JOY

Oh Tina, How I Heart Thee.

A couple of stand-alone gems from 30 Rock, which, is just my fave:

"That hurts more than my foot botox." Jenna.

Liz: "Tracy did you even go home last night? And where is your shirt?"
Tracy: "1. No 2. At Large"

"Liz you are the closest thing to a man in this building."

Liz: "Jack, what are you doing here? I was sleeping!"
Jack: "I just heard you singing 'night cheese' "

"I am sorry to have to tell you such a grim story wearing such a silly T-shirt" Salma Hayak. (The shirt said "What the Frak?")

"Liz Lemon, isn't there a slanket somewhere you should be hiding your farts under?" Salma Hayak.

As natural as April showers...

The Fall Cosbinox* is almost over. As evidenced by tulips in all their glory and big-diamond pattern sweaters being packed away... Men in the office are starting to switch to the brightly colored Hawaiian-esque Weird Al Yankovic shirts.

That's right folks. It's almost time for the Spring Yank-quinox*. Get excited, people.

(* I have been since corrected by singram, a.k.a still the funniest person ever, that humor rights, if any are warranted, to both terms do, in fact, go to me.)

Because it deserves to be captured:

I was recently at a chinese buffet with friends and the small of stature proprietor was at the door upon my exit.

He said something to this effect:
"Oh... HeLOOO tall lady! I take you apple picking with me. I can never get to the apples at the top! Ah.. but we go pick strawberries and YOU hold the bucket!"

"I ask God why he make me so small. I can never get to the apples I want at the top of the tree!"

It was awesome.

STL Tourism

Hooray for Marc's first baseball "match".

From Blue Like Jazz

"What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?

   I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

   I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew and image, I bled a poem for you. You were pretty, and my friends believed that I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed. 

   I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared you me. 

   I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you?  What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God's way of meriting grace, of teach us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which he is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?

   We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.

   Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, you heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him. 

   Will we be in ashes before we are one? 

   What great gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don't we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!

   I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.

   I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God's own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.

   I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you , and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.

   God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then and only then understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.

Sigh.

Dear people who make Lincolns,

In the future, please take time to consider me, the scatterbrained mad-scientist when deciding on which side to put the gas tank.  I waste much precious fuel re-orienting my vehicle to the pump. Yes I KNOW there is a little arrow that tells me which side the gas tank is on, but old Pontiac habits die hard.   

Furthermore, if you DO decide make the poor decision to put the gas tank on the other side of the driver side of the car, please re-think the reasoning behind placing the button that actually OPENS the gas door ALL THE WAY back near the steering wheel.

Gas station attendants everywhere are wondering why the six-foot blonde lady is running laps around her car in the rain and cursing.

I'm tired. 

Thanks,

LEM

Pics of Easter.

Holi

Indian celebration I have never, ever heard of. "Holi" Where friends throw colored powders on friends. Somehow things get wet, and the colors mix into rainbow gravy, because people roll around in the mud before getting sprayed down with a fire hose...I'm fuzzy on the details. But how amazing and beautiful is this?

I LOVE it.

Two co-workers in the bottom right, George and Libby with our Six stained clients!

March Dad-ness

My dear ol Dad's birthday is today. For about four years I was the worst daughter about birthdays for him considering our basketall tourney runs were always smack in the middle of March. Which I'm sure there was never a better birthday present than getting to yell at the occassional referee in the middle of March Madness, but still I am remiss on celebrating my pop.

Larry Bruce is the most handsome 54 year-old I know. Not just because he's my dad, but because it's true. My mom says he reminds her of Harrison Ford. He's pretty much the best dad ever. He recently trapped a GIANT groundhog out of my backyard. So big and hissing and nasty that he had to pick up the cage with a broom handle and walk it out to the truck. He set it free in the grassy woodlands of Bonne Terre. With a floppy thud, it rolled out of the cage and scampered to freedom.

My dad taught me so much, when I let him. How to attempt left-handed hook shots more often than really necessary. How to bait my hook. How to play golf, how to drive, how to mow the yard... that last one didn't go so well. He would always let out an impressed chortle when I would really whack a drive on the golf course. How to dance. He would say he taught me how to dance because I just looked at him and did the exact opposite. He is a master griller, in the true Dad fashion. He knows how to "rig" anything. He once fashioned a uni-suspender out of the strap of his man-purse when his belt broke in Switzerland. And if you ask my friends, he is the best insurance man they have ever had. He gets letters in local papers for the nice stuff he does for his customers that he really doesn't have to do and really doesn't talk about it much. He is a servant. He also loves my mom really well. They are stupidly happy.

He taught me to be critical to a fault, and now I get paid to do just that. He taught me to help people who need help and he broke many destructive cycles by himself, with no help. He is Bootstrap Bill.

He climbed into my bed once when I had lost a big basketball game as a freshmen in high school and for a big, man's man dad, he said all the right things to his hormonal teenage daughter lying prone on the bed, sobbing in the dark, and she never forgot it. I don't say it well or often, but thanks, Daddy. I know who I am, because you told me, sometimes with words, mostly without...everyday.

