Well, it’s almost Thanksgiving again. Yippee.
I’ve never been a big fan of Thanksgiving, the day. Thanksgiving in general, I’m in favor of.
Or, as the lady at the Dollar Store wished us, “Happy Turkey Day.” I’m not sure if she said that because it has now officially become politically incorrect to say “Happy Thanksgiving” or if she really didn’t know what the day is actually called. Either way, it was annoying.
I don’t know why I don’t care about Thanksgiving. With all my cherished holiday memories, I can’t remember a single Thanksgiving that holds any special meaning for me. And, I guess overall, I really don’t understand its significance in the big picture.
Okay, so we’re supposed to give thanks. That I get. But why on one day? I mean, I’m grateful for stuff everyday. And the Bible is pretty clear that we are supposed to be in constant thanks.
Maybe it’s the food? Maybe that’s why I’m not all gung-ho about Thanksgiving. In the Rehfeldt-Trotter house, we never needed an excuse to eat. That’s also why we needed Weight Watchers.
The thing is that there were ever only three of us. A big meal with three people just isn’t that exciting.
Even now, there are just two of us. I always feel bad I don’t have any kids to contribute to Mom’s Thanksgiving dinner, which always feels a little sad and empty – like a Hallmark commercial when little Bobby doesn’t actually make it home for Christmas.
An all grown-up Thanksgiving is actually pretty boring. We eat, Brett sacks out on the couch to watch TV, Gary washes dishes, and Mom and I play a card game. Then, after a while, we go up to Brett’s sister’s house to have Thanksgiving with them.
Only this year, two of the sibling are holding their families hostage, since one half of the family is not talking (nor thankful, apparently) for the other half. Now that’s holiday spirit in action.
So we go up there, eat more, and make excuses to leave a little early, since Brett’s family is still actively competing for the World’s Dullest Family. Seriously, I take my pulse when I’m there. Just to be sure.
I’m not saying I’m NOT thankful for the pilgrims, Squanto, and the explorers who discovered the New World. That’s great. Really. I’m just saying it’s not my favorite holiday.
For me, the real fun starts the day after Thanksgiving. When we go shopping up in Geneva with Brett’s brother and his wife (the one who is still talking to us and not competitors in the “dull” category). We go to the Geneva Commons – truly a shopper’s paradise – a HUGE outdoor mall.
Actually, this year the outing will bring back some sad memories. Because last year, we all went with Brett’s mom. I remember us perusing the aisles of Crate & Barrel together and laughing until our sides hurt at a ridiculous squirrel ornament! We both got one, actually, because we just couldn’t believe someone had made a SQUIRREL ornament!
So, I guess that’s something to be thankful for this season – that I had the opportunity to know one of the world’s sweetest and godly women – Jean Soderstrom, my mother-in-law.
Oh, and for Squanto. Wouldn’t want to forget Squanto.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Observations on a Migraine and the Way It Completely Disrupts My Life!
My amazing father left me with a legacy of wonderful things.
He gave me his sense of humor, his unconditional love and acceptance, and 20 years of great memories. Unfortunately, he also passed down his medical history – high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and migraines.
Now, I am grateful I only suffer the occasional migraine. I know there are those who live in constant pain from migraines. Their pain is so intense it become debilitating and prevents them from living a normal life. Brett’s sister is one such example.
So, my occasional migraine is not such a big deal in the scope of things. However, being a migraine sufferer, I can tell you it is also no picnic.
Due to my blessedly limited experience, I can now tell the vague differences between headaches. There are slight headaches, normal headaches, pounding headaches, throbbing headaches and then the warp speed blast in migraine territory.
Personally, I’ve only ever gone to the migraine stage of throwing up, sobbing, and rocking back and forth from the pain – but, believe it or not, some people get it worse. There have been reports of people taking a gun to their head to try and stop the pain. My own sister-in-law once said she got to the point where all she wanted was for someone to crack her head open to just relieve the constant, paralyzing anguish.
Most doctors believe that migraines have “triggers” – something in a person’s body make-up that brings on a migraine. The problem? Everyone has different triggers, and some people (like me) don’t know what they are.
We have suspicions, of course. I think the barometric pressure and allergies (ragweed, smoke) may contribute to my occasional migraine, but I’m not really sure. And, at this point in time, there’s not a lot doctors can do to treat a migraine. It is one of the most horrible ailments in modern medicine today, and (sadly) there’s no cure.
Today I am in MRM (Migraine Recovery Mode). It’s that all-over-achy feeling the day after a migraine – when you feel like you’re recovering from someone beating your head in with a baseball bat. I called in to work and am now sitting here sipping hot green tea and feeling somewhat philosophical.
Yesterday started out like a regular Sunday. We got up a little later but still managed to make it to morning service at church. I felt a slight (and what I assumed was normal) headache when we went Dollar Store shopping after church.
But the migraine was starting to take over by the time we started grocery shopping. And by the time we got home and put groceries away, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed; put the covers over my head and just cry.
So, that’s what I did.
Brett went to evening church, and when he got home, things were worse. I had gone into my throwing up, sobbing, and rocking back and forth phase. He got me some aspirin and a cold pack and tried (for a sweet but non-nurturing person) to sympathize.
The thing that amazes me is how confused Brett gets when I’m incapacitated for any measure of time.
I do a lot of work around the house. To be fair, he does a lot of work, too, but it’s more occasional stuff – taking out the garbage, mowing the yard, cleaning ducts, etc. I do the everyday stuff that HAS to get done – dishes, laundry, cleaning, feeding the rabbits, cleaning up after the rabbits – stuff like that.
Well, last night, Brett took the initiative and washed all the produce for the rabbits and packaged it for the week. That’s a prolonged process and one I usually do. So, that was very nice.
