I am not a fan of texting. As a friend once said, "If there is a hell, texting would be it's only means of communication." I'm in full agreement. It stunts the flow of thought, leads to published errors, and more often than not makes you look douchey being so absorbed by a little plastic gadget while life moves and breathes in the background. What could be so important that I would tune out to post?
Nothing. I'm sitting in the Pasco airport shortly before my plane boards. There are over 100 people milling about, mostly people on business returning home after a week if work in the Tri-Cities. I met a nice gent headed home to San Fran, but my usually chatty nature is still in the sheets. Getting up at 3 inhibits my inner Pollyanna.
...
Friday, October 29, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Joy is my favorite fruit of the Spirit
While talking to my dear friend Karin this morning, I started hopping in place because I felt so full of love and happiness about life in general. She said, "Keep jumping an lots of people will be feeling some joy." She was referring to my jumblies, but nonetheless, my joy was uncontainable. Since I don't have a tail to wag, jumping up and down is sometimes the best way to release pent up joy, right up there with singing off-key and hugging. Joy is one of the most contagious and rewarding emotions. As one exudes it, joy returns multiplied by the sharing, a gift from God that we can give and get inexhaustably.
Now, today at church Pastor Dave talked about a different kind of joy, not in the sense of being happy but in the sense of knowing God is in control of our lives as well as the rest of the universe. He said true joy isn't about smiling and laughing necessarily; it's about trusting that whatever worldy things are going on, God loves and is caring for us. True joy is best measured in times of woe because that gives us the opportunity to count it all joy. I like this--suffering as a doorway to joy. Pastor Dave analogized joy to diamonds. When you put a real diamond underwater it intensifies it's brilliance. Unlike with a fake one, the genuine shines forth.
Even when I'm wrestling with life, the faith that nothing stands against me besides self makes all my worries transient. Fortunately, I don't have a lot of woe in my life. This is probably the most reletively woeless times I've experienced. The only reason I'm able to enjoy this current boon in life is because God delivered me from harder times. I frequently pray for memory so that I will remember these moments when the worm of life inevitably turns. However, he has also turned my suffering into understanding, expanding my capacity for joy. It makes it easy to be thankful hardship in the aftermath. Hopefully, I'll allow the light of joy to light my way throughout the upcoming seasons in life, no matter how dark those times may seem. If you're a friend, you may remind me of this when you catch me whining.
Now, today at church Pastor Dave talked about a different kind of joy, not in the sense of being happy but in the sense of knowing God is in control of our lives as well as the rest of the universe. He said true joy isn't about smiling and laughing necessarily; it's about trusting that whatever worldy things are going on, God loves and is caring for us. True joy is best measured in times of woe because that gives us the opportunity to count it all joy. I like this--suffering as a doorway to joy. Pastor Dave analogized joy to diamonds. When you put a real diamond underwater it intensifies it's brilliance. Unlike with a fake one, the genuine shines forth.
Even when I'm wrestling with life, the faith that nothing stands against me besides self makes all my worries transient. Fortunately, I don't have a lot of woe in my life. This is probably the most reletively woeless times I've experienced. The only reason I'm able to enjoy this current boon in life is because God delivered me from harder times. I frequently pray for memory so that I will remember these moments when the worm of life inevitably turns. However, he has also turned my suffering into understanding, expanding my capacity for joy. It makes it easy to be thankful hardship in the aftermath. Hopefully, I'll allow the light of joy to light my way throughout the upcoming seasons in life, no matter how dark those times may seem. If you're a friend, you may remind me of this when you catch me whining.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Datestravaganza
In the last six weeks, I've been on more dates than the rest of my life combined.
Growing up, I was a late bloomer--no boobies until 19; a social pariah--I was never asked to a school dance, ever; and the owner of a plethora of annoying personality quirks--talking too much, getting overly excited at little things, telling painful truths, and randomly falling down are only the tip of the ice burg. No dating, no surprise. When I joined the Navy a recruiter, PN2 Scott, warned me that they would "be coming out of the woodwork" after me, and I couldn't have been happier.