Love You. Happy Birthday!

Nups and Naps.

Wish I had a camera. Or a phone with a camera that could hold a charge. This weekend two of my very favorites tied the knot. Casey and Angela are now holy and matrimonious as well.

It was a great wedding and many people cried, including myself. They did steal my favorite song perhaps of all time for their first dance, which is "Falling Slowly" by the couple from Once. Best song ever. Never heard it for a wedding first dance, but well played you two, well played.

Also well played was the reception table decor. Angela, the brilliant connoisseur of English Literature that she is, created a table that was SO them! She named the tables after their favorite books, but little quotes from each book on them. (Our table was "Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius") She made her own "Mad(ly in Love) Libs" and the little wedding favors were a teachers pencil and a carpenters pencil with the inscriptions "Building our Lives" and "Writing our Story". So very original.

Love you guys and am blessed to have been a part of your special day. Even though I tried to cut in on your "swing dancing song" you were gracious and let me cut in later :)

Lovely as well to meet the wonderful Arnold family and hear their story.
Nate, you are a bum. You missed a helluva time.

Ashley, Liz and I were more than conquerors of the electric slide. We had good practice the Thursday before at the Wild Country place for the bachelorette party. When you know the dance already... the song seems sooo much longer than when you are trying to learn a dance while being taped on CMT.

I am trying to be less, well..."me". Read the directions to weddings before you go. Don't rely on your iPhone that wont hold a charge. Don't leave your keys hanging in the front door. Don't be so full of yourself. Don't sleep on Sunday from 12-4 and then from 5:30 to 9 and then for the whole entire night. (I think it's a medication I am on that has turned me into a zombie). Yes mister Lumberjack, that is a dollar I owe you.

I am weary. I continue to travel and be occupied a bit. But it seems the thing to do. How could I pass up ski-trips? How can I not go see Sara? How THRILLED am I that Marc is visiting soon? How important is it that I go to New York to peddle the business? How important is the women's retreat for the health of our weary church? How precious are the little ones I am trying to carve out time to teach the game I love? How important is being in shape?

How can a laundry pinata have exploded in my room? Like weeks ago? Still with the cotton/rayon shrapnel, I live. It's the least important, I'm certain.

FYI

Hey guys. It's "Hall and Oates"...

NOT "Haulin' Oats"...

Glad I got that cleared up.

Truths.

 

Two monologues do not make a dialogue.

-Jeff Daly

 

As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red again, I sat there thinking about life. Was it nothing more than a bunch of honking and yelling? Sometimes it seemed that way.

-Jack Handey

 

Whenever someone says "I can't," it makes me wish he'd get stung to death by about 10,000 bees. When he says "I'll try," 5,000 bees. "I can"= just one bee. 

 

~Jack Handey.

Tahoe!

A ton of snow in Lake Tahoe this weekend. Check out this bank! That was a smallish one as well... A pool at the TOP of the mountain. Squaw was the site of the 1960-something Olympics. They have to plow around the pool to use it! Whoa. Emerald Bay in Lake Tahoe. I'm not sure what I am doing.

Shannon getting ready to rock the slopes.

Thanks Shannon for inviting me on your free weekend in Tahoe (Free airfare, room, and SPA treatments!)

Thanks Vegas for giving me 250 bucks when I put those three bucks in the slot machine. (Free skis and lift tickets!)

Thanks Lord, for the amazing weather and company for the weekend!

Fwd: Best Quote of the Weekend?

"There are laws in California that say chicken sold in the supermarkets must be given a certain time outside of their pens to "play" which makes them eight bucks a pound.   So I drive to Reno and shop and then lie my face off at the border patrol." 

~Cooper, the friendly Shuttle driver/Ski-bum.

How My HG Loves Me.

For the longest time I have gone without the counting of the blessings. Why is that? I don't know.

Since the Valentines Day tulips are still alive, I am going to take a minute to be supremely mushy and thankful for my community. I had house group that tonight I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with thankfulness for. (I also can't seem to help ending sentences with prepositions.) These people I often take for granted, but I would not trade them for anything, and I hope they know it.

The Scene. I am driving. I have dry, itchy, watery, eyes, severely chapped lips and a nasty seven-day cough, and I am not sure why I can't find this house on Swon avenue. I have been to this house twice before and I still do not know how to get there. I am debating not going because I am so very feeling sorry for myself and like a giant wet blanket. I have millions of things I should be doing and I just learn that my favorite great-aunt just broke her hip (playing hide and seek with her grandson, hallelujah!? What a life-filled lady.) I am feeling like I usually talk too much at group and should just sit there all pouty and non-contributory to the discussion of Daniel at hand. We sometimes go on tangents and I can often be the ring-leader of tangents. Just sit there and absorb, Lindsey...geez.

As I circle around Webster University, cursing my poor sense of the little details, I swallow my pride and call "Annie!" on her cell. I lament, "Ok. I can't seem to find this place EVER!" She laughs her beautiful 'Anne' laugh and hands the phone to Adonna to guide me. I always feel ashamed when I am late. I would have left work earlier, but the boss caught me, yadda yadda. So I spin the wheel and head the correct direction and Adonna tells me it's no big deal as I apologize probably a little too profusely. I feel a tad better.