I also asked if he could clean their litter box. I could tell he was a little annoyed – “Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” he asked me.
In my head, I know what he’s saying – that I’ll feel better by tomorrow and then (of course) I can do it, instead of him. That irradiated me. Still does. Cleaning the litter box is definitely NOT a glamour job, but it’s not hard to do, and I do it every week. I also “do” the vegetables every week. He can’t do it for one week? He loves the rabbits as much as I do, but when it comes to caring for them, he’s a little bit of a disappointment.
I pointed out to him that the litter box was full, full, full – and I usually do clean it out on Sunday. “Okay, okay,” he says and then lies down on the bed next to me to “rest for just a minute.”
The next thing I know, it’s 12:30 a.m. and all the lights in our room are still on. My aching head is berating me for those stupid lights. I shake Brett lightly and ask him to go turn off the lights – knowing full well that this extended “rest” is his way of “getting out” of cleaning the litter box, but not caring, since all I want is the blessed coolness of dark at this point.
“In a minute,” he tells me, rolling over. I can’t help it. The time for politeness is past. My migraine is a tough task master. “NOW!” I practically scream, clutching my head.
“Fine!” Acting more irritated at the inconvenience than sympathetic (although I would have thought he’d have been happy to have avoided the litter box task) he rolls out of bed, stomps over to the light switch, and flicks it off.
Too tired and in too much pain to care, I promptly fell asleep.
This morning, I am feeling better, although still in MRM. I got up and called in to work – I’d be no good to them today. Then, I went downstairs to make a nice hot cup of tea.
And saw them.
All the dishes Brett used to wash the produce – piled high on the countertop. Understandably, this caused me some irritation. Now, still in MRM, I have the task of washing dishes AND cleaning the rabbits’ litter box.
I’m tempted to leave it all be.
The thing is - I’m always telling Brett that a household job isn’t done – until it’s done. You can’t make dinner and leave all the dirty dishes – that’s part of the job. You can’t do laundry and leave clean clothes piled on the bed for someone else to fold – that’s part of the job. You can’t stuff the garbage so full that eventually the other person has to take it out – that’s part of the job.
It’s frustrating to be in MRM and still have to think about functioning.
So, I’ve decided not to do it. At least not now. I’m going to have another cup of tea, a bagel, and curl up on the couch.
Let the world and my chores wait. No one else will do them for me, obviously, so I say they can all wait until I’m ready.
And I’m not ready yet!
He gave me his sense of humor, his unconditional love and acceptance, and 20 years of great memories. Unfortunately, he also passed down his medical history – high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and migraines.
Now, I am grateful I only suffer the occasional migraine. I know there are those who live in constant pain from migraines. Their pain is so intense it become debilitating and prevents them from living a normal life. Brett’s sister is one such example.
So, my occasional migraine is not such a big deal in the scope of things. However, being a migraine sufferer, I can tell you it is also no picnic.
Due to my blessedly limited experience, I can now tell the vague differences between headaches. There are slight headaches, normal headaches, pounding headaches, throbbing headaches and then the warp speed blast in migraine territory.
Personally, I’ve only ever gone to the migraine stage of throwing up, sobbing, and rocking back and forth from the pain – but, believe it or not, some people get it worse. There have been reports of people taking a gun to their head to try and stop the pain. My own sister-in-law once said she got to the point where all she wanted was for someone to crack her head open to just relieve the constant, paralyzing anguish.
Most doctors believe that migraines have “triggers” – something in a person’s body make-up that brings on a migraine. The problem? Everyone has different triggers, and some people (like me) don’t know what they are.
We have suspicions, of course. I think the barometric pressure and allergies (ragweed, smoke) may contribute to my occasional migraine, but I’m not really sure. And, at this point in time, there’s not a lot doctors can do to treat a migraine. It is one of the most horrible ailments in modern medicine today, and (sadly) there’s no cure.
Today I am in MRM (Migraine Recovery Mode). It’s that all-over-achy feeling the day after a migraine – when you feel like you’re recovering from someone beating your head in with a baseball bat. I called in to work and am now sitting here sipping hot green tea and feeling somewhat philosophical.
Yesterday started out like a regular Sunday. We got up a little later but still managed to make it to morning service at church. I felt a slight (and what I assumed was normal) headache when we went Dollar Store shopping after church.
But the migraine was starting to take over by the time we started grocery shopping. And by the time we got home and put groceries away, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed; put the covers over my head and just cry.
So, that’s what I did.
Brett went to evening church, and when he got home, things were worse. I had gone into my throwing up, sobbing, and rocking back and forth phase. He got me some aspirin and a cold pack and tried (for a sweet but non-nurturing person) to sympathize.
The thing that amazes me is how confused Brett gets when I’m incapacitated for any measure of time.
I do a lot of work around the house. To be fair, he does a lot of work, too, but it’s more occasional stuff – taking out the garbage, mowing the yard, cleaning ducts, etc. I do the everyday stuff that HAS to get done – dishes, laundry, cleaning, feeding the rabbits, cleaning up after the rabbits – stuff like that.
Well, last night, Brett took the initiative and washed all the produce for the rabbits and packaged it for the week. That’s a prolonged process and one I usually do. So, that was very nice.
I also asked if he could clean their litter box. I could tell he was a little annoyed – “Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” he asked me.
In my head, I know what he’s saying – that I’ll feel better by tomorrow and then (of course) I can do it, instead of him. That irradiated me. Still does. Cleaning the litter box is definitely NOT a glamour job, but it’s not hard to do, and I do it every week. I also “do” the vegetables every week. He can’t do it for one week? He loves the rabbits as much as I do, but when it comes to caring for them, he’s a little bit of a disappointment.
I pointed out to him that the litter box was full, full, full – and I usually do clean it out on Sunday. “Okay, okay,” he says and then lies down on the bed next to me to “rest for just a minute.”
