Bits for Sunday, June 29, 2008

The last post already gave a preview of this story, but here is a more complete version...

I grocery shop once a month. I have a specific (small) budgeted amount that I spend on food, and I take one evening a month to shop. I spend as much time in line to pay for my groceries as I do buzzing through the store tossing things into the cart. I also have a very specific method for shopping. I have a list that resides on top of the TV in the kitchen, and anytime I run low on or run out of something, I add it to the list. I walk through the grocery store with the calculator in hand, shopping my way through the list (and a few select impulse buys) until I either get tired or run out of money. The only deviation to the once-a-month shopping is when I go back every so often for a new gallon of milk or a random ingredient so I can cook a certain dish.

This has worked very well for me for the last eight years, and I had no plans of making any sort of change to my schedule. After all…you know me and change…

Enter Rachel, the energetic friend of mine from work who last year talked me into a regular exercise routine before I realized what she was doing. Last year, exercise…this year, food. I have no idea how it even came up in conversation, but one day the topic of my (apparently odd) shopping habits surfaced. She sat across from me in utter disbelief as I shared the dollar value of my budget…and that cleaning supplies were part of that amount.

I explained that the limited presence of fruit and vegetables in my diet could be directly attributed to the size of the budget and the once-a-month shopping pattern. After all, that stuff only lasts so long before ingesting it could lead to an ER visit.

Somehow I found myself convinced to trial-run a change in grocery plans. Weekly shopping instead of monthly…AND a five dollar per week increase in the budget…AND the removal of all non-food items from said budget.

It began this week. I sat down with my trusty copy paper, calculator, newspaper ads, and handful of recipes. I made three lists: on sale, must have, and optional. The items on sale would be the first to shop for, the must haves would come next, and then if money remained, I could add a frozen pizza and brownie mix for the future emergency sort of day. I selected three days throughout the week when I would cook real meals, with enough days in between to gobble up the leftovers.

Yesterday I set out with my grocery allotment, calculator, and the recipe list. My first stop was the actual supermarket, a place I shop only for meat and on-sale items. Everything else there is too expensive, in my opinion. The first item on my list was a watermelon (FRUIT!) advertised to be on sale for $2.98. I meandered up to the watermelon bin to find a sign that said, “We’re sorry…temporarily out of watermelon. We will try to be restocked by 1 p.m. Saturday.” Guess what time it was? 12:40 Saturday. Great. I shopped for the meat on sale and hopped back in the car. Drove to the other end of town to the other supermarket to see if they had watermelon left in stock. I pulled over for two accidents on the way…seemed a bit treacherous for an on-sale watermelon. But at least I had success at the second store.

The next stop was Aldis – for absolutely anything on the list that could be purchased at the discount price. I fished the “Aldi quarter” out of the car (a great tip I learned from my friend Julie), rented my cart, and zoomed around the lolly-gagging shoppers. I learned that corn flakes were cheaper than I expected and paprika is not an item they carry.

After driving home to deposit all the cold stuff, I made my way to Wal-Mart for everything that hadn’t been purchased in any of the three previous stores. (The list wasn’t long by that point, but given that my average wait in line at Wal-Mart is 30 minutes, I didn’t want the frozen pizza to bake in the trunk.) I found everything I needed and got in line behind the nicest people (with cart brimming) who let me go ahead with my six or so things, making my wait in line a charming 10 minutes.

I came home, counted my change, and found I had just enough to go BACK to the supermarket for more on-sale meat. Two hours and five stores after I began, I was home, one week’s worth of groceries put away, and twenty-four cents left from the first week’s budget. Ahhhhh…sweet success.

Since shopping, I’ve eaten two salads with added vegetables and more watermelon than I care to admit. Today I cooked a for-real meal. I burned the pork chops, but they were still yummy. And the broccoli and cheese dish…well, the cheese sufficiently stifled the broccoli taste.

This project is definitely going to require an improved flow, but I’m hoping with time, it will come. Just in case, though, I better plan next week’s menus today.

The Grocery Overhaul

Have I mentioned that I do not easily grow accustomed to change? And yet I so often change things. Why?

When I first graduated from college and struck out on my own, my grocery budget was $50 a month. And that included shampoo and cleaning supplies. I shopped once a month and that was that.