I pull up to the house and Hank the handkerchief-sporting basset hound greets me with his droopy eyes and funny little crooked leg. I am not the last one there (true sigh of relief). The table is full of people I am genuinely glad to see and Adonna asks me if I want food. HELLO? Of course I do. She makes me a cheeseburger with caramelized onions and gave me some TOTS to go with it! Holy Mama, it was yum. Wayne pushes me the ketchup bottle and I polish it all off with a 'Koka Kora'. Markus tells me other unfortunate broken hip stories and I laugh. He laughs too, somehow he always 'gets me' and I love that. We swap more stories as Deana and Ashley arrive and they are much rested and alive since spirit week is over and Ashley's comedic timing makes me laugh so hard. Deana pats me on the shoulder, happy to see me.

Jael and George are here by now and we are complete. Jael is wearing her hair curly and Geo is tired from work. He misses his fam, as he has recently made the sacrifice from freelance-work-from-home-guy to full-time-life-sucking-office-employment and is still adjusting. Well that is putting it mildly, he misses being with his wife and his "itty bitties" (their kids, Zane, 6, and Grier, 3.) I would be remiss if I didn't stop here and mention that Jael and Geo were my Valentines this year. On the dreaded day for the singleton, they invited me into their home to watch the kids while they had some time out of the house. They came back and made me a delicious dinner. It was divine.

I would be further remiss if I didn't also mention that Anne and Mark had a very "Willie!" Valentines Day as well. They went to White Castle, where apparently they put table cloths on the tables, hire wait staff, take reservations only, asking the random passers-by to get their orders to go.

Anywho. Back to HG....

We hear about cat adoptions and Ashley's dog's love for my brother. Deana flops in a chair and tries to finish up some grading so her students don't have to ask her again if their tests are done. Adonna brings out a gigantic platter of chocolate cake and tells tales of a funeral for Wayne's aunt from the previous weekend. Flower arrangements from the funeral and valentines day still perfume the room. Yes, I am happier to be here.

Anne has worked hard to put together our study for tonight and it's about Daniel just faithfully doing his thing and God constantly showing himself faithful in amazing ways. I still marvel at the Bible's "echos". Jael gave us that beautiful word "echos" to describe how the themes resound and resound and resound. How themes repeat and how symbols show up again and again from the same Source.

This time the light was turned on for me about the story Abraham and Isaac, how confused and angry I get at God when he asks Abraham to sacrifice his own son, this particular story has never made any sense to me. Then Anne, in a beautiful tangent, just casually compares that scene to God himself sacrificing his very own Son, Jesus, as, ahem, The Point. Aha moment. I'm ecstatic to be here, now. The bible is so beautiful and I love studying it. I truly do.

Fast forward to us as we came to a passage of scripture that incited the touchy subject of "little stuff we do wrong" Instead of making self-righteous statements or making people feel guilty or commanding that everyone change right then and there, and pay for cable and stop speeding, etc., and signing a pact or something. We just spoke honestly about the heart issues and let the words hang like the cutting and healing sword of truth in the air, free to be grasped by anyone, but forced on no one.

I laughed so much, learned even more about this Book that I love to ignore, was loved on, and somehow maybe my presence actually wasn't just that of a vacuum. I am so lucky to have this time and this group. I do love you all and you all love me well, separately for sure, but all together it's so much more.

Tonight I am still tired, itchy-eyed, coughing and chapped, but now I am full.

HOF induction ceremony

Sara, Alia, Tasha, Me and Coach at Tasha's Hall Of Fame induction Breakfast. Tasha, true to usual form, was amazing, her speech was great, and the Bears beat NYU that night. All is good with the world.

Things that go Bump in the Night.

Last night I had the joy of playing volleyball with some kids from UCity high school.  One of their teachers is on my club volleyball team, so she invited all of us to play at their open gym with the kids.  After the kids were dismissed we stayed to play a little more with just our team to sharpen our skillz, and two of the kids who had already graduated stayed and evened up our teams. 

 As I was leaving the gym, it was freezing cold and really dark so I was quickly shuffling through the parking  lot and I tripped on a speed bump.   Trying to save face, I yelled back at the two kids who just watched me almost bite it "hey guys, apparently there is a speed bump here!"   The boy replied… "Yeah… you was just walkin' too fast."

Angels

As I sadly drag myself out of the warmth and peace of my bed, little flashes of light spew out of my blanket.  I can see the static electricity because it is still dark.   My dry static hair reminds me of seaweed when I bring a brush to it.  All the little follicles want to grab on to my brush but not to each other after it's pulled through.  The bathroom floor is cold and clammy.  The skillet on the stove was warm and crackly. (How about that?  I cooked).

Dusting off my car this morning was fluffy and wonderful.  I actually take too long to do it, because I am mostly playing.  Crisp, red-faced memories of childhood flood me.  Huddling around the radio for school closing information.  The dryer crammed with soggy mittens.  Finding the dog in a snow bank. Remembering my dad telling me that this kind of snow is no good for snowmen.  

