Continued from, like, April...

Recall back when I never wrote down the story about Lucerne?   Well after the second person told me about this story… I felt I should tell it after all.

We had one hour to experience the joy that was Lucerne, Switzerland.   My parents were visiting and this was their last stop on their tour of the country I was calling home before they went back to the states.   That made this event much more painful.  In our hour we were going to walk down to the "lion" and just wander the city a little bit so we decided to stow our winter wear in a locker in the train station so we didn't have to lug it around with us.  My mom was to be central keeper of bulky things so we stuffed anything we wanted to keep in her back pack.  It was a small backpack, almost purse-like and I stowed my wallet in it.  You see where this is going?  Not 200 yards from said locker I got to the bus stop and needed to buy a ticket.  I turned to get said wallet and the backpack was flapping open, wallet gone. 

We all calmly flipped. Well except for Mom who was calmly hysterical. We retraced.  Checked trashcans. Glared at all smarmy locals, (why were there so many more smarmy locals that day? )  We retraced again.  And again.  Nothing.  Maybe someone turned it in?? 

Why would they, it had my EVERTYHING in there.  We are talking Passport, Swiss Work Permit, Train half fare card, Train Ticket, tram pass for Basel, Credit Cards, Bank Card, Insurance Cards, 300 dollars in cash, Drivers License ID, Hosiery club cards at JCPenney, and I had NOTHING left.  If my folks hadn't been there I would not have been able to get home.  I had no phone numbers, no phone with me that was charged.  I was somehow fine will ALL of this stuff and was keeping it together and breathing normally, even though my blood pressure was elevated, but I broke down and LOST it on the bridge when I realized the one thing that could not be replaced, restored or re-ordered was the key to the lock on my 'new' old bike that I had just gotten to ride to work.  It would now just sit there and rust in front of my apartment until doomsday.  And there was little to no chance of getting another one at such a deal.  So yes that is what finally made me cry.   I hated Lucerne, with its charming covered wooden bridges and it's flower boxes and it's gorgeous lake, litered with swans and yachts.

We went to the tourist information booth.  They sent us to Lost and Found, who had nothing.  Lost and Found sent us to the police station. Police station was the last straw and our last hope before leaving the trail behind and heading home.  Police man went in the back and came out with my wallet, shiny and sound.  I lost my mind and dove across the counter and hugged the stiff Swiss Officer around his immaculately kempt neck, as he looked, well… assaulted. 

My mom started crying tears of relief and Dad struggled not to get misty, I apologized to the officer for being an American.  He seemed to understand  my handicap and nodded knowingly.

Walked directly out of the Station, went back up to the nice ladies at the Tourist Info booth to let them know I found it and then as we walked out of that door, our train was magically parked in the very first platform (the first of like 15 or so).  We walked directly onto the train and ordered a round of beers.  Crisis averted.  Fervent prayers answered.

Do I hear a "niner" in there?

Security is such a funny thing. 

 

As babies just scream their pink little heads off they let the world know that they are NOT OK when mom and dad leave the nursery.  I hate that I still see microcosm of me in their teething little toddler bodies.  I have grown and lost more teeth than they even have, and I am frustrated to no end that I still throw these much more mature and dignified and justified little silent (and sometimes not so silent) tantrums.  So yes, Baby, I DO understand that when I coo and say "Ooohhh it's all riiiiight? You are fine.  Yes. You. Are" That it does indeed sounds like a load of crap.

 

Last night I had this vision of me sitting in my bed looking over at the Lord, my heavenly husband, perhaps even looking at him over my reading glasses that I do not actually wear, saying you are OK to sleep in here tonight, things have gotten a little bit better and I think we will be OK....but I'm reading...yes I'm reading about YOU (noun)...but I'm not speaking to you right now (no verbs).   Sidelong glance and cold shoulder.  (Noted. In the "plus" column,  I do still have perfect eyesight at 29.  Disco!).  You are still in the dog house, mister, (sorry, I guess that's 'Mister' with a capital M), but  I'm still not entirely sure I trust what you are doing. 

 

But the difference is...I want to find out this time.

 

What if I just let it go?  This thing that I am carrying.  It's no work to carry it really, I mean I can barely exist without it.  The crusty old thing I drag around, this little sock monkey with it's mouth all made of zig-zaggy threads and covered in germs that my body has grown immune to.  I have eaten with it, slept with it, showered with it lived with it, vomited on it, cried when people have tried to take it.  I have refused to hand it to God when he has asked me to lay it down.  It's who I am, it's what makes me "me" and "interesting", right?   It's that part of "crazy" that makes good art.  It's the extreme humility that forces people to adore you.  If you take my monkey, you are asking me to redefine my very "me" that some enlightened people happen to like just fine.  Self degradation, CAN be funny.  I mean c'mon really funny.  I am a hilarious specimen of person.  I have stories to last a lifetime about what a freak I am.  Why ask me to give that up??  If I get screwed over with this spacious cathedral of a body, with the ridiculously solid size 13 foundations, at LEAST let me have fun with it the only way I know how?

 

What can I trust to fill it's place?  What if it's not filled right away, how do I deal with that perhaps boring hole?  I am not brave enough to deal with that gaping hole.  Who wants to trade this in for a "cross" to bear anyway...I'll keep my musty monchee-chee.

 

Friends I'm not talking about anything classic, nothing anyone is going to want to make into a TV mini-series or an after school special, so I'll leave it described in vague terms, but this seems somehow like the fight of my life.  