The budget has grown (some) but the once-a-month shopping hasn't changed. It's a time thing. Especially when one of my stops, Wal-Mart, requires a minimum 30 minute allowance for standing in line at checkout.

But lately, Miss RACHEL in my office (yes, that's YOU, Rachel) has been...pushing me??...about leaning more in the direction of health in my eating habits. She wants to see me eat things like fruit and vegetables. Sigh. I can't shop only once a month and eat according to her plan.

So I'm trying it. I'm making an attempt in the month of July to shop once a week. This requires planning ahead on the whole menu thing. This requires perusing store ads. This requires thinking. I just finished constructing a makeshift menu for week one. It took over an hour. Hopefully I'll ease into this thing and it won't take an hour every week. Could be fun, I guess.

I do have the cutest little list, broken down by things on sale at certain stores, "must have" groceries, and "optional" things - which this time ranges from a frozen pizza and brownie mix to carrots and cucumbers. Rachel would find the pizza and brownie mix optional. I find the carrots and cucumbers optional.

So that's what's happening in the land of Bekah's groceries. I'm sure you were wondering.

Bits for Sunday, June 22, 2008

I realize that the official “halfway point” to the year hits next week, but I’m ready for my mid-year covenant checkup now. You might remember that last year I had a long and rather detailed list of covenants I made with God. This year I have a new list – my list of thirty things. Five are specific to this year and twenty-five more are pushing me to be intentional about this decade.

Every so often, I like to look through the list to see where I’m on track (so I can have a mini-celebration) and where I desperately need work (so I can give myself a stern lecture about keeping my commitments with the Lord). This week is evaluation time. Because I need an end-of-the-day-pick-me-up, I’m going to pick my best success in each of the five areas and share them with you.

Read a chapter in Proverbs every day for the entire year. This is my 2008 commitment for my spiritual life, and I have really enjoyed finding new things in Proverbs each month. In January, I did a basic read-through of the text. In February, I focused on verses about speech (and boy does it have a lot to say about what we say!). In March, I searched for verses on discipline. In April, I read from The Message translation. In May, I looked for verses that used any of the five senses. And in June, I’m concentrating on verses about wisdom and understanding. Each of those months, I’ve found verses that stand out in ways they hadn’t in previous months, and I’ve also found verses that fit into a variety of themes.

I’m learning (slowly) that my true need isn’t for God to spill a detailed plan of what He wants from me and for me. My true need is for a deeper wisdom and a discerning spirit so that I can make choices that align with the plan He has for me. And reading through Proverbs is, I’m sure, forming a deeper foundation than I even know right now.

Write an encouragement letter every week, leaving a legacy to those who left one to me. This is one of the ministry commitments I’ve made to stretch over the next ten years. I didn’t realize at the time what a big commitment I was making! But it has been one of the biggest blessings for me already this year. Last year I made a commitment to do something tangibly encouraging for someone every week. I loved doing that – but I wanted to write. So I combined those two loves and made a vow to spend time each week putting a note of thanks on paper. Sometimes I write to someone from long ago. Sometimes I write to a new friend. But each time, I hope to encourage someone for just being who they are to me. My letter has to be snail mail. No cheating with an email (unless that is truly the only way I know to contact the person).

Though I don’t do it for this reason, the blessing has rolled back around to me in the form of some sweet phone calls and notes in the mail from these friends. I’m glad I made this commitment. Definitely worth the time!

Pray each morning to invite the Lord to dwell in my home. Such a simple little thing I committed to do this year. It takes all of about two minutes. It’s normally done before I even hit snooze the eighth time. In 2007, I learned the power of praying out loud. The spoken word contains a power that a simple thought doesn’t have. Spoken words also create a reminder and a discipline. I want God to dwell in my home, and I want to remind myself each day that He lives here with me. We talk about going to church…going to God’s House…but God dwells here in my house every bit as much as He does in my church’s sanctuary. Leviticus 26:11-13 says “I will put my dwelling place among you, and I will not abhor you. I will walk among you and be your God, and you will be my people. I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt so that you would no longer be slaves to the Egyptians; I broke the bars of your yoke and enabled you to walk with heads held high.”

I may not have lived in Egypt, but God has brought me out of my own forms of sin and bondage, and He has given me reason to walk with my head held high. He dwells right here with me and that verbal reminder is good for me, and the invitation delights Him. I will say that I’ve not done a 100% perfect job of this, but the many days that I have done it have allowed me to remember Who lives here with me.