I warmed up a bit with a white-knuckled tip-toed rear-wheeled drive into work.  Warmed up a lot more after a quick workout at the gym.  I wear my big warm black boots, and cranked the space heater under my desk.   I watched the trees outside my window with their white burdens blowing off of them.  Their post-war frozen arms and legs are victoriously strewn about the street.   I don't always drink cocoa, but I did today. 

I don't wanna miss it, this life. 

Ate some crow over the weekend and it didn't taste too bad.   New Lindsey IS a stud, but not so much at Volleyball anymore, and maybe not as much at speaking in front of peeps as she would hope.  But it's no big deal.

And less vaguely… I read a book this past weekend that agreed with my take on Balance.  That it's a dumb Christian-ese word that is nowhere to be seen in the Bible.  Paul was not a 'Balanced' guy.  He didn't divide his life into a prioritized pie-chart that said:  25% in-chains gospel preaching.  25% receiving beatings, 25% feeding the poor, ….etc.  he was at the beck and call of Jesus.  He just was.  He was salt when he was asked to be --  mundane, common, not the main course, sparse.  He was light when he was asked to be.  Visible, profound, definitive, big, pushing dark away and drawing life to it.   It was nice to hear someone else write it.  That I'm not nuts for thinking Balance is a silly thing.  That sometimes when I work late and get no sleep, and sometimes I sleep late and miss work.  It's, of course not quite that simplistic, but the idea is one that I have been trying to defeat.  That somehow, if you hold your body just right, if you constrain just right, you somehow won't fall off this tightrope and crash into the leering jeering onlookers below.

This weekend I am off to kick start the ski season.  Not to mention a slew of short trips to mop up the rest of my frequent flyer miles.  It will pale in comparison to last year, but only if I let it.   I'm pretty sure mountains are all still awesome.  I'm pretty sure my feet will hurt the same whether I've been skiing the Alps or the Rockies…and I'm pretty sure I'll laugh just as hard since Tami and company will be there to re-hash last year's ski-stories.   I'm pretty sure that I WON'T be eating Diet Coke and Cookies for breakfast.

I pray you are warm.  Or thinking warm thoughts.

(How about that?  I pray. )

Overheard...

Libby just got trained to use the new emergency defibrulator paddles in our office building. 

 

Dave, my favorite crazy co-worker who used to play hockey for the Pittsburg Penguins after getting his degree from MIT, asks her a la Dennis Hopper in Speed: 

 

"Libby, say, for example, I am sitting across from you and I just read that Obama is promising a tax-cut to all the white-honkey's and then I have a heart attack right in front of you, and THEN Jeff Biskup (our company's owner) walks by at the same time and HE has a heart attack; which one of us do you save?  What do you do? What do YOU do? Which one of us do you save?" 

 

"Well, Dave, I guess whoever's chest I don't have to shave."

 

He's Ours Now.

A link to Ms Beth Moore's blog with a wonderful and timely invitation to pray for our newly appointed leader. http://livingproofministries.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-president.html

Comforting to know that our leader is bathed in prayer today as he begins his battles.

His speech was pretty brilliant, and you know, in lieu of answers and anything that resembles an actual plan or a pat answer, this does serve up encouragement and a drive to unite that is inspirational. This was a very well written speech to encourage people, all people, to pull their own weight to make our nation great again.

I know that pretty words wont solve our problems, but lifting people to believe they can solve any problem, is as good a start as any, and may have more impact than any well polished stack of paper ever could.

"If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea."

I am hopeful.
Well done Mister President.

The above picture I think is funny.

Sparty was so proud that she drove the ball so close to mine. I was impressed as well. I can hit it pretty far for a girl and I killed that one. Sparty did too. We decided to pose.

This was back in August or something. The reason I haven't changed out my blog pic is because I LOST MY CAMERA.

The irony here, is that I lost it at a wedding because I was busy explaining how my key-finder worked. "You see here, everyone, this beeps when Jill laughs or when Heather laughs, or when Mariah Carey is on the radio, but never when I am actually whistling for my keys. Look at it! It's hilarious! I'm NEVER going to lose my keys AGAIN. " Yeah. Fist-pump.

Dork.

I'm overwhelmed with cyber words. I want to write more, but it assumes some bit of ego-tism that people care what you have to say.

I have stuff to say. It's only reorganizations of things I have said before....It's percolating.

Wow.

Fontbonne men just played a game where they scored 145 points. 

 

And LOST.

 

145-163.  I think one team made 35 three pointers.

 

?

Do I hear a niner in there?

2008, you were weird.

 

Definitely weird.