The next thing I know, it’s 12:30 a.m. and all the lights in our room are still on. My aching head is berating me for those stupid lights. I shake Brett lightly and ask him to go turn off the lights – knowing full well that this extended “rest” is his way of “getting out” of cleaning the litter box, but not caring, since all I want is the blessed coolness of dark at this point.
“In a minute,” he tells me, rolling over. I can’t help it. The time for politeness is past. My migraine is a tough task master. “NOW!” I practically scream, clutching my head.
“Fine!” Acting more irritated at the inconvenience than sympathetic (although I would have thought he’d have been happy to have avoided the litter box task) he rolls out of bed, stomps over to the light switch, and flicks it off.
Too tired and in too much pain to care, I promptly fell asleep.
This morning, I am feeling better, although still in MRM. I got up and called in to work – I’d be no good to them today. Then, I went downstairs to make a nice hot cup of tea.
And saw them.
All the dishes Brett used to wash the produce – piled high on the countertop. Understandably, this caused me some irritation. Now, still in MRM, I have the task of washing dishes AND cleaning the rabbits’ litter box.
I’m tempted to leave it all be.
The thing is - I’m always telling Brett that a household job isn’t done – until it’s done. You can’t make dinner and leave all the dirty dishes – that’s part of the job. You can’t do laundry and leave clean clothes piled on the bed for someone else to fold – that’s part of the job. You can’t stuff the garbage so full that eventually the other person has to take it out – that’s part of the job.
It’s frustrating to be in MRM and still have to think about functioning.
So, I’ve decided not to do it. At least not now. I’m going to have another cup of tea, a bagel, and curl up on the couch.
Let the world and my chores wait. No one else will do them for me, obviously, so I say they can all wait until I’m ready.
And I’m not ready yet!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Watertown Weekend: After the Play
After dinner, we headed to the play. Candice and I rode with Jonathan and Leeanna, and later Candice told me that she spied FLOWERS in the front seat! Hmm, it was a “date” after all!
The play! The play! The play (The Importance of Being Earnest) was EXCELLENT! We had the BEST seats in the house! Literally, front and center! The only way we could have been closer would have been if we were actually ON the stage.
The actors did a phenomenal job of getting lost in their characters, and the whole thing flew by in record time!
During intermission, I saw some familiar faces. My old drama teacher, Mrs. Traum and her husband had come up for the play. I also saw Pastor and Kay Walton (from Memorial Baptist Church). They were there because their daughter was one of the principal actors in the play – and did a great job, I might add!
Driving home after the play was an adventure! Jonathan and Leeanna had plans afterwards, so Candice and I had to pile in the car with Uncle Darryl, Aunt Jan, Mom, AND Aunt Linda! There were six of us, not particularly skinny people, stuffed into this ridiculously tiny car!
We kept joking that Uncle Darryl was going to get a reputation – driving around with five women in his car!
When we got back to Aunt Jan’s, we had popcorn, ice cream, tea, and played Apples to Apples. Even Uncle Darryl played! It was fun, and (of course) yours truly WON!
We were all pretty exhausted, so we went to bed around 11 p.m. Mom and Aunt Linda shared the “real” bed in one room, and Candice and I slept on twin bed mattresses on the floor in another room.
I tried to talk to her, but she was pretty much out as soon as her head hit the pillow. So, I just worked out some story details in my head, and the next thing I knew – it was morning!
Well, it was only 6:00 a.m., so I figured no one else would be up yet. Thankfully, Aunt Jan had put us in a room with a bookcase, so I started perusing my choices.
I noticed that she had John MacArthur’s new book – Twelve Extraordinary Women. Our church women’s group is currently studying that book, but it’s on a night I can’t be there. So, I thought this would be a good opportunity to look it over. I’d kind of been thinking about buying it.
Well, turns out that it wasn’t such a good idea. I got hot under the collar just reading the preface to the book. I now have to refer to the author as John MacSexist in my own mind! I found his phraseology discussing women to be extremely condescending and overtly sexist. I don’t think he was TRYING to be intentionally sexist, but YUCK!
He talked about “feminine excellence.” Okay, first of all, what would a man know about feminine excellence? Secondly, that sounds like a commercial for sanitary “napkins.” Thirdly, have you ever heard of “manly excellence?” Who comes up with this stuff?
He also talked about how feminism and egalitarianism have destroyed women. He said that women aren’t “special” anymore. Yeah, well, the Muslim men seem to think their women are pretty “special” too, and they live in an oppressed and male dominated world. You know what? I’m okay not being so special.
He went on to say how women’s roles are defined by creation – to give birth and nurture the little ones. Okay, so what does a barren person like myself have to do to discover her freakin’ “role?” Are we useless if we can’t bear children? According to the preface of this book – pretty much.
He also bemoaned that women are being integrated into society - that we are “forced” to be on the front lines, into doing physical work, and harassed daily at the workplace.
Well, there are brave women who want to serve their country on the front lines. There are strong women who live to do physical work. As for harassment in the workplace, do you know what happens, Mr. MacArthur? They get sent to jail. That’s what happens.
So, let’s crawl out from the rock we’ve been living under for the past fifty years and get with the program. Women can do great things. They are special and capable, and they don’t need YOU rushing to defend them against imaginary wrongs. Just write your profiles on Biblical women, okay? Please. Geesh.
So those few pages got me a little worked up! To calm down, I read Aunt Jan’s yearbook from Auburn High School in 19--. Very interesting! Very, very, interesting!
By that time, Mom and Aunt Jan were up. We enjoyed zucchini and chocolate chip muffins along with English muffins and cream cheese – and tea – we always have to have tea! Oh wait, we had hot cocoa, too!
