A Happy Ending...

Oh, the Places I'll Go...

2006-09-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

My dear blog, I have not forgotten you. I'm here. Busy as usual.

I can't believe it, but my long-awaited travel season will begin in just a few short days. I leave tonight for a short overnight trip to work a college fair and then I'll get to come back home tomorrow. I'll consider this my dry run, although if I completely stink at college recruiting, there is really no turning back anyway. I am my own territory manager, and sink or swim, I've got to dive into 6 weeks of intense travel.

I feel over-anxious and underprepared. I feel like I'm doing work that is so foreign to me, and yet the work of building relationships is really at the core of what I am doing, and that has always been a strength of mine. I feel my heart start to pound before each tour I've given in the last few weeks, and yet a few steps into it I realize that it isn't about what I say on that hour-long trot through campus, it's who I am. Each of these students is looking for a place to belong, not a laundry list of things the campus has to offer. And so, I calm down and I just talk to them. I'm genuine and interested in who they are and what they have to say. And so far, each of them has found their way to the Admissions lounge with a pen in their hand, filling out part I of the Application. And that's the goal, according to my boss. My goal is a connection, and so far I've felt that each time. I guess that's all I can do.

But now it is time to take it all on the road. I'll travel to Dallas, throughout the entire state of Alabama, to Houston, and finally to the Florida panhandle. Not the most exciting destinations, but all within the comforts of southern hospitality. I've been nervous about the logistics of it, but I'm plugging away at getting those in place. And I'm growing more and more comfortable with the work to be done. But one thing really hit me this morning while Lauren and I were getting ready in front of my cute little wardrobe mirror. I'm not going to be home for SIX weeks. Sure, I'll come home for 24 hours or so each weekend, but that's just long enough to go into work, get squared away for the upcoming trip, give Richie a kiss on the cheek, do my laundry and get back on the road. I had to leave my home in Houston to come here, and now that I am all settled and this place truly feels like home, I have to leave again. I'm not sure I realized how that would feel.

I'm going to miss Richie terribly. We were so used to not seeing each other last year, but now we're in a great rhythmn with each other and I must disrupt it. There are days when he is the only thing familiar on this mountain and I think, if it is possible, I love him even more than I did when we left. Sure, we're still used to spending our nights apart - I watch him walk to his rented room next door each evening, but we share meals together, and laughter, and moments of beautiful silence. I just don't know what I'm going to do without him for six whole weeks. And at the end of those six weeks, it will be time for our wedding. I'm in enough of a frenzy trying to get all the last minute details planned without having to also be on the road. How will I ever do this?

Here I go again. Doubting. Will I ever stop my doubting. Just a few short months ago, I thought that God couldn't possibly have a place for me here on this mountain. I thought I'd move here and be destitute without a job. And look, I have a job with amazing opportunities that has given me more than a place on the mountain. It has given me a means to pay our bills and even somewhat of a purpose here, aside from supporting Rich. Still, I can't help but doubt. It is all feeling like too much. Moving, new job, TRAVELING, and getting married. Oddly enough, it isn't the getting married part that I'm nervous about. It's the wedding. So silly, I know.

What a disjointed blog I have just created. I guess that is the state of my mind.

Lauren was here this weekend and I had SUCH fun. I really don't know what I'd do without a friend nearby (and by nearby I mean SIX hours a way). And she is the perfect friend to have nearby. I miss her already and she just left a few hours ago. She simply filled my weekend with joy. I love you, my dear Lauren!

Ok, time to head back to work. Way too much to do to be working on this thing!

New things I love

2006-07-29T15:23:00.000-07:00

So, I began working on a post about the big goodbye with my family. Maybe I'll finish it, maybe I'll post it, maybe not.

We're here in Sewanee, TN. The trip was fine, although expensive. Luckily, my job is reimbursing us for most of it. Our house here is awesome. It's actually a duplex and our address says "apt." but for all practical purposes, it's a house. I'll post pics once we are really moved in (although we are well on our way). For now I just want to paint a picture of our new life by telling you of some of my favorite things we've done so far:

1. Trips to the Farmer's Market!! We've gone twice now, and it's becoming a ritual of sorts. One thing you should know is that tomatoes are "maters." So country, I know, but man, we've eaten the heck out of those maters. We've bought maters, onions, squash, peaches, blackberries, bananas, garlic, and fresh jalapenos. Oh yeah, and today we bought fresh green beans, which I've now snapped and will cook in a bit. We haven't eaten out once since we've been here, which is a HUGE change for us. And we both agree, we're not sick of eating at home. In fact, we love it! We've been eating such fresh and healthy food, we both feel great.

2. Going to the flea market today. We found a great rug for our living room for $60. It totally makes the room. And the price was great. The flea market was fun in general. Lots of old crap we didn't need, but so fun to look at! And then we found the Monteagle Mountain Market that was going on today and walked around there before enjoying some roasted corn. Yum!

3. Eating all of our meals outside. The weather is incredibe. It's July and we ate hot soup outside and never broke a sweat. It does get hot, but it's not the same kind of hot as Texas. At night, it dips down to 60 or so - I had to wear a sweatshirt at the BBQ last night. In July. Now that is incredible.

4. Sitting in our new rocking chairs on our back porch. Rich bought them for me as a surprise and I love them. Our porch is screened in, so no bugs or anything. Just a cool breeze and lots to look at and two rocking chairs to grow old in.

I miss my family. Alot. But life is good. It's somehow simpler, slower, and healthier and I've adjusted to it so quickly.

I'll tell you about my job later. I think I'm going to really like it, but it will be a HUGE challenge.

Be well my friends and peace to you from Rockytop.

Moving On

2006-07-19T12:03:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure which I dislike more: moving or moving on. Moving sucks. We all know that. You don't realize that you have as much shit as you do until you start having to wrap every little trinket and every dish and put it in a box. Box after box after box you put your whole life into cardboard and step back and look at it and wonder how the hell you acquired so much stuff.

I can't help but think: it's all in boxes and yet I'm able to function these last few days. Do I really need all that stuff? And I'm also a bit of a pack-rat by nature, though not entirely so. And it's hard for me to know what is important to save and what is not. I think about the few things my mother saved from her childhood and her teenage years and I've LOVED those things. What do I have that my daughter (futuristically speaking) would want? What momentos do I want from high school, college, and my first few jobs. I'm terrified of throwing something away that I'll later regret, and yet in all the packing I've found myself throwing a lot of stuff away. There should be a "how-to" guide for moving. Heck, maybe I need one for life right now.

Back to my original point, all sap aside, I hate moving. It's a big sweaty pain in Houston, TX.

There's nothing I'll particularly miss about my apartment. It's tiny. It's on the third floor. I have yet to meet and neighbor and remember what they look like or their name. It's got high ceilings so it costs way too much to keep cool. Really, there is nothing special about this place. And yet, it's mine! When I moved into it, it was the first place I ever paid rent on my own. Moving into it was a triumphant move on my part. I had left the nest once before, but this time it was different. After a difficult few years, it was a move of independence, an emotional move from the nest. And I have loved every minute of living there on my own. I know every nook and cranny. I can reach for the refrigerator door that's missing a handle in the dark and know just where to grab it. My body wakes up just before the train drives by when I have my windows open in the winter. I know to never turn my fan off because the dust will fly all over my bed. Sounds like shit-hole, I know, but it's my place. And now I am leaving it.

And then there's my job. I'm not particularly attached to the work that I do, although I have enjoyed it for the most part. And I don't have an emotional attachment to the majority of the people at my office. And the ones I do, I already know that we're only a phone call away. And I hate the building I work in. It's a meatlocker most days, until the AC goes out, which it does frequently, and then it's flaming hot. And yet, as I walk through the halls in these last days, I get sad. I'm such a sentimental thing, I can't imagine not coming here everyday. I can't imagine not seeing these familiar faces. I'm also training a couple of new people on different aspects of my job, and it's hard for some reason. You want to think that you aren't so replaceable, but I know we all are. One particular woman I am training doesn't seem to want me to teach her anything - like "I can figure this out on my own" and that is frustrating. When I came in, I HAD to teach myself and trust me, it wasn't fun. They've purposely brought her in early so that I can work with her, and I already feel like "out with the old, in with the new."

These two small details aside, the one part of this move that is next to impossible is leaving my family. I get a lump in my throat just thinking about it.

I think I shall have to save that for my next post: Moving On, Part II (READ: Not Moving On)

Be well, friends and readers.

Roller-blogging

2006-06-12T07:36:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's been so long, I'm not sure where to start.

I feel like my blog has become like that pair of rollerblades I just had to have when I was 13. They were my favorite thing for a few months and I used them all the time. And then suddenly, like all favorite toys they ended up collecting dust in the garage. I'm not so sure that I got bored of my blog, so maybe it's not the same thing, but honestly, I hung this thing up somewhere in the back of my mind behind a wardrobe of "what-ifs" and "might nots" and that glaring truth of "I need a job." It's not that I had nothing to blog about. It's just that I've been on emotional overload and real life was seriously kicking me in the ass and I don't know...I was tired of putting all those thoughts out into the atmosphere. So I just burned up the phone lines with my friends (who are probably the very people reading this blog) and talked about all my fears and doubts and what-ifs.

But friends, I am happy and proud to tell you that things are looking up for me. I am such a girl of little faith - I'm embarassed to tell you of the many thoughts that ran through my mind as I looked for a job in Sewanee, TN. As of about 22 hours ago, I have one. Just as simple as that. No, not simple at all, and yet it just happened and the longer I become of aware of this new reality, the more those months of doubt and misery seem to fade away. Ok, ok, Trish - cut to the chase!

Yesterday, I was offered a position as an Admissions Counselor for the University of the South in Sewanee, TN. Basically, I will spend the fall semester traveling all over and doing college fairs and recruiting. Then in the spring, I will read college apps. (hundreds of them) and decide who makes the first cut. There are about 6-8 counselors in the office and they are my age for the most part. This seriously feels like a dream job. I'll get to walk to work, which is wonderful! And I just think that this job will be so fun. The way I look at it, it's not just "a job." It's something that I can for the next three years and feel like I have just as much of a purpose there as Rich. So...all the worrying and prayers of desperation...and now, it's over. Or rather, it's just beginning.

I'm quite sure I have ZERO readers left since I haven't blogged in so long. I hope you'll come back to me, friends. I finally have things to say that you MIGHT want to read. Not just gloom and doom and woe is me.

The downside of all of this is that I have to move in just 2 weeks. Not long, but I've kind of been prepared to go when I get the call. So that is that.

Be well, my friends, and I'll put on the old rollerblades again soon!

You can stop searching in the ditches for my decomposing body.

2006-05-23T14:41:00.000-07:00

I'm alive. Just busy...

Oh yeah, this is too good. Former Ginger Spice named her child Blue Bell Madonna. I guess when you are rich, you can afford to screw your children up from the start because you can afford counseling down the road.

The New and Improved Trishy, fo' shizzle!

2006-04-27T10:16:00.000-07:00

I've got mad street cred now...

Yes that's right, folks. I am now the proud owner of the Urban Dictionary: Fularious Street Slang Defined.

After verbal slip-ups too numerous to count, my boss made the inevitable purchase, hoping to nip the next few in the bud. He had simply had enough of my lip. You see, he eats baked chicken every day, so one day I called him a "chicken head" and apparently that has some dirty meaning that chicks like me don't know. So, he sent me to urbandictionary.com to check it our for myself. I urge you to go there my friends before you make such a slip of the tongue. Wow, did I just say "slip of the tongue" in reference to "chicken head?" I'm dirty and I didn't even know it.

Anyway, this book is great for a girl like me. Allow me to educate you on a few of the things I've been learning. PS - this is a great bathroom read. The entries are short and to the point and you learn some "mad street cred, fo' shizzle." Damn, I'm white.

do the math To give someone your telephone number, or to ask someone for their telephone number.
Ho, you be fine. Do the math for me.