Spend quality time (on the phone or in person) investing in one friend every week. This one has been so exciting for me, because in recent weeks, I’ve noticed I don’t stress about what I’m going to do in the days to come to fulfill this covenant. This is one of the ten year commitments, so will be around for a while. Although I try to be intentional going into each week and plan ahead a way to invest in someone, I find that God always brings someone to my mind or my path that I can talk to or spend time with, and that investment is always rewarding.

At times, I try to say I’m too tired to invest, but then I remember that the accountability check looms ahead, and I find the energy to get up and move into investment mode. And I’ve not once regretted it!

Take one day a month as a “NO!” day to rest. This is a 2008 commitment, but I’d love to find a way to make it work for the next decade! I pack my schedule entirely too full and I know it. So one day a month, whether it’s a Saturday, holiday, or vacation day, I take an entire day out and say NO to any appointments or commitments. I might scrapbook, I might shop, I might read, I might go away alone, I might sleep, who knows! But I take that day to refresh my spirit and catch up on the rest that I tend to deprive myself of the rest of the month.

I know this is a luxury and if I ever get married and have kids, it’s gone. Therefore this is one of those exercises that I fully appreciate in the moment, because I realize it is a very special gift that I have for this time in my life. And I really do look forward to those days. I had one just yesterday. And already I’m searching the calendar for the chance to enjoy the next one.

So there you have it. Five of the good ones. Five of the disciplines I’ve constructed to try to become a more well-rounded and healthy person. I’m excited to see how they change my life even more in the next six months.

Father's Day Follow Up

Here are some pictures (yes I'm running behind) of Father's Day.

Dad with his card that I made. He thought it was funny that I had to look up the sport played by the Kansas City Chiefs to know which stamp to use.

The gift. Mom told me he'd like some sort of flower for one of the billion (okay maybe dozen) flower beds. Perennial, she said. So I went to Lowe's to flower shop. Do you know that an alarming percentage of flowers are pink? And while I know Dad isn't one of those anti-pink guys, it just seemed inappropriate to purchase a pink flower for Father's Day. Finally I found some really cool red flowers - but they were Gerber daisies. That seemed kinda girlish for Father's Day too. Then I saw a rust colored "manly" flower. But when I read the tag, pina colada was in the name. Those of you who know my Dad will know why I had to immediately run in the other direction. At last I found a hydrangea - in white. I decided that was as good as it would get. Shopping finished.


The official father/daughter photo. We're laughing because Mom was trying to zoom, but once again she forgot where the button was on the camera. She used "Mom-zoom" - she kept walking closer and closer. By the time she took this, she was about two feet away.
And while I probably shouldn't admit this, I'm not really that much taller than he is. Heels, you know. But they weren't the highest of heels. On a good hair day (for me...obviously his good hair days are long gone) I am officially the tallest person in my family.

It Begins...

I've heard people talk about hitting a milestone age and "suddenly..." (Fill in the blank. They fell apart, they had surgery every six weeks, they lost their minds, whatever.)

I determined this was not going to happen to me. After all, being thirty and one month is no different than being twenty-nine and eleven months. Surely I could will it to be so, right?

Wrong.

Last night I found myself in the Wal-Mart perusing.....decaf coffee. I hoped no one saw me. Decaf is...well...not in my vocabulary. I've never believed in it and secretly raised an eyebrow at those who "can't have caffiene after six." Please. I could drink a 32 ounce Mountain Dew and fall into bed and sleep for hours.

Unfortunately, lately I've found myself unable to fall asleep. I still hold to my theory that it's directly related to the evil DST. It's about time to start the countdown for that, isn't it? But DST or no, I have to sleep. Co-workers are starting to comment on my morning draggy look and demeanor. I can't afford that. So as a fix, I've resorted to decaf for the post-six p.m. rounds of coffee.

I wasn't feeling very good about this entire situation when I went to bed an hour earlier than the last three nights. I'd just crawled in when I got a text message asking if I was planning to be online to play scrabble. The twenty something Bekah would have whimpered about lost sleep, crawled out of bed, fired up the computer, and played until falling asleep in the keyboard. But what was my response? "I was on earlier and didn't see you..." and then I FELL ASLEEP!!