Eventually, Aunt Linda and Candice got up, and the four of us headed back towards home! We had a nice trip back, listening to Christmas carols in car and singing along occasionally.
All in all, it was a truly wonderful trip!
Thanks to Aunt Jan and Uncle Darryl and Jonathan for putting up with the lot of us!
The play! The play! The play (The Importance of Being Earnest) was EXCELLENT! We had the BEST seats in the house! Literally, front and center! The only way we could have been closer would have been if we were actually ON the stage.
The actors did a phenomenal job of getting lost in their characters, and the whole thing flew by in record time!
During intermission, I saw some familiar faces. My old drama teacher, Mrs. Traum and her husband had come up for the play. I also saw Pastor and Kay Walton (from Memorial Baptist Church). They were there because their daughter was one of the principal actors in the play – and did a great job, I might add!
Driving home after the play was an adventure! Jonathan and Leeanna had plans afterwards, so Candice and I had to pile in the car with Uncle Darryl, Aunt Jan, Mom, AND Aunt Linda! There were six of us, not particularly skinny people, stuffed into this ridiculously tiny car!
We kept joking that Uncle Darryl was going to get a reputation – driving around with five women in his car!
When we got back to Aunt Jan’s, we had popcorn, ice cream, tea, and played Apples to Apples. Even Uncle Darryl played! It was fun, and (of course) yours truly WON!
We were all pretty exhausted, so we went to bed around 11 p.m. Mom and Aunt Linda shared the “real” bed in one room, and Candice and I slept on twin bed mattresses on the floor in another room.
I tried to talk to her, but she was pretty much out as soon as her head hit the pillow. So, I just worked out some story details in my head, and the next thing I knew – it was morning!
Well, it was only 6:00 a.m., so I figured no one else would be up yet. Thankfully, Aunt Jan had put us in a room with a bookcase, so I started perusing my choices.
I noticed that she had John MacArthur’s new book – Twelve Extraordinary Women. Our church women’s group is currently studying that book, but it’s on a night I can’t be there. So, I thought this would be a good opportunity to look it over. I’d kind of been thinking about buying it.
Well, turns out that it wasn’t such a good idea. I got hot under the collar just reading the preface to the book. I now have to refer to the author as John MacSexist in my own mind! I found his phraseology discussing women to be extremely condescending and overtly sexist. I don’t think he was TRYING to be intentionally sexist, but YUCK!
He talked about “feminine excellence.” Okay, first of all, what would a man know about feminine excellence? Secondly, that sounds like a commercial for sanitary “napkins.” Thirdly, have you ever heard of “manly excellence?” Who comes up with this stuff?
He also talked about how feminism and egalitarianism have destroyed women. He said that women aren’t “special” anymore. Yeah, well, the Muslim men seem to think their women are pretty “special” too, and they live in an oppressed and male dominated world. You know what? I’m okay not being so special.
He went on to say how women’s roles are defined by creation – to give birth and nurture the little ones. Okay, so what does a barren person like myself have to do to discover her freakin’ “role?” Are we useless if we can’t bear children? According to the preface of this book – pretty much.
He also bemoaned that women are being integrated into society - that we are “forced” to be on the front lines, into doing physical work, and harassed daily at the workplace.
Well, there are brave women who want to serve their country on the front lines. There are strong women who live to do physical work. As for harassment in the workplace, do you know what happens, Mr. MacArthur? They get sent to jail. That’s what happens.
So, let’s crawl out from the rock we’ve been living under for the past fifty years and get with the program. Women can do great things. They are special and capable, and they don’t need YOU rushing to defend them against imaginary wrongs. Just write your profiles on Biblical women, okay? Please. Geesh.
So those few pages got me a little worked up! To calm down, I read Aunt Jan’s yearbook from Auburn High School in 19--. Very interesting! Very, very, interesting!
By that time, Mom and Aunt Jan were up. We enjoyed zucchini and chocolate chip muffins along with English muffins and cream cheese – and tea – we always have to have tea! Oh wait, we had hot cocoa, too!
Eventually, Aunt Linda and Candice got up, and the four of us headed back towards home! We had a nice trip back, listening to Christmas carols in car and singing along occasionally.
All in all, it was a truly wonderful trip!
Thanks to Aunt Jan and Uncle Darryl and Jonathan for putting up with the lot of us!
Watertown Weekend: Before the Play
My trip to Watertown started out with a brisk early morning drive to Mom’s. For some reason, my car takes FOREVER to warm up! I thought I was being smart and taking the short route to Mom’s, but I ended up in horrifically slow moving traffic on Rockton Road, due to the new Super Walmart construction. It was really nasty – very slow and lots of toxic blacktop fumes!
When I finally DID get to Mom’s, I realized I had totally forgotten to eat breakfast. Thankfully, Aunt Linda had brought some butter croissants! Yum! Candice and I still talked Mom into stopping at a gas station so we could get Coke (her) and Diet Coke (me).
Aunt Linda had brought some of the photos she’s taken over the last couple of months. She wanted us to have something to look through during the trip.
Well, they were very convicting! As I looked at the photos, I saw a totally different person looking out at me. I’m very glad Mom and I are starting back to Weight Watchers on Tuesday!
It’s funny that I don’t see that same face in the mirror. I was honestly shocked at some of those photos. I think I’m going to post one at work and one at home, so I’m constantly reminded that I need to work at getting the weight off!
Anyway, so the four us piled in Mom’s car and headed up to Aunt Jan’s. Mom and Aunt Linda sat in the front and talked about (I’m sure) much more mature things that Candice and I discussed.
Actually, we mostly discussed the lyrics to “Sante Fe” from Newsies. She swore the lyric “save the world” was in there, and I swore it wasn’t. Guess what? I just looked it up on Google – and I was right! Ha! So there! We also talked about BJ moving to Tennessee this Sunday, and Candice’s love life – oh, la, la!
