Monkeys, Toes, Pies, Garbage and... oh just read it.

Prolly should be in bullets, these thoughts:

Three weeks, i think, that is the longest we, the residents of 209 Newport Ave, can go without putting the garbage on the curb.

Two bunny rabbits have been wishing me well on my way out the door this past week. I feel like Snow White.

I cant tell you when i have been more at peace. I am not even waiting for the dropping of the other shoe. This doesn't mean I have any more knowledge of the future, I just have more trust in the goodness of the Designer.

I wonder if there are people who actually make their beds everyday. I wonder what their problem is anyway.

Exactly half of me is sick of the interior of my home. I want to have someone come in and make it "cool" and inviting and artsy and stuff. I want to make people feel welcome, but maybe not as cool as me and my space. The other half of me wants to tell people that my hand me down stuff is "cool' as it is, because I have purchased none of it, and it kinda goes together, even if it's old and every bit of it has a story. Very few things have I purchased. The art work of my friends and family are the stories hanging on the walls. The dining room table I have was my parent's and I have eaten around it since I was a baby. Sara from college left me the awesome retro chairs. I wonder, though, which half is better, the half that cares about the stuff being polished and new, or about the stuff being meaningful and important...maybe it's just stuff still and I shouldn't really care what people think of it and my stories. Maybe I'll just paint. That may help.

The same halves of me are warring on whether or not to care about the digital TV revolution. I admit I have looked at sexy flat screen TV's. But I also admit since I stopped paying for cable, I like me more, I compare me and my life less, I have more time and I watch shows that I like intentionally with people, or I watch them online if I want to, and I haven't missed a thing. I rent DVD's more and I read more books now. If I lived alone, this is the way it would stay, as the money, to me, is not justifiable. Dusty likes watching sports though...and he may win.

So it's no secret to those who know me that I have been creeping around like an old lady these days because of this drug i am taking that is shredding my joints. I am almost done with the drug and the entire left side of my face is completely zit-free for the first time since I was probably ten years old. I have felt my skin for the first time.

John came to visit and we made pies.

My book, I think will be a women bashing book. The sole purpose of Christianity and the Church is not so that women and children feel safe and secure all the time. That is a promise that we were never made. I'm baking this idea more...

Blue toenail polish has been my signature color for awhile now. Dusty says it looks like I kicked a smurf. But apparently its the "in" color right now. I think I should be getting some royalties for this trendsetting. Don't you?

My new fave quote. From Wild at Heart: "Let people feel the weight of who you are, and let them deal with it." I tend toward sparing people the madness that is me. I should give them more credit and the privilege of knowing the weight of me. I'm still baking this too...

And just because I'm sure there is SOMEONE out there that I haven't shown these to yet, this is my army of Monkey cupcakes that I made for a friends baby shower. She went and messed up the shower by having the baby three weeks early on that day...but i guess we will forgive her.

(My favorite are the bottom three See No Evil...Hear No Evil....Speak No Evil.) And she said I wasn't domestic...

By far the best idea to rattle in my melon lately is one that is coming at me from a few different sources, but one recently this morning. The mental ascent to Christianity is not enough. Knowledge about Jesus is no more a relationship with him than, say, stalking some love interest...even the most diligent stalkers are still on the other side of the glass. Coming in thru the door, requires courage and less of a brain that you would think. Good news for the masses of un-intellectuals. Good news indeed.

Stolen Posts

The hamburger bell story: http://web.me.com/stacying/StacyIngram/Blog/Entries/2009/5/3_Hamburger_Bell.html

The randomly seeing Kara at BW3's story: http://blacksheeped.com/2009/05/19/visit-2/

Two 'hook blades' and a bummer.

Today I pity those who wont be born until tomorrow and those who died yesterday.

It was the most Beautiful of days. I let Fred and Marsha serenade me with "O' Happy Day' on my car CD player. I started running around doing errands and then decided against wasting this blue crispy sunny day inside my car.

I put my my legs in cutoff jeans, my hands in some dirt, and pulled weeds. Then I put my back in a hammock, and my nose in a book. I hosed some windows off, and borrowed the neighbors weed whacker instead of fixing my own (it's what neighbors do, right?) I broke theirs more and returned it. That IS what neighbors do. It was a good day.

Friday night was much different weather-wise, yet it still left me with such an impression. Maybe it was the great dinner company and my family's laughter. Maybe it was the sigh at the end of a long week, but I suspect it was something more.