What happened to the girl who could stay up until 3 in the morning and then get up for work 3-4 hours later? (For days on end.)

Shouldn't have had the decaf. I could have made it through scrabble.

Wife and Kids

For the past several years I've done some sporadic writing for Sunday School curriculum. It hasn't been something I've pursued heavily, but it has been nice now and then to write for publication.

Not too long ago, I discovered they purchased an article I wrote about giving up pop. I couldn't really remember exactly what I said, so I was excited to receive the packet of papers in the mail that included the copy of what I wrote. I sat down and rummaged through until I found the one that contained my article.

There it was, so pretty on the page. I believe the title was "A Cola-less Commitment" - and my name right underneath. Pretty picture of a pop bottle...

...and the article started out with a sentence about my wife and kids.

Ummmmmm......

I don't have a wife or kids???

Turns out that the week before, the article in that location was written by a guy...who has a wife and kids. They changed the title, author and picture but not the content of the article.

I laughed about it. What else can you do? Other than hope that those reading don't think I actually have a wife and kids. (Surely the lack of ANY mention of cola in the article would allow the reader to understand the mistake.)

But then today I had a message on my answering machine at home. It was some dental office wanting to schedule cleanings for my kids.

Ummmm....is there something I should know??

Bits for Sunday, June 15, 2008

Today I bring to you a story that fits neatly into the part of my life I lovingly call, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Nothing tragic. Just annoying.

I came home during my lunch hour on Thursday to find my street being jackhammered open. Specifically right in front of my house. Trucks and backhoes surrounded my entire property, so I parked a couple of houses down and picked my way (in heels and a skirt) through the weeds and overgrowth of the sidewalk between my new parking place and my house. Several men looked at me from their various tasks as I scampered up onto my porch to check my mail – but no one said a word.

Allow me to say that about two or three weeks ago, some unintelligible spray paint markings appeared on the street in front of the house next door, so when I came home one day to find a hole there, I wasn’t surprised. No one had spray painted in front of my house. This was very much a surprise.

All this happened the day gas prices went up by twenty-some odd cents, and I spent my lunch hour trying (unsuccessfully) to beat the hike. I came back at the end of my lunch hour, precariously balancing a sloshing gas can in one hand and a pizza and sweating Styrofoam cup in the other. The men stared again. No one said a word.

Normally I allow myself to be irritated by things like this, but I never say anything to anyone directly related to said annoyance. This time they caught me at the worst possible time. A hot day, pre-food. So I marched in the house and ripped the phone book out of the end table to find the number for the company. I found a toll free number and called it, chomping down the pepperoni pizza while listening to the entirely too perky automated lady. I finally said I was a new homeowner in need of service, because there wasn’t a number to push for annoyed hungry girl whose street is being ripped apart.

A less than helpful lady answered, and the best she could do for me was give me the number of the digging company. I called the digging company and this time I had to pretend I was a civilian in need of a hole on a new home property. The lady who answered that line said that she was so sorry but she would have no idea why they would be digging or how long it would last.

By that time my lunch hour was over, so I refilled the sweating drink and tromped back out to my car, past the non-verbal worker men, who were making the hole bigger by the moment. Later in the afternoon, I looked up the company website and discovered you could complete an online complaint form. PERFECT. I wrote out the most beautiful explanation of what had happened, trying to remain kind while being firm about asking if it was customary to limit the access of one’s property without first issuing a courtesy call or leaving a note in the mailbox. I hit send and received the following notice:

“Your message is too long.”

Are you KIDDING me??? You’re going to cut off an angry non-customer? I cut it down some, trying to leave as much of the love as I could. Hit send. “Your message is too long.” By the time the stupid thing went through, it basically said, “Hi, I’m not a customer, you dug up my street, why didn’t you tell me first, and when are you leaving?” For that, I received an auto-reply of my very valuable case number and the promise of a response within 24 hours. Whatever.
When I came home after work, the hole was about 12-15 feet long, 4 feet wide, and about a person deep. Lovely, attractive cones and construction “thingies” were guarding the hole with crime scene tape blowing in the breeze.



AND part of my yard had been demolished. Never mind that two feet away from said demolition was a perfectly HORRIBLE unattended yard of weeds – which remained untouched and horrible.


Above: My "good" yard.

Above: The "yard" next door.