(In my day, do the math meant "figure it out for yourself." Apparently, I'm light-years behind.)

chirp 1. To emit a short squeal from the tires when launching a car of changing gears. Yo, bro, I just chirped third gear in my Civiv. 2. To call someone on the phone, usually when you want a booty call or just to chill with them. Yo, I'm 'bout to chirp my slideoff, son. I'll holla at you. 3. to puke, vomit, throw up. After a long night of drinking I gotta chirp so I don't feel all hung over the next day.

bend a corner To provide transportation for; to drive by and pick up. Yo, Dave, can ya bend that corner for me, dawg?

blacklight Barbie A woman who appears much prettier in the blacklight at a party or club than she really is. Seeing Whitney in the daylight, I realized she was a total blacklight Barbie.

purse out For males only: to not do something because of a girly reason, to wuss out. Tim was going to go to the bar with us tonight, but he pursed out because he had to get up early tomorrow.

farting terms A milestone in a new relationship when both parties feel at ease when breaking wind in front of each other. You've been with that bird for a long time and you're not even on farting terms yet? Do you have to go to the bathroom every time you need to rasp?

wigger A pejorative term for a Caucasian kid who mimics the language, dress, and mannerisms of ghetto kids.
Wigger: Yo, bizzle, you best step off mah bread!
Suburban white girl: Didn't you get that do-rag at Hot Topic? And why are you wearing a FUBU shirt?
Wigger: Yeah, well...you know that's how we do...

I'm starting to feel like a bit of a wigger myself, so I think I'll end my first mad street cred lesson there. That, and I'm feeling Randy Jackson-isms creeping into my vocabulary more and more and that's just not right. Check it out dawg. Yo dawg, check it out. That man bugs the crap out of me. Seriously, I'd like to put him on mute.

So, I'm educated now. At least I know never to use the term chicken head again. Well, not to my boss anyway, although he pretty much just laughed till he hit the floor with no hard feelings. All in a day's work, my friends.

Trishy, OUT...

Tail-Pinching, Head-sucking, and more on Traditions

2006-04-13T13:16:00.000-07:00

It seems that my entire life is centered around traditions. I don't know if we're normal or the experiential equivalent of "pack-rats" and simply can't let anything go. But we have traditions that happen every year and I look forward to them all. Tomorrow, is perhaps my favorite of all: The Crawfish Boil. It's the best damn party this side of Louisiana.

And this year is special, because it marks our 20th Annual Crawfish Boil. We've done this thing for 20 years, in good times and bad, so this year is truly a cause for celebration. And what have we done to mark this momentous occasion? Why, we made t-shirts of course! READ: I made t-shirts. It seems that writing bubble letters and making t-shirts are my lot in life, but you don't hear me complaining. Yes, tomorrow the entire clan (13 and counting), both young and old, will be decked out in these babies. Even the new baby has a teeny-tiny one AND I made Dad an apron (he's the cook) because he's got the messiest job of all.
Our day starts early. Actually, preparations begin weeks in advance. But the big stuff happens that day. Chopping, chopping, and more chopping of vegetables for the best gumbo you'll ever taste, setting up chairs and tables, making cocktail sauce. And then, the crawfish arrive. Straight from the Crawfish Farm in Lake Charles, LA that very day, they cruise in the back of Mr. Al's truck, "big red. OK, big red as retired and it's not "big blue" the suburban, but whatever.

NOTE: environmentalists, beware. You might not want to read the next paragraph. In fact, you might not want to read my blog.

At that point, the journey toward the light begins for the crawfish. They're carried in big mesh bags and put in the grass where they get hosed down periodically. Then they take a final swim in the big aluminum tub before they're tossed into the boil. Oh, come on folks, it's what the day is all about. The kids always play with them while they are in the big tub. You've got to know just how to pick them up though - those suckers hurt! There's typically always an unfortunate pinch. Boil by boil, we cook up about 350lbs of the critters, as well as pot of gumbo big enough for me to sit in, and a vat of corn and potatoes.

The crowd begins to arrive about 4pm. Over the years, the crowd hasn't changed much. Generally speaking, once you're invited to the Crawfish Boil, you're kind of always invited. I take that back. We've made some cuts over the years - you know how friendships go. But for the most part, the guest list hasn't changed. And it's cool to see children's children now coming. Three Generations. Like I said, once invited, always invited.

Ah, the party begins. It'll go on for hours and end sometime before the next morning. Every sits down with a beer flat full of crawfish, a steaming bowl of gumbo and a tasty cold one. (I'm tipping my hat to the mayor there) Pinch the tails, suck the heads, toss them into the heep. NOTE: my dad always told me that the yellow stuff was mustard. I'll just go with that, thank you very much.

Usually by 10pm or so, my Mom is talking really loud and repeating herself. My dad looks pooped and happier than he is all year. Our eyes are all glazed over and our fingers are stained red. There's usually some dancing in the garage, (Mom says she likes to "get down.") a poker game, a floated keg and multiple beer runs following that, and few crawfish who braved the escape into the backyard, only to find out that it is enemy zone. We've had a few romances develop over the years, a broken bone, a visit from the police, spilled urine during a game of truth-or-dare (don't ask) the best damn game of hide and seek ever amidst all the cars, and much much more.

So that, my friends, is the Crawfish Boil. But the tradition doesn't end there. Nope. We wake up Saturday morning and chase a Tylenol with a coke to ward off the hangover, then gather to get the house and yard cleaned up. A little siesta, then it's time for more festivities. We all head over to Don'Keys in Pasa-get-down-dena for some awesome Mexican food and margaritas and some good laughs. I'm sure we break some commandment with all the festivities, but hey...we're a devout people and we're honest about our indulgences.

It's probably weird to have so many family traditions (and to add to the list EVERY year). I know it's weird this day and age to like your family enough to want to see them at all the events. But we genuinely like each other and love to be together for all the traditions. There are many more, but I'll tell you about those another day. They all have their own story. Our traditions make us who we are. Our traditions are sacred to us, and frankly, they are sacred to those around us.

I don't know what you're doing this weekend, but I plan to pinch a tail, suck a head, and drink a toast to YOU!

If you can get through this entire post, you're a saint (READ: a very lengthy blog)

2006-04-03T09:37:00.000-07:00

Alas, the 2006 Youth Ministry Conference is over. After a year of prayer and meetings and phone calls and sleepless nights and excitement and victories, it happened with only a few small hitches and I simply couldn't be more pleased. For those who have no idea what I am talking about, the Youth Ministry Conference is kind of my big project of the year (along with a number of other things of course) and something I stress over but totally look forward to. Our Keynote Speaker, Holly Rankin Zaher was truly fantastic - the sessions were engaging and really built community, which is something the youth ministers in this diocese really need. I didn't know much about the Emerging Church. Honestly, it's a term that's been tossed around in every youth ministry circle I belong to, but for some reason, it scared me, and I never really explored it. I realize now that the fundamentals of it are elements of my own personal theology that have been there for years, many of which I was never able to put into words.

So yeah, my weekend was incredible. Professionally, it was a great event for this Diocese. Personally, it was a weekend of ah-has, oh yeahs, and oh crap, I have to really think about the future now. Allow me to disect...

Lex Orandi/Lex Credendi
Or, prayer shapes belief. Some of my more faithful readers might remember a story I told about going to Good News Club as a child and what a detriment, in the end, it was to my faith. When presented with the opportunity to "ask Jesus into my heart" I developed the "magic word" complex. Maybe my prayers are all wrong, maybe I didn't have the magic words, maybe Jesus wasn't in my heart. Years later, I still struggled thinking I might be doing it all wrong.

Prayer shapes our beliefs. Then our beliefs shape our prayers. It's a never-ending cycle. We have great power in our words when we pray with or for someone, when we teach a child a prayer, and when we join in the chorus of contemporary Christian music, to name a few. When we pray aloud, we speak into being a Theology that may or may not be sound. This was a real "ah-ha" moment for me.

On Wednesday, something happens
I was sitting in a workshop entitled "Hymns for the 21st Century" which was fantastic. We covered much more ground than critical analysis of music. We talked about life. The woman leading the workshop was sharing with us her experiences in running camps which focus on using the arts with kids who are severly at-risk, kids who have witnessed horrendous things in their lives, and still others who have become trapped in their own lives full of unhealthy behaviors. The concept was great. They allow the kids to express themselves through many different forms of art and music and painful truths are revealed in these works. Sounds amazing, but I posed the question of how things really go down in this idealistic picture she painted. She laughed and said, "for the first two days, it's hell. You want to give up. You think of giving up. And then on Wednesday, something happens...

This was my "oh yeah" moment. It can't always be Wednesday, when everything seems to come together and that whole idea of "everything working together for good" is much more than a nice camp slogan. Sometimes it's Monday. Sometimes life is hell and all our efforts seem useless. Sometimes it's Tuesday, and we continue to do what we did on Monday and it seems even more pointless and even more difficult. But Wednesday happens in every season of our life, just as sure as the sun rises and sets each day. Life is a cycle and happy endings often need painful and difficult beginnings. I am encouraged to press on, not just now, but in every season of my life. On Wednesday, something happens.

One more for the team
Have you ever been around those people who always have an unsought answer, debate, or opinion? Just because they talk more than the rest of us combined, doesn't mean they are any wiser. In fact, their need to always offer their own thoughts quite possibly shows some ignorance. (Ok, so this one was random, but can definitely be considered an "oh yeah" or else a "well ain't that the truth" moment.

A mountain awaits me
Literally. Sewanee rests atop a mountain. I'm getting closer to it every day and "oh crap, I really have to think about my future now." I know I've already posted on my uncertainties regarding this, but they haunt me even more now that this conference is over. I was able to medicate my worries with the details and logistics of this past weekend, but now they are resurfacing. I think I've concluded that part of the difficulty rests in the fact that I am leaving something I've really grown to love for something that really has nothing to do with. (I know it does, but work with me.) I know I am very much a part of Rich's seminary journey and this next chapter is as much mine as it is his, but this move we will make in 7 months is about his calling and his passion, not mine.

I had a moment this weekend when I looked back on the last few years of my life. I remember when I graduated from TLU, I truly mourned the loss of the "cocoon" that I knew there. I moved back to Houston and weeped at the thought that I might never be a part of something so amazing. I am a person who craves spiritual community and soul-food, beyond that which the church offers. I am a student of life. I found myself feeling so alone when I moved back here, even though I was surrounded by people I loved. I wanted to be a part of a community again that I was passionate about. At this particular moment in the conference, I finally felt like I was in that type of community again. I found kindred spirits in the most unlikely of people. For a few moments, I savored the feeling of once again being in a cocoon, and quickly, reality brought me to the realization that in 7 months, it will all be over. Once again, I'll be searching.

The beauty of the cocoon analogy (which either God gave me in that moment or my random mind came up with in its effort to make my heart feel better) is that it proves the importance of leaving it. When I'm in the cocoon, yes I'm growing and I'm being nurtured by relationships, but what good am I doing and what am I offering the world. I can't give much back when I'm in the cocoon, and I am one for action, so this is not a good place for me to stay all the time. My current job comes with it's ups and downs, that's for sure. But I realized this weekend that I am part of an amazing community...just in time to leave it. Ah, the cycle of life again. Wednesday, again.

So, I've got a mountain to look forward to. What an ironic (or not at all ironic) metaphor for my life right now. So many things to figure out. So many things to let go of and trust God instead. So many things...

and finally...
I'm so glad we aren't made from cookie cutters
I'm not sure where this realization came from, but it has given me such peace. I am referring to Rich and I. One of the most beautiful and frustrating things about us is that we fight just as passionately as we love. I'm not talking about silly fights. I'm talking about deep ones like world issues, faith, morality. I get so frustrated sometimes because we discuss these topics with such passion, but we sit at such different points on the spectrum. There had been moments when I thought that this might get the better of me. But for some reason, I had a peace come over me this weekend and I'm glad we're different. We truly challenge each other and sharpen each other "as iron sharpens iron." I can't change the fact that we are both such passionate people, and I don't want to! We may disagree sometimes, but that same passion that moves us to argue, moves us to love each other in a way that is so amazing. I often wonder if other people love each other as much as we do. Passion baby. I wouldn't trade it for the even keel any day.

Ducks in a Row

2006-03-21T14:28:00.000-08:00

Whenever I don't post for a while, I always feel the need to apologize to my faithful (however few) readers. Guess it's kind of in my nature to apologize for everything; guess I'll need some time on the couch to work through that issue. Just the other day, I was walking by my cubemate's countertop and after bumping into it, I said "ouch" followed by "I'm sorry." Yes, I apologized to a counter. Have I made my point.