He was sort of right. Many a ill-intentioned sailor took interest, but very few had much see through. The first three dates I said yes to, I was painfully stood up. Lots of apologies, extenuating circumstances, give me another shot, yada, yada. No thanks, didn't want to get burnt. I was jaded. Dating had become synonymous with rejection and humiliation. Now, this isn't to say I didn't have intimate relationships, but we would usually go from buddies to "buddies" without all the formal games. I don't really care to speculate on how many boyfriends I had between the ages of 18 to 20, but the no dating policy remained firmly in effect until I was getting ready to go overseas.
I had a friend, Jason Kimlinger, who had asked me out at least three hundred times. He would come hang out at my room--like everyone else, "Party in 824"--but he would make up songs about my feet and rub them for hours. Though our friendship was strictly platonic, he'd bring little tokens of affection like hundreds of four-leaf clovers or especially pretty metal shavings from work. Day after day, the answer to his requests remainded no. This was probably because he was always filthy, never shaved, wore the same ripped shorts and dirty t-shirt everyday, and mooched like a pro grifter because all of his dough went into working on his ugly truck. He was an asshole, too. Jason once broke his hand punching my wall because I wouldn't let him beat up my smartass little brother who was begging to get knocked out (a feat Shawn accomplished shortly after). So it was to both of our surprises that I finally said yes to a date two days before transferring overseas.
Jason showed up with a dozen long-stem red roses, a corsage, and a card telling me I looked moovalous with a picture of a fat Holstein on the front. He was wearing a new white button-down shirt, slacks, tie, and dress shoes. He'd even gotten a haircut and a shave. His truck was clean for the first time I'd ever seen, and instead of blaring country, he had it tuned to my favorite oldies station. He hated oldies. We went to a fancy riverboat restaurant and then walked around Seaport Village. Jason had even packed my favorite beer instead of his usual Bud. He didn't try kissing me goodnight, thankfully, but he did rub my feeties until I fell asleep. <--- Right, there. That was fifteen years of positive dating karma in one night. That was the last time I saw or heard from him.
Flash forward to September of 2010, I'd had four more dates. One decent '96, one ok '09, one horrible '09, and one I got married the day after '00. I'd more or less settled back into the thanks, but no thanks mentality. That's when a friend whom I'd met on Plenty of Fish--don't judge me--shared his serial dating experience. He had taken the anxiety out of dating after divorce by just doing it. He went on lots of dates, made lots of friends, and even found a couple of women he was really into, some more than others, pun intended. Sounded like a good idea to me, so I jumped in with both feet. Though I still said no more times than yes, eight dates later I discovered dating isn't that big of a deal. In fact, I think I may have been dating all my life but not categorizing it as such because I was over thinking the whole thing. Also, it wasn't much fun.
I've found that my life is very full with or without dating. More often than not, going to the movie with a friend or the kids is better than with a stranger fellow I want to impress. Wine tasting with my girl friends is way more fun than doing the same with someone I'm on guard against trying to get in my pants. Though I'm thankful for my recent experiences and the friends I've made, I'm putting the breaks on the revolving dating door. I like my time too much to squander it in awkwardness or boredom. BBQ's, the occasional Friday-night karaoke, or a brisk walk are fine, but my online profiles are going bye bye. This doesn't mean I'm embracing spinsterhood just yet, but I am going to start valuing my time a little more preciously.
So, what is a date? <--- Really, I'd like to know what everyone thinks on this one. Please. It's for posterity.
Growing up, I was a late bloomer--no boobies until 19; a social pariah--I was never asked to a school dance, ever; and the owner of a plethora of annoying personality quirks--talking too much, getting overly excited at little things, telling painful truths, and randomly falling down are only the tip of the ice burg. No dating, no surprise. When I joined the Navy a recruiter, PN2 Scott, warned me that they would "be coming out of the woodwork" after me, and I couldn't have been happier.
He was sort of right. Many a ill-intentioned sailor took interest, but very few had much see through. The first three dates I said yes to, I was painfully stood up. Lots of apologies, extenuating circumstances, give me another shot, yada, yada. No thanks, didn't want to get burnt. I was jaded. Dating had become synonymous with rejection and humiliation. Now, this isn't to say I didn't have intimate relationships, but we would usually go from buddies to "buddies" without all the formal games. I don't really care to speculate on how many boyfriends I had between the ages of 18 to 20, but the no dating policy remained firmly in effect until I was getting ready to go overseas.
