from slaves here in America. They traced them through DNA tests and such, and the interviewer asked them how they felt about their ancestors. It was eye-opening to me how deeply these people were touched by their slave heritage.

Makes me think. Particularly about the skeletons in my family closet. About the 'slavery' I have been 'born into' in my family. Oh, it's not being 'owned by someone' so much as a history of addiction, abuse, bad habits...dysfunction and all. I know I'm not alone. And I'm sure that there are some of you who have suffered more than I have. You may feel chained down to your 'history'. That things can't ever...won't ever...change. The cycle will just keep going.
Yesterday, in church, we sang a song by Chris Tomlin called "Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone). I was sitting there, thinking about slavery and freedom. About where I've come from...and where I'm at right now...and where I'm going. I've chosen freedom over slavery. I've chosen to break those family chains of bondage...

My friends, this journey is not easy. But, I have good news. Emancipation can be yours! You are NOT your past! You can stop being a slave! But you can't do it alone. You need to ask Him to help you.

Trust me, He will.

Not so awkward silence?

I can't think of anything to say.

Honestly.

I've been sitting here for the past 10+ minutes...staring at this screen...and I can't think of anything to say.

Wow.

Awkward.

(I know! Some of you find that quite hard to believe!)

My daughter does not like silence. "Awkward silence!" she'll pipe up and say when the conversation lolls.

I used to feel the same way. Needed to fill in that 'space'. So I'd jump right in...words flowing out...

Over the years I've found though, that when I am silent, several things can happen. Foremost among them is education. I learn something. I can grow closer to someone by tuning in to them, and, perhaps...by being silent...I won't say something I shouldn't!

It's not easy for us talkers to not speak. It requires discipline. Really! For us talkers, listening is something we need to work at doing. Practice. And I could use some more practice, I'm sure...

So today, I'm listening more, talking less. And that's my encouragment to you.

Let me know what you learn, will ya? I'm listening....

Nothing smaller than an elbow!

Tee Shirt I saw at a Mall one time said:

"Shut up Voices...or I'll poke you with a Q-tip again!"

True story. Once upon a time, when I was about nine years old, my parents went out for the evening and left us with a babysitter. For some reason, while getting ready for bed...I got the 'smart idea' to clean out my ears with a Q-tip.

[warning: those of you with squeamish stomachs should probably not read this next part!]

I'm not sure why...(other than the fact that I was nine...and sleepy!)but I put the Q-tip in my left ear....and didn't take it out. I must've been distracted by something, I'm sure...but for whatever reason...when I laid my head down (on the left side), I suddenly had this shooting pain in my head.

I sat up, reached up to my ear, pulled out the Q-tip. And grossed out the babysitter with it. I think they made it into a movie...I'm not sure. (No...not the one called "Carrie"....!)

My parents came home early. I had punctured my eardrum. I now have hearing loss in that ear.

And the babysitter NEVER CAME TO OUR HOUSE AGAIN!!

(okay, that part's not true. It just sounded like the way the story should end!)

Sometimes, now....I'll have problems getting to sleep. I can't stop thinking about stuff. And because my husband cares about me...and because he wants to go to sleep himself and stop my talking...he will suggest that I go to my 'cabin in the woods'. It's my "Happy Place".

When I'm noisy inside...when I can't seem to stop the patter of the voices in my head...I go there. To the cabin. It's quiet...and peaceful...and there are no demanding schedules, no whining children...no annoying clerks...no bad drivers...just me and my cabin...and Jesus...in His blue jeans.

Ahhhh....reminds me of Psalm 131. "...Surely I have composed and quieted my soul...Israel, hope on the Lord now and forever."

A better reminder for you when you're noisy inside...when the voices are loud...hope on the Lord.

'Cuz I can tell you from experience...you don't want to hope on a Q-tip....yikes.

Terms of Entitlement...er...Endearment

I remember it like it was yesterday.

It was Valentine's Day...198X.

I've never experienced anything like it before or after.

A one of a kind day.

My own little 'day of infamy'.

I was in college, at the ZTA house...minding my own business...when the doorbell rang. I was coming up from the basement to go to my room upstairs and as I reached the first floor, I saw about 1500 girls go running for the front door. It was an astounding sight. Like the Running of the Bulls in Spain. I was exhilerated and terribly frightened, all at the same time...