I drove home from dinner through a field, just past nighfall, where the roads have no lines and no shoulders. The lighting flashed silently in the distance on either side of me. Thunder rolled in many seconds later. The fields were waving and dancing in renowned anticipation. But I don't believe a drop of rain fell. The whole air was filled with electricity as I slipped the window down and breathed deeply. The sweet smell of rain and the assault on my other senses made me giddy. Something about the dark burgundy brown color of the sky and the sweetness made me think of Dr. Pepper. The "random" cd I just burned from my music library clicked to my favorite classical music song (Sursum Corda by Elgar) I turned it up. I was at the symphony and before I knew it, my eyes filled up with girly tears and I'm singing to a song with no words on streets with no names. Funny how the song had no words, yet I knew how to sing it, and the strees had no names and I knew exactly where to go. Sometimes it's like this.

Sometimes people set off fireworks outside my bedroom window at 1:00am on a Tuesday. Sometimes it's like that.

Round One

Last Friday something they are classifying as a 'derecho' ripped through my hometown. My parents are fine and infact my dad's insurance office with the State Farm catastrophe team is shown below. Everyone is a little nervous about what is about to come through tonight.

Sub-Waaaaaaah.

FW: Lost Costume

Lindsey,

I need your help.

I have a LOST finale part to go to on Friday night back in Champaign, but… I need a good creative costume idea. Last year I went as Juliette (see attached)…..but this year has to top that.

Any ideas??

--Stacy :)

From: Lindsey Merrill
Sent: Monday, May 11, 2009 10:26 PM
To: Stacy Ingram
Subject: RE: Lost Costume

When I saw this subject line, I thought it was a search for a missing costume.

You could go as any of the below (stream of conscious brainstorms by yours truly)

The Hot Pocket.

Someone with a lei.

If you had a cool white wig you could be Eloise, you could carry a metronome and a rifle.

Has anyone tried being the smoke monster?

Miles (you have to carry a baby that is also named Miles).

Young Ben, wearing John Lennon glasses and carrying sandwiches.

(Hmm I'm noticing a lack of good funny female characters).

Charlotte with a fake bloody nose. Red wig, awful accent. (ooh I like this).

You could go as a half-Kate, half-Juliette like those half-man half-woman people in Vegas… on your Juliette side of your face you would have to wear half a set of wax lips that don't move when you talk. In fact, I think the whole Juliette side of your face would have to be a mask. The kate side, of course, has freckles.

A hydrogen bomb.

You could also go as the two Sayids, the half a straight-haired version, half-geri-curl version. Ew. Don't do that. Unless you happen to have a habitat for humanity yellow shirt lying around.

Faraday's bedridden girlfriend.

And of course I'm going to blog this exchange.

Linz

Convo with Mom.

My parents just went thru a tornado down in Fredericktown.  Before I call out the humor, I must say that they are totally fine.

 

Some really high winds knocked over a ton of trees in my parent's densely wooded sub-division.  Trees are crisscrossing the roads so that people (my dad included cannot get to their homes).  Dad parks his truck as far in as he can get and proceeds to hike to the house.  It took him 30 minutes to hike this distance.  The combo of wind and trees falling made it a little dicey. 

 

I called my mom and got the scoop.  I would be a little bit excited to see how i would fare without certain creature comforts.  She was not as excited about two weeks without electricity and hunting rabbit. 

 

"Lindsey, we can't hunt rabbits... we have no OVEN and no FREEZER!"

 

Oh.  Ok.

 

"Well, I knew the electricity was supposed to go out so I filled the bathtub up with water so we would have water to flush the toilets, but I forgot to fill yours and Dusty's up too..

"Gosh Mom, there is no room for mistakes like that.  There is probably NO where to go to the bathroom outside, what with all the trees gone and stuff!"

"I also took a shower this morning since I knew I may not get to take one in a long time, but I am ALREADY sweaty!"

"Hmmm"

"All we have is two bottles of water and some green tea, and no food.  We just have the water in the bathtubs and the gas in the car to charge the phones by!"

"Mom I will bring you some food."

"I don't think you can get in, I think the cars on the highway (into the subdivision) are backed up.. heck all the way to Farmington..(18 miles)."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't.  Well the girls in the office in town have been telling us things.  They are calling in the National Guard."

"Do you want to come stay with me?"

"I don't know yet, give us a day to figure things out.  Some Mothers day for ME!"

"Hah, oh by the way.. the present I bought you on Amazon didn't come in on time.  I gave the wrong credit card number."

