This is Neil.

I am behind in blogging. I have two funny stories to relay. They are a bit out of date, but still worth sharing.


One I alluded to on Facebook recently. My grandpa, Grandpa Neil.

Is. A. Character.

This is the grandpa who was the former Prison Guard, Pump-Guy, Miner, Driller, Dump Truck Excavator, fisher, dancer and joke teller extraordinaire. He once got hit by a train in his Dump Truck and kicked the windsheild out to rolled to freedom. (Even though he knew the diesel fuel wasn't going to explode). That was a weird day coming home from school. "Lindsey, your Grandpa has been hit by a train, but he's ok." He's had his share of ups and downs in life and when he's down he's DOWN, but when he's up...


When he's up he calls my cell phone for a phone conversation for maybe the first time in my entire life. Calls to talk to me. Just me. He's like 72 or something. I didn't recognize the number and I was at work, so I answer "This is Lindsey."

"Well, This is Neil." (He's funny . He has good delivery. It's where I get it.)


The highlights of our awesome conversation:

1. He mentioned that he had just used the gift card that I gave him and my grandmother for Christmas. I took special care to make sure the restaurant was indeed in Brownsville, TX where they spend the winter. He thanked me sweetly but got to other business.

2. He informed me that he had a question for me. Me? He continued "Tell me why, when you go to Wal-Marts, and you buy Anti-Freeze with a 50% Anti-Freeze, 50% Water mixture, it's got a lower freeze rating than a 100% solution of Anti-Freeze? There is a buddy of mine, a mechanic I know down here who works on diesel engines. He says it's true, and if he says it's true, I believe him. I told him, I said 'I have no idea why that would be the case...but I know someone who does'."

I reply. "Oh, at first glance, that does sound a bit backwards. What were the temperatures ratings we are talking about?"

"Oh the 50/50 is like -34 Fahrenheit, and the 100% was some other number, but it was in that other thing "C"... "I don't know what that stands for... "

"Celcius."

"No... Centimeters"

"I think it's Celsius."

"Yeah. Celcius. Something warmer in Celsius."

So? My hypothesis was that the pure mix must have a higher viscosity, (it's thicker) and therefore will lock up a radiator sooner. The water thins it out enough to work at lower temps. He seemed more than satisfied with that answer and beamed that his techincal savvy, much like his dancing ability, had indeed been passed down, even though it skipped my dad. (Dad's words not mine).

3. Then he asked if I was 'leaving' him. I told him that was a funny question to ask as he calls me from almost Mexico. He had heard about my pending relocation to Oregon. He's excited about Oregon. He loves to fish.

4. He told me to tell my boyfriend John that he should go down to Texas for spring break before I move out there. I'm not sure exactly what he meant by that. I convinced myself to not be creeped out and I laughed. He and my grandmother were a little bit overwhelmed by the college spring break crowd. Grandpa Neil is excited about John because John sells air-compressors and pumps and stuff for a company that Grandpa used to work for way back in the day.


5. Then Grandpa asked me about my brothers love life. This just got movie quality epic. How's what, Grandpa? You'll have to ask him.

Yeah Bears

It's that time again.

The Wash U bears are in the Final Four AGAIN.

They hosted sectionals this year so the alumni gang was in full effect, and feeling OLDER than ever.

A couple of sweet little fans we had back when I played were fifth graders at the time. They have now graduated from college and are older than the team that is currently playing.

Yarp.

In any case, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Another Bear team...a new all-time rebound leader. The old iconic rebound leader, Alia Fisher Keys, was sitting in the stands with her TWO kids...

And there are girls who I never played with, who have now graduated and are old enough that THEY haven't played with anyone on the current team either. But we all sit together in the stands and are idiots together. Members of the same sorority for life. 12+ generations deep.

Yeah I cried when they cut the nets down. Again.

Good luck next weekend, Bears. Bring home another one.

Just because I'm about to slip into anonymity...

I have watched this developing news with a curiousity. Will they mention us?

They haven't. It's like it doesn't exist. It's not even an asterisk.

The current University of Connecticut womens basketball team has now won 71 games in a row.

They are media darlings and, of course, division I atheletes. But seriously... "making history"?

That's a bit much. Considering...

My team won 81.

In a row.

That's all I'm sayin'. And the "record" before that... in all of womens basketball was 61. I think that was a Div. 2 team maybe..

I'll grow up and let it go. It hardly matters in day to day life now. Much like my embarassing spelling bee loss in seventh grade. Or the amazing time I met an old man in the airport named "Merrill Lindsey". But at least acknowledge the current record holder for at least 10 more games until it's not ours anymore.

Records are made to be broken. I hope they do break it. It's great for the game. I hope they surpass John Wooden's men's record of 88 games in a row.

But for ten more games...

Check out the asterisk.

Milestone

Last whenever...I think it was Octoberish. I decided I was gonna lose some weight. Encrouaged by a Ms. Peggy Hope who I heard speak about this, I resigned to count calories and exercise more. And to let myself fail as many times as I needed.