Anyway, it would seem that I've had nothing to write about in this two week hiatus, but quite the contrary. I think I'm simply so overwhelmed by my life right now that writing a blog seemed like just another thing to do. Ok, so it's not that bad, but in all reality, my head is swarming with so many thoughts, I could think of no clear way to write about one or two.

As of March 10th, Rich is officially a Postulant and we will be headed to the University of the South in Sewanee, TN where he will begin seminary this Fall. Yeah. Big change. I keep telling him that the hard part is over for him. He knows his future. He'll be in school. They'll pretty much tell him what classes to take. That's pretty much all he has to think about. But this is only the beginning for me. On top of the two jobs I am working now, and the wedding I am planning, and the marriage we're preparing for, I must find a job in a city (a very, very small city) that I've never been to, and plan for a move that will happen in two phases:

1. My lease will be up the first of August (ish) and I will give all my lovely furniture to my honey, and move into my parents' house. (oh, the joy) When Richie's lease is up, he'll move to Tennessee with my furniture.

2. Richie will fly home to marry me. He'll get on a plane the next day to head back to Sewanee for class. I'll get in my lil' Liberty and drive to TN with my clothes and my remaining posessions in the back.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am absolutely elated to be going to Sewanee. Look at it: who wouldn't be?

(I seriously stink at adding pictures to my blog!)

Can you see why this is totally exciting and yet stressful at the same time? I'm so excited for my darling and so proud of him and I really can't wait for this adventure, but so many things have to happen in the next 8 months, that it's just a little overwhelming.

My friend Cora said to me the other day. "Don't even worry about it. You're not just going there because that's where Rich is supposed to go to Seminary. They need you, too. It's out of your control." I really hadn't thought of it that way, and I must admit, it's a comfort.

Still, as someone who likes her ducks in a row (those who know me well can vouch for that) this is a stressful time. I'm doing all the groundwork I can now: sending resumes and letters to perfect strangers and telling them how hard I will work for them. And that's not a lie. I'm a passionate person and I will work hard. I guess I have that going for me.

So can you see why I haven't written lately? Life has just changed significantly. A good change. But a change, just the same.

Be well, my friends...

My new niece

2006-03-06T12:11:00.001-08:00

So this isn't an official blog, but here's my new niece. Ain't she purty? I'm definitely a smitten and proud aunt once again.

I painted the little pink and green crown thingy for her room. Had to give myself a little plug there since I'd like to go into business one of these days!

Seriously, this little girl is a doll. And here's one of proud big brother thinking "can we keep her?"

Folks, I don't have my own kids yet, but I'm quite certain that this is what life is all about. Don't worry honey...six more years. I'm not going back on our bargain, I just think that this is the stuff of life!

I'm glad that my Texas girls made it back safely from the Carolinas. Boys, I'm anxious to hear your side of the story...

A real post will be coming your way in a day or two. The creative juices just aren't flowing yet. It is Monday...give me a break!

Fat Tuesday Funk

2006-02-28T07:40:00.000-08:00

Hello friends and readers. My apologies for the little hiatus. It's been a little busy here in my world and every time I've thought to write, I either a) got sidetracked, b) just plain didn't have the energy, or c) realized I really had nothing to say.

A bit of good news for those who are keeping track: Rich met with the Commission on Ministry who gave him their blessing to go to seminary next year. This is actually fantastic news for him and for us and basically means that come Fall, he'll be enrolled in seminary...somewhere. The final step to this process is a meeting with the Bishop in which they'll decide where he'll go to school. I'll keep you posted as to what comes of that. Bottom line: we'll both be moving in the near future. It was a wonderful day for him and I'm very proud of him and the work he has done.

Some other good news. I have a new neice! She was born one week ago today and I'm so excited! I have two nephews who I love to peices and now I finally have a little girl to dote on. I would seriously give my arm, my leg, my heart for any one of those kids. They are precious to me. I don't have any good pics yet, but those will be forthcoming.

I'm in a bit of a funk today. First of all (and my apologies to my male readers) I have terrible cramps. I seriously feel like someone is twisting my insides in violent anger. I can't find a position to sit comfortably and I have found that standing is not much better. I'm hoping they'll go away soon, but I fear this is just the beginning.

I didn't sleep very well last night. I got to bed much later than usual and then couldn't sleep. Trishy is a 8-9 hour a night girl. My head hit the pillow at like 1:00am and I don't think I dozed off until about 3. And after that I would sleep for a time and then wake up restless, doze back off...you know the drill. Not a pleasant night, so I'm groggy today. I never sleep well when I go to bed with something on my mind. Unfortunately, it was one of those nights where I really couldn't do anything about the thing on my mind, so I was helpless. Does anyone else experience this? I know people who can sleep like babies all the time and my sleep has everything to do with my emotional state and I hate that!

I'm hoping everything will feel better today and I'll sleep tonight, but I've got a really busy day and night tonight, so we shall see. We have our Fat Tuesday luncheon here at the office and then I've got the Pancake Supper tonight at church. That also means I'm going to miss American Idol which sucks. I'm also going to miss the beginning of Amazing Race, which also sucks. I miss last Spring when Richie and I had this Tuesday routine of going to the park to play frisbee, eating at our favorite Vietnamese place, and then heading home in time for Amazing Race. I realize now in his absence how precious those simple days were and are to me. The weather is amazing today as well.

Have I successfully depressed you, dear readers? I hope not. I'm just feeling funky right now and I can't shake it. I hope everything is going well in your worlds. My dear Lauren is heading to the Carolinas with Becky and I'm so excited for them. I know that's going to be a wonderful and memorable trip. Perhaps we'll be one step closer to being only 6 hours apart next year! Be safe girls and have a blast. I want to hear all about it. And you boys in Winston-Salem...be good to them!

The Yellow Brick Road

2006-02-13T13:51:00.000-08:00

Hello Friends and Readers! Well, today marks one week before a very important day for Rich and I. Next Monday, he will go before the Commission on Ministry and they will make the decision as to whether or not to send him to Seminary this fall. Our future pretty much rests in their hands at this point. They decide "if" we will go and then the Bishop decides "where" we will go, so as you can see, our life is not ours to decide right now. I speak for myself here, because this is Richie's meeting, not mine, but I have this whole mess of emotion in me right now. If you are the praying kind, I hope that you'll add us to your long list of things to discuss with God.

The uncertainty...
Where will we live next year? Where will I get a job? What will I do...I mean it's not like I really have a field in particular? I like to be proactive, but I can't do anything until I know what city to be job-searching in. And money. How much will we have to depend on my salary? I've just had to sit back for months and months and stew over this, all the while not being able to do anything. Sitting back breeds worry. And worried I am...

The excitement...
I've lived in Texas since the age of 4. I'm totally up for an adventure right now. I've found the man I am going to spend my life with and I can't think of a better partner on the journey. We'll live in a new place, make new friends, learn to be independent, find new parks, new restaurants, new interests, share new adventures. We'll make a new life TOGETHER. It's amazing to think about! The places we could end up are narrowed down to a probable two and both are beautiful and wonderful places to live.

The logistics...
The date has been set, but there is so much to do. Figure out where we're going to be living, find a job. Move out of my apartment and into my parents' house. Move my stuff with Rich to wherever it is we are headed. Get married. This could literally mean Rich flying home for the weekend to marry me (literally sweep me off my feet) depending on the academic calendar! Then I'll have to move. Needless to say, lots of moving in the months ahead. And pulling off this wedding...a little bit stressful. Just ask him how many times I've suggested we run away and get married. Richie, if you are reading this, the offer still stands. Screw the pretty dress and the pretty flowers!

The joy...
Who am I kidding? All the crap aside, I'm simply overjoyed at the thought of marrying this guy. Overjoyed. He's wonderful. We're wonderful together. I love him, I love him, I love him. He's fun, smart, sexy, SO kind, strong, exciting, thoughtful. He calls me his angel and he thinks I'm purty, too. I can't wait until we are husband and wife. Seriously, can't wait...

This entry is completely incoherent, so I apologize for that. Wait a minute, no I don't. This is my blog. Deal with it. I'm incoherent sometimes. That's who I am. Trishy's got lots to think about and do these days.

Again, if you are the praying kind, please remember us.

If you are not, I really don't know how you do it.

The World is Full of Stupid People

2006-02-03T07:35:00.000-08:00

And her rant continues. Yes, I'm going off on someone else today because I simply will burst if I do not proceed with this entry.

You know how people lose all ability to drive when it rains. Not from Houston? You might not know what I mean. The minute the rain drops begin to fall onto relatively normal people, who we can expect are typically good drivers (who am I kidding? a good driver is a precious commodity in Houston) they freak. They lose all ability to reason, to judge, to use their blinkers, to stay in their lanes. They come unglued and sit on nerve's edge with their white nuckles glued to the steering wheel at 10 and 2, yet some force from within takes over and seems to bring out some reckless abandon in those moments of panic. In essence, they are stupid. It's rain, people! Yes, the roads will be a little bit slick. (But in the city of oil and humidity, when are they not?) Slow down, calm down, and drive just as you would on an easy Sunday afternoon and you'll be just fine. But no, they become idiots on the road, slaves to the weather conditions, and their stupity is inexcuseable.

I've learned that these same stupid people must also be the parents of the lovely children whose paperwork passes (read: ends up in a big, messy, confusing pile on top of a pile, on my desk) through my office this time of year. I'm telling you, these parents, win the stupid award. Here are a few scenarios I've encountered this week that are not at all made-up:

Stupid Woman #1: Hi Trish. Look, I know my daughter is in the 4th grade, but her best friend in the whole world is in 6th and they want to go to the Jr. High Retreat together. Me: I'm sorry stupid woman, but the Jr. High retreat is only for 6-8 graders. I cannot allow your 4th grader to attend. I can however, place them both in the intermediate retreat that weekend (for 4-6 graders), that would be no problem. SW#1: Ok that would be great. I'll fax it to you right now.
10 minutes later...Me (thinking to myself): Um, so best friend is in the 7th grade, or so it says on her form. So I call SW#1 back to break the bad news. I explain the whole scenario and tell her that there is no possible way for me to put them in the same retreat. To which SW#1 replies: Ok great they're going to be so excited. Thus, I realize she has not listened to a damn word I've just said and I proceed to repeat myself to which SW#1 replies: Well that's not fair.

Not fair? It's not fair that you're so damn stupid and couldn't see the grades clearly laid out on the damn registration form and that I have to waste my breath talking you through this universal tradgedy.

Stupid Woman #2: So, I know I'm past the deadline, but is there any way you can get my daughter in to the intermediate retreat. Me: I'm sorry ma'am, but the retreat is full. I have a waiting list going, but it's pretty long. SW#2 interjects: Oh, could you please just put my daughter on the waiting list. She REALLY wants to go. I'm going to lose the "Mom of the Year" award over this. (Me: thinking to myself how much I don't care because I've heard that same song all day and frankly it's OLD) Me: Sure, I'd be happy to do that for you and I'll let you know if we have a space free up. I must tell you that your daughter is number 18 on the waiting list, and we tend to only have 2-3 drop out. E-mail from SW#2 this morning: Trish can you tell me if my daughter will be able to attend the retreat. We're very curious as to wether she got in or not. Me: Well stupid mom, seeing as how there were 17 children ahead of her on the list and there was not a break-out overnight of the black plague or some other epidemic, no, she is not in yet, but I'll be SURE to keep you posted (wink, wink)

Is there something about being a parent that makes you crazy? I know they love their kids, but really, have some sense about you people.

I've also received registration forms for the following:

a girl whose name is Jessica but she goes by "Jezka." Apparently very important. Just tell everyone to say your name fast, you idiot. Nobody spells their name that way.

a boy whose mother felt compelled to offer his precise height and weight on his registration just for the hell of it. Thought we might like to know that about his measurements.

Shall I continue? Eh, I'm getting quite bored of myself and annoyed all over again at these people so I think I shall close there. I'm seriously not a hater, I just wish people would think.

Do you know any stupid people?

Look's like somebody's got a case of the Monday's...