I had a friend, Jason Kimlinger, who had asked me out at least three hundred times. He would come hang out at my room--like everyone else, "Party in 824"--but he would make up songs about my feet and rub them for hours. Though our friendship was strictly platonic, he'd bring little tokens of affection like hundreds of four-leaf clovers or especially pretty metal shavings from work. Day after day, the answer to his requests remainded no. This was probably because he was always filthy, never shaved, wore the same ripped shorts and dirty t-shirt everyday, and mooched like a pro grifter because all of his dough went into working on his ugly truck. He was an asshole, too. Jason once broke his hand punching my wall because I wouldn't let him beat up my smartass little brother who was begging to get knocked out (a feat Shawn accomplished shortly after). So it was to both of our surprises that I finally said yes to a date two days before transferring overseas.
Jason showed up with a dozen long-stem red roses, a corsage, and a card telling me I looked moovalous with a picture of a fat Holstein on the front. He was wearing a new white button-down shirt, slacks, tie, and dress shoes. He'd even gotten a haircut and a shave. His truck was clean for the first time I'd ever seen, and instead of blaring country, he had it tuned to my favorite oldies station. He hated oldies. We went to a fancy riverboat restaurant and then walked around Seaport Village. Jason had even packed my favorite beer instead of his usual Bud. He didn't try kissing me goodnight, thankfully, but he did rub my feeties until I fell asleep. <--- Right, there. That was fifteen years of positive dating karma in one night. That was the last time I saw or heard from him.
Flash forward to September of 2010, I'd had four more dates. One decent '96, one ok '09, one horrible '09, and one I got married the day after '00. I'd more or less settled back into the thanks, but no thanks mentality. That's when a friend whom I'd met on Plenty of Fish--don't judge me--shared his serial dating experience. He had taken the anxiety out of dating after divorce by just doing it. He went on lots of dates, made lots of friends, and even found a couple of women he was really into, some more than others, pun intended. Sounded like a good idea to me, so I jumped in with both feet. Though I still said no more times than yes, eight dates later I discovered dating isn't that big of a deal. In fact, I think I may have been dating all my life but not categorizing it as such because I was over thinking the whole thing. Also, it wasn't much fun.
I've found that my life is very full with or without dating. More often than not, going to the movie with a friend or the kids is better than with a stranger fellow I want to impress. Wine tasting with my girl friends is way more fun than doing the same with someone I'm on guard against trying to get in my pants. Though I'm thankful for my recent experiences and the friends I've made, I'm putting the breaks on the revolving dating door. I like my time too much to squander it in awkwardness or boredom. BBQ's, the occasional Friday-night karaoke, or a brisk walk are fine, but my online profiles are going bye bye. This doesn't mean I'm embracing spinsterhood just yet, but I am going to start valuing my time a little more preciously.
So, what is a date? <--- Really, I'd like to know what everyone thinks on this one. Please. It's for posterity.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
A distracted mind is a terrible thing to waste
Well, not really. I just spent the last two hours battling writer's dyslexia, pouring out the chaos of the last couple weeks, detailing my hopes and fears, metaphoring my case in as much eloquence as I could muster. When it was finally honed, I pressed post. Blip. All gone. Not posted. The back button swallowed my mental spewed cookies, and nothing is left except the uncluttered mind. Thank you, God. And thank you to the friend that continues to nudge me along my path without judgment or bias.
Tomorrow's blog will be more engaging. Title: Datstravaganza. Time to enjoy six good hours of sleep.
Tomorrow's blog will be more engaging. Title: Datstravaganza. Time to enjoy six good hours of sleep.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Early to bed
I am so glad I got up early enough to edit out the obsenities in last night's posting. Boy, it was rough, the kind of rough that makes you shake your head with a chuckle all day and think, "I said THAT." Very uncharacteristic. There are half a dozen little things that I let play through my mind too much last night.
However, today was a new brighter day.
I am going to go see Jon Stewart in DC, or at least the microdot of him in the distance. Does anyone have any binoculars I can borrow? It sort of sucks that I'm going alone, but remembering what it was like to be half of a couple and jump through four times as many hoops to drag the poor sap along makes it suck a lot less. Want to go? Leaving Friday, coming back Sunday--Halloween. Bwhahaha. Hope my daddy understands me missing his birthday....or goes hunting.