 

We had some good times, we lived in a few countries...hurled ourselves down some mountains with good friends, went to beach with others.  Watched some Euro Cup soccer madness, and swam in a lake so clean and cold and blue that fish couldn't survive in it.  Hiked in flower-dappled Italy, watched the sun set late in the day, and sat on rooftops with kindred spirits.  We started biking.  We ate dinner completely in the dark.  We whitewater rafted in water that was a snow cap three hours before, we jumped off rocks, on trampolines, on trains, on buses, on planes. We laughed and we danced as long as our left knee would let us.  We ate a lot of pizza.  We drank a lot of wine.  We texted, emailed, facebooked and even wrote a post card or two. We watched the entire four-season collection of LOST.  We almost started to like coke lite with no ice cubes.  We came home for good and came crashing down. We voted, for what we weren't sure.  We finished the basement and watched it flood again.    We stopped paying for cable.  We realized for the first time that marriage just may not be in the cards...and the sun came up anyway.   We wore a Christmas tree costume more times than we care to admit. We got a new pastor and man, can he sing!  Got a new washer that is going to help save the planet that plays a weird tune when it's finished (washing..not saving the planet).   We started coaching volleyball in the city and love every second of it.   We drank martinis at the zoo and listened to adventures from China, India, Ireland and Belgium.

 

Got our hearts healed and then re-broken, and then healed again.  Got our ass kicked a couple distinct times and it was good.  Reconciliation?  I'm more beautiful with my scars and my hobbit feet.  I realized life is not a list of stuff, or a series of compartments and it is good, even when it's bad.

 

Many more people got married, many more had and even lost babies and I have cried and rejoiced with you all, even if only in cyberspace (lame). Friends got shot. Friends survived.  Friends are surviving. Friends on facebook reached over the 300+ mark, while the friends I actually spend time with dwindled to about four plus a brother who continues to be kick ass.

 

Oh-Nine, what will you bring with you, besides my much anticipated Three-Oh?

 

I almost forgot....I have dishes that match now.  Bring seven people and come over for soup.  We will eat from matching bowls...in Oh Nine.

 

Goodbye Oh Ate.

Second Crisis Mercifully Averted...

The night before last I was picking up my bike from my friendly-neighborhood bike-shop-owner-guy, Dan. He lives pretty close to me and graciously brings my bike to and from his shop so I don't have to drive out there all the time. It was in for minor adjustments and a much needed extra tube and pump. I told him I would finally come and get it from him Monday night. He was going to be away at bible study so I was going to pick it up off the back porch, and drop a check in the mail.

Little did I know I would be doing this mission on the coldest night of the year thus far. It was so cold that I wanted to keep the car running and warm while I was jockeying the bike around. I happened to be listening to a Christian radio program that I landed on and I had it blaring throughout this whole scene. It was about real community and how much it sucks, even though it rocks, and I thought AMEN. Anyway... I didn't have my bike rack, so I was jamming and shoving and cursing the bike into the trunk. A bike is awkward anyway, let alone when your fingers are freezing and there are other bulky things in your car to jockey around. In the middle of the jockey, I decided to close the door to conserve warmth. I could still hear the radio through the trunk, it was pretty loud so I was semi-distracted. I jammed my bike in the trunk in one piece, with the trunk open, since I couldn't get the wheel off. (I have never taken the wheel off before, cold, weak fingers, blah blah blah). I backed gingerly out of the driveway and started to pull down the street as the guy on the radio was talking about Republicans loving Democrats or something.

Whoops. I forgot to pay Dan. Back up down the street...(African tribes claiming to be Christians killing each other?)... I hit something, I think it's curb. I see a neighbor man salting his drive eye me curiously. I decide to stop where I was instead of backing up any further with my trunk blocking my view for it had now swung wide open). I hop out of the car, leave it running and warm, and I close the door. I walk farther than I want to Dan's mailbox and drop the check in. I shivered thinking of the last time I was in Dan's neighborhood. There was a suspected homicide at the Rug World some 100 yards down the street at the exact same time I was poking around his yard in the dark dropping off my bike. I was glad for the glowy twinkle of the Christmas lights and the seeming non-homicidal atmosphere.

I arrive thankfully back at my running car... LOCKED?! What? I HATE this car. I just did this SAME routine not two minutes earlier and my door was not locked when I came back to it. Maybe because I shifted gears? Doesn't matter now. I have almost no gas and my phone, of course, is safely in my purse locked inside. Perfect. Ok so my trunk is still open. Maybe I can kick the back seat down and get in that way. I yank the bike back out of the trunk and stand it up in the street behind the car and I climb in the trunk. I think I was saying things out loud like "NO NO NO" and I may have been trying to kick my seat alternately beating it with the extra long ice scraper squeegee combo that I had back there. I then had a vision of me being slammed into the trunk, by some sick Rug-World-Murderer passer-by, who would leave me to die of some sort of confined-trunk-space-poisoning and ride off to freedom with my newly adjusted (two-wheeled) bike. I promptly climbed out and thought about my next move.