Okay. I might be exaggerating a little. If my memory serves me correctly. There were oh....3 girls. All in relationships. Serious relationships. All EXPECTING to open the door and find that their "Special Guy" had sent the florist with those wing-ed shoes to the ZTA House...with their gift.

The door was opened. It was the florist. With flowers.

As expected.

For.........me.

Not as expected. You see, I was not in a serious relationship. I didn't have a boyfriend at all! THERE MUST BE SOME MISTAKE!

I slowly walked past the gals...and couldn't meet their gaze. I took the vase and went quickly up the stairs. The flowers were lovely. They were from my mom. How sweet. And nice.

A short time later, I heard the doorbell again. And I heard the thundering hooves of girls go to the door...and once again, to my astonishment, they called my name over the intercom.

I was confused. Well, I'd already gotten flowers from Mom. Maybe these were from Dad. Great. The girls will kick me out of the house over this! I just know it!

I took my time getting to the door.

In fact, the delivery person was gone. One of the girls, Beth...was engaged. We'd had a candle ceremony a short time ago for her. She had a lovely ring. And she's the one that handed me the vase. Well, I guess that's not entirely true. I wrestled the vase out of her hands.

"Who's it from?" she asked. "I mean, who's sending you flowers? Why you?" She sounded really annoyed.

"I....I don't know." I opened the card. It was from a guy friend in my hometown. "It's from Bob." I said. "Wow."

"Did you know he was sending flowers?" she asked. As if that made it different. Like I'd paid him off or something...

"No." and I bounded back up the stairs.

Okay...maybe I'm exaggerating. I don't know that I've ever actually 'bounded' up stairs. But it sure looks good on epaper, folks!! :)

It was when the doorbell rang again...and I heard my name called again...that I knew I was in trouble. There was no way I was going downstairs to face the wrath of Beth. No. Way.

They called my name again.

"You gotta go down there, " I heard this voice in my head. "DON'T!" another voice in my head yelled. "They'll murder you!"

It was Dead Carrie Walking...I've never taken such a long walk in my life.

"What is going on?" Beth asked. She was really annoyed. "I haven't gotten flowers yet and you've got what? Three Deliveries? AND YOU'RE NOT DATING ANYONE???"

It baffled her. It baffled me, quite frankly. It was like some cruel joke. The way that Valentine's is SUPPOSED to work...is that those 'select' folks in serious relationships are 'supposed' to get the flower deliveries...I guess. I was becoming some freak of nature that could show up on "That's Incredible" or "Ripley's Believe it or Not"...

I took the flowers and ran.

No exaggeration. I ran. I ran as if my life depended on it. Because I think it did!

These flowers were also from my hometown.

From a guy who liked me...whom I dated later.

I like to call that particular Valentine's my own little massacre. Because they felt 'entitled' to flowers and that I did not have that 'entitlement'...I was their enemy that day. Now, the next day, we were all buddies again. And yes, Beth's fiance' did come through for her.

Couple of thoughts: Do you ever feel 'entitled' to anything? How do you handle it when someone else gets what you believe you're entitled to?

What about when something that's good and unexpected happens? Do you celebrate?

You know, that day reminds me of another day. A different Valentine's Day, if you will.

When I told This Guy that I loved Him and that Someone gave me His Life. And Grace.

That day I also received something I didn't deserve...

My friends...I love you. He loves you.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Accidents Happen

Last night at supper, as plates were being filled 'buffet-style'...a plate of precariously placed, piping hot food promptly...(whew! that was hard to type, let alone say aloud!) fell to the floor.

It happens.

Almost immediately someone was upset...but no one was hurt...and the dogs got some 'free' cottage cheese and corn...which they appreciated. No harm...no foul...and thankfully...the meatloaf was fine. (Hey...we eat GOOD meatloaf at our house! It's in HIGH Demand!)

Had to reassure someone that it was just an accident...no big deal. But they were so upset with themselves. "I am so stupid!" was spoken.

It's got me thinking this morning. About our mistakes...our accidents.

Why is it that we give ourselves such a hard time? Do we really think that we have it so together that we believe we'll never do anything wrong?

When I was about 14, I had a serious crush on a lifeguard. We'll call him....um....Robbie.

There was an alley that went right past the pool...so you could ride your bike and see the lifeguard of your dreams...you know, if you had one...hypothetically speaking...(snort!)called Robbie.