2006-02-02T14:56:00.000-08:00

Oh that's right. ME. (I'll kick my own ass for saying a thing like that, thank you very much)

Broken Cookies: A Lesson on Manners

2006-01-26T12:54:00.000-08:00

My cubemate just brought over a mostly eaten, cumbled down to nothing oatmeal cookie wrapped in Saran wrap. Her boss had been at a meeting at one of the churches and someone said she should bring one of the delicious cookies back to her assistant, so she did. Only, it was apparently too tough to make the short trip back to the office with the cookie in the passenger seat because she nibbled the cookie down to the mostly eaten, crumbled down to nothing bit that she handed my cubemate. Why, you ask, is this important? It's not. But it's downright rude.
First, you don't consume a good portion of a gift you intend to give someone. And trust me, in the humdrum of my office, a delicious oatmeal cookie is, in fact, a gift! Second, if you do commit the heinous crime of using the gift yourself (in this case, eating the damn cookie) then please, people, don't give it to the recipient. Make no mention of the gift and live with the guilt that you didn't have the willpower to leave the cookie alone for 5 minutes, but don't wrap it back up in the Saran wrap and offer it as a wondrous gift to behold, because it's not! It's a piece of crap, if you ask me.

This little incident has got me thinking about manners, or the lack thereof. Now I was taught to use my manners when I was a small child. When my mother or father spoke to me, I said "sir" and "ma'am" just as I did to any other adult. I thanked people profusely for things and I was genuine in doing so. I never asked for anything at people's houses; instead, I accepted graciously only what was offered to me. I did not expect anyone to wait on me, pay for me, or go out of their way for me, for these are lovely gestures, but I am not entitled to any of them.

Maybe it's a southern thing or maybe my mother was just a stickler, but this is how I was brought up. I took a good spanking once because my mother called my name while I was playing next door and I answered "what." Harsh, you may be thinking, but you know what: I never answered "what" again.

I find that manners, and graciousness in general, is really lacking in our world today. People seem to have a hard time discerning acceptable behavior. Moreover, people seem to think they are entitled to certain kind gestures, when by definition, a gesture is not offered out of obligation, nor is it to be accepted with expectation.

I was with Richie a few weeks ago at one of his youth events. As I rode to our host's house surrounded by teenage girls (read: sweet tween monsters with loud, high-pitched squeals and enough energy to literally make you vomit out of nervousness) I was appalled at some of things that came out of their mouths.

These were girls from good homes. Trust me - I've been in them - we're talking good homes. When offered choices for breakfast, I heard responses like, "ewwww no that makes me gag...I HATE bacon...Are you talking about the good bisquits that Mrs. So-and-So makes?...Do we have to eat that stuff?" You would have thought the girls were being offered pancakes made with rabbit turds and cow patties on the side, instead of bacon, eggs, sausage, bisquits, fruit, toast, juice...the whole nine yards...a regular FEAST for a girl like me. There was an acute lack of manners and graciousness in that conversation and it made me really mad.

These girls are not the only culprits. I find this with my own kiddos as well. 13 tough boys, one pretty-tough-herself girl, and me (prissy as all get-out if you want the truth) all in a room: the p's and q's are few and far between. It is with expectation that they devour their pizza and reach for their quarters at the CiCi's arcade, both of which generally come out of my pocket. And I rarely, if ever, do I hear a thank you. And when sweet Diane brings dinner for the kiddos, they respond with "sandwiches again?.. why didn't you bring mustard?..do we have any better drinks?"

I know that in this new-age of child-rearing we are supposed to encourage kids to express themselves. Children have been hushed for too long and we want them to speak up. And I suppose their is something to be said for being honest and being yourself around your peers and elders. But if all you have to offer are rude, dumb-ass comments, keep your damn mouth shut. I don't care if you hate your Aunt Edna's green jello-mold dessert. You thank her for it anyway. You tell her how sweet it was of her to prepare it. I don't care if you didn't want a grand feast for breakfast. When your hosts offers these items, you say, "wow, that would be great" and you go with it. Trust me, you'll find something edible in the mess.

Apparently, the adults around us are just as bad as the kids, as we saw displayed by the cookie incident this morning. In fact, I see it in the workplace, and moreso in the world outside, all the time. I'm sure you've seen it, too.

Now, having manners is not about lying. It's about putting someone else's feelings first. It's about realizing that in general, you are not entitled to a damn thing except your paycheck. It's about thinking how the person on the other end feels when you offer them a mostly eaten, crumbled down to nothing oatmeal cookie, and resisting the temptation to eat it yourself, no matter how hard it may be. I guess to me, it's common sense, but maybe to the rest of the world, it takes a little thought. But you know what, that's what manners are all about: thinking before you speak, before you act, and having a little kindness in your heart.

I shall close this little rant with a story. Years and years ago, my Mom's friend Mrs. W (we call her Owie now) made lemon bars for a party at our house. She is a little rough around the edges, but went to finishing school, and knows that a southern lady never arrives at her host's home empty-handed. I'm getting off-track here. Anyway, she brought a plate of lemon bars which in reality were like lemon soup poured onto a very blackened crust. Now, I like lemon bars, although I don't have a particular fondness for them, but I wanted her to know how appreciated her gesture was, so I went out of my way to thank her for bringing them and told her how delicious they were.

To this day, Mrs. W brings me lemon bars to every affair. Does she do it because she thinks I love lemon bars? Perhaps. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I received her gift with love and graciousness and she has never forgotten that. You know what else? Mrs. W. only has boys, and she has sort of adopted the three of us as her daughters. She has told us that we are even in her will to receive a number of very fine pieces of jewelry. Why is this important, you ask? Because relationships begin with good manners. Our first cordial conversations with another person shape the future of that relationship. Manners offer us a gateway for profound interaction with another human being. In a few simple words, we show each other genuine gratefulness, kindness and love, and in the world today, I can't think of anything more necessary and cherished.

America: a love-hate relationship

2006-01-18T11:52:00.000-08:00

I've been mulling something over in my mind for a few weeks but wasn't sure if it was appropriate blog-talk, so I never wrote about it. After reading Rob's l atest blog, I decided I ought to put it out there: I have a love-hate relationship with America.

Before you freak out, allow me to go on. I'm a pretty patriotic girl and I still believe in the values upon which I believe this country was founded. Yes, I've considered the historiography of it all and I've read the tell-all tales of the way it "really happened" but I still belt out God Bless America and believe that we are, in fact, blessed. Are we granted certain graces that other countries are not? Of course not. But we know freedoms that many will never know. Those freedoms are another story for another day. There's something else bugging me, my friends.

I'm not the biggest country music fan, but every once in a while I flip it to the honky-tonk station and find that I know more of the songs than I'd like to admit. I remember hearing a song in particular shortly after 9/11 that had some kind of catchy line "brought to you courtesy of the red, white, and blue." The first time I heard it, I'll be honest and admit that I really didn't pay attention to the lyrics. I heard red, white, and blue and assumed it was some harmless act of patriotism. But shortly after, I paid more attention and was appalled.

For those who don't know, the song is basically an "in your face, we are America, here us roar, we're going to kick your ass from sea-to-shining-sea, and we really don't give a damn about you" kind of song. I hate to even share the lyrics, but I feel it necessary:

Hey Uncle Sam Put your name at the top of his list

And the Statue of Liberty started shakin' her fist

And the eagle will fly Man, it's gonna be hell

When you hear Mother Freedom Start ringin' her bell

And it feels like the whole wide world is raining down on you

Brought to you Courtesy of the Red White and Blue.

These words make me sick to my stomach. Seriously sick. Basically what it's saying is that everyone should be cowering in fear of America. Watch out world, we'll kick your ass. We'll make your lives hell if you mess with us.

Now let me say this: what happened on 9/11 wasn't right. People losing their lives isn't right. Flying planes into buildings isn't right. And I was angry and hurt with the best of them. And to those more liberal than I, I'll even admit that I wanted to do something about it. It wasn't a desire for revenge that I felt. I guess more than anything I wanted justice and peace and freedom for the rest of the world so that we'd stop doing these things to each other, no matter how impossible that seems. And I felt a little more patriotic in those dark days that followed. I looked at the flag differently. And I heard this song, and in my ignorance, didn't change the station. But then I realized what it was saying.

This song is ignorant and springs from the white trash of America. Like the truck that Rob described in his post, this songs comes at you with a larger than life American flag in the bed of a tacky truck with a big ole' cannon aimed towards anyone who could possibly be an enemy with a scruffy man in cut-off jean shorts, no shirt, and a Coors light in his hand yelling "f-you" and "God Bless America" in one breath. It's stupidity talking and it makes me SO angry. It tells me that the guy in that truck doesn't know a damn thing about the flag he flies or how lucky he is to fly it.

I'm not sure why today is the day to post this. The song came and went long ago, but for some reason it has really been bothering me lately. Is it wrong to love America, but hate so many of the idiots who live here?

On Nicknames

2006-01-09T14:21:00.000-08:00

I told the Mayor months ago that I would like to copy his idea and reflect on my nicknames of the past and present some day. That day has arrived. Here we go...

First of all, for those who haven't figured it out, my real name is Patricia. There are many who call me by my given name, as well as those who prefer the shortened versions Trish, Tricia, and the occasional, unfortunate, and unforgiveable Pat or Patty. In college, I realized that I was being called so many different things, that I picked a shortened version of my name. I thought it was silly that I had to think about how and when the particular person knew me, so I knew what name to use. So that is how Trish came about.

(it was brought to my attention that I left out a few...sorry friends! you'll see the updates in italics!)

Ishy Pants: this was my first nickname, given to me by my brother. Don't ask me why...it's just what he called me as a child. You'll hear about its unfortunate metamorphosis later on.
Trishy: I'm sorry, dear Lauren, but my brother was the first to call me this, too. But that was YEARS ago. You were the one to bring it back in my adult life, so I will give you the credit. My fiance calls me this, too.
Trishy-poo: merely another form of Trishy; one of those lovey-dovey nicknames.
Patty: in high school, the tennis team called me this because there was already a girl on the team named Patricia. I'm sad to say that this one made it to my letter-jacket.
Pro-Patty: Now this one is quite funny. The "pro" does not infer a certain professionalism. No, pro actually stood for "Prostitute." My sophomore year in high school, I made varsity tennis and ran with a group that was older, and in my naivity, cooler. Because they were tennis nerds, my parents totally trusted them and let me stay out way past curfew. My friend Robert would drop me off at 2:00am or so after our weekend gatherings, and it finally became a joke that I seemed like a call girl or something. Thus he gaveth me the jewel of a name.
Peppermint-Patty: no real meaning behind this one, just something I got called pretty often.
Tricia-True: My mom's friend Mrs. B gave me this name. I always liked it. Mrs. B died when I was in high-school and nobody has ever called me that since. It was a special thing we had between us and I smile even now when I think about it.
Babymuras: A friend gave me this one. That friend happens to be my boss now, ironically. I'm the youngest in my family of four kids, so this was the name I got stuck with. It's also my screen name. Years ago, when IM was first beginning, I would get unsolicited IMs from gentlemen saying, "hey baby, wanna...(you fill in the blanks)." I wasn't sure what to make of that. Obviously not a nickname that served me well, but one I still have today.
Isha: a random girl whose name I can't remember called me this once and it stuck for a time, but it's hardly worth mentioning.
Trash: one of my circles in college decided that when you say TRRRRIIIIISHHHH" in a loud and drawn out manner, it sounds like Trash. So yes, I was Trash for a while. Ok still. But white trash...make no mistake of that!
Trish the Dish: now this one was given to me by a kind of creepy guy who was supposed to be our chaplain, but seemed a little questionable. He called me Trish the Dish, which kind of stuck with my friend Miriam. I definitely prefered it coming from her mouth rather than his! In fact, I kind of grew to like it.
Trish-or-Treat: this obviously came about at Halloween...I guess it was our year in the Townhouse, but I honestly can't remember. It could have been the one before that. Lauren and friends gave me this one. It also had a similar mutation: Trick-or-Trish. I really like this one because it infers that I am a real treat!
Aunt Trishy Pants: this is where we revisit the Ishy Pants bit. I made the mistake of sharing with my nephew Hank (who was 2 at the time) that Uncle Jay used to call me Ishy Pants. The kid put two and two together and dame up with Aunt Trishy Pants, which has totally stuck and still makes the kid laugh every time!
Princess Buttercup: My boss called me this on my first day at this job. (He's the one I had been friends with for years.) I liked this nickname quite well since the others around me had much less desireable names.
Cup of Butter: this was the evolution of Princess Buttercup.
Cup: the final evolution.
Knockers: I'm sad to say that my boss called me this, too. Not the most appropriate working nickname, but one we snickered at daily. He used to tell everyone that he knew me "before I had the boobies." Really this guy isn't a sicko - we just have sicko sense of humor with one another. We actually layed Knockers to rest a few months back, deeming it inappropriate for the office after all.
Pumpkin: My newest nickname from my boss, taken from my affinity for the jewel of the fall harvest. And yes, friends and readers, there will be an abundance of them on my wedding day!
Sugar butt: This one is from my dearest. What can I say? The guy likes my butt. Who am I to argue?