We also enjoyed driving with Mom – well, actually we laughed about it a lot. Mom’s in love with her brake pedal and tends to stomp on it every couple of seconds, and so we knew all of our seatbelts were functioning properly!
Eventually, s-l-o-w-l-y we got to the Johnson Creek Outlet Mall. Aunt Jan met us there. It was SO good to see her! She’s so sweet. She even let me and Candice use her coupons to get new lotions from Bath and Body Works.
Candice got Winter Candy Apple, and I got Twisted Peppermint. Mom said she knew I would pick that because – and I quote, “You’re twisted.” From my own mother!
We went to Harry David (yum freakin’ yum) together, and then broke off into two groups. Candice and I went off together and “the aunts” went off together. We visited the Welcome Home Store where I got a candle screen (only $10!) and a piece that matches a tea light holder I got from Home Interiors forever ago.
We also went to Aeropostale, Gap, The Paper Factory, The Children’s Place, Dress Barn, and Nike.
It was so fun in Nike! We just walked around and held up various athletic attire and said, “Darn it! They don’t carry this in an extra small.” Then, of course, we’d ask if they had anything in the 0-2 size. Ha! Ha! Ha! SO funny!
Aunt Jan had coupons for Arby’s (actually, she had coupons for everything we did!) – enough for the five of us AND for the complete party of people behind us. We were all passing out coupons! They loved us at Arby’s.
After that, Aunt Linda and Candice went back to Aunt Jan’s to sleep. Aunt Linda always has to take a nap, and Candice worked the night shift, so she hadn’t had any sleep yet.
I went with Mom and Aunt Jan to Kohl’s. We found great Christmas gifts for Linda and Molly Sturgill. I also discovered a good gift idea for Colleen. I’ve thought about it for a while, and I really think I’m going to get it!
Mom and Aunt Jan are SO funny! They kept asking for my opinion on certain clothes, and when I said I didn’t like them, they were like, “Well what do you know?” I told them they shouldn’t ask for an opinion if they knew they weren’t going to like it! Ha! Ha!
Aunt Jan could have shopped FOREVER, but Mom and I were exhausted – and my feet HURT! So, we went back to Aunt Jan’s and took naps – in very uncomfortable chairs, since our sleeping partners were hogging the beds. The NERVE! J
At 5:00 p.m., by the time Uncle Darryl got home, we were all up and gussied up for dinner before the play. Dinner was DE-licious. Aunt Jan made Chicken Chalupa Casserole, Cornbread Casserole, Strawberry Jello Salad, and Chocolate Mousse-with-a-graham-cracker-crust-Squares. Mmm-mmmm-good!
My cousin Jonathan, a graduate student at Maranatha, joined us for dinner. He also brought his friend Leeanna (I’m guessing on the spelling of her name) to dinner. He is SO thin! You could almost SEE his bones! I’m not entirely sure he’s a Rehfeldt! Ha! Ha!
Well, in spite of being SO tall and SO thin, he’s still very, very handsome. And what a GOOD guy! I was very proud to be his cousin – he probably wanted to crawl under the table with the lot of us Rehfeldt women talking the whole time!
Leeanna seemed very sweet. Although I did stick my foot in it during dinner! Somehow, we got around to talking about education and the topic of home school came up. And I said how I’ve noticed some home school students lack the social interaction necessary for normal development.
Well, turns out, Leeanna was a home school student! Ooops! Thankfully, the word “some” saved me. She regaled us with tales of her parent’s successful experience with home school. She laughed about it being her “high horse,” but I don’t think she was ever dogmatic about it.
And judging by just the few hours we spent with her, I must say her parents did something VERY right. She’s an accomplished, well-spoken woman. And we could all see why Jonathan would be smitten!
When I finally DID get to Mom’s, I realized I had totally forgotten to eat breakfast. Thankfully, Aunt Linda had brought some butter croissants! Yum! Candice and I still talked Mom into stopping at a gas station so we could get Coke (her) and Diet Coke (me).
Aunt Linda had brought some of the photos she’s taken over the last couple of months. She wanted us to have something to look through during the trip.
Well, they were very convicting! As I looked at the photos, I saw a totally different person looking out at me. I’m very glad Mom and I are starting back to Weight Watchers on Tuesday!
It’s funny that I don’t see that same face in the mirror. I was honestly shocked at some of those photos. I think I’m going to post one at work and one at home, so I’m constantly reminded that I need to work at getting the weight off!
Anyway, so the four us piled in Mom’s car and headed up to Aunt Jan’s. Mom and Aunt Linda sat in the front and talked about (I’m sure) much more mature things that Candice and I discussed.
Actually, we mostly discussed the lyrics to “Sante Fe” from Newsies. She swore the lyric “save the world” was in there, and I swore it wasn’t. Guess what? I just looked it up on Google – and I was right! Ha! So there! We also talked about BJ moving to Tennessee this Sunday, and Candice’s love life – oh, la, la!
We also enjoyed driving with Mom – well, actually we laughed about it a lot. Mom’s in love with her brake pedal and tends to stomp on it every couple of seconds, and so we knew all of our seatbelts were functioning properly!
Eventually, s-l-o-w-l-y we got to the Johnson Creek Outlet Mall. Aunt Jan met us there. It was SO good to see her! She’s so sweet. She even let me and Candice use her coupons to get new lotions from Bath and Body Works.
Candice got Winter Candy Apple, and I got Twisted Peppermint. Mom said she knew I would pick that because – and I quote, “You’re twisted.” From my own mother!
We went to Harry David (yum freakin’ yum) together, and then broke off into two groups. Candice and I went off together and “the aunts” went off together. We visited the Welcome Home Store where I got a candle screen (only $10!) and a piece that matches a tea light holder I got from Home Interiors forever ago.