One evening my family decided to ride our bikes. And we rode them past the pool. And, in the gravel of that alley...while a certain lifeguard called...um...Robbie was on duty in the chair between the 3 foot and 5 foot...I may have been distracted (well, who could blame me??) and I ... fell. Off. The. Bike.

Now...my mom was quick to yell, "Are you okay?" to me...you know, because she cared...which prompted said Lifeguard (sigh...Robbie) to look my way. At the most inopportune moment.

My friends, I have never moved so fast as I did right then! "I'm okay!" I called...even though my palms looked kinda like...well, cottage cheese...funnily enough!

"Look at me!" I thought, "I am so stupid! I can't even ride this dumb bike right! What must Robbie think? I wish I could just be invisible!"

Ah...good times....good times....

You know what? You will make mistakes. You will fall off of your bike in front of your favorite lifeguard. OH...it may not be today....but it will happen.

Couple of things I'd like you to remember:

1) Get back on the bike. I didn't stop riding because of one fall.

2) Ask forgiveness. Even if you just ask yourself to forgive yourself for falling.

3) You are not alone. There are plenty of other folks out there who have fallen off a bike. Which is good, because they can support you. They've been there.

Now...who's up for a bike ride? Or some meatloaf? Anyone? Anyone?

More than just a neat name for a basketball team in Florida...

Those of you who know me well know that I don't like to sweat.

I don't like being hot.

I don't like hot places.

(I do however, like spicy food! Go figure...!)

And....I enjoy the cold. I think that winter temperatures should be the 'norm'. Give me a 40 degree day and I'll show you a gal with rosy cheeks, a smile on her face and a song in her heart. That's when I'm content...that's when I'm satisfied...that's when I'm comfortable.

I don't like being uncomfortable.

(Well, DUH, C....who does?)

Early in our relationship, my husband and I lived in this little, itty bitty house with no air conditioning. We took our mattress off of our bed and put it in the living room and slept there, because we could keep the front door open and get more of a breeze. It was less uncomfortable.

But...I was still miserable. And one morning, after several days of this oppressive heat, Steve and I got our clothes together to go to the laundry mat. And on our way out to the car, Steve asked a simple question and I snapped. And then he snapped back...and suddenly we found ourselves arguing about stuff that had nothing to do with Tide Detergent.

It was ugly.

It was awful.

I think at one point the police were called.

Ugh.

Bad.

So bad that I remember Steve saying, "That's IT! We're getting an air conditioner! So you're not hot and you'll leave me alone!"


Oh...that the heat would go away....that's all that I wanted. To be comfortable. But we couldn't afford an air conditioner then...so I had to 'deal with it'. And I didn't do so hot....(snort! pun intended!)


Flash forward about 15 years. We're on vacation with friends. We are camping. In a camper with no air conditioning. In July. It's like, the HOTTEST week of the year. However, when I look back at that time, I have happier memories. Why? Because I didn't focus on the heat. We were too busy having fun!

Understand though, that the heat didn't go away. In fact, it was probably HOTTER than before. But I cared less.

Here's my thought: There is going to be heat, my friends. We live in Illinois, for crying out loud. It ain't going away!

And...there is going to be 'heat' in our lives. We aren't always able to stay at a comfortable temperature. (Man, I hate typing that!!)

Maybe you can get an air conditioner. Maybe that will help you.

But if you can't...what I encourage you to do then...is not take out your 'heat suffering' on those close to you. Making them miserable will not help you feel better. Not in the long run.

Instead...if you take the time to focus on those close to you, you might find that the heat is not that miserable...and you might have some fun!!

(I just realized, that run...and fun...rhyme. Okay, well, I didn't just realize that...I've known that those two particular words rhyme for a long time. Hm...rhyme and time also rhyme...and I'm...HEY! "I'm" rhymes with time too! Who knew?)

Um...yeah...I'm gonna stop now. Is it....is it hot in here...or is it just me??

Say what?

Jeff Foxworthy once said something along the lines of "The real stuff is the funniest stuff".

Yesterday, after church, my family went through a fast food drive thru for lunch. My son, who was sitting up front with me, couldn't wait to eat his sandwich, so as we drove home...he started to eat his burger.

At one point, I looked over at him and he was just chewing like nobody's business.

Chewing...

Chewing...