Gee, I'm sure I have left a few out, but that is all I can recall at the moment. Let the ridicule begin...

Tag, I'm It

2006-01-03T12:18:00.000-08:00

Excuse me while I wipe the dust off my old blog. Sorry, but it's got more of a dust build-up than Laurey-baby's fan blades and my own combined. How the hell did so much time go by since my last blog?

Sneeze. Cough. Eww...dust is gross. Bigger Sneeze. Let the air clear. Ok, here I am. Trishy in Aught-Six.

First off, White Elephants. They truly are a treat! I for one have enjoyed mine immensely. Come on folks...it's Baby Makin' Music...what's not to love?

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Just kidding MO and others!

For those appalled by that comment (I'm going to hope my Mom isn't reading this. Who am I kidding, she doesn't know what a blog is) there's no horizontal tango (or is it the mambo) funny business going on here!

So anyway, back to the gift. For my white elephant, Mo made me the greatest mix CD ever. Three complete volumes of BABY MAKIN' MUSIC!!! One for getting in the mood, one for the...ahem...main course...and the last for chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' afterward! This was an AWESOME gift for four reasons:

1.Homemade gifts ROCK! They require so much more thought than walking into a random store and buying something.

2.I love MUSIC! Did you know that Mo? Love, love, love it...as in can't get enough of it, listen to it constantly!

3.It had a raunchy edge to it, which, if you know anything about my sense of humor, you would know that such a gesture is much appreciated. I mean, come on folks, my family once discussed masturbation at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

4.Lastly...blush...we all like anything to get us in the mood for a little lovin'. At least we females do. Men, pretty much always in the mood I've learned. Women, well a little encouragement never hurt.

So, thank you Mo - clever! You even got many of my own favorites on the three volumes. I knew you had especially good taste the moment I met you...well virtually met you.

In other news...

Christmas was great, blah, blah, blah. I don't mean to blah at the Baby Jesus' birthday. It's just that Christmas is and always will be amazing, but I don't really have any stories to tell. My sweetie got me XM radio which I have thoroughly enjoyed and Santa gave me a vacuum which I have enjoyed more than I care to say. Lots of other great gifts and WONDERFUL time with my friends and family. I'm currently experiencing a food hangover from the last month's feasts. Joy, peace, love - another lovely Christmas burrito!

New Year's Eve was super fun! I was so glad that Lauren finally met my sweetie and I was truly touched by her post on Sunday. I get a little choked up when I talk about it, so lucky for you, you're merely staring at a Computer screen when you hear (ok read) this. It was really important to me that Lauren like him.

The short of it is...I've been down this road before with a not-so-nice guy who Lauren had the good sense to dislike from the beginning. I wish I had been so wise. Anyway, it caused quite the falling out between us. Obviously, we have mended that and I will go out on an limb and say that we are better friends because of it. I am so grateful to have such a forgiving friend who was willing to look past the crap and see that I was still me, very broken by my experiences with that guy, and still in need of my dear friend. It was very important to me that she like the man I love now. And she does, I think. She will be a beautiful bridesmaid and one of the 5 women I have chosen out of all the world to stand beside me on the big day and I'm overjoyed that the broken road led me to where it did.

I had every intention of posting a year in review of sorts, but the more I think about it, the more I want to just say that 2005 was what it was. It was grand and boasted many milestones for ole' Trishy and the memories are wonderful, but I really believe the best is yet to come. So here's to a New Year and many more happy endings.

I don't think the baby Jesus would like this

2005-12-20T14:29:00.000-08:00

It is Advent, my friends, and as Christmas draws nearer, I've really been reflecting on the birthday of our Lord and the holiday we celebrate with such gusto.

My dad was telling me recently how they gave gifts on the feast of St. Nicholas, early in December. Small gifts. Very small. He said it was usually a piece of fruit that was out of season, or some nuts of some variety. It was a small token, a gesture for loved ones, to mark the life and generosity of St. Nicholas.

Christmas was no different for them. Small gifts, a day spent in rest with family, food, and merrimaking. It was simple. It was beautiful.

I heard something yesterday that disturbed me greatly. Just as I was depositing my paycheck so that I could afford to finish my Christmas shopping, I heard a commercial on the radio that left me red with anger. It was a lending company encouraging people to pull money out of their home mortgages to buy Christmas presents. That's great! Go into debt so you can afford to give your kids the newest toys, the shiniest bikes, a trip to Aspen, a BMW with a big freaking red bow on it. Pull money out of your home to celebrate the birthday of the Christ-child. America, why is that ok??????

There is nothing ok about that scenario. Nothing! I understand generosity and goodwill, but these are not monetary things, my friends.

I'm not stupid. I realize that the holiday celebrated by many if not most in our country is not the birthday of our Lord, but a secular holiday, a pagan holiday, marked by the giving of gifts. And I also realize that Christians have commercialized this holiday with the best of them. But that doesn't make it ok.

My parents always spoiled us at Christmas. I mean SPOILED. There were 4 kids in my family and every Christmas, we each received 20 presents. 10 from Santa, and 10 from Mom and Dad. We also exchanged presents with one another, got them from numerous aunts and uncles, etc. Presents filled the room on Christmas morning and it took us well into the night just to open them all. By the time I got to number 16 or 17, I had forgotten all about numbers 1-10. Don't get me wrong, I was one of those very spirited and gracious children and I delighted in each and every present my parents gave me and was so GRATEFUL, but 20 is an overwhelming number for anyone. My mother, the anal one that she is, kept a detailed list of the presents she would buy for us. There was a column she checked when she purchased the item, wrapped the item, and placed it under the tree. She lived by that list in the month of December. I came home from school one day as a teenager and found her sobbing on the kitchen floor. In her effort to hide the list from us kids, she had hidden it from herself. Christmas simply couldn't happen without that list.

My parents had reasons behind their madness. The Christmases of old were quite different. My dad had 8 siblings and they lived on a small dairy farm in Texas. One year, his parents sold their stove in order to buy presents for their children. Remember, we are talking SMALL gifts. This is what he came from and he always knew that his life would be different. He put himself through college, married my mom, had the four of us, and has been generous to us every day of our lives. We were not spoiled on a daily basis. I did without a lot of things and wore hand-me-downs for the better part of my childhood. But Christmas was different. Christmas was a mountain of toys in brightly colored packages and glistening bows. I really believe their hearts were in the right place.

We've since put things in check. Of course, we are all adults now, but we simply get a few things from our parents, and my siblings and I started drawing names a few years ago now that there are in-laws and nephews and the like. This year, we lessened the price limit and added in a charitable contribution clause. We will be giving each other a small token and a donation to the charity of our choice in that person's name. Vastly different from the Christmases of my childhood...

I wish I could wrap this entry up in a nice and neat manner, but I can't. I'm without words in response to the commercial I heard on the radio. I just want to shout from the rooftops, "poeple! that's not what this day is about!"

This day marks the birthday of a king who came not in grandeur and wealth, but in a stable, as a baby. This day marks the beginning of history's greatest irony. This day marks the day when the Savior came into the world to save us from ourselves. This day is for generosity and goodwill, which are gifts from the heart, not the wallet.

Sacrifice this season, if you must. In fact, I hope you do. Do without something for yourself to share a small token with the ones you love. But DON'T pull money out of your mortgage. I fear you'd be missing the point.

Quick post...

2005-12-16T13:55:00.000-08:00

To Whom it May Concern:
Your invitations are in the mail.

Happy last weekend of Christmas shopping!

Stripped

2005-12-13T13:35:00.000-08:00

So, my fiance wants to be a priest and is at a church right now that is allowing him a year-long mentorship of sorts were he can get practical experience in the life of a minister. One of his duties is to preach once a month. He sends me his sermons to look over and edit each month. I have just spent the better part of my afternoon looking at his sermon for this Sunday and I realized some things about myself.

There are so many things that I want to say, and don't. I think that's why the written word has always been so appealing to me. I send these thoughts out to you every few days, but you are not here in my presence watching my delivery, seeing my lips move, watching the words as they appear on screen. I send them out into a void that feels much safer than that, and you read them, not really knowing the person behind them, the emotion involved in them, the laughter implied in them.

It has always been much easier for me to say the true thoughts of my heart on paper. I was seeing a counselor a while back in response to a heartache that life brought me, and she he me keep a journal. The first time I went to write on the particular topic given me, I found that the words literally fell from me and clung to the paper. I almost couldn't write fast enough. When I arrived at my next visit with her, she asked me to do the unthinkable: read them out loud. I felt absolutely naked, like someone was standing much to close to me, vulnerable and terrified. I offered her my notebook in hopes that she'd take it and read it herself. But of course, she made me do it, as any good therapist would. I read on for pages and pages the secrets of my heart, my insecurities in all their glory articulated in permanent black ink. When I finished, I watched as she jotted notes down into her little spiral. I just knew that she was judging me. She wondered if I might not have understood the assignment becuase my words were too pretty to be describing such emotion and heartache. Pretty wasn't the word she used. I honestly forget now what it was. But what she was trying to say was that I had somehow sculpted these thoughts for the paper when in reality the paper was simply a bowl in which they collected. I think it took a few visits before she believed that I wasn't striving for perfection in the assignment; I was simply letting my heart bleed and there was some element of eloquence in that. I was sharing the words that my mouth could never share.

A year in therapy brought my heart to a certain wholeness, but it never corrected this flaw in me. It's still a problem today. I can't say what I want to say in audible words. The words that come out of me are a distortion of my thoughts and I'm frustrated over and over.

Each time I work with one of my fiance's sermons, I find myself eager to weave my own thoughts into his. They are often words that are eager to escape me, but I will not allow them to. But it's different when they are for his use. I do not have to be the vessel through which they will be delivered. No one but he and I will ever know the difference between his thoughts and mine. Once again, it feels safer.

I have a desire to do ministry and I do it in my own way. I feel that I can live out the Gospel in the way that I love on and interact with my youth. But when it comes to teaching them, the message escapes my lips. I could write volumes for them to read, but when it is time for me to deliver that message, I fail miserably. But I know that the thoughts are there because I pour them into these sermons every time I have the chance.

What is this insecurity that paralyzes my mouth and creates a disconnect between it and and my heart? Why can't I just spit it out?

NOTE:
I have probably painted a picture of myself as some weak and soft-spoken woman and if you knew me, you'd laugh at the thought of that because I am neither. In fact, I am known for speaking my mind. Still there are things that I will never tell you, at least not in conversation, because it's just too hard. I think I'd rather be naked!

18 Shopping Days Left Until Christmas...

2005-12-07T13:57:00.000-08:00

The Swankytown White Elephant Gift Exchange will go as follows:

Chris, you'll be buying for Becky, aka Twinkles.
Rob, you'll be buying for Lauren, aka Laurey-baby or Texas' little slice-o-hot
Becky, you'll be buying for Lanette, aka MOH
Lauren, you'll be buying for Chris, aka the Cap'n
Lanette, you'll be buying for Trishy, aka the Swankytown Sweetheart
And I, Trishy, will be buying for Rob, aka the Mayor

Now remember, kids, the point is NOT to spend money, it's to give a laugh, so aim to spend under $5 (heck, make your gift if you can!) and mail it as cheaply as possible! And also, remember you are to blog about your gift when you receive it! Refer to the previously sent Swankytown Roster for mailing addresses.

I think this whole thing will be just swell. Me and the Beave are heading out to shop this weekend!