I didn't have much gas or many options. I went to the house where I had seen the salty neighbor man. I knocked on his door planning to call my brother first to see if he could find my spare, all the while praying my spare was not in my purse. A woman tentatively answered the door and I stepped into their cluttered home (here was someone who had a more cluttered place than ME). I dialed my brother who I realize now has a long distance number. Upon attempt number three i get through and ask him to find my key and come get me. He tells me he's frying a chicken breast and that I should call him back in ten minutes. I explain that I cannot "call him back" anymore and he cannot call me either and I tell him to just come and get me. Hopefully he can get back with the key and i can get to a gas station before I have another problem to solve in the freezing cold night. I hang up, not sure how to ask this woman if I can wait for him inside the house as she clearly seems put out that I am standing in her entryway, when MERCIFULLY, Dan comes home. I run out the door as he is walking toward the bike, as he explained later, he was on his way "bust someone up who was stealing Lindsey's bike". HA. I yell at him from across the street. "HEY I locked my keys in the car...it's running." and the first words he uttered were "I love you Lindsey Merrill". Perfect response to not make me cry. I laughed instead and gave him a hug.

Dan then climbs in the trunk, explaining that there usually is some sort of release mechanism inside the trunk in the case that someone would get closed in one. I explained my previous position in that trunk and say I already tried opening the back seat up. Before I could even have a random thought to insert here, he found the switch and was into the back seat!

JOY!

I dove inside the car to call my brother so that his chicken frying would not have to cease. Then, by the time I got off the phone with my bro, Dan had the front wheel off and the bike into the trunk for me. It still wouldn't close completely, but definitely better than last time.

OH So grateful was I.

God and Dan are GOOD.
Crisis, again, averted.

Crisis Mercifully Averted!

Hard Drive... SAVED.

 

They tried one last glimmer of softward hope and figured out the issue. 

 

MEMORIES RESTORED!

 

Now on my list is an EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE. So this does not occur again.

 

Let my near tragedy inspire you and yours to back up yo stuff this holiday season, and always.

 

Cheers!

Unspeakable sadness...

I  lost my hard drive.

Will all of my Pictures on it.  ALL of them.

 

Yes I know.  External hard drive...   I KNOW.

 

Mourning.  Just Mourning this loss.

The blanket finally got done!

Here is a link to a picture of the little guy with it!

 

http://jodified.typepad.com/a_mom_and_her_camera/2008/12/sick-and-tired-of-being-sick-and-tired-.html

Sun

Bright winter sun streams in thru the dirty office window that I sit behind.  It feels warm and hopeful.  It feels like its aging my skin.  But I don’t mind.  With age comes wisdom, and at least then I am not a pasty white engineer type.   Thanksgiving was WONDERFUL.  I have a great family, full of talented and resilient people.  I have their DNA. 

 

Little neon sticky notes pepper my desk and computer screen and I know I should stop typing and get to the equipment list that I need to finish (start?).  But somehow this serene Friday after Thanksgiving is begging me to breathe and reflect and be all sappy.  And to maybe go find a bagel in the kitchen.

 

Hope.  I hope there is a blueberry one left.  I hope I am productive today.  I hope people realize that relationships are never over.  Their roots linger long after we have tried to remove them.  I used to think compartmentalization was necessary and just the way things were…but I am reminded that God only wiped the slate clean once.  After that, he said no matter how grave it gets, I will chase you.  I will woo you back to me.  No matter where you go, what you do, if you are mine and intended for me, I will find you and keep you and redeem you.   No matter how broken your bones are, my breath is sufficient to make them dance again. 

 

When I was a kid I had really bad handwriting.  I was ashamed of it because it was the only thing I couldn’t seem to get good grades in.  It was the source of a dreaded reprimand from my teacher.  My aunts and parents worked with me to correct it.  I would start a paper or an essay or math homework and halfway through I would look at how messy it was and rip it out crumple it up and start over.   My handwriting improved but my method did not.  In math, I did so much of it in my head or in my very unorthodox code, which consisted of maybe writing down every third figure and surely not in neat straight lines.  It made showing my work to teachers feel very much like lifting my dress over my head.  I didn’t understand why they wanted to know how I got there? If the final answer was right…why did it matter how I got there?  I never got there like they did anyway.

 

Into college and after the advent of word processing I would do much the same thing.  I never wanted record of changes, or mistakes, so I would rarely track them.  I would not keep first drafts.  I couldn’t even seem to follow proper procedure in my chemistry lab books, no erasing, white-out or scratching through was allowed.  You had to draw one single line through your error so that everyone could still see it. Then you had to initial it.  As if to say, “I am LEM and this is the color of my underwear on 11/12/08.”  Even as I saw the tracking of these errors as neon signs pointing to the chinks in my armor of perfection, the wise profs saw the value of this process.  They (whoever they were) realized that the process of recording what was done, right down to the mistake, was important to the final product and for looking back over decision making processes.  They also knew that if you go into battle with chink-y armor, that isn’t a good thing.

 

Now (that I am old, wise and sun-damaged) I keep everything.   It’s taken me seven years of hard learning, but I keep all of my chicken scratches that I write on my engineering drawings in three large bank boxes under my desk.  This means I have had to stop doodling and recording unhelpful meeting commentary..i.e. “Wow, Joe Schmuckatelli has excessive ear hair”.  This also means I have to keep the boxes away from the space heater.  I keep a ratty book of my process flow diagrams for work for the duration of the project now.  It becomes so cool.  With all of the different colors of pen, all the notes and data, the layers of thought and dog-eared pages.  I refer back to it constantly, I teach others with it and it saves me so much time.