I am thrilled to report that as of yesterday I weighed in under 180 pounds for the first time since maybe before high school. (I'm 6'2" this is ok...)

To be specific, I was 179 right when I got back from working out last night, and after I took a bath, I was 178 when I got out of the tub. To which my brother replied "Did you poop in the tub?"

No. I didn't.

Yay. These are good numbers for me and I'm excited. Wanted to tell the world that I have now lost 23 pounds and four dress sizes.

(You probably haven't noticed because I'm tall and I distribute poundage better than say a 5'2" person... but really, you probably haven't noticed because you haven't seen me in months. I am now a nocturnal-underground creature who now only works at my job and works on selling her house and comes up for air and to squint my white glossy mole-type eyes into the sun and say "I used to be fun, really").

And hopefully, since I just bragged to the whole world wide web, the fates wont intervene and I won't gain it all back in a fit of chocolate-covered quesadillas and sleeping.

Oh, Just Swimmingly.

I have been meaning to blog for awhile now. I'll have to thank Dusty for usurping my shower tonight so I am sitting here thinking about my new years resolutions.

Update on quiet times:

I have only carved out intentional time for the Creator Of The Universe about twice since the new year, BUT the intent is still on. I'm still going to make it a priority. It NEEDS to be a priority... see exhibits A thru C:

Update on listening more and interrupting people less:

I still interrupt incessantly. I feel worse about it now though. Oftentimes I tell people (I interrupt them) to tell them that I am sorry for interrupting them. This doesn't seem to be quite getting the spirit of the thing... but I am not giving up.

I'm actively trying to listen better, I can tell that I am improving a little. For example, my brother (who is and always has been very into shows about nerd stuff: geology of the earth, string theory, pandas,) was just telling me that there are these tribes of monkeys that live in secluded caves in Africa have learned to hold their breath for inordinate amounts of time and have learned to swim. I had to stop him and tell him that I was not listening. Honesty...that is progress right? I definitely told him again when he started telling me about bears that I was not listening. If I'm not looking at you I'm probably not totally focused. But I'll be more likely to tell you I am not focused. It's a pathetic start, but a start nonetheless.

Update on another thing I am not sure I called out as a resolution before, not being a total harsh bitch to the people I love the most:

Utter failure. Still doing that. In a most self-righteous style too. Apparently, still when I am my most hormonal, I am my most awful, my most "Pink" in that song "Please don't leave me". I have been saying for awhile that God knew that I would need lessons in not being harsh, so he has put some extremely sensitive people in my life to help me select my words better, but maybe they are just normal people and I am abnormally harsh, and he put the most graceful people in my life to love me anyway.

I have probably just figured out that I spent some formative years (and some latter years) in some fairly high-stress situations where I wasn't really given the opportunity to have any emotional responses to anything said to me. "For a group of people to work effectively, there has to be rules, those rules have to be followed." Right? Wrong. Corporately speaking, yes I agree still with that philosophy. On an individual level, though, especially around my own short comings, NO one was EVER harsh with me. I'm left with no plausible excuse. Even if I speak to the world the way I legitimately hear it speaking to me first, that isn't right either. So to you (you ALL know who you are, or were...yes you.) I am sorry. In the "Speak the Truth in Love" equation... I usually lack at least one at all times. Can we "Chat the Truth in Love?" Not very well.

So this do-er of the Word thing isn't going so well yet. I shall try again.

Ode to the "O's". Hello to the tens.

For those of you waiting in breathless anticipation for my summary blog, yes both of you.

Your wait is over.

I have many things to say about '09, as well as the '00's as a decade. Yesterday (12/30), perhaps not mysteriously, I was feeling quite under the weather and unwilling to venture out into the weather, so i stayed in for the day. Something about snow makes me reflective. Not just because the sun streaming off the snow into your eyes can burn holes in your retinas. It always slows me down. It reminds me of being a kid and being awed that such teeny tiny little insignificant flakes that can't be caught in a warm little hand before melting, can band together to bury a barbecue grill, close school for a week, or run an eighteen wheeler off the road.

It coats and quiets me and muffles other sounds.

Like Pepto-Bismol you could say.

I rested. I worked for most of the day and then I started getting a little bit more antsy, so I attacked my house which has just needed attack for so long. I didn't travel as much in "oh niner" as i did in "oh ate" but I still did quite a bit. When I travel so much I often only have a short week or even a weekend to re-group before running back into the airport again, or into the office again. It makes things like "Dry Cleaning" and "Regular Maintenance" or "Gardening" simply funny words to say. So now that travel is ceasing for a least a few weeks, and holidays are mostly over, I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed a few bins from the basement. A few rubber-maid time-capsules, if you will.