July 22, 2005

2005-12-05T13:22:00.000-08:00

Well, we got our engagement picture back, but I don't think I'm necessarily allowed to duplicate it and since my sis works for the photographer, I don't want to do anything wrong. So here is a picture from the night we got engaged taken with my dad's camera, because, well, mine fell to the bottom of the lake that evening. I guess it is high time I tell the tale...

I was leaving work on a Thursday afternoon and the receptionist put a call in to me at the lobby phone. It was my sweetie asking if we could go to our favorite spot on the lake that evening to take some pictures since he would be moving the next day. Clever move on his part, as it was something we had been talking about doing before he moved and it was really getting down to the wire. I later found out that that phone call was made shortly after he bought my ring and began the drive to my apartment. Anyway, I totally bought it (though deep down, had a hope that he might propose since he'd be moving the next day, but had convinced myself otherwise) and had this elaborate plan to take pictures on my digital camera then go print them on my dad's photo printer. He told me to stay dressed from work because he wanted to take me to this wonderful restaurant that we had been meaning to go to.

So I race home and primp, he meets me there, we grab the camera and head to our favorite spot: we had coffee there during our first date and it was the site for our first kiss. We take some pictures and he tries to locate the exact spot of that kiss, I look out to the lake, turn around and there he is on his knees. I won't go into the mushy details because the story gets really funny from there.

So he proposes, I say yes, we hug, I cry, then laugh, then smile, then squeal, then grab my camera for one last picture. I'm so excited and shaking that it literally flings from my hand into the lake and sinks to the bottom. My sweetie looks as if he is about to jump in and I stop him - it's digital after all and would certainly not have survived in 6 ft. of water. Anyway, all our memories from that moment lie at the bottom of the lake to this day.

We go to my sister's house where my family is waiting with champagne to celebrate, have a quick toast with them, then head to dinner. His parents ask to meet us for dessert after dinner, so we head into town for that.

Now, Houston has a lightrail system that has appeared in the last few years and has made it very difficult to get around certain parts of the city. No right turn, no left turn, you get the picture. We were traveling down a one-way street looking for our turn and realize that we have passed it. But...not right turn, not left turn...hmmm...what to do? I'm of course giddy and on top of the world, so I say, what the heck...I'm making an illegal left turn. No sooner had my hands returned to wheel to normal position when I heard the siren.

Yep, he pulled us over. I plead with him. I had just gotten a speeding ticket in Austin so that was weighing heavily in my mind. I show him the ring, tell him we've just gotten engaged, and he seems to care very little about that. He leaves to write the ticket. My sweetie is trying to calm my sobs my telling me that he'll pay the ticket and I'm not comforted by that in the least, though appreciate his effort. The officer returns with the ticket and decides to soften just a tad when he tells me that he works the night shift and that if I'll schedule a court appearance for the morning, there's a very good chance he won't show up.

The officer asks where we are going and we tell him. What a coincidence - he's going there, too! We find the restaurant and walk in to find a huge bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne. A few moments later, the officer walks in and watches our celebration from afar. Then he walks up, just as serious as can be, and says he made a mistake on my ticket and needed to make a correction. I'm completely pissed off at this point and I dig it out of my purse and hand it to him. He studies it for a moment, then looks up with a grin, and tears the silly thing up. I'm ecstatic at this point. Mostly because I have a beautiful ring on my finger, but also because this man has just shown us a great kindness and I'm so grateful that nothing has spoiled our beautiful evening. We thank him and he makes his way back to his table.

I decide that I must buy this man's dinner, or midnight snack rather, so I ask our waitress to bring his bill to me when he's ready to check-out. She does so, I pay for it, then watch as he begins to pay his own check as well. I'm very confused by this, so I muster up the courage to go over to him. He shares with me the fact that it would be illegal for him to accept my offer. Apparently they frown on officer bribery. He says if I'd like to do something noteworthy, I can make a donation to the Fallen Officer Fund. I think he was amused by it all, but had such a serious expression, I really feared that I had gotten myself into more trouble.

So that was our evening and this is the only picture that survived. This story pretty much reflects my life. When something wonderful happens, it is surrounded by weird and funny things and I never have a simple story to tell when all is said and done.

So that is how it all happened. Someday I'll share with you the details of how we met because they are equally funny and I'm reminded of them by those around me on a daily basis. Court asked me this weekend if Daryl (our youth ministry prof. in college) caught me making out with him on a park bench. That is not the story at all, but somehow it has translated into that in the telling, so you know it must be good! I'll leave you with that for now...

White Elephants Coming Your Way

2005-12-02T21:47:00.000-08:00

Dearest Laurey-baby, Swankertons, Capn, Mo, and Twinkles,
So I'm here in Austin visiting Lauren and had an idea that we both thought would make for the Hap-Hap-Happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby danced with Danny f*&%ing Kaye: A Swankytown White Elephant Gift Exchange. So here's how this is going to work kids...

We'll all get a name and address of someone in our blog circle and find the funniest Christmas gift for them that we can come up with. We mail it to our respective person and then that person posts a blog on their new cheap piece of sh%t that they didn't need. Sound fun? We thought so.

So who's with me? E-mail me your address and we'll get to drawing names...

pkmuras@hotmail.com

A day in thigh-highs and a Comedy of Errors

2005-11-30T12:20:00.000-08:00

I don't have anything insightful to share with you today, but my day is a story in and of itself today, so I shall share it with you. Nothing has gone as planned today...nothing.

First of all, you must know that I lost my debit card just before our trip to Nashville, and because I bank at a small credit union, I have still not received my replacement card. This has really been a pain in the backside.

I realize on my drive to work this morning that I had left my make-up bag at my desk last night, so I arrived at work this morning sans make-up. Of course, someone had to offer the obligatory, "oh no, you don't look like you feel well." No jerk! This is the way I look. I just usually do you the service of putting on some make-up. Anyway, I took care of that promptly upon arrival at my desk.

I'm taking vacation the next two days and had planned on surprising my fiance with a quick visit tonight, returning tomorrow, then leaving for Austin to visit Lauren tomorrow evening. Of course, I left for work this morning and failed to grab the overnight bag that I had packed. Kind of a pain, but I decided that over lunch I'd make the trek home to get it. It's a 30 min. commute one-way with NO traffic, so I had just enough time.

I had made it back, gotten the bag, and was on my way back when my gas light came on and I knew I couldn't make it back to the office without getting gas. So I stopped, reached for my wallet, and realized it was not in my purse. That initial panic came over me and then I convinced myself that I had simply left it at the office, as I had been paying bills this morning. Calm down, Trish. But wait, I had no money, no credit card, no way to buy gas.

Ok, so I had my checkbook, so I decided I'd write a check over somewhere and get some cash. I went to Walmart, walked in and grabbed the first thing I saw...CANDYCANES of course...and walked up to the register with my $0.97 item, wishing to write a check for $15.00 and get some cash. But wait, I didn't have my wallet, so that meant I didn't have my driver's license. So I begged...and begged...and begged. And finally they took pity on me, and allowed the transaction without my DL. Cash in hand, I raced out to my car, putting a hole in my panty-hose...

Now, I wear panty-hose all of 1, maybe 2 days out of the year. But today, I'm wearing a cute winter skirt and it's cold outside so I put on a pair because it just seemed fitting. So anyway, I've got cash for gas, but my panty-hose have a run in them that is spreading down my leg.

Gas. Gas takes priority. I race to the nearest gas station, give them some money, set some aside to buy new panty-hose, find out I'm at the only pump that doesn't work, move my car, get gas, get back on the road and on my way to the office. My mind is racing at this point. Where's my wallet? What about this run going down my leg? Is my boss going to notice that I've been gone for an hour and a half? For you men readers, a woman's mind is ALWAYS racing, and when she has things to actually make it race, it's torture! A 30 min. commute and a racing mind are not a good combination.

Ok, so I get back to town and I run in CVS to buy some panty-hose. But of course, just my luck, they don't have jet black panty-hose. They have gray. Who the heck wears gray panty-hose? I find some jet black thigh highs and decide those will have to do. I buy them, feeling like quite the skank but also enjoying it in a way, and race to work. I put them on and walk back to my desk, not sure how to feel at that moment.

I realize that I have not eaten anything and I'm quite hungry so I look in my desk and find some oatmeal. That's my only option for lunch, so I go into the kitchen to heat it up. I keep oatmeal in my desk and I make it frequently, but today, it decides to overflow in the microwave. Not a little bit....EVERYWHERE!! So I have to scrub the microwave and I lost half of my lunch, but no matter, I'm hungry and cranky and well, pissed off at my day! I set the bowl on a napkin while I clean, then take it to my desk. I eat quickly, because by this time, my lunch hour is going on two, and I know I'm really pushing it. Then I realize that the oatmeal has formed a glue which has caused the napkin to be totally stuck to the bowl. So I take it to the kitchen and I have to scrub napkin off the bowl before putting it into the dishwasher.

I return to my desk and realize I need to finish the cycle of prayer postcards since I won't be here the next two days. So I finish those and take them to the respective person so sign, who brings it to my attention that Canon, as in The Rev. Canon, is spelled with one "n" and not 2. I've been an Episcopalian all my life and I know this, but on this unfortunate day, my fingers typed 2 on every last one of them. So I had to redo those.

Now I'm back at my desk, with a bowl of candycanes in front of me and people keep walking by and taking them and saying "oh how nice...candycanes" and all I can think is "if you only knew!!!"

Mayor, if this is not a damn thing, it is certainly a damn pain in the backside, so I ask the entire community of Swankytown to please vote my day a damn thing so that some good can come of this madness...

Anyway, I'm off to see my sweetie tonight and he better REALLY appreciate the surprise because it's been crazy trying to pull it off. I can't wait to get there, prop my feet up, put on my PJs, and have a glass of wine. Until then, I'm stuck in thigh-highs wondering what else I, the scatterbrain, can manage to screw up between here and there.

In the words of Frank W. Griswold, Jr. "Hallelujah. Holy Sh#t. Where's the Tylenol?"

All Things Come of Thee, O Lord, and of Thine Own Have we Given Thee

2005-11-23T10:30:00.000-08:00

I am back from Nashville and had a wonderful time. I will let my friend Becky offer a photojournalistic post about our time there, as she was the tourist with the camera.

A few thoughts on Thanksgiving before I check out for the day...

1. I am thankful for so many things and I am thankful to have a day to remind me how thankful I am. I often get caught up on all the things I don't have and want - the makings of a perfect life that are beyond my reach. But I have so much and I'm a fool if I don't remember that. I have a wonderful family. I don't just say that in the cliche way - I really do have an incredible family. I actually enjoy spending time with them. My sisters are my best friends in the whole world. My parents are so much fun to be around. My nephews are absolutely my joy. I am thankful for my fiance. Here I go getting mushy. But seriously folks, he's a wonderful man who healed so much of my brokeness. I love him more and more and more and delight in the time we have together. I am thankful for my health. At the present time, my ears are infected, but overall, I'm healthy. I am thankful for my education and my 4 years in college. They gave me an education for life and some wonderful friends. I am thankful for my jobs. Do I want to do what I am doing forever? Probably not. But I can honestly say that I really love what I am doing right now. It challenges me, allows me to be creative, and gives me the opportunity to learn much from some very fine people. I am thankful for my lil apartment. It's a humble abode, but it is mine. It's my first place that is all mine and it truly feels like home. I am thankful for my friends. I sometimes wish I was the kind of person who was surrounded by friends all the time. Geography doesn't allow that. But when I see them or talk to them, I am reminded of sacred friendships we share and I realize how blessed I am. Finally, my friends, I am thankful for the love and grace and mercy of my Lord. He has truly brought me out of the wilderness into a place where I have just enough and I am truly happy. Can I get an amen?

2. A tale from a Thanksgivings past:

One year, we had some friends over for Turkey Day. Being the smart ass teenager that I was, I made one of the most inappropriate remarks ever, and it has gone down in the family hall of fame. My dad was one of 9 children. He grew up on a farm in Texas. He was somewhere in the middle and that particular Thanksgiving, was recalling his own Thanksgivings past when his older siblings would come home with their boyfriends/girlfriends. Dad has one sister who entered the convent at a young age, left the convent, married, had twins, then years later announced she was a lesbian, left her husband, and has been with another woman ever since. (Small town Texas at its finest, folks.) So as Dad is recounting his tales, I say, "what about when your sister brough her girlfriend home?" Silence filled the dining room followed by roaring laughter followed by a look from my Dad that was priceless. It was kind of that "how could be so crude" but really, I'm proud of how damn funny you are kind of look.