Also, I put in a solid day at work, mowed the lawn, pushed out 4 1/2 miles on the elliptical, got some new library books, cooked, cleaned, read a couple good emails, and shopped for Cassie's birthday. That's a solid sixteen hours, so I'd better go to bed now before I ruin it.
However, today was a new brighter day.
I am going to go see Jon Stewart in DC, or at least the microdot of him in the distance. Does anyone have any binoculars I can borrow? It sort of sucks that I'm going alone, but remembering what it was like to be half of a couple and jump through four times as many hoops to drag the poor sap along makes it suck a lot less. Want to go? Leaving Friday, coming back Sunday--Halloween. Bwhahaha. Hope my daddy understands me missing his birthday....or goes hunting.
Also, I put in a solid day at work, mowed the lawn, pushed out 4 1/2 miles on the elliptical, got some new library books, cooked, cleaned, read a couple good emails, and shopped for Cassie's birthday. That's a solid sixteen hours, so I'd better go to bed now before I ruin it.
Talk to me
I'm in love with Jon Stewart. He's married, and he isn't truly an actual human being in my mind. Neverthless, that is the epitome of hotness. If I could get to D.C. for under $3,000, I would. Not only to be a part of the "Rally to Support Sanity," but also to meet like-minded folk. Though, it would be so depressing to return to EO after talking to people who thought outside of the duck blind.
Nevertheless, nevertheless, we are all in this together. What about you? Who is your hero?
Edited.
Nevertheless, nevertheless, we are all in this together. What about you? Who is your hero?
Edited.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Brush strokes
Good feelings are easy to find; you don't even need a GPS...though sometimes it helps. I'd love to take credit for consciously deciding that everything in my life this weekend was a gift to be appreciated, but really it was just brimming my favorite things: people, new experiences, and God.
Someone asked me what my dreams and fantasies were. I gave some vague answers, but after thinking about it, I'm living my dreams. It takes a little focus to realize it sometimes though. This weekend was full of exchanges and experiences that added details to the work of art called life, becoming ever more clearer as I love and work and play and pray a little every day.
Outstanding brush strokes:
I reconnected with two good friends and a load of family that I'd sort of lost contact with. These are people that I love deeply and periodically mourn because I haven't seen them in a while. The connections hadn't grown stale or awkward in the least. I love people and want to hold on to all of them. Just because direct contact may fade, doesn't mean that the connection is lost. It's just dormant while a different season plays across the canvas.
I also met some new people who unknowingly gave me a more distinct vision of the self being shaped. They were funny, warm, adventurous, and unassumingly poised. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, but I know that I want to.
The context of adventure is more about opening one's self to positive possibilities than paring down what I want to build the walls of my rut out of. I like singing karaoke, bbqing, and watching movies, but that doesn't mean I don't have room to enjoy geocaching, running from "Big Jim" the barber, or taking a moment just to nap on the swing in the backyard. Good stuff.
Failing is okay as long as I'm failing forward. When I lie, justify, or ignore my tresspasses, the hurt, resentment, anger, fear, and guilt obscure humility, growth, and grace. If there is a part of my life that I haven't surrendered to God, then sooner or later that part spirals downward into suffering. Affording myself the same grace God offers me allows me to learn and grow from my mistakes. Only when the seed dies can the sprout be born. I am thankful for this gradual cycle that brings me more fully into God's light and love.
What a beautiful life I've been given. Yay.
Someone asked me what my dreams and fantasies were. I gave some vague answers, but after thinking about it, I'm living my dreams. It takes a little focus to realize it sometimes though. This weekend was full of exchanges and experiences that added details to the work of art called life, becoming ever more clearer as I love and work and play and pray a little every day.
Outstanding brush strokes:
I reconnected with two good friends and a load of family that I'd sort of lost contact with. These are people that I love deeply and periodically mourn because I haven't seen them in a while. The connections hadn't grown stale or awkward in the least. I love people and want to hold on to all of them. Just because direct contact may fade, doesn't mean that the connection is lost. It's just dormant while a different season plays across the canvas.