As messy as I typically am, I love organization and getting un-messy. Evidenced by my bins of many colors, some labeled. (Some labels still match!) I have a box that used to be my desk that I organized once in the recent past. I am re-organizing it again due to an amazing new acquisition to my home this year. Ashley, the roommate extraordinaire. She is one of the most beautiful and thoughtful people I have ever met. Striking in her simplicity and grace, she strings together words that make me laugh so hard. She doesn't care that I had multiple Christmas trees sitting in the dining room undecorated since October. I moved them out of the spare room in order to make room for her arrival, but I never decorated them for Christmas. I realized two days ago that they totally had lights already on them from last year (which is why they were in the spare room to begin with) and I didn't even bother to plug them in. But I digress. Ashley is here..and she rocks... that's the point.

In one of the bins there were rolls of undeveloped film and a random hello kitty camera that Caroline Wacker gave me when I moved into my house four years ago. I got those developed...an WOW. Time has flown.

There were more old photos.. doubles of pictures I have already put in albums elsewhere, or pictures that were stuck together with some unidentified goo. They reminded me that:

I spent another whirlwind jaunt across the pond to Mama Ireland. I got to fly first class once and I'll never forget it. I traded a steamy St. Louis summer for a mild and rainy Irish one. I played 19 holes of golf in it's mother country and drank my first and last pint of Guinness. Perfected my Australian accent and took notes from the Dublin cabbies whose grasp of the language just slayed me. Do not be jealous. It was rainy. It was depressing in parts, lonely in others. I figured out that it's all a gift. All of it.

Marc the scrabble-feisty German Lion came for a quick visit. Took him to his first baseball game ever, where Albert hit a grand-slam. He thought that was normal. I stuffed him full of Cheeseburgers, Ted Drewe's and Budweiser and sent him on his bloated way. He told me to sit still. I responded by traveling to Ireland, as mentioned above. I do not follow directions well.

I spent some time in beautiful Portland Oregon with my long-distance crush. Rode on the back of a motorcycle branded 'Victory for 200 miles. (What a name!) Through the lush and fruity landscape of Oregon wine county and the Columbia River Gorge. Gorge is short for GORGEOUS. That is awful, but I'm leavin' it. Ate fresh crab just hours after pulling it from a cage in Tillamook Bay, and watched the sun go down on a rocky beach. My jaw just remained slack. I marveled at the height of the fabled evergreens and at my lumberjack on ice skates.

The Starlings made their first and only volleyball tournament appearance of the 08/09 season. They blew me away with what they learned in such a short time. They continue to blow me away. Continue to frustrate and crack me up all at the same time. Our hoodie wearing captain, now a much more confident 7th grader can now spike a volleyball out of my outstretched hand with some pretty good authority.

The beginning of '09 saw a derecho rip through my parents neighborhood, stripping naked the landscape of so many trees. Now, almost ten months later, it still looks like a battlefield, with fallen wooded soldiers strewn about.

I got rid of some bins of old toys in my heart. I got to talk about it.

This year I started eating better and losing a little bit of weight and working out and stuff. And the pattern before had been "Oh I screwed up.. since i am already off the bandwagon.. better cement it with a whole box of cookies...and then scrap the idea anyway, it's impossible...travel...work... blech" Excuses. I learned that so a woman thinks in her heart..so she is. I could have majored in "Pre-Defeat" in college.

This year I was given the gift of a subtle change and of a few examples of people walking our their subtle changes with big results. Simply telling myself different words helped: "I can take care of my body. I like working out. I like eating good food. If I don't, it's not the end of the world. I am not vain because I am losing weight." Satan wants to kill us one way or the other, either by making us starve ourselves or eat ourselves into early graves. Can't catch me in the middle, Chump.

I wish I had given myself permission to false start before. I met someone who wanted to make changes and they false started 4 times before eventually succeeding. They also kept post it notes of the false starts as a record of the battle in plain sight. Freaking Hero.

My photos also reminded me of how far I have come. In the year 2000, I was a 3 year old Christian. At about 2 and a half I wanted to go run away and be a missionary. Now, looking back, that may not have been the best idea for a toddler just barely learning to walk. God could have done many things regardless of my toddling, but maybe He did intend for me to toddle on domestic soils at first. He took me around the world later. He scaled me back and I went to Belize, then Mexico, then to downtown St. Louis and to Webster Groves before I realized that in relationships are primarily where his work is done. I have let the shame of that first false start go.

I spent a good deal of this past decade intensely if sporadically studying God's Word. I liken it to just exactly how long looking directly into the sun is possible. I also spent it building some pretty amazing community. Now that I'm a teenager, I'd like this next decade to be dedicated to being a do-er of that Word. To being less judgemental, more humble, more consistent and more willing to make mistakes and to get messy. To living out that Word better, truer, and more fully. Not for feathers in my cap, or jewels on the crown of my life...but for peace in my heart and the advancement of His kingdom on earth, one tiny snowflake at a time.

I spent most of the past decade wondering when my life was going to start. (Marriage kids, etc.)

I spent last night looking at records of the life that did actually happen and thanking God for it.

Basketball victories, travels, learning to ski, Damascus Road, Trivia Nights, Fire Pits, Prayer Vigils, Work Day's, Soup Kitchens, Cardinal Baseball, Home Purchasing, Roommate Shuffling, Basement finishing, My relationship with Beth Moore, My Relationship with God (those two are NOT the same, turns out), The Swiss Alps. The Swiss Valleys. The Lord of the Rings trilogy. The beginning of this blog. People starting to encourage me to write more. Me writing less because of it. (I'm getting there). Hanging with my Bro, riding my bike. Letting stuff go. Killin' monkeys.