Above: They chose to dig up my decent yard over the weedy yard.
As would be the case, I had the next day off work, and I had barely been up ten minutes when the sound of jackhammers resonated throughout the block. They’re baaaaaaack! Yes, they were back – digging a fresh hole across the street and once again blocking my property. Had they awakened me, I might have been tempted to march out on the porch in all my bed-head, droopy mascara glory to say, “SCUSE ME!!! I’M SLEEPING IN HERE!!!” (Nah, I’m too much of a chicken.)

I had plans to go to the mall that day and declared under my breath that I would go to the mall, even if they had to taxi me there in one of their dump trucks.

About midmorning, I looked out to see a cement truck parked across my driveway, filling in the massive grave that had been gracing the front of my house. I marched outside, walked up to one of the smoking workers and said in my nicest voice, “Excuse me – do you happen to know how much longer this might take? I need to leave soon.” The smoky guy stared at me much as he and the crew had done the day before, but the cement guy said, “Is this your driveway?” I wanted to say, “Um, yes, this one that goes with the house that you just watched me walk out of?? Yes, that is mine.” Instead I smiled sweetly and nodded. He promised me he’d be done in five minutes (which he was) and I went back inside to gather up my lists and go.

By the time I left, the crews had disappeared (probably for lunch), leaving behind them two fresh holes directly across the street from my driveway. As I carefully maneuvered out into the street, trying to avoid the wet cement to one side and the potholes to end all potholes on the other side, I muttered, “I shouldn’t have to hang a professional driver, closed course sign on my car just to leave home.”

And when I got home a few hours later, just shortly after the twenty four hour deadline of the complaint center, I found a brief and less than loved-on message in my inbox. It frankly told me that because I’d neglected to leave my address, they couldn’t be sure of the reason for the digging. (Oh but the address was there. UNTIL YOU MADE ME SHORTEN THE MESSAGE!!!) They also assured me that holes are never left overnight, so I could know their work would last less than a day. (Really? Are you sure about that?? Because of the now four holes that have appeared on my street, ALL of them lasted at least overnight. Some lasted several overnights longer than that.)

But on the bright side – in case of storms, any drivers on our street definitely would have had a safe underground place to hide!

Such Good Sports...

Since tomorrow is Father's Day, I thought I would post this picture of what I wanted to get Dad for his holiday. When we were out in Kansas for Cassie's graduation, I found this Kansas City Chiefs tie in the little Goodwill-esque store. (SO wish I could remember the name of it! I know it. I just can't think of it.) Anyway, he just kind of gave me that "yeah right" look, so I made him at least pose with it.

I printed this picture today and it will be on the card he receives. It will give me the opportunity to use my sports stamp set. Dad really isn't a sports guy, so Father's Day cards are always a challenge. He doesn't fish or hunt or participate in anything else that they make "boy stamp sets" for...so this is my chance!

Meanwhile, Mom was a pretty good sport by helping me out with my latest and greatest "spruce up the house" project. I moved my couch into the former dining room (which is in process of becoming my office, but it's a very slow process). The couch is green and white striped, and that room is my Americana room...so that presented a problem.

But the person who sold me the couch threw in the slipcover she'd purchased for it. It took me 35 minutes to iron that thing. That's longer than the combined amount of time I've ironed during the last three years. And I probably should have ironed it more than I did, but by that time I was bored.

Anyway, the pillows on the couch don't really go well under the slipcover, so I bought this material and passed it off to Mom to make me pillow covers. Mrs. Lee would not be proud. How many years of Home Ec did I take? I should be able to sew pillow covers!!


I told her I wanted the blue material to kind of wrap around like a bow on a gift. Mom came up with the little pleat idea on her own and I think it's as cute as it can be. Mrs. Lee can be proud of her. Thanks, Mom!

What a Precious Baby

Okay - here's the question of the day.

I realize that this may sound horrible, but it's a real question that one of my friends and I have. What do you say when you go to see a baby and you can't honestly say the baby is cute? I mean you REALLY can't say it? Is this just one of those times when you should lie and repent later? Or are there catch phrases that work without being obvious?

One of the ladies that I polled at work said that she cried so hard when someone told her that her baby boy was "sweet" because she knew that was code for "I have to say something nice and avoid saying he's cute because he's not." She also said that later, when she had another baby that she realized was awkward in appearance, she would just say so up front to ease the tensions of the potential compliment givers.