 

All this nerdy-ness is my way of illustrating that the process is important.  With stuff, but even more with people.  I used to be so much more endpoint oriented, final-polished-product oriented.  I left out the value and the beauty of the process. 

 

Perfect example would be my basketball career.  Not many people can say that they have four national championship rings, I very much can.  But I also know about my shortcomings and things I did during that time that more resembled sausage-making than living a dream-like journey.   That process was overlooked and unimportant to me compared to getting the ring at the end of the year.  The endpoint was praised, but it was so fleeting and empty, I wish I had done the journey part better, especially with respect to relationships with people and with respect to taking care of myself physically, and spiritually.

 

There were no blueberry bagels, but there is still Hope.    

 

 

 

Conversation with Mom...

Rick James, everybody!

Mom: "What are you up to this weekend?"

Murl: "Oh I'm going to this thing at the zoo called Zootini"

Mom: "Zuchini?"

Murl: "No. Zoo-tini"

Mom: "Oh."

Follow up conversation:

Mom: "So how was that thing you went to at the zoo? What was it... 'Zucchini'?"

Murl: "Uh. Still no. It's ... 'Zootini', like 'Martini'...take the word Martini and put a "Zoo" infront of it.

Mom: "Zoo-Martini"

Murl: "No, Mom...."

The Dirty Window

I sit by a window now…so the goings on outside now permeate my bubble… yesterday there were a gaggle of Canada Geese tromping by... from the neck up they bobbed along, cheering me on.  GO BACK TO WORK.

 

Today a woman glided by pushing a cart of sandwiches…like unwrapped ones...where is she going?  What is the lunch occasion? Why wouldn’t you cover them knowing there are geese around?? GET BACK TO WORK.

 

 

Election thoughts by Beth.

Emphasis Mine:

 

A few things I'm so thankful for on this election day, regardless of the outcome:

*We live in a democracy where we have the right to a vote and a voice. We have the God-given responsibility to use both wisely and in the way that best reflects what God conveys through Scripture.

*God "works out everything in conformity with the purpose of His will" and "according to the plan." Ephesians 1:11

*Not only does God work out everything in conformity with His will, He has promised to work out everything for the GOOD of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

*God sets up kings and deposes them and gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning. Daniel 2:21

*We, the beautifully diverse family of God, are never - not at any time - powerless. Nor are we ever victims of a system. Believing prayer takes us through doors we'll never be invited to enter and into judges chambers we'll never grace. Take a look back at Genesis 18 once again with astonishment over the dialogue between God and His servant and friend, Abraham. Rejoice that God is ever mindful of a faithful remnant. The Judge of the Earth will always do right.

*Even if persecution should await believers in Christ or harrowing circumstances hound us, God will use hardship to bring unity and purity to a people who need it desperately. The best of circumstances do not always produce the best in the Bride of Christ.

*The living God is firmly established upon His Throne and there at His holy feet we can always find grace and mercy in our time of need.

*No matter what happens today, we are GOD'S elect. He has elected us to show His heart and to walk in His ways in the culture that surrounds us. We are called to walk in the challenging balance of grace and truth.

May we be filled with Christ's Spirit today and our mouths given to praise and to believing, receiving prayer. God IS faithful and He has us firmly in His hand. We will not fear. We will not doubt. We will not hate.

"Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields him all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders." Deuteronomy 33:12

Like the blooming of flowers....

I was reminded by Singram, that not ONLY is the Daylight savings day approaching, but ALSO during this period of time there is another fall event to be given due consideration. In our office, and I would dare to assume in other offices across this fine land of ours and across the world, the internal clocks of men, much like the migration pattern of birds, make the switch from polo’s or long sleeve button-up shirts to the full-on diamond pattern turquoise blue Cosby sweaters.

That’s right folks.. the “Fall Cosbinox” is quickly approaching.

It’s not on a calendar…it’s written only on the hearts of men.

(Credit for the term ‘Cosbinox’ goes solely to S. Ingram, THE funniest person ever).

Mesquite and Zion

Pics of October

Beauty for Ashes, Strength for Fear, Gladness for Mourning, Peace for Despair.

 

Tradin' in God's store is pretty rad.

 

You know what ELSE is RAD??? The fact that I get my favorite day of the year this year!!!  That's right folks, the most glorious day of the year is upon us and I cannot tell you how antsy I am for my 'extra' hour.  I think I like it more than Christmas.   Which is why last year was such a bummer.  Some of my friends were lucky enough to get it TWICE last year...and I got it ZERO times. 

 

But Jealous Lindsey is gone.

 

So THIS Lindsey super happy that some people got it two times last year and also that I am getting it this year!  Yes m'am.

 

I mean think about it.. a whole extra hour to do whatever it is you want. 

 

GET EXCITED PEOPLE

Aw...