 

I am starting to not want to drag the monkey around.  I think, much like my hair styles, that it's time for me to change.  Just see what it would be like, to finally not have it.  I imagine it might feel like a person who has been wearing a fanny pack for 29 years and then once it's removed keeps trying to stick gum wrappers and chap stick in it.  But hey those are fun stories too...and it's all about having fun stories.   At twenty-niner, this is the first birthday that I have physically felt, like a clock struck midnight and then it struck me in the face.  Struck me to the tune of now needing physical therapy three times per week. (probably had a little bit to do with the fact that I was literally playing sand volleyball when the clock struck midnight, but nonetheless)  I have a shoulder falling out of socket and a two knees that sound like breakfast cereal, and maybe it's time not to depend on my outward appearance, or cat-like grace, or my debilitating matted sock monkey, or even walking in stealth, to be attractive and worthwhile (or a good hunter?).  Maybe it's time... inner beauty, Jesus's beauty.. it's the new outer beauty.  

 

"Lindsey, again, this is too much for a blog.  Shouldn't you be not emotionally vomiting on us like this?  My google-reader-meter is registering 'awkward' on the charts.  I work with you for crying out loud..." Fair enough.  I'll just say.. in lieu of photos of beautiful little ones, which is the good and proper content of a blog  (and yes, John, I am counting the pics of your new washer and dryer in that as well) I am forced to post what I am giving birth to right now.  I am categorically against emotional vomit, and that is exactly what this would be if I do not follow through.  A posting of "ah ha's" only for me to close the lid to my laptop and bury my head in a bucket of Ben and Jerry's chubby hubby and kick a kitten is only a testament to the proficiency of my typing teacher.  Not to the goodness of God. 

 

So...

 

For the sparkling and bright Elizabeth Ann's out there in bold print. (Gosh how perfect is that?) 

For the Marc's out there who show up in my dreams barging through conference room doors looking long-journeyed and a bit like Elmer Fudd after the Iditarod, wearing a fur-lined hat and skins and what was that? A boy scout bead necklace? 

For the really cute and fun lady who gave birth to me 29 excruciating years ago and has this knack for furniture shopping.

For my very, very, dearest who is having his quarter life right on schedule,

For all the people who really love me and want me to chill the heck out, walk in Grace, 

 

I am attempting to lay my cold weapons down.  The ones I have taken up long ago against me.

 

So be praying.  I don't know how this works.  It's been with me longer than Jesus has.  I might keep you posted, I will probably spare you the gory details.  You, dear reader, are welcome.

 

For the record, I am also categorically against pickles. It's just not what you were born to be, Cucumber.

 

 

 

October

Booked my ticket to see Dusty in the Remax Tournament this year. 

 

No post this year about how he qualified and is a stud, he was already qualified due to his awesome ninth place finish last year and already was a stud.

 

I'm ready for a little arid vacation in beautiful Nevada and for cheering on my favorito hermano.

 

Need to start a new knitting project.  It's my thing to do at those tournaments.

Can it be true??

http://www.talklikeapirate.com/

 

Yarg.. it's driving me nuts....

 

It's Talk like a Pirate Day, Mateys!!

Seasoning.

I love fall knocking on the door.  Warmish coolness.  The heat from my car meshed with the crispy air, calls for the happy red swingy jacket.  Low hanging sun in my eyes. Making everything slanty orange and gilded.

 

Did I mention my house is clean?  I realize a small feat for some, but for me it's been about two years since all the rolls of tape were in one location.  Scotches unite!

 

Blessings.

 

Listening to

Weepies- Painting by Chagall.

Tire Swing- That band from Juno.

Moonlight Sonata- Beethoven.

Joy- Lucinda Williams

 

Dear Bed Bath and Beyond:

 

Some advice for your wedding gift registry.

 

Please use a term other than "Fulfilled" when an item requested by the happy couple has been purchased.  You and I know an apple corer does not bring fulfillment...but impressionable young singletons may just decide to reinforce the shower rod.

 

 

Fluids.

It seems I spoke too soon.  Water from that slapping rain is now in my basement :). 

 

Do not be jealous after all. 

 

This also seems the appropriate time to journal a classic set of "Lindsey" blunders.  I sometimes lose my mind.  I have very consuming thoughts, it would seem, they keep me from living the life in front of me.  The wedding I was supposed to attend this weekend I had to miss because I SCHEDULED THE WRONG DATES.  So I was in KC and going to fly to Dallas and then back to STL.  I ended up missing my first leg because it was the wrong day, so I had to use the second leg just to get home.  So I did that. 

 

Then I took my bike out for a spin and left the trunk to my car WIDE OPEN in my driveway.  What? 

 

I start to unpack my suitcase and it is soaking wet as well.  Source of the liquid is unclear, it may have been internal or external but what IS clear is that it hit something like red ink and stained a few of my work jackets.  Awesome.

 

I did have lunch with great pals and they helped me sop up the water in the basement.  Good, good awesome friends.

 

Tackling that last room, and maybe a nap, a book and then some work.

 

Hoping you are dry on this lovely Sunday.  

Morning.

Gray, cozy morning.  Music playing, candles burning, the house is still.  My laundry is tumbling.  Rain slapping on the driveway.  A good burning in my legs from yesterdays bike ride...my house is clean and starting to feel like it's my space again. 

Only one more room to tackle before chateau Murl is complete, but today that door is shut.  Today it's off my shoulders.

 

I will go to church now and I will hope to pervey this peace as I work in the one year old room at the nursery.  I am thinking if any other houses around feel like mine do this morning that not many people will leave the warm confines, but if they do... I will happily chase their kids around.

 

Blessings to you on this seemingly "hook-blade" day.