So...to avoid saying "What a precious baby!"....we need some ideas.

Bits for Sunday, June 8

I listen to the radio when I’m at work – Christian music station. I’m sure it will not shock you to know that without the radio station man behind the controls, I’d spend my day listening to David Phelps over and over and over…and then I’d start singing duets with him, and that would be no good for anyone in the office.

Anyway, one of the artists that my station plays is Mandisa. As in the former American Idol contestant. I was skeptical when they played her first single, because I didn’t care for it at all. But the second and third ones have been so beautiful…definitely worth the wait. One of these newer songs is called God Speaking. Part of the lyrics say “Who knows how He’ll get ahold of us? Get our attention to prove He is enough? He’ll do and He’ll use whatever He wants to, to tell us I love you.”

And God definitely uses methods that I’m sure are rather unconventional to get my attention…one of them being TV shows. I realize it is probably questionable to say that reality TV could be a method, but truly, I’ve had some of my biggest breakthrough moments from random things people have said on TV.

Last night I was journaling, and I turned on TV Land to see if they were playing Andy Griffith. (Yes, I’m old before my time in TV show choices.) He wasn’t on yet, but I was too busy writing to change the channel. They were playing She’s Got the Look which is yet another one of their attempts to give reality TV shows to the over forty crowd. This one is about women getting the chance to be a model after 35, when modeling careers tend to die.

It was the first show, and the judging panel sat before all the hopefuls, eliminating those who didn’t make the cut. One of the very last women to make it onto “the board” was a stunningly beautiful woman. (I wouldn’t have classified all of them as stunningly beautiful, but this one was in a league all her own.) The judges told her that they were unsure about keeping her because she was “too perfect.” During the first challenge (which I had missed), she would not allow herself to make a mistake. She couldn’t let a flaw show…she couldn’t be anything less than perfect, and they wanted her to allow imperfection into her life because if she didn’t, the women who saw her wouldn’t be able to relate.

As they gave her this advice, two giant tears rolled down her cheeks. They were right and she knew it.

I remember turning back to my computer, looking at the words I’d just journaled about how I felt like something seemed out of place. I couldn’t pinpoint it. I only knew that something wasn’t right.

And that’s when I felt the little nudge. It was no different than what I’ve been doing in my own heart lately. Please know that in saying this, I’m not saying I’m perfect. I’m well aware I am not. And I seem to be able to admit that to people, but I have a very difficult time admitting that to God.

I pray all the time. It’s a practice I learned very early on and whether or not I feel like it, I pray. But there are times I pray with more abandon than others. Perhaps even with more honesty. And then there are times I don’t say what I’m thinking – because I try to convince myself that if I don’t say it, it isn’t there. I don’t like to think about the questions and confusions. I don’t like to admit I have fears and disappointments.

It’s a crazy practice, I know. I mean, He’s God. He knows everything anyway. But for some reason, I find myself in these phases where if I say all the right things in my prayers – cover everyone else’s emergencies – ask for all the right things – maybe He won’t notice this giant pile of stuff that I’m hiding over in the corner. And maybe if I turn my back, I won’t notice the giant pile of stuff I’m hiding over in the corner.

And while those prayers that I’m so faithfully praying aren’t bad prayers…because I know they do accomplish a purpose…they aren’t accomplishing all they could, because they aren’t what they could be. Aren’t what they should be.

So after seeing that clip last night, I shut down the computer, went for the good old pen and paper journal, and started over. And this time I started uncovering the pile. I didn’t get through the whole thing by any means. But I dug up some of the imperfections and offered them over to God. It wasn’t really fun…but it felt strangely wonderful.

The Bible says “then you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.” The truth is largely buried in of piles in the corners of lots of hearts. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who prefers to keep covering it up in the hope of looking “put together” to God. But there was a lot of freedom in unearthing the pile…in finding the truth.

So About the Storms....

....Remember my near stay in the Culver's cooler?? Well stupid me...I went out for dinner again last night. Must be the Friday night curse. Go out to eat, get caught in a storm. This time I headed home BEFORE it began, and I only had a ten minute drive at best, but as soon as I got in my car, the rain began and I drove all the way home in the storm. And of COURSE - I got every red light possible. Until they quit working.