I also met some new people who unknowingly gave me a more distinct vision of the self being shaped. They were funny, warm, adventurous, and unassumingly poised. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, but I know that I want to.
The context of adventure is more about opening one's self to positive possibilities than paring down what I want to build the walls of my rut out of. I like singing karaoke, bbqing, and watching movies, but that doesn't mean I don't have room to enjoy geocaching, running from "Big Jim" the barber, or taking a moment just to nap on the swing in the backyard. Good stuff.
Failing is okay as long as I'm failing forward. When I lie, justify, or ignore my tresspasses, the hurt, resentment, anger, fear, and guilt obscure humility, growth, and grace. If there is a part of my life that I haven't surrendered to God, then sooner or later that part spirals downward into suffering. Affording myself the same grace God offers me allows me to learn and grow from my mistakes. Only when the seed dies can the sprout be born. I am thankful for this gradual cycle that brings me more fully into God's light and love.
What a beautiful life I've been given. Yay.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
"If you don't have something nice to say...
...shut the fuck up." At least, that's what my dad used to say. Somehow I have found a third foot to put in my mouth. Not enough sleep? Miserable from my aching arm? Repressed aggression? Perhaps, by blogging I'm gradually uncapping a voice I've buried for the sake of being a "good" mommy, friend, sister, teacher,etc. I don't know, but I'm feeling a bit guilty for things said and some mercifully unsaid today.
Though I'd much rather be sunshine, rainbows, hope, and happiness all the time, the darkside is never a stone's throw away. She is so much funnier, too. That onery part adds ballast to an imbalanced personality. It's not my intention to be mean, but Pollyanna needs a break sometimes.
I think I need some more regular outlets for being a little nasty. Just a little nasty. None of my old behaviors really appeal though. Drinking my face off leads to hangovers, embarrasment, and/or regret. Besides, moderation is so much more enjoyable. That one night in Vegas doesn't count. Smoking is gross, expensive, and not all that rewarding. At one time, recreational sex might have been a good stress reliever, but promiscuity impedes the process of entering into a loving, long-term relationship, which would be on my to-do list if I had a clue what one of those looked like. Drugs have never interested me; I'm too old and guilt-prone for fighting; and spending gobs of money on toys, clothes, or shoes just seems pointless.
Ok, I know turning things over to God solves everything, but in this case I don't see anything specific to turn over. Life is great...on paper anyway. Hmm, perhaps there is a long meditation in my future to open this up to the only entitiy that can fix me...Chris Martin. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBEYyHGbwto&feature=related <---- In my top 10 of all-time favorites. I can't listen to it with out imagining what it would be like. This one is good, too, but for opposite reasons: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdD6RMICpfg
Any suggestions or advice, readers? Or should I say Princess, Deanne, and Mitchell. I'm not saying I'll take it, but I really like input.
Though I'd much rather be sunshine, rainbows, hope, and happiness all the time, the darkside is never a stone's throw away. She is so much funnier, too. That onery part adds ballast to an imbalanced personality. It's not my intention to be mean, but Pollyanna needs a break sometimes.
I think I need some more regular outlets for being a little nasty. Just a little nasty. None of my old behaviors really appeal though. Drinking my face off leads to hangovers, embarrasment, and/or regret. Besides, moderation is so much more enjoyable. That one night in Vegas doesn't count. Smoking is gross, expensive, and not all that rewarding. At one time, recreational sex might have been a good stress reliever, but promiscuity impedes the process of entering into a loving, long-term relationship, which would be on my to-do list if I had a clue what one of those looked like. Drugs have never interested me; I'm too old and guilt-prone for fighting; and spending gobs of money on toys, clothes, or shoes just seems pointless.
Ok, I know turning things over to God solves everything, but in this case I don't see anything specific to turn over. Life is great...on paper anyway. Hmm, perhaps there is a long meditation in my future to open this up to the only entitiy that can fix me...Chris Martin. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBEYyHGbwto&feature=related <---- In my top 10 of all-time favorites. I can't listen to it with out imagining what it would be like. This one is good, too, but for opposite reasons: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdD6RMICpfg
Any suggestions or advice, readers? Or should I say Princess, Deanne, and Mitchell. I'm not saying I'll take it, but I really like input.
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