We also went to Aeropostale, Gap, The Paper Factory, The Children’s Place, Dress Barn, and Nike.
It was so fun in Nike! We just walked around and held up various athletic attire and said, “Darn it! They don’t carry this in an extra small.” Then, of course, we’d ask if they had anything in the 0-2 size. Ha! Ha! Ha! SO funny!
Aunt Jan had coupons for Arby’s (actually, she had coupons for everything we did!) – enough for the five of us AND for the complete party of people behind us. We were all passing out coupons! They loved us at Arby’s.
After that, Aunt Linda and Candice went back to Aunt Jan’s to sleep. Aunt Linda always has to take a nap, and Candice worked the night shift, so she hadn’t had any sleep yet.
I went with Mom and Aunt Jan to Kohl’s. We found great Christmas gifts for Linda and Molly Sturgill. I also discovered a good gift idea for Colleen. I’ve thought about it for a while, and I really think I’m going to get it!
Mom and Aunt Jan are SO funny! They kept asking for my opinion on certain clothes, and when I said I didn’t like them, they were like, “Well what do you know?” I told them they shouldn’t ask for an opinion if they knew they weren’t going to like it! Ha! Ha!
Aunt Jan could have shopped FOREVER, but Mom and I were exhausted – and my feet HURT! So, we went back to Aunt Jan’s and took naps – in very uncomfortable chairs, since our sleeping partners were hogging the beds. The NERVE! J
At 5:00 p.m., by the time Uncle Darryl got home, we were all up and gussied up for dinner before the play. Dinner was DE-licious. Aunt Jan made Chicken Chalupa Casserole, Cornbread Casserole, Strawberry Jello Salad, and Chocolate Mousse-with-a-graham-cracker-crust-Squares. Mmm-mmmm-good!
My cousin Jonathan, a graduate student at Maranatha, joined us for dinner. He also brought his friend Leeanna (I’m guessing on the spelling of her name) to dinner. He is SO thin! You could almost SEE his bones! I’m not entirely sure he’s a Rehfeldt! Ha! Ha!
Well, in spite of being SO tall and SO thin, he’s still very, very handsome. And what a GOOD guy! I was very proud to be his cousin – he probably wanted to crawl under the table with the lot of us Rehfeldt women talking the whole time!
Leeanna seemed very sweet. Although I did stick my foot in it during dinner! Somehow, we got around to talking about education and the topic of home school came up. And I said how I’ve noticed some home school students lack the social interaction necessary for normal development.
Well, turns out, Leeanna was a home school student! Ooops! Thankfully, the word “some” saved me. She regaled us with tales of her parent’s successful experience with home school. She laughed about it being her “high horse,” but I don’t think she was ever dogmatic about it.
And judging by just the few hours we spent with her, I must say her parents did something VERY right. She’s an accomplished, well-spoken woman. And we could all see why Jonathan would be smitten!
My Good Friend vs. My Managing Editor
I had a great time with Carleen on Thursday night!
We went to Atlanta Bread Company, and she helped me work out story ideas, character sketches, and timelines for Gangland. I’m so glad she’s agreed to be my editor!
It’s great to have a smart friend who reads as avidly as I do. Her input was invaluable. She was kind but honest about where I needed to make some changes. Now, I really feel like I have clear direction on Gangland.
Now only if I could get one on Bruised! I’ve been sitting here at my PC for an hour now, and I’ve only reformatted a few paragraphs.
I have a 150 page novel so far, and since I was too stupid to do a clear outline before, I’ve got this GIANT plot gap between my two main story ideas. I did decide to re-write one character’s personality, so those were the paragraphs I reformatted, but now I’m stuck!
I’ve got to go back to the beginning and ACTUALLY do an outline. At least, with Gangland, I’ve got clear direction – at least enough to get started.
Anyway, back to Thursday night, I had printed out Bruised – 153 pages to be exact – and brought it along so Carleen could see how far I’ve gotten with it. Well, she talked me into handing it over to be looked at. I really, really didn’t want to do it, since it is still very rough and unedited, but she was persistent enough, that I ended up handing it over.
I’m a little afraid of what she’s going to say. Handing over your freshman story to be critiqued is sort of like having other people yell at your kids. You can critique your own stuff to death, but you get pretty protective when other people do it.
Well, I’m just going to have to get over it – especially now that I have an “editor” who I do want to be honest with me – even if it hurts! No pain, no better writing!
I got home about 8:30 p.m. and Brett was still asleep. He had Thursday night off from work. He slept from 6:30 a.m. – 8:30 p.m.! Can you believe it!!! Then, when I went to bed, about 10:00 p.m., he went downstairs to “work on stuff.”
Then, the next morning, he told me that when he went downstairs, after sleeping 14 HOURS, he fell back asleep on the couch! And slept another 7 HOURS. I told him that he should be extremely well-rested for his Friday-Saturday hunting trip! In fact, he shouldn’t need to sleep at all!
So, Friday morning, (I took off work, too!) we were both putzing around the house getting ready for our trips – him to go hunting and me to go to Maranatha!
We had an exciting weekend ahead of us!
We went to Atlanta Bread Company, and she helped me work out story ideas, character sketches, and timelines for Gangland. I’m so glad she’s agreed to be my editor!
It’s great to have a smart friend who reads as avidly as I do. Her input was invaluable. She was kind but honest about where I needed to make some changes. Now, I really feel like I have clear direction on Gangland.
Now only if I could get one on Bruised! I’ve been sitting here at my PC for an hour now, and I’ve only reformatted a few paragraphs.
I have a 150 page novel so far, and since I was too stupid to do a clear outline before, I’ve got this GIANT plot gap between my two main story ideas. I did decide to re-write one character’s personality, so those were the paragraphs I reformatted, but now I’m stuck!