Finally, I see him reach into his mouth and pull out a piece of wax paper. It was part of the wrapper from his sandwich.

Out of the blue he looks at the paper wad and says, "Huh....I guess I bit off more than I could chew!"

I almost drove off the road laughing.

Seriously, folks. You can't make that stuff up!

Sobering thought, though. Biting off more than we can chew. I have a big problem with it. And I'm not talking about a bacon cheddar melt, either.

It's not easy for me to tell people "no". Especially when there are SO MANY things I enjoy doing...or I'm good at....or I enjoy being good at. Or I'm the only one around...

Of course, the problem with saying "yes" to everyone else means that you must, eventually, say "no" to something. And it may not be something you should say "no" to.

In our "Do...do...do"...."get, get, get" world...it's almost too easy to get sucked into the mentality that you have to fill your day with all sorts of 'projects' in order to succeed.

I invite you to practice today. Say "no" to something. Help your kids to say "no" to something.

Try to keep it simple. Slow down. Take smaller bites.

And please pass me the ketchup. Thanks!

Miss Information

Inspector Clouseau: (to the Innkeeper) Does your doog (dog) bite?

Innkeeper: No

Clouseau: Nice Dooggy (bends down to pet a dachshund - it snarls and bites him)I thought you said yer doog did not bite!

Inn Keeper: Zat... iz not my dog!

Zat....iz an incredible movie scene. When I saw it for the first time, I walked around and repeated "Does your doog bite?" to everyone I met.

No one thought it was as funny as I did. But that's okay. I was seriously amused and that's all that matters! (snort!)

Ahem...I've always loved mysteries. It started with reading Nancy Drew and Encyclopedia Brown books when I was 10 and I'm still reading! I'm watching 'em on tv....I'm working on the logic problems in my puzzle books. I like to try and figure out whodunit. I want to be like Sherlock Holmes and Monk and Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple and stand in a drawing room (there's a mystery for you! What exactly IS a drawing room for? Drawing???...)and accuse folks of crime and then prove my case.

Like with Inspector Clouseau above though....too often I think I know what's going on...but I haven't really asked the right questions. I don't have all the information. So I'll base my judgment on what little knowledge I have...and sometimes I'll come to wrong conclusions.

Doesn't make a good crime solver...does it? (Hey C....don't quit your day job!)


Have you ever done that?



You know what else I do? I don't always offer the correct information. Like the Innkeeper, I'll tell just so much to get by. I'm not necessarily lying...but I'm not being totally honest. And others will come to wrong conclusions.

Hmm...however, I might make a good criminal!!! There's something to consider...

Back to my point:

(yes, I did have a point!)

Thankfully, I have a friend who's been helping me to clarify my information...and I'm finding that it's easier to communicate with him.



Do you have trouble communicating with others?



Of course, the other side of that coin is that my friend is a good listener. Pays attention.



Are you a good listener?



Have I asked enough questions this morning?

Can I ask one more?

Please?

Does your doog bite?



(heeheehee...gets me every time!!!)

Check out these biceps!

I'd like to talk about a little thing called Gratitude today.

Oh....stop your groaning.

I know...it's not a very little thing, is it?

I mean, I'm good at saying 'thank you' on a regular basis....but that's usually because someone did something for me specifically...like say, opening a door.

I'm not so good at thinking about those things that I 'take for granted'...and saying 'thank you' for them.

So let's exercise our gratitude muscle! Are you with me!?

I said, "ARE YOU WITH ME?"

It won't hurt much. I promise.

First, think of Three Easy Things to be Grateful for:

1) My family
2) My health
3) My home

See? Simple....

Now let's think of Three Difficult Things to be Grateful for:

1) My family
2) My health
3) My home

Okay....now let's....

What? What did you say?

The lists are the same? Are you sure?

Sometimes it happens so quick...my moving one thing (like family) from the easy pile to the difficult pile. But like your Mom used to say, "There are starving children somewhere who don't even have family....so be grateful for what you got!"

Maybe you're saying to yourself, 'C., my family's great! It's my house that I can't stand! It's too small and the furniture's outdated, and it needs repainted and my mattress is old and I want a tv that hangs on the wall so bad I can taste it!'

My response? "There are starving children somewhere who don't even have a mattress...so be grateful for what you got! Carrie!"

