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.

 

 

On Gardening

Some one asked "Are you who you are on your blog or are you who you are right now sitting in front of me sad and low?"  The answer is Yes.  I also told her that I was due for a big laundry-airing blog soon and that I was unsure of how to unravel all of the tangled kite strings in order to be coherent, encouraging and real.  I was a bit "blogstipated". 

 
I am not always idealist pie in the sky, or head in the cynical gutter of real-ism.  I am sometimes potato on the couch... or yuppie in the park.  A Dork on the dance floor or a Lonely girl under heavy blanket.   I am always a Work In Progress.  I don't want to be.  I want to be done progressing so I can just chill out.  So that the angry little anxiety monkeys that seem to take up residence on my trapezius muscles will get vertigo from being up there so high that they will jump over to some shorter person.

Cheesy spiritual analogy of the month:  I am this garden hose.  All my life I have been dreaming about and prepping for watering this one very specific type of plant.  This plant is quite rare and no where to be found.  Afraid that my well of water will dry up if I water anything else in the meantime has made me choke off the flow to the other thirsty plants.  I look at their brown and dry leaves and say "What?  Don't look at me!  I don't' have any water...God is going to water you.  What?  Oh this?  This kinked hose? You see this water, MY water, is waiting for something else.  I can't spare a drop.  As I wait for this plant, search for this plant, attempt to plant this plant myself... the water stagnates and grows moldy things.  

Grrr... brownness, dryness, crackly-ness,  is all I see...maybe I should just water the stuff around me.  If the vegetation that grows up chokes out space for this plant I'm waiting to water.. then so be it.  I'll still have a really awesome garden and the water that once bred mosquitoes will flow and be used.  Because maybe that one plant doesn't exist anyway.  Maybe I'd rather have a garden of randomness. 

Maybe, just maybe, that water wont dry up.

I noticed that on another blog she consistently ends it with things she loves.  I think that is grand.  The cynic in me wonders if it's so she doesn't jump off a roof everyday.  I can relate to the need to list my "happies" so that the monkeys don't choke me, mash my heart down to an unrecognizable pulp and then tap dance on my head. I have decided I shall do that more often to bust up the parties they have. 

So here a bit randomly, is another sort of list. 

Deb...I still think about you and Noah... a lot.
Steve.. I still think about you getting shot.  It wigs me out.
D.. I still think about your mom.
Beth.. I still think about your brother.
A&M…I still pray for you.
A…I am praying like MAD for you.
Marc…I am happily jealous of you and live vicariously through you. Although that word isn't going to fit on the board.
G-ma Murl… You are gonna bounce.
Blazer...I think about your past few months.
Liz.. You just rock my socks off like always and I'm so proud of you like always.
Jodie...How you do what you do and make what you make in the time that you make it... is anyone's guess. I'm inspired and terrified that my kids, if they ever shall exist, will know nothing other than chicken nuggets until they are off to college and have only the photo they came home from the hospital with to show for their upbringing.

Babies of St. Louis.  I don't know all of your names, but I somehow want you all to know that I am your Crazy Aunt Lindsey even if you have never seen me or if I wasn't around to give you an appropriate shower gift or hand knit you booties.

In my post-speech analysis. I did not mention Barack Obama's name in the previous paragraphs.  I must want to run for president in 2012.  I DID however use the pronoun "I" several times.  So… that must mean that I think somewhere deep in my heart of hearts... that I just didn't want to type my name out again. 

Cruz it's really not about "me".  ;)

Words

Scrabulous is Fabulous.

 

Ch-ch-changes. Hello Zack, Goodbye Phil, Hello Ryan. Goodbye House Group (?) Hello Isaiah.

 

Did anyone else notice the olympic closing ceremony dudes were wearing Bike helmets?  Of all the dough they spent on that thing, you'd think their hats would get a little more creative than that...  They were the same color as the toe-nail polish of the indifferent woman in the chair next to me at Le Nails.  (Like... Metallic Gold, Red, Black and Metallic Silver cross-hatchies).

 

The chain is glowin'

 

Lafayette and 9th is hard to find.

 

GO USA VOLLEYBALL.  Men, Women, Indoor and Sand, I love it all.  Woo hoo. 

Overheard: "I think the men's team are all really ugly.." 

"I don't care, if you can hit a volleyball like that I would marry any one of them, even the libero, in a second" 

"What about that guy with the breathe right strip for Brazil?" 

"Are you kidding me?  He's Brazilian?  It wouldn't matter if he didn't know what a volleyball was..."

 

Dumb Things I said this weekend:

 

"So Anne, do you ever watch the Closing Ceremonies?"