3. Our Thanksgiving traditions...you must know that my family is all about tradition.

We wake up in the morning and make Bloody Mary's first thing. Very strong and very, very hot (I've got some cajun in me - the hotter the better) with the celery stalk and we nurse those through the day. We watch the parade and usually "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving." My sisters and I set the table while Mom cooks and Dad does the turkey. We eat hors devours until the turkey is done and then we all make frequent trips to the kitchen to pick at the turkey with our fingers. Then when everything is ready, my brother goes upstairs and turns on Handel's Messiah. We have listened to that during our meal every Thanksgiving of my life. Now, you can dress us up, but you can't take us anywhere. We fill our china plates with tons of food, fill our crystal goblets with wine, eat with our silver, and begin pleasant conversation which inevitably turns to lewd jokes, conversations on sex, and everything else that would be classified as innapropriate dinner conversation. We have talked about it all, my friends, and even when there are guests from outside the family, the conversations go on. We even got onto the topic of blind people and masturbation once, which believe me, was as uncomfortable as it sounds, but funny just the same. We stuff ourselves, then linger at the table in good conversation for hours. Then we retire upstairs and pop in "Christmas Vacation." It's the movie of choice each year and we watch that and laugh until our tummies hurt and we feel that Thanksgiving might be on it's way back up. Then we eat pie and sometimes watch it again. And that my friends, is Thanksgiving at my house.

4. I leave you with these words of Thanksgiving in hopes that tomorrow, you will remember the giver of all good things and offer it all back to Him. Life is rich, my friends, and we have so much to be thankful for. The joy we know on Earth does not even compare to the joy that is to come, and for that, my friends, I am thankful...

All Things Come of Thee, O Lord, and of Thine Own Have we Given Thee

I'm a good aunt!

2005-11-15T14:16:00.000-08:00

This was the magnum opus of my weekend. I spent 6 hours making this choo-choo train birthday cake for my nephew's 2nd birthday. I did that in addition to taking my engagement picture with my honey, attending the birthday party, then later that evening, attending my brother-in-law's suprise 30th birthday party. I've got stories to tell, but haven't had a chance to tell them. And I've been exhausted. And my evaluation finally happened today at work (it went well, friends and readers, so that nervous feeling can go away!!)

Anyway, I've become the resident cake baker and cookie decorator in my family and I think I might have gotten myself some business. I'd really like to take a class and learn how to do this for real with the right equipment. For now, I'm just someone who loves her nephews to pieces and loves to see their little faces light up!

This isn't Part II

2005-11-10T07:06:00.000-08:00

I'm lagging behind in posting. I'm not sure what my deal is. I totally had a part II in my mind but the weekend happened and then work happened and my thoughts are just not collected enough to write it. Alas, another day...

I want to share with you today a problem that I swear is affecting the entire universe. (Ok, not really - I'm not that shallow.) My morning radio show was replaced about a month ago. The Roula and Ryan show was the only thing that made my hour-long morning commute tolerable, even enjoyable at times. I really hate getting up in the morning, but once I was up and ready, I'd leave my apartment and think, oooo I wonder what's on the R&R show this morning. My steps became lighter as I walked to my car. I would laugh hysterically at something most days. Then at work, the other lackeys in the cubicles next to me would recount the show and share in our own laughs and "he did not just say that's." A hot shower, a cup of coffee, and the Roula and Ryan show, and I was good to go for the 8 hours at work that lie ahead each day.

But it all came to an end one fateful day a month ago. They brought this bigshot over from the other popular radio station and R&R the boot. I can't say this guy is crap, but I can say the new show is crap. He brought this traffic girl turned radio host with him who is painful to listen to. She's got this mousey voice, never knows what to say, and more quirks than I can count on all my apendages combined. There is awkward silence every morning because these two obviously have no chemistry. She pretty much just repeats what he says, copies his humor, and then laughs and laughs to fill up air time. Seriously folks, hand over the mic. I could do a better job than this chick.

I must say, this has totally thrown me off. Yes I realize, this would top the list of the 10 most unimportant things in life, but it has thrown me off just the same. I find myself floundering between stations throughout the commute and I generally settle on either silence, one of the CDs I can get my hands on or this AM news radio station. Don't get me wrong, I love music and you'd think a CD would be the perfect solution, but I just love a good talk show in the morning. I need that to get me going. But I've tried them all and found nothing to fill that void. This new guy left his cohost at his old station and she has brought on this guy named Adam, only it's "Atom." Atom Smasher...that's his radio name. I know I live in the city of NASA and went to school with the nerdiest of the nerds, but seriously....Atom? Needless to say, they stink.

I have heard that R&R had to sign a non-compete for some designated amount of time and I feel fairly certain that another station has already picked them up but can't make it public yet. At least I hope. But until then, my mornings will be all off. Flipping station to station, never really feeling the morning groove, arriving at work grumpy with little to say to the chicks next door. My friends, it is a sad, sad day in Houston.

Good News Club and Other Haunts

2005-11-04T09:59:00.000-08:00

Tag team, I'm it. I now reference my friend Mo's latest entry as a jumping off point for my own. I offer this to you in two parts.

Part I:
I can remember when it all started. One week each summer, two of my friends' moms would have this thing called "Good News Club." We'd meet at a house, swim until we were shriveled up, stuff ourselves with pizza, wrap up in our towels and head into the house to shiver under the fan and listen to the Bible story for the day. The good news, if you will. Now, I grew up in the church - went every Sunday of my life, come hell or high water. I said my "Now I lay me down to sleep" every night and my little gold cross around my neck. And I feel like, even as a child, I knew God. I knew there was someone up there listening to me when I would spout off the details of my day every night in bed.

But there I sat at Good News Club every summer, listening to the stories, taking it all in. And then the two moms would offer to us the opportunity to ask Jesus into our hearts. All we had to do was follow them to the dining room and they would teach us the prayer that would accomplish that magnificent task. And there I would sit in my bathing suit, freezing cold, debating whether they were speaking to me or not. Had I already asked Jesus into my heart in some manner? If I hadn't, did I need to officially. And if I hadn't, did that make all my childhood prayers null and void?

I usually just sat there, frozen, and watched the brave souls that made their way to the dining room. One summer, I got the courage to be one of those souls. I learned the prayer, I said it repeatedly because I was not quite sure if it was a one time deal or more of an ongoing thing, and that was that. All the while, I couldn't shake the feeling that I truly believed that Jesus was in my heart even before I said the special prayer. Not because I went to church, not because I had been baptized at infancy, but because I believed He was there.

Do you know, that memory still haunts me a bit. It haunts me just the way my experiences as a teenager do. I was like Mo - I didn't have some testimony of repentance and change, of deliverance from myself, no lightening bolts - I didn't even have much of a story. I simply went to church every Sunday of my life, I talked to God in my childish way, and I believed that Jesus was my Savior. Period. End of Story. Nothing life-shaking had ever really happened to me. I found myself gathered with other believers, trying to think up a testimony, be it mine or some product of my imagination, to share so that I would have a "story." I was told I needed a testimony when all had was a quiet faith and I was haunted by the thought that it was in some way, lacking.

Oddly enough, that quiet faith led me to pursue a Theology degree in college and to become a youth minister. The word minister in my title felt odd in itself. I loved my kiddos. I loved them dearly - it was all I knew how to do. I knew my Bible enough to get by, I taught the lessons, played the games, shared in the fellowship and formed some very deep relationships. Still I went to work everyday feeling that I was not the one for the job because I had nothing striking to share with them. My haunts got the better of me most of the time and quieted what few words I wanted to share with them. What could I have to say that they possibly needed to hear? I felt sure that loving them was not enough, sharing the Gospel with them was not enough, being a friend to them was not enough, listening to them was not enough - I surely was doing it all wrong.

Needless to say, I left that job. I left it for numerous reasons which I will not expound on at this time, but I admit that one of them was this nagging feeling that I just wasn't good enough, my faith wasn't big enough, my story wasn't telling enough.

I offer this first part to you, my new friends, to tell you that you are not alone in feeling like you are doing it all wrong. I have more to say, as my life has changed considerably and I have experienced something that has given me a story (maybe not the story, but a story just the same), still my faith moves in an eb and flow just the same as it always did. But chew on this for now and I will come back with more tomorrow.

I Sing a Song of the Saints of God

2005-11-03T09:38:00.000-08:00

I'm headed into a meeting, but I wanted to offer this story I heard yesterday. One of the wonderful things about my job is that on Wednesdays, we have a staff Eucharist (that would be a service with Holy Communion for the non-anglicans). The Bishop presided over the service yesterday in celebration of All Saints' Day. (Tuesday was All Saints' Day, in case you didn't know that.) I would like to share a story with you that he shared with us.

In the 16th chapter of Romans, Paul lists the faithful departed of his life. These men and women were saints in his eyes and he lists them by name and tells us who they were. Years ago, a sermon was offered by a Methodist minister, in which he urged his congregation to keep there own list, much like Paul. He urged them to write down on a piece of paper the names of each person who had done something noteworthy in their life, influenced their faith, caused them to grow. He said that when that day comes, they should take it with them to Heaven. At the gate, St. Peter would question them about this small piece of paper. He would tell them that they were not permitted to bring anything from their life on earth with them into the Kingdom of Heaven. And they would cling to that piece of paper and assure St. Peter that is really was not a big deal and that the paper would mean nothing to any one else. Then St. Peter would ask to see the paper and he would begin to read the names, one by one, and he would say, "Wait a minute. I know these people. As I was walking to the gate this morning, I passed by them. They were standing together, holding a sign with your name on it that read 'Welcome Home'."

I was moved by this story to make my own list, only mentally at this point, but certainly to be written in ink when time allows me. I invite you, no matter your faith or creed, to make your own list of those people who have played an especially important part in your life.

Master of None

2005-11-02T07:23:00.000-08:00

I must get a post in today before I fail to do so for the 5th day in a row. Just when I thought I had settled in to a season of slacking here at the old office, work has picked up considerably. I feel out of the loop in my blog circle. I shall have to try harder to stay abreast of the goings on of all of you.

So, I enjoyed reading more about what all of you are doing with your lives right now and what you want to do. I asked the question because I really don't know the answer myself. I'm very content with what I am doing now, but I know it's not a job I'll keep forever. Actually, I'll only keep it until we get married. I'll be moving to wherever my S.O. goes to seminary next year. And while he is in school, I'll probably have a job similar to this for a few years. But then what?

You are asked all of your life to decide what you want to be when you grow up. When you are 3, you have plenty of time to decide. My nephew, who is 3 (pictured at left) wants to be an Astronaut. When you are 8, you have plenty of time. When you are 15, you have plenty of time. When you graduate from high school, you have plenty of time. When you're picking a major in college, you have plenty of time, assuming you are happy to be categorized as undecided for a time. I suppose, at 24, I still have plenty of time. I hear you have 3 or 4 careers in your life and it's usually the last one that suits you best. Well, I've had two already. (3 if you count the time I spent working in the art gallery while I was looking for a real job...I don't count it...the art was ugly.) But I'm 24, and I'm not any closer to answering that question as I was when I was 3 or 8 or 15. At least I don't think I am.

This may sound weird, but I know that I am good at a lot of things. My family and friends have always commented on my ability to do just about anything. The problem is, I'm not great at anything. Jack of all trades, master of none - I believe that's what they call it. I piddle around at this and that and my work tends to be pretty good, but no one thing seems to stick out as the One Thing I should be doing with my life. I feel like I suffer from ADD as far as my interests are concerned. I suppose it is great to be versatile, but that doesn't stop that nagging feeling that I need to find that perfect career that I am passionate about and good at. I've always been so jealous of those people who have the answer to the question at 3 or 8 or whatever and when they are 40, it's still the same answer and they've taken the steps and done the work to get there. Why can't I be one of those people?

The Countdown Begins

2005-10-28T14:50:00.000-07:00

Busy day at work today, so I haven't been able to spend time on a post. But I just realized something and wanted to share...

I'm getting married one year from today! October 28, 2006

To the members of my new blog circle:

2005-10-26T08:29:00.000-07:00

I'd like to know more about all of you. Is that a blog-friendly request? Don't answer if you'd rather not...