Maybe you don't even think about your health. 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it!' might be your motto. But I say this: "There are starving children somewhere who don't even have a motto...so put that donut down and be grateful that you are breathing this morning!"

Or something to that effect.

Be grateful. Take a moment today to thank Him for the things you got.

...for a very important date!

Chapter One - Down the Rabbit-Hole

"...when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close to her. There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!"...but, when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge."

-Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Lewis Carroll

When I was 7 years old, I received both Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass from my Great Aunt Tooie. (That was what they called her...her real name was Melba...which is just as cool a name as Tooie, if you ask me. Have you noticed that our generation doesn't have interesting nicknames like that?? Maybe I'll get the grandkids that I may have someday to call me "Carebo"...that'd be wicked cool...!)

Say whatever you will about Lewis Carroll...I love these books. They were the Harry Potter of my time, in that I must've read them both about 89089023853 times in a 10 year period. I still take them out and read them. The characters are so much fun!!

However, a book review is not what I had planned for this post.

This morning, I turned to the clock and saw that it was 6:45 a.m. And then I turned and saw that Steve was still in bed. And I turned back and looked at the clock and realized that the alarm had not been set and that Steve should've been at work....well....yesterday!

He was late! Folks! Very Late!

My husband is NOT a morning person. He sets the alarm about 2 weeks in advance and then proceeds to slap the snooze out of it until he so chooses to get up. This system works for him...although it's been a personal torture for me, as I am one of those folks who wakes up THE FIRST TIME THE ALARM SOUNDS!

However, my marriage grievances are not what I had planned for this post.

Nothing is more annoying than being late for something great. We make important plans, after all, with our time...

When I was 17, I had the opportunity to go up to Chicago to a graduation of a friend of mine. The plan was that I would ride up with my pastor and his wife (who were also attending the graduation) and, because they had family up there, the plan was that I would take the train back home that evening. I had plans for the next day...and needed to get back. And I had never been on a train before. I was excited about the day. Plans were put into place and my train was scheduled to leave at 6 p.m.

We had a Very Pleasant ride up. It was a Very Pleasant graduation. As it got later in the day, I began to get excited about the prospect of my Very Pleasant train ride home. But...

BUT

BUT BUT BUT

There was a Cubs game that day. A lot of traffic. Unanticipated traffic. And since this part of the story makes me sob every time I think about it....I'll make this quick.

EventhoughReverendB.triedeverythinginhispowerandGod'spowertogetmetothestationontime

thefactremainsthatIarrivedthereat6:03tofindthatthetrainhadjustleft.

There...(sniff) I said it...

Now, I can't even begin to explain the feelings I had at that moment.

But...I'll try.

Hate. Huge feelings of hate.

I hated the Cubs. I hated Amtrak. I hated Chicago. I hated my life. I hated my luck. I hated the graduate. I was seriously considering hating my pastor. And his wonderful wife.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

I was 17. I had made IMPORTANT PLANS! And by the way, yes...to answer your question, the WORLD WAS REVOLVING AROUND ME!!!!

However, my self-centered adolescence is not what I had planned for this post.

Look at the Wonderland paragraph above again please. You'll notice something interesting there, I think.

I'll wait here while you read it again.

(some whistling...sips coffee)

Did you notice it?

It's taken me a very long time to notice it...but here's what I found:

The rabbit is too late for something...and Alice sees it...and follows it...and what happened?

She was just in time to see it pop down a rabbit-hole. And she follows it down and has her adventures.

Isn't that cool?

Sometimes, our life interruptions that annoy us so much, can actually have the power to help out someone else...if we change our perspective a bit.

Like the rabbit, we get so wrapped up in our own plans...that we don't see the ones around us.

Think about this for a moment.

If the rabbit had not been late...would Alice have had her adventures?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

I encourage you, my friend...to use a different perspective when dealing with annoying things today like being late. There may be a really cool reason for it that you didn't even consider!

Oh, and by the way, The World, (unfortunately) does not revolve around you.

Sigh.

Trust me...I know.

Listen to me...

Confession Time: I've had this ongoing affair for some time...and I can't keep secrets from you...so I'm going to tell you about it.

I'm in love.

I'm in love with the sound of my voice.

Shocking, I know...but, it's a fact. I love how I sound when I talk.