Bring it on Teen Years. Bring it.

MRI (Murl's Ridiculous Incident)

It's Christmas Eve.

I am thinking about my annual year end letter that I slap up on this blog and I get excited when I think about summarizing things. I like to take stock and bookkeep.

(Little known fact.. BOOKKEEPING has the most double letters in a row of any word in the English language...except for BOOKKEEPER and BOOKKEEP-ERSON.)

Before I take stock of 2009 (and maybe of the decade?) I wanted to let you know I've spent way to much time looking at a recent MRI of my shoulder.

I went to the good people at Missouri Baptist for a contrast media injection. They shoot this dye into your arm joint and then take a picture of it. Simple enough.

I am sure that I was not aware I had to strip down to my socks and underwear to get this procedure. Other wise I would not have brought every bulky belonging I had to the hospital that day. They let you tote your belongings with you in plastic bags. I needed three of them. (Purse, Coat, Clothes, Boots... it adds up.) Well I definitely picked that day to wear boots. Confession time: When I wear boots, I simply do not care about the socks happening underneath them. I wish I had cared a bit more that day because not only was I wearing two different socks, of two different colors, and two different materials (one was like a nylon trouser sock) but they were also two different heights. One was knee high. One was ankle high. I know. Man looketh on the outside, but the Lord looketh upon the socks.

I was draped in the typical gaping open hospital gown, just chatting up the nurse assisting the "Needle-man". Nurse-man was very fun to talk to and witty banter ensued. He assured me that I had the best "needle man" in the hospital, that he comes by special request and that he is very very good at what he does. I'm not scared of needles at all, so I'm wondering why this guy has to be so good at his job. How hard is this gonna be?

I was weirded out that I was being over-assured by nurse-man. So I start to get a little tense about this. And I'm always tense talking to strange men when I'm in a hospital gown and mis-matched socks.

Enter Needle-man. He is very professional and kind and just the level of nerdy that you want in your doctor, even if you may not want to have a beer with him later. I catch an exchange between nurse-man and needle-man:

Nurseman: "Heard you had one spray on you today!"

Needleman: "Yeah that was weird"

(Me... thinking WHAT is spraying exactly?? And from where? I thought this guy was Mister Needle-America?)

Needleman: "It was a faulty syringe, very strange occurance."

(Me...hmm. Ok, whatever.)

I am yoga-breathing trying not to stress out on the table. I like that needle man can laugh at spraying syringes. Glad he's confident enough to joke infront of his next victim. I figure no pain he is about to put me through will be as painful as spiking a volleyball is right now. So I relax considerably and wait.

Needle man explains in great detail again and begins the procedure. They sterile-drape me and are simultaneously taking x-rays to see where the needle is going. (I had no idea this was so complicated...really).

After about 5 minutes I see him laboring and pushing even though I feel nothing. Until

*SQUIRT!!!*

I gasp as a blob of goo lands on my right eye. Thanking the Lord that the body has reflexes and that mine are over-active already, I wonder if I am going to go blind or if this stuff is radio-active. (I know it's not..but I AM in the "nuclear medicine" wing.)

Doc freaks a bit. Asks me if I'm ok and pulls the needle out immediately. Flies around clanking instrument things and yelling STAT. (no not really). He does get a bit frantic and finally wipes me off. "You also have some of this stuff in your hair. It's harmless, but it could get sticky."

Free hair gel. Sweet.

He explains that my shoulder joint is really tight and he was having a hard time getting the needle in. The pressure he was putting on the fluid broke a tube connection leading to the needle and splattered me. So he re-drapes me. Re-iodines me and tries again. He got it in uneventfully this time and had a triumphant puff to himself after he finished. He said "You have the tightest shoulder joint I've ever tried to put a needle in. But we got it!" I wonder if they have an award for the tightest shoulder joint ever...a 'golden ball and socket' perhaps?

Nurse-man then gives me the cursory band-aid and plops me in a wheel chair to be transported to the "tube of uncomfortable vibrations" for the actual imaging. Speaking of images, get this one in your head: Me. My wheelchair. Hospital Gown. My mismatched socks. My three bags of belongings piled up on my lap. My hair that I had to free because of the metal in my hair clip. I looked like a homeless Micheal Bolton. Why am I in a wheelchair? I have no idea.

An hour later, I'm in the tube trying to convince myself that the fillings in my teeth are NOT heating up. (I later was informed that they actually, probably were heating up.)

An hour after that I was given the Coolest CD Ever of my shoulder.

Above are a few shots. I've been trying to self diagnose. I think a partial tear of the supraspinatus. Or just impingement. Or a labral tear. What do YOU think, Docs?