I’ve got to go back to the beginning and ACTUALLY do an outline. At least, with Gangland, I’ve got clear direction – at least enough to get started.
Anyway, back to Thursday night, I had printed out Bruised – 153 pages to be exact – and brought it along so Carleen could see how far I’ve gotten with it. Well, she talked me into handing it over to be looked at. I really, really didn’t want to do it, since it is still very rough and unedited, but she was persistent enough, that I ended up handing it over.
I’m a little afraid of what she’s going to say. Handing over your freshman story to be critiqued is sort of like having other people yell at your kids. You can critique your own stuff to death, but you get pretty protective when other people do it.
Well, I’m just going to have to get over it – especially now that I have an “editor” who I do want to be honest with me – even if it hurts! No pain, no better writing!
I got home about 8:30 p.m. and Brett was still asleep. He had Thursday night off from work. He slept from 6:30 a.m. – 8:30 p.m.! Can you believe it!!! Then, when I went to bed, about 10:00 p.m., he went downstairs to “work on stuff.”
Then, the next morning, he told me that when he went downstairs, after sleeping 14 HOURS, he fell back asleep on the couch! And slept another 7 HOURS. I told him that he should be extremely well-rested for his Friday-Saturday hunting trip! In fact, he shouldn’t need to sleep at all!
So, Friday morning, (I took off work, too!) we were both putzing around the house getting ready for our trips – him to go hunting and me to go to Maranatha!
We had an exciting weekend ahead of us!
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Rehfeldt Women Weekend Excursion in Watertown
The ball started rolling with a phone call from my Aunt Jan.
Knowing how my mom and I love plays, she invites us to the Maranatha play every year. She and my Uncle Darryl (He’s a VP of something at Maranatha.) get free tickets every year, just because Uncle Darryl prays at the beginning of the play – what a racket! Ha! Ha!
Anyway, several family members have gone with us to plays in the past, including various cousins, husbands, and even Grandma. It is always an excellent play. I remember going to a great mystery play there where I was totally surprised by the whodunit at the end. The actors were THAT good. We also especially enjoyed the Pirates of Penzance musical. It was spectacular!
So this year, the play happens to fall on a hunting weekend, so both of our husbands were out of the picture. Out in the woods, actually. Ha. Ha. Anyway, so we decided to invite my cousin Candice and Aunt Linda as our tag-a-longs.
I am really looking forward to it. The play is The Importance of Being Earnest which I’ve never seen. Plus, we are going to go shopping at Johnson Creek Mall, eat Aunt Jan’s delicious cooking for dinner, see our cousin/nephew Jon (an accomplished Maranatha student – and has a girlfriend who we’ll also meet!), and spend the night!
I always feel a little weird stepping on the Maranatha campus. Going to college there was never really a consideration for me. First, they didn’t have a Communications major. Second, going there would just have been a continuation of the oppressive and legalistic Baptist regime I had already endured in my younger years.
Now, in all fairness, many, many of my wonderful friends went to Maranatha and received a brilliant education, a great college experience, and met their soul mates. So, I’m not downing the college. I’m just saying it wasn’t the right place for me.
Anyway, it still feels a little like stepping back in time when I’m there. Candice, my entirely delightful cousin and kindred spirit, asked me what I was going to wear to the play. She said, “Are you going to dress up or just wear church clothes?” It made me laugh! Only WE would get the distinction between REAL dress up clothes and the Maranatha translation of “dressed up.” Translation - “Wear your go to meetin’ clothes!” Ha! Ha! Candice SO gets me!
My Aunt Linda should also be a blast to hang out with. I didn’t really know her growing up, since she lived in France, but I’ve gotten to know her over the past couple of years. She’s a very smart, insightful woman who does a great job of analyzing just about everything accurately! Plus, she’s hilarious!
So, I’m looking forward to it, and I’ll be sure to report on it afterwards. And yes, Aunt Jan, I promise I’ll be good and not say anything embarrassing.
Or at least I’ll try.
Knowing how my mom and I love plays, she invites us to the Maranatha play every year. She and my Uncle Darryl (He’s a VP of something at Maranatha.) get free tickets every year, just because Uncle Darryl prays at the beginning of the play – what a racket! Ha! Ha!
Anyway, several family members have gone with us to plays in the past, including various cousins, husbands, and even Grandma. It is always an excellent play. I remember going to a great mystery play there where I was totally surprised by the whodunit at the end. The actors were THAT good. We also especially enjoyed the Pirates of Penzance musical. It was spectacular!
So this year, the play happens to fall on a hunting weekend, so both of our husbands were out of the picture. Out in the woods, actually. Ha. Ha. Anyway, so we decided to invite my cousin Candice and Aunt Linda as our tag-a-longs.
I am really looking forward to it. The play is The Importance of Being Earnest which I’ve never seen. Plus, we are going to go shopping at Johnson Creek Mall, eat Aunt Jan’s delicious cooking for dinner, see our cousin/nephew Jon (an accomplished Maranatha student – and has a girlfriend who we’ll also meet!), and spend the night!
I always feel a little weird stepping on the Maranatha campus. Going to college there was never really a consideration for me. First, they didn’t have a Communications major. Second, going there would just have been a continuation of the oppressive and legalistic Baptist regime I had already endured in my younger years.
Now, in all fairness, many, many of my wonderful friends went to Maranatha and received a brilliant education, a great college experience, and met their soul mates. So, I’m not downing the college. I’m just saying it wasn’t the right place for me.
Anyway, it still feels a little like stepping back in time when I’m there. Candice, my entirely delightful cousin and kindred spirit, asked me what I was going to wear to the play. She said, “Are you going to dress up or just wear church clothes?” It made me laugh! Only WE would get the distinction between REAL dress up clothes and the Maranatha translation of “dressed up.” Translation - “Wear your go to meetin’ clothes!” Ha! Ha! Candice SO gets me!