You see, it started when I was very little. My parents taped me saying some of my first words ("My name Carrie!") on a reel to reel portable (the thing weighs about 15 pounds...but hey! It's considered "portable"!) tape player.

A few years later, my sis and I would take our parents tape player and tape ourselves being goofy...saying stupid things...

When I was about 11 or 12, I got this cool boom box for Christmas. It was a radio/cassette player/8 track player. It was AWESOME!

I taped myself talking. A lot. I did my own songs, commercials...made myself laugh...talk...talk...talk. And then I'd listen...listen...listen.

In high school, my friend Alice and I would turn on the player and talk about stuff...and then listen to our conversation later. Sometimes we would go so long that we'd have to flip the cassette over and start again.

And let me just say, for the record (pun intended!)...I was sooooooooo funny!

For instance, this one time, I had my Walkman, right...and I put in Alice's Billy Joel tape...and sang with this song I barely knew the words to...and Alice taped me singing...and we laughed until we cried! "heart attack...ack...ack...ack!"

Ahem....well, I guess you had to be there. Which you weren't...

(crickets chirping)

Anyway....I went to college and studied theatre and further 'developed' my voice. Worked on enunciation, different accents, projection, etc.

I don't get tired of hearing the sound of my voice. Ever.

I'm my biggest cheerleader.

What I do get tired of...is WHAT I hear my voice saying. Some things are pretty ugly. (which is an oxymoron, you know! There's your lesson for the day!)

I'm also my worst critic.

So here's what I'm doing: Each time I hear my voice telling me something ugly (or telling someone else something ugly!)...I think "Flip that tape and start over!"

When you've listened to the same ol' tapes about yourself day after day after day...it's hard to change.

Flip the cassette...my friend. I like you. You're amazing! I can't believe that more people don't worship the ground you walk on! You are one incredible human being!

That's what I tell myself....anyway.

(she chuckles to herself...ignores the crickets...)

Okay...maybe that's a little extreme (again...an oxymoron! Wow! Two in one day!)...but we need to remember that Someone finds us very amazing. And when we can see how valuable we are to Him...it makes us see how valuable others are to Him.

If you need help hearing that Voice...let me know. I think I've got His tape somewhere...

Some settling may occur...

Have you been in the cereal aisle lately? There are literally 29485293435829385923952039 tremillion choices of cereal now...wow. Thinking too hard about it makes my head hurt.

When I was growing up, however, we had three choices. The BIG THREE.

Cheerios, Rice Krispies, and Corn Flakes.

Not necessarily in that order.

You know why?

Because those were the cereals that my Dad liked.

Us kids didn't really have any say-so in the matter....altho at some point I recall that Sugar Corn Pops entered the picture for special occasions...but it was mostly the 'three sisters' listed above.

You gotta eat 'em fast, people. Or they get soggy. Sigh. And I always wanted Apple Jacks...and never got 'em. And Lucky Charms....oh...I LOVE Lucky Charms! C'mon, they're magically delicious!! (Confession Time: you know, I'd eat them at my friend's house when I got to spend the night. Good times....(sniff) good times.) If my parent's ever found out that I did that...I'd have been in a world of hurt!

And while I'm on the subject...I'm not sure to this day why slightly milk-moistened Rice Krispies left on the side of a bowl will turn into a shellacked, tough-as-nails, glue substance...but we were trained to scrape the cereal down off of the sides into the milk. I believe that's because at one time it just became easier for Mom to throw the bowl away than to sandblast the Rice Krispies off....I'm not sure.

Hey, I am a cereal box reader. I'll sit there and munch and read everything on the box. When I was younger, it was to exercise my reading skills. And I noticed something...

Every box of cereal had the same statement in small print on the side of the box that said something to the effect of "contents may settle upon shipment...blah blah...net weight...blah blah...who cares?"

I guess it was for Moms (or Dads) who did the shopping and felt short-changed by the amount of cereal in the box? Again...I'm not sure. And as a kid, I didn't care.

As I've gotten older though, and have children of my own now, when I recall that statement...of settling...I see that cereal boxes contain a valuable lesson for us parents.

My son is in jr. high. Actually, both of my kids are in jr. high this year. It's been a rough year. (Those of you who've had a child or more in jr. high may send your cash donations to my post office box and I'll tell you right now that I appreciate your looks of sympathy. Those of you who have not had the pleasure of this experience...well, your time's a comin'!)