"Oh."

"Sorry to add insult to injury.  I even had it express shipped and it just never came".

"Don't worry about it, I haven't gotten my mom anything either.  It's yet to be determined."

"I don't know what that means."

"I don't want to waste anymore battery"

"Ok Mom, let me know if you need anything."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Check out my Brother!!

http://www.adamsgolf.com/tour/lda.php#

(Go to the left and click Dustin Merrill... he's not Rock Hicks. However, Rock Hicks, in person...totally looks like Taylor Hicks, the american idol lounge singer guy from a few seasons ago. Fun fact for ya.)

test.

Love

She had a horrible car accident and broke both of her arms.  He took care of her. He combed her hair.  He flossed her teeth.  

 

His wife was sentenced to life in prison after killing a young boy due to her personality disorder.  He drove two hours two ways everyday until she died to see her.

 

She had her whole enitre arm and side eaten by flesh eating bacteria.  He stayed.

 

She is getting the lawn seats for him.  She hasn't heard of the band.

 

He made her patio furniture, by hand.

 

He has cancer.  He still praises God, in every way, shape and form.  They love intentionally, and more unselfishly that I have ever seen.

 

He married a prostitute because he loved her.  She left him again and again.  He still loves her, still chased her to the Valley of Trouble and there it becomes the Door of Hope.

 

He took away the idols.  He pulled back the curtain to show that there are only illusions.  He graciously smashed idols that rob us.   He woos us back from desolate places.

 

I am just beginning to understand.  I have known.  But now I see.

 

He did the dishes last night.  They were all mine.

The Starlings

This past weekend the volleyball team I have been helping out with had their first actual game!  I think it was actually the first game-like situation, as well.  (See pics below).

 

Which meant the goals that Brielle and I had for them were as follows:

1. Have at least six girls show up.

2. Do not get Bageled.

3. Do not require police involvement for diciplinary issues.

 

The Starlings are nation wide club team for girls of all socioeconomic backgrounds.  In our case that means that we practice at the middle school that the girls attend right after their school gets out because they have no way to get to practice otherwise.  Some of our girls parents are pretty unreliable and a few others have parents in prison.  We spend much more time at practice herding cats than teaching volleyball.

 

But I am absolutely crazy about them. 

 

Did they meet our goals?

1. We had seven girls the first day, six on the second. CHECK! 

2. We did NOT get Bageled.  In face one game the second day we scored 16 points!!  UNREAL.

3. We did not have to call the police.

 

So anything after that was total bonus.  Some of the highlights:

1. Watching them light up when we handed out the uniforms and jackets.

2. Watching them change from watching the other teams with fear to intently trying to learn from them.

3. Other parents offering to buy one of our players a pair of tennis shoes.  (I told them not to worry, she had shoes, she just FORGOT them )

4. Other people in the gym, other teams started cheering for us, encouraging us.

5. Every coach we played with asked us about our team and their story.

6. The second day EVERY girl showed up on time, ready to go.  Wearing actual tennis shoes.

7. Did I mention SIXTEEN points?

8. The girls wanted to practice after the game was over.  So we did.

9. In our pre-game warm up they all started spiking the balls... like really well!

10. The gracious officials who helped our girls learn how to referee and line judge.

11. The girls getting together to make up the COOLEST Starlings cheer.  Of course it was the coolest. "S-T-A-R-L-I-N-G-S We are the Starlings and we are the Best" Complete with cool little dance moves.

12. The put three hits on the ball once!  Amazing feat.

13. All the HILARIOUS stuff they said. "Oh my Goodness!  The Mac Donalds play place is my favorite place on earth.. Y'all don't even understand!"

14. Marshay, who for the first four practices wouldn't take off her hoodie, kept it zipped up to the top, got three serves in a row in bounds and was the captain first.

15.  And perhaps the most treasured bonus... The feeling that I felt for these girls, who are so clearly, outwardly, wordly, behind all the other teams in so many ways.  The feeling that reminded me of how God must see people.  He must see the whole story all the time, not just what shows up at gametime.  He sees the back story, the heart, the character of people when the world just sees screw-ups and faults. He sees the situation they came from, the tools they were given and the courage that it takes to just show up.  Brielle said she had more fun coaching this team than any other first ranked team she has ever coached.  They are difficult, frustrating, defiant, mouthy, infuriating, and currently can't play volleyball to save their lives, and I am crazy about them.

 

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!