This storm wasn't advertised (probably not the right word, but you know what I mean) to be as bad as last week's, but it sure did create a lot more damage in my part of the world! Halfway home the stoplights stopped working. I was on the phone with my Mom, who was keeping me updated from TV reports, and she reminded me (because I've only been driving for 14 years) that non-working stoplights become four-way stops. I hollered to her (I'd put her on speakerphone to be able to drive ten and two) that I knew that, but apparently the rest of the county was unaware, so I had to wait through all their turns before taking mine. Because face it. It really doesn't matter what the rule is...if no one observes said rule.

I drove around lots of tree portions down in the road - glad that I wasn't in those spots when they tumbled - and made it home safe and sound. I was a little unnerved that I had so much trouble keeping control of my car on a residential street. I'm used to that sort of wind turbulence on an open road. Not in the middle of a neighborhood.

Much of my part of town ended up losing power, but mine stayed on. Later last night, my former roomie came over because she was in the no-power part of town. We went for a drive to survey the tree damage. (What else do you do on a Friday night in a storm laden town?) On the way home, I noticed a strange (and huge) white cloud not far away. It scared me...so we stared at it for a while to see if it seemed to have strange movements. Then we saw flames. Oh...not a cloud. TONS of smoke. A business was quite on fire.

And of course, in true Marion fashion, all the people were gathered to gawk. And there I sat in the middle of them all, cell phone out, snapping a picture.

I wasn't sure if the power outage would affect work today - we have almost 150 freshmen and families on campus for registration. The last of four days of it. I wondered last night how that was going if the campus was without power, but evidently enough of the world was running today to let a slightly abbreviated form of registration continue.

So all of that to say...I'm just tired of storms. Especially on the weekend. But LET THE RECORD SHOW. I did get the yard mowed in record time between work and mayhem last night. thankyouverymuch.

Straggler Birthday Pictures

Some of my birthday pictures came to me later...here's a few more for you:

Lynnette made a long trip just to celebrate with me and I was so excited to have her there!


Aunt B 'n' me. Great minds think alike on color schemes don't they?

The Mama...this is one of my favorite recent pictures of the two of us. She should like it. For once she's taller. :)

SARAH!!!! :) Maker of the greatest mocha cupcakes on the planet.

And Julie - who also drove quite a distance. Isn't she cute? (She's gonna have a baby, in case the glow didn't give it away.)

Writing

My creativity seems to come in large phases. I like to commit an entire section of time to one thing. That is the good part. The bad part is that everything else goes by the wayside while I focus on my one thing. I've done a lot of scrapping lately. For weeks and weeks I scrapped - keeping my current album completely up to date, making Cassie's graduation gift, making my own baby album, starting on my "years 1-5" album, making the "tornado book." Now I'm looking ahead to Cassie's graduation album and my birthday book...but my scrapping skills need a tiny break.

So I went back to writing. It amazes me how eight hours at work can seem like fifty, and yet four or five hours in front of the computer writing at night can seem like ten minutes. How is that possible? I've lost about 2 hours of sleep per night because I can't stop writing. I hate that every morning when I wake up, but I don't hate it enough to stop. I have missed writing. If it weren't for blogging and journaling, I wouldn't have done much of it at all lately. It's a good feeling to be back into it.

And in only 9 more hours...I can do more. But who's counting?

Word of the Day

I'm watching The Mole on ABC. Loved this show when it ran for a couple of seasons a few years ago. I highly suspect my love of the show had less to do with the show itself and more to do with the host of those seasons, Anderson Cooper. Unfortunately Anderson isn't back for this season, but I'll watch anyway.

They just handed journals to the players so they could keep notes on what they observe amid the challenges.

One guy took the journal and said, "I don't need this. I have a photogenic memory."

Really?

Bits for Sunday, June 1

I have written before about my fear of storms. I’ve never been fond of them, but my fear grew rather significantly in the summer of 1998 when a tornado passed through town and I thought for sure my parents (who were watching from the front yard) were going to visit Oz. Each year that passed after that tornado, my fear subsided some, but my sister’s tornado (why do I call it that?? It’s not as if she owned it…) intensified the nerves again.

I don’t know what the weather was like in your piece of the planet Friday night, but here we experienced what the weather man called “tornadic activity.” That was a new one for me. Was it supposed to calm me somewhat? “Well, folks, we don’t really have a tornado, but we do have tornadic activity.” Oh. So that would explain why the tree in my backyard is knocking on the door. Got it.