My son has been failing math since December. This has been a HUGE frustration for me. Especially when I learned that the failing is not because of a lack of understanding on his part...he just hasn't been turning in his homework.

Hm...well, his father and I have sat down with him and watched him do his math homework...and then still find out that he's not turned it in! I think to myself, "What do I have to do to get this kid to turn in his homework!?"

I've prayed about it. I've asked others to give me advice. I've asked others to pray about it. I've taken away every privilege from the boy (he can't even VOTE until he's 27!!), lectured him, etc....etc.

He doesn't seem to care about his math grade. I'm not sure how to make that happen.

Frustration indeed.

Yesterday afternoon though, he came home from school and said, "Mom! I've got some gooooood news!"

"Yes?" I say.

"I'm getting a D- in Math!"

WOOOOOHOOOOO!

Perhaps you saw the celebrations on the ten o' clock news. There were fireworks, shriner clowns, horses...I believe at one point the President himself made a speech. It was some party!

All for a D-.

Wow.

I struggle with being a perfectionist. I want my children to succeed in life. I want them to get good grades. What parent doesn't?

And I gotta tell you that this past couple of months with my son's math grade has been an awful time for me in my perfectionism. I've felt helpless and annoyed with him and just...awful.

But when I smiled at him and said, "Good job! I'm glad your grade is up!" and he smiled back at me, I realized something.

It's good to have standards. But expectations and control are a whole other ballgame, folks.

Our kids, at some point...don't want our three choices of cereal. They'll eventually buy their own.

And if we remember that 'some settling may occur during shipment'...if we remember that on this journey of life with them that they are not always going to do as we wish they would...if we can find it in ourselves to celebrate a D-...

well, I think we're better off.

Yes, we need to teach them things. Yes, they need to understand this and that.

But here's the deal...

They may not want their hair short.

They may not want to go to prom.

They may not want to go to college.

They may not marry the one we want them to marry.

They may not want to pursue that job situation we suggest.

They may not want to live close to us.

Kids make more and more choices on their own as they grow up. And I firmly believe that if we parents fight against those choices...because that's 'not the way we would do it!'...it'll be like eating a bowl of dry Rice Krispies.

Yuck.

We can't control them forever, folks! We can only choose the cereal for so long...and then they're picking out their own boxes...

Ah...cereal.

Settling...doesn't change the cereal itself...it just changes the way it may appear to us.

Is there anything you could maybe settle for with your kids?

Think about that while I get a bowl of Lucky Charms. Want some?

Who's on Your Team?

My family was invited to a Super Bowl party yesterday.

So we went.

And I watched the SuperBowl game.

Fact: I'm not a sports person. I don't have a favorite team.

Fact: I honestly don't understand the rules of football at all. (And I honestly don't care!)

Fact: Okay, I admit it. I was there for the snacks. All kidding aside, I was really only there for Darren's guacamole dip. It's INCREDIBLY GOOD!! Seriously, if you ever have the opportunity to eat this stuff...you gotta do it. Wow.

As I watched the game though...I thought..."Boy, these commercials aren't as good as the ones I saw last year."

And then I thought, "What is Peyton Manning doing hiding in that corner??"

And then I thought,"Tom Brady is definitely having some male pattern baldness issues..."

And then I thought, "What is that defensive coach (someone told me that's who he was!) doing? Is he telling them to do the 'honk your horn' play?"

And then I thought, "Look out, Tom! They're going to-----umph! Take you down."

And then I thought, "It's good to have someone watching your back on your team. Cuz it's scary out there!"

Here's the thing: We are not meant to be solitary folks. We need each other. Badly. And the people you put on your 'team'...can either help you score a touchdown...or can get you bagged.

Er....sacked. I meant sacked. Sigh. (Stupid football terminology! I told you I didn't know much about the game!)

This game of Life (which I enjoy MUCH more than Football...I must say. I'm usually a journalist when I play, altho there have been a couple of times that I've been lucky enough to land on Doctor...and I almost always end up with twins somehow. I don't know what that's all about! And then, at the end, I inevitably end up in the smaller house...or as I like to call it...the Pauper's Paradise. After I spend all my hard-earned cash cleanin' up my inheritance of my uncle's skunk farm or whatever that is...that's where I end up...with my false teeth and my fire insurance and my twins and my pink car. This one time, someone tried to get me to take the orange car instead...and I was like, huh uh...NO WAY! I ALWAYS play with the pink car and...um.....................what were we talking about?)