Duster-Buster got out.  :(

He had a great Round 6 and pulled a dramatic 412 out to go to the next round of eight people (made my Mom scream) but then eventually got beat out.  He did great, and his last ball was 390yds which you would think would be enough...but the fourth place in that group was 402!   IN SANE.  Tons of people were hitting up in the 400's.  Dust hit two of those.  Dusty says it's hard to see your number up on the board at 402 only to look over and see that you've been out driven by 20 yds! 

 

So proud of my brother... he did awesome! 

 

And Liz, I got to go to ZION!  I'll post pics soon, lovely! 

dust

update from mesquite...dusty is into round 5. his long ball 405yds...i
want to throw up....

See ya next Fall.

Today I tried to break my legs off at the shins.  I was moving cubicles from my stuffy corner to a new one with a nice big view of a dirty window.  I had the bottom file cabinet drawer open and I turned to quickly in my new surroundings and forgot it was there, somehow wedged both my feet under the drawer, and my upper body kept going, arms windmilling trying to stop that forward momentum.  I, somehow, managed to unwedge my feet from the carpet and sort of handstand tuck and roll over it before I broke any bones.  It was scary, but totally hilarious.  A few things, I think, contributed to this event...

 

A. I had my shoes off because my legs were bothering me from overdoing it at Physical Therapy so i was shuffling around a little like Estelle Getty in a penguin suit all day. I think if I had kept my heels on, I wouldn't have gotten myself wedged under the drawer.   (I have a couple of nice bruises on my shins to match the contact dermatitis I have acquired from doing PT with the latex stretchy bands. It throbs and flashes like a little neon sign on my ankle. Soo preeety.)

 

B.  Brian* my Physical Therapist.  He's tiny has an adorably slight lisp and plays Rugby.  He is super nice, and says he's impressed with my drive and willingness to work hard.  I let that go to my head fairly regularly but then I realize he also works with six-year-olds and sixty-year-olds and people recovering from carpal tunnel from using the TV remote.  Brian also runs marathons and he's a male, so I'm pretty sure he isn't that "imprethed" with me.  I digress.  Basically my pride is the reason I increased the weight when I shouldn't have, I would like to blame Brian, and perhaps I will. Two days ago I could touch my toes (which is HUGE improvement for me) and today I can't straighten my leg even if i'm standing straight up.  I have toxic hamstrings and I have been muttering "Oil Can" all day.  It's a such a strange, deep, chemical soreness that I can't accurately describe how painfully annoying it's been and how slowly I am moving. (Wait! No I did, Estelle Getty, penguin suit...but maybe she is also on acid).

 

C.  Coworkers seem to think this final factor played the biggest role in the 'near miss'.   I was at the office at 6am today.  Scratch that, TEN TIL 6am. Today. In the MORNING. yeah.. ME.  Talking to India on a conference call. I don't even like talking to America before noon.  By the afternoon I was almost delirious from being awake so early and was sneezing from inhaling the dust I'd generated from the office move. 

 

All of these together are why I decided to leave work at 3 and sleep for two hours.  I need this upcoming Vegas vacay.  

 

* Does anyone else always type "BRAIN" first when trying to spell '"BRIAN"??

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of Note

My brother fixed my toilet leak!  That is happy.

Gas prices are down.

I finally found dried strawberries after years of searching.  (NOT the freeze dried kind)

Brian, my Physical Therapist is killing me in a good way.

Had a meeting where the fearless leader of our company stated “Ain’t that as weird as a bag of chips?”

 

I just work here.

 

 

 

Hard not to laugh...

http://www.dailyjournalonline.com/articles/2008/09/26/news/doc48dcf8e01df03071741736.txt

 

My uncle is unharmed, but is joining me in physical therapy! 

 

Aunt Norma is such a trip and is NO WHERE near senile and too old to drive! This article has no idea how old she is!  It just says the man was 75.  Norma is sharp as a tack and this was simply the kind of mistake that runs (over) in my family.  We just do stuff like this.

 

 

 

 

I Am Legend

Fodder.

A few nights ago I read the manual to the new washing machine. In English AND Spanish.
 
This morning I turned the lights on in my Office building for the first time in my now SEVEN count 'am SEVEN year stint at "whatever it is that I do".   (Reading between the lines it means I was the first person at the office... that has never happened before...I have many times been the last...but never the first....). 
 
I sat in a Walgreens parking lot between PT and Volleyball tonight reading a magazing and listening to random magic sermon CD's that were given to me by God because we could not determine from whence they came.. only I'm sure they missed their intended recipient because these CD's were on husbands and wives submitting and stuff.  Return to sender.
 
The shoulder and knee do not feel better.  Elbow and back feel worse.  Is this worth a 25 dollar copay every time??  I do not know yet.
 
I don't have cable...good.
I am stealing wireless...bad.
 
It's going away.  It has to.
 
It's a good life.  I think there is purpose, even here.
 

I thought these pictures were so precious I had to post them. Taken inmpromtu on our office's winery trip to Hermann, MO. (Never been...it's beautiful)

This is Jim and Gail. A-dorable.

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.