At this time, I should probably mention that I don’t really watch the weather. My idea of watching the weather is sending an instant message to Kurt (at work) saying “Any idea if it’s supposed to rain tonight? I need to mow.” Kurt, who should receive a part time paycheck from the Weather Channel can bring me up to date in half the time it would take me to log onto the website, enter my zip code, decipher the map…

Kurt wasn’t at work on Friday and I didn’t need to mow, so consequently I failed to check the weather. I had plans to hang out in Kokomo with one of my friends from high school. She promised me we could breathe the Hobby Lobby air (moment of silence for its departure from my fine town…….) and then we could go out to eat. Better than a trip to Disney.

To my credit, I had heard that it might rain – perhaps even storm – that night. But you see, night to me means sometime after midnight when I don’t care. Even so, I made sure the umbrella was packed securely in the car. I changed into post workday clothing and headed to town. A Hobby Lobby town.

Oh….just to be inside the Hobby Lobby. It was amazing. I found $33 worth of clearance items that made my entire day. I walked out with visions of my bathroom mini-makeover dancing in my head. (Two of the purchases were for that adventure.) I kept walking, imagining cards I could make with the three new stamps. Just as I was about to plot the hanging of garden lanterns around the patio, I stopped to re-enter the conversation of where to eat.

Let me just say that we’re two girls who would rather eat a bowl of spinach than make a decision. We had several options and I was literally pulling paper out of my purse to write them down and draw one out when Amber said, “Let’s just go to Culver’s.” YAY!!! I had my heart set on ice cream anyway. (After telling this story to my niece last night, I realized not everyone may be familiar with Culver’s. It’s like Dairy Queen – only better. And bigger. And LOTS more windows. That will be meaningful in a minute.)

As we exited the car to go into Culver’s, I debated taking the umbrella. But it’s so big and I really thought we were safe for a while longer, so I left it. We settled into our booth to devour butter burgers (best invention in fast food EVER) and milkshakes…and it began to rain. Harder and harder. Then it began to blow. And I haven’t seen a lightning storm like that for…years, I’m sure. (Did I mention this place has lots of windows?) The employees, clearly not knowing my fear of storms, switched the TV to the Weather Channel, which was one giant blob of red, tickers, and buzzing. How comforting. Add to that the rather piercing storm sirens outside, and I began to exhibit the deer-in-headlight look.

Amber kept asking if I was okay, and I assured her I was…and truly I thought I was being honest. Then the manager made his rounds, informing each table of diners that should things get even the tiniest bit worse, we would all need to take shelter in the cooler. I took a look around at the people in the restaurant. With all due love and respect, Amber and I were in a vast minority on size. And we were the farthest from the cooler. So I was guessing by the time we got there – even if they’d tossed out all the custard mix and frozen butter burgers, there would not be room for us.

That’s when I called my parents. They were having a party…not a planned one. A storm party. The neighbors were over…they were hanging out in the basement…talking on the phone…having a grand time. I explained the impending cooler situation. And do you know what my mother said? My own mother? She said, “Well, at least if you die, you won’t decompose much.” I asked to speak to Dad. You know what he said? “Are you ready to die?” Well, yes, but I had rather hoped it wouldn’t be tonight in a cooler at Culver’s with a bunch of people twice my size and three times my age!

Fortunately the rather obnoxiously loud group of women behind me chose that moment to accidentally dump a salad on the floor…an action that led to a comment I can’t repeat in print and several minutes of literal cackling. Annoying, yes, but at least it provided a distraction.

About a half hour later, Amber and I decided we did not want to die in Culver’s, and the storm probably wouldn’t get worse or better before it closed, so we just left. I continued to regret my decision to leave the umbrella in the car. I stopped at my parents’ house on the way home and planned to hang out for a bit, but an uprooted tree in their yard made me wonder what I would find at my own place. And I was pretty sure the kiddos would be scared. So I left. I do think the kiddos were scared, but more than that, I think they were just annoyed that their evening treat was delayed by my night on the town.

I slept on the living room floor, in my shopping outfit, with the TV on. Not the best night of sleep ever, but it sure beat the daylights out of the Culver’s cooler with the cackling women.