"I always thought Dred-Locks just appeared." Courtney saved me by saying "When I was little, I thought that some people were just born with bangs and some weren't".

 

Dumb Things I did this weekend:

 

Drove the wrong way to the wrong Llywelyns.  After paying 4 bucks to park, drove the wrong way to the right Llywellyns. 

Drove the not fast way downtown and then drove around Lacledes Landing for 40 minutes getting too ambitious for the 'perfect' parking place.   

Drove the wrong way to get to Deanas house for lunch. 

Drove the route to work on my bike with hot water in my bottle.

 

Apparantly, getting a Lincoln makes you drive like like a crazy person.

 

I'm having an open house party.  For me.  For being back in the country and for my birthday in September.  Come one, come all.  Millions of babies will be welcome. I'm saying this now so I attempt to get my house in proper order for such an event.

 

Noah

Little Noah passed away yesterday.  Today would have been his first birthday.

 

http://thelauers03.blogspot.com/2008/08/364-days.html

Cleaning

Thus, when my heart opened up so very big, and gulped some fresh air.. some emptiness followed... as it often does when you stop running from yourself so hard.  So I'm sitting here now, in a little bit of expectancy, hope and above all, oddly enough some peace. 

 

Just peace.

 

It's quiet, it's full, it's pregnant, it's as if I've made room for something in my soul by taking out some garbage. 

 

It's like an empty apartment waiting to be furnished... yeah that's it.

 

The crap out on the curb is rather rotten and... as I see now, not inconsequential.

 

And I bought a Lincoln.  So I'm also a pimp.  A lonely pimp.

I like this guy...

You should check him out too.

 

http://johnshoreland.com/

Isaiah 43

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and the waves will not overcome you. Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name you are mine. For I am the Lord your God. I am the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I am the Lord. Do not fear.

When you walk through the fire, you'll not be burned. And the flames will not consume you. Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name you are mine. For I am the Lord your God. I am the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I am the Lord. Do not fear.

The Shack.

Hello Friends.

It has been a long while; a long while since I've felt like myself. I have some major de-compressing to do, some culture shock to get over still, but double the friends in facebook to remember my time in Switzerland by. (Aside: There it is again.. ending sentences with prepositions... can't that little rule go by the way of wearing white after Labor Day? I just can't seem to avoid it...)

I just finished a sort of "ordained" sickness. I felt like junk on Sunday when I went to church and felt even junkier on Monday morning. I didn't go into work and I was pretty much out like the losing end of a prize fight until 3pm that day and didn't feel much better Tuesday morning. But while I was lying there comatose, I did get some quality reading in. It was work to prop up my head, which weighed exactly eight-hundred pounds according to my sore neck, but once I got it positioned, I spent some sweet time with God and read The Shack.

He reminded me that he invented laughter. He reminded me that he cares for sick kids, and for broken men, and for the ugliest of sinners. He reminded me that he likes Over The Rhine and the soundtrack to Juno too.

He remined me that life with Him is not a dry mouthful of saltine crackers with no milk to be found. He told me tenderly that life with Him is beauty, honey, light, and song. It's decadence in food and drink. In meatloaf and chocolate chip cookies, and fresh baked bread and canoes and blue workshirts and tool belts and cars. He is in every single good created thing. He's in it all. And he likes it. Really. He listens to angry music and angry souls and loves them in return.

He's not grandpa. Judging. Hating, Rueing the day you were born. Still pissed at you for nailing his boy to the Cross. Nope. Not even close. Life with him is not dictated by your last mistake.

He's smiling, hoping, waiting for you to walk up to the Gate so he can bear hug you, make you collard greens, show you more of Himself, teach you more things, and laugh with you.

Not sure why I can't grasp this very well. I want rules to follow because I can do the rules. I am pretty good at the rules. (Well kinda..) I want to know that I am going to be ok. And I think that I am. It will be ok. In this life, maybe not, but I'll never be alone, and in the next life, I will be playing in waterfalls and walking on water with Jesus.

He isn't the author of disaster and evil. He will bring good out of it anyway, but he doesn't purpose it or punish us with it. Man, why is that so hard for me to wrap my thick head around? Why do I re-learn this every freaking time? I'm really not doing this justice here in my petty amateur ramblings, you need to just read this book and see what you think. It's fresh water on your soul. Any person feeling like God has given them the short end, needs to pick this up and read it.

Also, my streak of running away is over. I am done with religion, done with guilt, done with anything that is not in line with the Truth of who God is. I do not want people looking at me to see some one beating herself (and others) up with a shower rod. That isn't who God is. It's not who I want them to see in me.

Hallelujah.

I'm single again, by the way. Hard stuff, but it is the right answer right now.

I'm at more peace than I have been for well over a year.

It's good to be home.