1.What did you study in school/are you studying currently/wish you had studied?
2.What are you doing with your life right now?
3.What do you wish you were doing with your life right now?
4.Where do you see yourself in five years...ok JUST KIDDING with that one. This is not an interview.

Respond if you feel so inclined...

The first of many on the wonder that is my mother...

2005-10-25T12:24:00.000-07:00

So, I'm babysitting my mom tonight. Now before you get any ideas, let me clear up a few things:
My mom is not...

1. Really old
2. An Alzheimer's patient
3. Suffering from any major illness
4. Frail or Feeble
5. Blind
6. Deaf
7. Recovering from Major Surgery
8. An alcoholic

or any of the things you may be thinking. My mom is 59, active as a teenager and quite healthy. She merely suffers from the "I've been married for 37 years syndrome." Yes, shake your heads, my family is one of those families. My parents have been married for forever, we all actually get along (for the most part), and my parents still sleep in the same bed every night. Which brings me to my point. Tonight I will be babysitting my mom because my dad is out of town for one stinking night.

What was I thinking moving out of their house and only 10 miles away. I am way too available to my parents, which is funny because I really don't have a lot of time to fudge on. I work an 8-5 job everyday, and a second job most evenings and Sundays (kind of a little side hobby - more on that later); my home is my haven, my time alone is precious. I love coming home to my own apartment every night. My fiance and I live in two different cities right now and I miss him terribly, but I'm enjoying this time of independence and solitude (at least at night) so much. You know what Mom, I stay alone every night and I survive. So why can't she?

To make matters worse, my mother won't call and ask me to stay herself. She has my father call me and give me that parent guilt trip we all know so well. "Your mother does a lot of nice things for you, blah, blah, blah." And then when I talk to her, she plays it cool. "You really don't need to worry about me. I probably won't sleep well, but I'll be just fine." That's right, Mom, you will be just fine, but yes, I do have to stay with you because if I don't, I will never hear the end of it.

Now you'd think that being under the same roof would be enough, but friends and readers, it is not. I must sleep in her bed with her. I kick in my sleep, I talk in my sleep (God bless the man who is marrying me next year), and yet sleeping with me is somehow a better option than sleeping alone. My mother and I are very close. I am the baby in the family. Sharing a bed with her is not a totally crazy thing to me - it is a king after all. But I've never liked to sleep in my parents bed. We just didn't do that as kids. On the few occasions I did, I remember getting put in the middle, watching as they both rolled over and pulled the covers in their own directions, and being left there with the covers resting a good 6 inches from my body. I'm a snuggler - this situation did NOT work for me. Ever since then, I have not cared to sleep in that bed!

But, I am stuck! Tonight, I will leave work at 5, make my hour commute (don't you love traffic?) to my other job, then make the 20 min. drive to my apartment, pack my overnight bag, and head to my parents' house. I will do this because I am a good daughter, and as we discussed earlier, a people pleaser. I simply can't say no.

A co-worker, who lost her mother years ago, told me to enjoy it while it lasts. I know she is right. But is it really necessarily to sleep there with her? Does she think I can somehow protect her should an intruder make his/her way into our deadbolted, alarmed house? Does she think that my being in the bed with her will really help the fact that my father is not? I'm not sure what we are accomplishing here, other than contributing to my mother's helplessness. And damnit, I love my own bed at my own apartment. This, friends and readers, is a damn thing (to quote our new blog friend Rob.)

It goes without saying: We children do a lot of nice things for our parents!

A Virtual Encounter

2005-10-24T13:45:00.000-07:00

If I may copy my new blog friend Mayor McMoonUnit, Iwould like to do a post on the many nicknames I have had throughout the years, but I will save that until I have his permission...

So today's story involves a friend of mine. She is dating...ahem...going on dates with a really nice guy. She's really quite taken with him, and I don't blame her - he seems really great. So here's the rub...

Apparently he dated another young woman for quite some time prior to my friend. He broke up with her months ago, but she is keeping herself very much in the picture. She not only makes appearances at places where she knows he will be, she also plays on "good guy" nature, and requests the small (and by small, I mean large) favor every once in a while (and by every once in a while, I mean as often as she can). This guy keeps saying that he needs to "talk to" this girl, lessen the contact between them. He assures my friend that he has no interest in getting back together with her. I think my friend feels confident in that. Still, this sad girl keeps getting in the way, and this guy (God love clueless men) doesn't realize that her ploy is to get him back into her web and that this road will lead to his demise. Do men honestly not see our tactics?

Here's the other part. This guy doesn't know that my friend knows about all of these "favors" and casual meetings. You know how you used to drive by the house of the person you had a crush on. Well, it turns out you can do that virtually now. A blog is a powerful thing and it happens to be the reason my friend knows as much as she does. Before you count her as a psycho, be honest with yourself - you'd do the same. So anyway, he kind of leaves out that information because he knows she will not like it. Yet, she is not in girlfriendland, where she can speak up about these things and let him know they bother her. Plus, she'd totally out herself as a stalker if she brought it up.

So what's a girl to do? Comments from the peanut gallery are welcome...

PS can someone tell me how to add links to blogs on the side column of my own? Yes, I know, I should know how to do this!

It is Fall, Friends and Readers

2005-10-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

Days like this are the reason I live in Houston. Well, of course my job and family are the reasons honestly, but days like this are the reason I love it here. I wish you could peer out my window and see what I am seeing today, step out of my office and experience a beautiful October day in Houston. I would try to paint you a picture, but my words would not do it justice. The sky is a perfect blue, it's sunny, and there is a great chill in the air that will only get chillier as the day goes on.

Pumpkins, squash, the smell of baked goods, candy corn, fall leaves, family, and glowing fires - these things are what life is all about this time of year. Red, orange, gold, brown - a perfect canvas for memory-making. October sunsets - sacred moments in the beautiful sanctuary that is creation. Yes, I have switched gears considerably from the Astros in the World Series to this (although that's one of my other favorite things about fall) but I'm just in awe of life this time of year.

On another note, this blog thing is pretty fun. It's interesting who you encounter in this mysterious honesty masquerade.

A Sad Day in St. Louis...

2005-10-20T13:27:00.000-07:00

"The Astros are going to the World Series" she says, jumping up and down, acting like a fool, and so proud of the boys from Houston she can hardly stand it.

Restless

2005-10-19T10:24:00.000-07:00

Well the overwhelming response from my family and friends (those who know the specifics of this situation) has been to stand firm in our decision, which really is a compromise in itself. I feel satisfied that it is the right thing to do, although I know it will surely not be received as one would hope. God bless the miles between us - they are like fences between neighbors.

That being said, I still struggle. For those that know me, I am somewhat of a walking contradiction. I can be very assertive. I speak my mind when it is the time and place. I am not a pushover. Yet, I have this innate desire to please. That's right - I'm a people pleaser. And I truly want everyone to be happy, but I have to be included among those. I know that some feelings are going to be hurt by this decision, but my feelings have been hurt, too; I already feel like others have overstepped their boundaries.

So, I'm a little restless. I know we are making the right decision, but I'm afraid of how it is going to be received when all is said and done. I have this nervous feeling that I just can't shake. This is really distracting me from other things I should be doing. But right now, it's all I can think about.

On a completely different note, my favorite baseball team in the whole wide world (my home team in fact) the Houston Astros are playing for the NLC title and a move to the World Series. I love those guys; they are about the nicest baseball team around and they deserve this. So cross your fingers for my home team. My stomach will certainly be in knots tonight as I watch with my peanuts and crackerjacks!

It's not about that

2005-10-17T16:40:00.000-07:00

So, I'm getting married. Did I mention that? A year from this month I will be marrying a very wonderful man who I love and respect very much. I'll get right to the point. I am being pressured by my in-laws-to-be to do something that neither I nor my groom want to do. We decided on this before the issue ever came up. I don't feel right about sending the specifics about this situation into cyber-space, but I do need advice here. Do I stick to my guns and risk alienating myself and my fiancee from his family or do I give in and set a precedent for being walked-on. Honestly, I don't feel like the issue at hand is as important; how we proceed from this point forward is. I have no idea what to do. My groom has no idea what to do. I know I don't have alot of readers, but if you have any suggestions, please share!

Don't rock the boat

2005-10-11T13:04:00.000-07:00

Ok, so this month is "evaluation month" at my office. I find myself really trying to mind my p's and q's. Don't get me wrong - I am a very hard worker on any given day and I like to think that I go above and beyone more often than not. But everything seems to be heightened right now: my caution along with my awareness of just how annoying my office can be.

Surprisingly, I really like my job. I enjoy the work that I do for the most part and realize the necessity of the work that I don't enjoy. I think my biggest problem is the fact that deep down, I want to be my own boss. I have trouble with authority. Most people probably don't know that about me because I typically aim to please even when it means setting aside my own ideas and frustrations. I do this for a number of reasons and it has served me well. Still, I'm thinking all the while how much I hate that I have bosses to please, in all areas of my life. I hate when I'm told to do something that I already knew I needed to do. The simple reminder is a huge insult to me. Am I crazy or do other people feel this way?

My mom would probably tell me that I am "too big for my britches." Oh how many times I've heard that in my life. She'd tell me that just because I have a college education and a few years of work experience under my belt doesn't mean I'm ready to take on the world. And I guess she'd be right. But it isn't really a matter of wanting to take on the world. I simply want to be motivated to do my job from within, not because of an evaluation, and I want to be trusted. I've got all these things racing through my mind, but this steady voice keeps saying "don't rock the boat" because it is evaluation month. I have to set that aside and continue to please. I guess that is the nature of the beast.

Am I alone on this one?

twenty-four tries...

2005-10-07T09:41:00.000-07:00

There is a song by Switchfoot that I love called 24. It was last year when I first heard it and now, a year later, I am 24. I guess you should know the song before I continue...

Twenty four oceans
Twenty four skies
Twenty four failures
Twenty four tries
Twenty four finds me
In twenty-fourth place
Twenty four drop outs
At the end of the day
Life is not what I thought it was
Twenty four hours ago
Still I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
And I'm not who I thought I was twenty four hours ago
Still I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You

Twenty four reasons to admit that I'm wrong
With all my excuses still twenty four strong
See I'm not copping out not copping out not copping out
When You're raising the dead in me

Oh, oh I am the second man
Oh, oh I am the second man now
Oh, oh I am the second man now

And You're raising these twenty four voices
With twenty four hearts
With all of my symphonies in twenty four parts
But I want to be one today
Centered and true
I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
You're raising the dead in me

Oh, oh I am the second man
Oh, oh I am the second man now
Oh, oh I am the second man now
And You're raising the dead in me

I want to see miracles, see the world change
Wrestled the angel, for more than a name
For more than a feeling
For more than a cause
I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
And You're raising the dead in me
Twenty four voices
Twenty four hearts
With all of my symphonies in twenty four parts
I'm not copping out. Not copping out. Not copping out.
When you're raising the dead in me...

It's an amazing song if you haven't heard it and a jumping off point for my blog. A few years ago I found myself with my world turned upside down. I was lost and scared and sad and without hope. Everyone was telling me something different and I didn't know who to listen to. Every day was hard, but different from the one before it. I had lost an ugly monster and a beautiful dream all at once, and with that, I lost myself. I heard this song...

And then, I prayed that God would raise the dead in me. Or rather, that God would raise all that was dead in me. Days went by and turned to weeks and I prayed and I prayed and soon all that was left was me and God and the air...and the dead was gone and new life had come. After a year of grieving it was as simple as that. A simple prayer for God to raise the dead in me belted out of the sadness in my heart, becomming the music of my life for a time, resounding in my very soul, and released melodiously to God. Taking with it the disappointment, the betrayal, the monster that is my insecurity, the grief, and bringing HOPE.

That was over a year ago. And now I am 24. And even after all of that, I still believe that my life will have a happy ending. That's all I really need to know. I looked ahead to the end of the book and I know it has a happy ending, so now I can turn back to the corner that marks my place and take each day as it comes. Sometimes life will make me laugh and sometimes it will make me cry, but it has a happy ending and that's all I need to know.

First Try

2005-10-07T09:36:00.000-07:00

ok, this isn't going to say anything because I'm just trying to figure this thing out. Have I done it right?