Frozen Fam

No idea how this happened. Jodie and Kim got some AWESOME pics from the most horrible windy-blustery-eye-watering freezing conditions ever. Check us out!


http://freshartphotography.com/2009/12/merrill-family-the-very-blustery-day-st-louis-family-photographers/

Slanketized in Lake Tahoe

That red thing on my arm is the delightful sleeve of my BRAND NEW SIAMESE SLANKET!!!! Oh yes. Four armholes to glory. I can wear one set, (the left set, the right set or the middle two!) I can also wrap it around and wear two arms at the same time. It makes me look like a red wined wizard. The santa hat helped.

Snowmobile Drifts... waist deep at least.

New ski boots + Better Ski Partners than me + Blizzardy Snow conditions = Grumpy Linz

Grumpy Linz + Thoughtful Bringer of Soft Street Boots and Complimentary Diet Cherry Coke = Swoony Linz.

The Owls... they're beautiful.

Last night after coaching volleyball I showed up to my workout in jeans.  On accident.  I was already a bit late... I really really don't want to miss this workout, I get to kick things really hard.  And I needed to kick something.

 

So I go in to the little gym right across the street from my work that I frequent. (Fitness in Motion.. personal trainers, highly recommended) and trainer Matt tells me that he will not let me wear jeans to workout!  Ugh.  Really?  Why not?  He says "No. No way. With what we do, you will ruin them"  After driving all the way back from the city, I didn't want to scrap my time slot.  So we make a deal that he would wait while I try to figure out the best place to find shorts.

 

I sprint out of the gym to my car and start my mental robo-scan of the area.  Kohls?  Too far.  Walgreens? Maybe...

 

Wait a minute, sometimes gas stations have t-shirts and stuff.  I distinctly remember a DR trip where we found a 3XL t-shirt that said "If Mama Ain't Happy.  Nobody Happy" at a truck stop.  I think a few people got into that shirt and took pictures. 

Off to the QT I go.   Maybe they have shorts in addition to random trucker T-shirts.  To my chagrin, the QT on Lackland does NOT have trucker T-shirts, or shorts.  They DO, however, have sock caps and gloves if you ever need to know that information.  Say you need to rob the place and you didn't plan well.  Also, they DO look at you funny if you walk into a QT and buy nothing.

 

Next.  Hmm there is a La Quinta inn... maybe they have a lost and found?  Ew. No.  Next.

 

I decide that I am going to have to drive all the way to the nearest Walgreens when I pull out of the parking lot and notice the Hooters next door is hoppin. 

 

HOOTERS?!  Yes....

 

They sell shirts.  I know it.  Maybe they sell shorts too.  You should have seen the look on the little hot-pants girl's face when I asked her if she had shorts for sale.  She was probably thinkin that I wasn't the "hot pants" type.  Well she was right about that, but she did point me to some hooters boxers on the shelf.   Crotch sewed up.  Perfect.

 

Sprinted back to the car and got back to the gym.  I burst through the door and shouted a triumphant "HOOTERS BABY!!"  Everyone cheered. 

 

Pure Genius.  Only lost about 10 extra minutes on the errand and 10 bucks for the shorts. 

 

 

 

 

I didn't LOSE my retainer!

Nope. I still have it.

But this time I stepped on it in the dark and broke it.

And FYI, superglue does not fix everything.

Wondering if Northwest Airlines needs Pilots

The day I almost died was a blurry gray day in October. The rain had been consistently inconsistent for what seemed like weeks, lulling all of St. Louis into the doldrums. I was leaving work a little bit early to get my shoulder worked on by my massage therapist Mister Tom “Magic Hands” Burr. As I drove, I was checking in with my mom and dad who were golfing in Vegas as I pulled out of work. So while chuckling at my mom tell me to “whisper” while my dad was swinging his golf club five or so states away… (Really?...is the iPhone that loud from my end?)… I was momentarily transported to another place in time. A warmer place. A drier place.

Maybe that dry place stayed with me well after my phone was off, when my hands were firmly at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, and my eyes were fixed directly on the road in front of me as I rounded the bend from Page onto 270S. I must have been going too fast, but it was in super slow-mo, I began to realize that I was out of control. I instinctively knew that when you are out of control in a car you are not supposed to touch the steering wheel definitively and you are supposed to slam on the gas.

So naturally I jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brake.

As my life slid before my eyes I realized that I had a good life and I wondered also if I was going to do a 360, then when I realized I wasn’t going to do a 360, I took a few additional neuron fires to decide what level of spin in terms of degrees was worth re-telling if I got out of this alive. I think I did a decisive 90, twice, back AND forth.. so does that count as terrible and grand 180? No. I think perhaps not. I was still thinking of the things people would say about me at my funeral when my car came to a muddy anti-climactic rocking on the edge of the ramp. My rear-wheel drive Lincoln was a see-saw on a fulcrum of asphalt. I was fine.