Oh, yeah. Life. This game of Life is tough. But it's not too bad if you have some good teammates. Think about your roster for a moment (and don't be so impressed. I googled that word!). Who's playing? More importantly, who's your Captain?

You need an encourager and an accountant on your team. Someone who motivates you...and someone who keeps you in check. If you got 'em, let 'em know how much they mean to your 'team' today!

I believe it was that great football legend, Yogi Berra who said...and I quote: "The game's not over...'til it's over."

That's a man who knew what he was talking about...am I right?

Now let's get out there and shoot some hoops!!

Lord of the Bathtub Rings

I'm filling up the tub as I type. It's been one of those days...

You know, one of those "Calgon, take me away!" kind of days...

One of those "Hey, who wants to take me on a Spa Date?" kind of days.

I dunno...I've felt a little on edge...and as Bilbo Baggins so aptly said, "I feel...thin. Sort of stretched, like... butter scraped over too much bread. I need a holiday. A very long holiday..."

What do you do when you feel thin? Is there someplace you'd like to holiday?

Me? I get in the tub. Silence. Quiet. Peace.

And I think about the Shire...


Oh, I know it's not a real place. But I'd still like to go there if I could. There's a simplicity there that appeals to me. Sure, there's Boromir :) ...but I think it's the Shire that calls to me even more. There's few distractions, I believe, in the Shire.

(Glub...glub. I love the bathtub.)

I need to clear my head. There's all kinds of things floating around in there. You know, I mentioned earlier this week that I'm de-cluttering my home. I'm giving away the things I don't want. Well, sometimes I need to de-clutter my mind as well. Like Frodo's burden of the Ring, I have my own burdens I carry. It's at those times that I remind myself that there is Someone I can give those items to..."Here...take this. And this...oh, yeah...and You can have this back. I know I keep thinking I need it...but it's really something I should let You have."

Ah! Much better! I'm glad I don't have to handle things all on my own.

And neither do you. Think about that for a moment...and pass me the loofah.

What's going in?

I read a news story on people in Haiti who, because of their poverty, are forced to eat these 'dirt' cookies. They're made with sugar, shortening and this powdery dirt that they actually purchase!

When my sister and I were about 7 and 8 years old, we used to 'bake' mud cookies on this concrete slab at the farm we grew up on. It was a lot of hard work, mixing that 'dough' and then laying out the cookies on the slab. I specifically remember one day we went nuts...and made like, 4000 cookies. We told each other that we were baking for the army. And I'll be vulnerable and say that yes...there may have been some taste-testing going on...

It was creative, recreational fun for us. It saddens me that this is a culinary reality for others.

When I first read the story, I felt helpless. When I re-read the story, I saw something else...

This dirt is cheap. So they eat it because they can't afford anything more. It's not good for them...according to medical professionals. But they don't seem to have a choice...so they do it.

How much are you putting in that's 'not good for you'? And I'm not necessarily talking about junk food (although I'm sure that could apply!). Think about that question for a moment while I share another memory with you...

In high school, my senior year...I took a computer class. Computers, ahem...were relatively new to schools then...and this was a programming class. I sat next to this guy who thought he knew more about the computers than everyone else. Okay, admittedly, he probably did know more. I'd make a mistake in my programming and couldn't get the system to run properly and he'd smile at me and say, "Garbage in...garbage out."

Argh.

You can hear him sneering, right? Can you see me rolling my eyes and grinding my teeth?

Okay, so maybe he wasn't sneering...but I think he really wanted to!!! (and yeah...I WAS grinding my teeth...)

Anyway...now, when I make mistakes, sometimes I'll hear his voice in my head..."garbage in...garbage out." It's a good reminder to me to watch what is going in. Is it bad for me? Is it good for me? Sometimes, like the Haitians, I tell myself I don't have a choice...but is that the truth?

I may not be able to do much to help those poor folks in Haiti with their food intake. But I can control what goes in to me. I encourage you to put something good inside today. You are valuable and special and wonderful. Remember that. And remember to try to stay away from the mud. Trust me, I know from experience...those mud cookies don't have much flavor...!

In the For What It's Worth Dept.

Here's the before and after of my mantle.