Or was I? I was quite shaken. I then realized I didn’t have my seat belt on AND that I so forgot to sing the Carrie Underwood song. God was waking me up or something. I dunno. Anyway, I sat there glad to be still thinking thoughts and no cars came after me and I wasn’t in the way. I sat for many moments doing that thing I do in Target sometimes … “spinning”. Ohh lets uhm.. call this person.. or these people or no.. that’s dumb… uh ooh should I move? Wha…. Er… Uh? Ooh…Sparkly…and on SALE”

I realized then that death may not have come yet but still very much could if that faint smell I smelled was gas, and if it was indeed pouring out in a puddle beneath me, maybe I would soon be barbecued. Er. Uhm. No. That’s not gas, silly, and it’s wet outside anyway, just try to drive out, the car is fine. So I tried, but no wheels were touching anything else, problematic. I also then realized that if an 18 wheeler decided to do the same thing and go around that curve, it could jackknife into me. I deeply disappointed myself at my lack of snappy ideas. For a brief moment I thought that this was my wilderness test. That I could probably survive the wilderness on my resourcefulness, but at the on ramp to 270 in the middle of civilization, with my cell phone and the world-wide web at my fingertips, I was utterly useless.

Except I tucked my work pants into my boots so they wouldn’t get muddy. Good work, Linz.

I thought to stand way behind my car in case something big pushed it toward me. Wondering how I get a tow truck.. did I NEED a tow truck? Was my car beyond repair? Was it even broken? Who makes these assessments anyway? Good thing I’m not a Triage Nurse. (“Ooo.. Sparkly”) I thought to call my parents who I’d JUST been on the phone with… but no answer. Golf is happening. Why don’t I have triple A? Well my dad had the reason why once, maybe I call him again... he’s not answering. Er.. can’t I just drive the car away?? How hard can it be? Get back in the car, it’s raining. My undercarriage is sitting on asphalt, can’t be good. I get back out of the car. A guy drives by and asks me if I’m ok and I shrug over-dramatically. He pulls over and was trying to be helpful, but told me I was hung up. Thanks. He asked if I was going to be ok and I said yeah I have a phone. I eventually called someone near a computer who could flag me a tow truck. This isn’t hard.

Why do I explain this is such great detail? Because it could be on You Tube and I wanted to give you the mental script.

Because I finally got out when the Maryland Heights Police Car and the MoDot truck showed up almost simultaneously, and informed me that they “saw me on the video cameras”. The what?

They have cameras set up to look at dumb people I guess.

They were kind and not condescending. They stopped traffic so MoDot could pull me out backwards. I didn’t need a tow after all. Just stand around with your pants tucked into your boots and wander like an escaped mental patient and the authorities WILL show up.

And that’s how Lindsey does it on a Monday.

Peace

Slanket Rules. So does Bruce.

I have made no secret of my love for the Slanket. I also have an intense like for mister Bruce Willis and his lack of hair. Imagine my delight when I ran into THIS video.

I am not sure if I ever chose this venue to vehemently deny the usefulness of the Snuggie, versus the far superior Slanket. I will do this now.

Some points for your consideration:

1. The Slanket was the first. The snuggie is like generic product.

2. The Slanket is luxurious and thick like your favorite velour blanket. The snuggie is reminiscent of those airplane fuzzy things that almost look like a piece of felt.

3. The Slanket comes in colors with names like "Royale with Sleeves"

4. The Slanket would never have a TV commercial. Let alone a TV commercial that shows models wearing them in public.

5. The Slanket now comes in a "Siamese" version. Four joyous arm-holes for two people to enjoy. WHOA. Take that snuggie! Slanket-ness times TWO.

6. The original Slanket does cost more than the snuggie, but filet mignon costs more than a cheeseburger.

7. The Slanket recognized the need for a smaller version and came out with the Travel Slanket, which is the only time they would suggest wearing one outside the comfort of your own home, and I think on an airplane is indeed the only acceptable time to use a Slanket. Kudos, Slanket, Kudos.

Greer Quotes:

The Lippert kids kill me.

"Lindsey, in real life.... in REAL life... are there babies named Tarzan?"

"When I grow up and have a baby I'm going to name it 'Gallop' "

"Even though you don't live with us, I love you"

Some Ladies Fightin' Some Stuff

I had the blessed opportunity to speak last night at a class my dear friend Debbie is teaching about the pieces of our minds. I decided to post my talk here. I think I referred to this in more vague terms before on this venue, so some of this is repeat...but i thought it was worth saying again. (Especially since some of you asked to see my blog and I couldn't have the first post about bees be the first thing you saw).

The background is that this class is about the things and voices that rattle around in our minds that ursurp our freedom in Christ. My week (and my struggle) was on the "I am" statements. The women were asked to write out the things they hear in their minds to dicern and divide them and throw some of the stuff away:

"I am overjoyed to be speaking with you today about the journey I went on to get free from myself. In fact, I am even more thrilled that as I tried to recall the awful things I used to think and say about myself I couldn't remember them. I wrote them all out once in an exercise much like you have done, except mine was on a giant neon yellow poster in Debbies kitchen and Tom must have seen it behind the frige and thought "whoa, Lindsey has issues" I had two solid pages of "junk in my drawer" and I couldn't recall any of it. I mean it was a LOOOONG list. So in fear of pulling the garbage back in off the curb and going thru it again and being tempted to take some of it back...(ooh i like that one... i don't want to throw IT out...) I didn't try to hard to recall them, but I did eventually remember the gist of my trauma. And it centered around these themes:

1. Perfectionism. "If I'm not perfect, 'just me' isn't enough."
2. Body Image. "Enough said."
3. Self-Depreciating humor. "If I'm my own worst enemy AND it's funny, no one can hurt me, or have reason not to love me."

Certainly these things sometimes worked for me. Number three probably got me through junior high. Certaintly there are strands of truth woven into our lies. Certainly after I laid these things down... I began to notice these patterns in other people and I could finally see how ugly they really were. I started to think "I wonder if THEY know they don't have to put themselves down, and I wonder if they know how deeply insecure it makes them sound?"

Why did I keep saying this stuff? And it's not even stuff that came out of my mouth very often, but it was the foundation of the things I really believed to be true about myself and the reasons that I wasn't happy. The reasons God wasn't blessing me. The reasons I was single. It soon became clear to me that this was an addiction. I had a conversation once (it was actually Debbie) and she asked me what would happen if I just didn't degrade myself anymore even with humor? What if I just didn't do it anymore? I blurted out quickly (which was such an indicator of my heart...) "If I let this go, I'll be lonlier than I already am" My over-extreme humility (which is actually a twisted form of pride) was my drink and I didnt even know it.

Luckily, even though I had a hard time recalling this old junk, I have this blog. I went back to some of my writings and found a little bit of a reminder about what life was like back then. This was ONLY a year ago for me. Which I hope is an encouragement of how far away this stuff can get rather quickly. This strong hold in my life made up of the mean and destructive things that I used to think about myself and the mis-truths about the world became burdensome to me after I had them identified. I had collectively named this burden and still refer to it as "the sock monkey". This security thing that I needed to survive. I wrote about the war in my mind:

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 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 feet, at LEAST let me have fun with it the only way I know how?

If I let this go. 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 monkey.

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. It might be time. At twenty-nine, 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 physically. I have a shoulder falling out of socket and a two knees that crunch like breakfast cereal when I walk, and maybe it's time not to depend on my athletic ability, my outward appearance, or my debilitating matted sock monkey, to be attractive and worthwhile.

Maybe it wasn't working anyway.

Maybe it's time to trust, REALLY TRUST that my identity in Jesus is REALLY enough.

So...for all the people who love me and desire me to finally see things as they really are. I am attempting to lay my cold weapons down. The ones I have taken up long ago against me. The weapons that I would never wield against anyone else.

So be praying. I don't know how this works. It's been with me longer than
Jesus has."

___

So....I wrote it out. I was honest. It was ugly. Really ugly. Once on paper the sock monkey stared back up at me, caught in the act of trying to own me and I got angry at it. I prayed through it, I gave it to God and I decided that my sock monkey was not fun to be with anymore and infested with lies and harmful satan bacteria and I gave it up.

I'm not trying to sell you a product here, an infomercial where I am giving you the magical before and after shots, it was a process, there were many other failed attempts at leaving these chains behind.

Once I recognized it as the right thing to do, I wasn't even convinced that it was necessary to leave it. It required some trust in God. I wrote about what it was like after the fact:
_________

"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 oddly enough some peace.

Just peace.

It's quiet, it's purposeful, and pregnant with possibility, it's as if I've made room for something in my soul by taking out some garbage. The crap out on the curb is rather rotten and... as I see now, not inconsequential.

It's now like I am a beautiful empty apartment waiting to be furnished... or like a canvas that has a beautiful fresh base-coat just waiting for color.

I am reminded that God only wiped the slate clean once with the flood. 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."
____

I am happy to tell you that I am a completely different person. I still have things that struggle with now and again and I was very recently made aware of one of the next big ones and I'm intending to tackle that next. I have the success from this "Phase 1" of Lindsey's Redemption to look back on and know that God is to be trusted with my junk.

It's so much better without that sock monkey. People didn't shy away, they came closer.

I no longer required that they fix me, or appease me or tell me my "I" statements weren't true. They recognize me as calmer and more peaceful, less needy to be the center of attention. Way more content with who i am. (At least I think so). They don't even have to laugh anymore.

And. That. Is. Freeing.

God truly, through the power of prayer, redeemed me and let me get my head above water long enough to let life happen to "just me".

Thanks for listening, and PS don't go image searching for sock monkey pictures on the internet. There are life sized anatomically correct ones. Ew. Is there nothing pure left in the world??

Addendum

That bee thing was crazy. Final tally of bees I have found...dead already. 205.

I received another book about writing. I think I need to write more. (Finished a book too, leaving the unfinished book tally at 9).

By the numbers...

13 = Number of dead Bees found in my bathroom… at once.
1 = Number of dead bats created in front yard.
1 = Number of destroyed cookie sheets as a result of previous line item

30 = Number of years I have been on the earth
1 = Number of birthday paper shredders now in my possession.
Endless = hours spent enjoying said paper shredder, and quantities of junk mail chomped by its hungry teeth.
1= Times that I almost cried at work because my boss referred to me as a “Cougar” since I am now 30. (I am not a Cougar, for the record).

9= Number of books I am currently reading.
0= Number of books I effectively took with me on my most recent plane flight to Denver.

1/5 = Level in the cereal box that my brother consumes down to before buying a new box. Seriously... to the grain.
3 = Number of times that he has done this to rice krispies alone since my last pantry clean out.
8 = Number of other non discriminate cereals he has also deemed "finished"
0 = Number of boxes he thought to throw away after they were "finished"
225 = Number of pounds, in kettlebell weights, that I cannot move that sits in my living room year round.
Endlessly = How much I love my idiot bro.

Portland Rose GardenTillamook Bay

Road thru the mountains to the Coast

A Bacon Maple Doughnut, which was promptly sent to Anne Ritland Williams upon it's procurement. It effectively combines her number 1 and number 2 favorite foods.

Me eating a super juicy pluot. (Plum + Apricot) on the beach.

Sneak Peek of Portland

Galway. A long story. (But a good one).

In Galway, I stopped into a shop on my way down to the coast and was startled by this little kid mannequin. I always jump at things like this, if you know me at all.

This little androgynous thing seemed to want to tell me something. A silent plea if you will... "Please ma'am take me with you...

"Or else I'll end up like that headless kid over there! She just dropped her backpack right where it was!

"Sorry, Irish Cousin of Chucky. I have to leave you here. Keep your head on straight."

I took this day trip to Galway, Ireland because Heidi suggested I go there. So I went. I have to kinda force myself to travel alone because it's a little bit weird, but i always seem to like it once I do it. I'm not the best planner beacause I don't take the time to research. I figure if you plan too much and it doesn't work out, you can get dissapointed. So I often prefer to let the wind take me where it will go on days like this. I just like wandering and shopping and looking at beautiful stuff absorbing in culture and being surprised instead of scheduled.

...And meeting random awesome people. How did I take this picture ? Not some auto-timer. It was seemingly ordained, that I met a rockin' Canadian companion. A girl on my train was traveling alone through Ireland after being in the Ukraine with her mom and sister. She befriended me after I scarfed a sandwich while sitting on a bench in the pedestrian area of Galway. She remembered my red coat when she stood in line at the train station behind me. We happened to be headed to the same place down the coast so we journeyed together to check it out.

She is a small animal vet who grew up playing hockey with the boys (we clicked immediately) and she told me all about dog breeds to not get as a pet (Terriers on the top of the list of NO's). I told her all about threaputic protein drug manufacturing. She was actually interested because she was an end user of injectible drugs we help produce. It was a really nice walk with a new Canadian awesome nerd pal. Here last name is Matenchuk!! Is that not a great hockey last name?

On the way home on the train, I met the most ridiculously beautiful Italian family. Mom and Dad and 21 year old Alex. I am not gonna lie, he was yummy and he needed English lessons. I felt like that lady in "Eat Pray Love" as I tried not to make out with him infront of his parents.

His parents didn't speak any English at ALL and were trying to learn some from young, gorgeous Alex. So he had written some phrases in English on the page. "A Paint of Guiness" was my fave. We bonded through the shared experience of being completely annoyed by a little Irish-American girl who had to be mentally challenged, that was singing Italian opera while her headphones were in her ears while itermittently having loud conversations with strangers throughout the train. When she figured out that Alex was Italian, she pounced. Moved seats to play English/Italian charades. Painfully awkward. I shot knowing glances at the annoyed parents to hopefully let them know all Americans were not like this. She stuck her headphones in his ears and asked him to translate the opera she was singing, made him exchange phone numbers, and gave him an awkward I just met you good-bye hug from a train seat. I couldn't stop smiling. As she ran off the train she yelled out, begging her new friend to text her when he returned to Italy.

After she left, I found out thru my own lame attempts that Spanish is really not as close to Italiano as I would like it to be. Carla, the mom, and Salvatore, dad (are you kidding me?) live in a small villiage close to Austria in the Alps. Sigh. They ski every Sunday. No wonder they are both so tragically beautfiul. Carla was of course the epitome of Italian beauty and Salvatore is a cop. A "big high up important cop" is how Alex said it. Made me think that they were really in the mob. Then I remembered that it is impolite to ask what Europeans do. I'm on a need to know basis. After I found out that Alex didn't like skiing and his dad was in the mob, I went back to my book :)

A few more tidbits from the trip:

Another sight in the Galway Mall. This is the old city wall... they just attached a mall to it. Kudos, Galway.

What is "streaky bacon" anyway? Anne, Jesse? My resident bacon connesieurs? Anyone? After i posted this menu, I noticed the "Get Stuffed" sandwich. That is funny too. You can't make this stuff up.

I leave you free-radicals like me with the charge to GO! See pretty things and pretty people. See different things. Get off the couch! GO. (Or get out of the hotel bed! Whatever the case may be!).