My Aunt Linda should also be a blast to hang out with. I didn’t really know her growing up, since she lived in France, but I’ve gotten to know her over the past couple of years. She’s a very smart, insightful woman who does a great job of analyzing just about everything accurately! Plus, she’s hilarious!
So, I’m looking forward to it, and I’ll be sure to report on it afterwards. And yes, Aunt Jan, I promise I’ll be good and not say anything embarrassing.
Or at least I’ll try.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
The Swearing Situation
I don’t think I heard a “real” swear word until I was at least thirteen.
Growing up in a house with two parents who didn’t swear, going to a school where swearing was reason for expulsion, and of course, there was church where, for the obvious reasons, not many people feel comfortable swearing – I didn’t have much of an opportunity to become well versed in profanity.
I was exactly thirteen when I said my first bad word.
Actually, being the writer I was, I wrote the bad word in my diary. I even remember the sentence. “Those stupid cheerleaders think they can do whatever they d--- well please!” I think I went on to be rather indignant of cheerleaders in general.
Not two days after I wrote that particular entry, my Mom and I had a big fight. I was thirteen and so that was pretty much par for the course. Well, in the middle of the fight, my sainted mother, from whom I’d never even heard so much as an “Oh, dear!” exclamation, said, “You are acting like you can do whatever you d--- well please!”
I was furious and burst forth with an accusation. “Have you been reading my diary?” I demanded.
“What?” Mom was totally confused. Then, so was I. Turns out she hadn’t read my diary, but that our two minds had somehow latched on to that phrase and used it within days of each other.
I stormed off to my room. I was less upset that my mother had just sworn at me, and more worried that she’d want to know exactly what kind of filth I was writing in my diary.
After a few minutes, Mom knocked on my door. She came in and apologized for swearing at me. Being the smart mouth teenager I was, I agreed to forgive her…if she was d--- sure she was sorry.
Now, most parents would have hit the roof. But Mom didn’t. Instead, she sat down and told me a story.
She told me her own mother, who raised 12 children, had also used the “d” word once. Mom remembered it all very clearly. She said all the kids were in the kitchen, clamoring for attention, when my Aunt Laurie, who was very young, picked up a pair of scissors and started playing with them.
“D--- it, Laurie! Put those down,” my normally even-tempered grandmother exclaimed. Mom says the kitchen fell silent, Aunt Laurie dropped the scissors, and Grandma just went back to her chores. Mom said that no one mentioned it again until years later when they were all old enough to laugh about it.
By that time, both of our tempers had cooled off. I apologized for swearing, and Mom joked that all Rehfeldt women were allowed to say the “d” word once, and we’d both just used up our turns.
Later, I told the Grandma the story, and we laughed about it together. She told me how incredibly guilty she had felt, but also how (in that instance) it sure did get her point across!
So, mostly, I am a stranger to swearing. But now, after having been in the professional world, and just less sheltered, I suppose, I have been introduced to swearing in regular conversation.
I have always worked in professional offices, so my swearing exposure has been less intense. Brett assures me that the “factory” work world is just one long swear word after another.
But swearing definitely also exists in the “office” world. I’ve worked in a nurses’ office, a Chamber of Commerce, and a non-profit office, and I’ve heard clever and not-so-clever uses of profanity in all of them.
The thing about people who swear – they get uncomfortable when they realize you don’t. In the different places I’ve worked, I’ve gotten a reputation as a goody-two-shoes, people who try to get me to swear, and even the nicest people who say the obligatory “Sorry!” in my general direction after taking the Lord’s name in vain.
Mostly, I take it all in stride. I figure that the people who are swearing are, most likely, not saved, so it’s not like they are under Holy Spirit’s influence. And, since it IS an office environment, the swearing is mostly light and never used professionally.
Occasionally, I’ve had the chance to make a point here or there. Once, our bookkeeper took the Lord’s name in vain, and then started choking on a hard candy. It took her several hearty coughs and throat clears before she could speak again. She looked at me, and since I knew her pretty well, I said, “Serves you right.” She nodded, smiled, and said, “I suppose you’re right!”
But occasionally the swearing gets to me. One of my pastors once said, “When you get bumped in life - whatever you’re really full of - will spill out.”
I work with a woman about my age. We get along very well and work great as a team. The problem? She swears more than anyone I know. I could take her through the alphabet, and I’ll bet she knows a swear word for every letter.
One time I made a joke about how much – and how graphically – she swears. She kept insisting that “I’m not THAT bad.” But she is, and being with her all day seems to push the words through my ears and into my brain. And a couple of times, when I’ve been “bumped,” a word has come out.
Last night, we were at Wendy’s, and Brett was joking about eating some of my fries. I was jokingly thinking, “Oh, no you don’t.” But that’s not what came out. “Oh, h---, no!” I said.
Before the words were even completely out, I clapped my hand over my mouth and stared flabbergasted at my husband. My eyes must have been huge.
I know exactly why I said it. My swear-prone friend from work had walked around all day complaining about a recent project using those exact words.
I was instantly ashamed and apologized to my husband. He was really surprised but could tell I felt bad about the whole thing.
Brett has sympathy for the swearing situation. He knows what it’s like. Unlike me, he didn’t grow up in a Christian home, attend Christian school, or go to church. His parents didn’t swear, but that didn’t help him from being introduced to swearing at a very young age.
Now, people who know Brett, know he is mostly a very quiet person. But that all changes when he gets behind the wheel of a car. That’s when his swearing temptation is at its highest. He knows this and has worked for years to control it. That’s not to say his control hasn’t slipped from time to time in the years we’ve been together. He’s had to apologize to me for the very same reason from time to time.
Still, it frightens me to think that I am so easily influenced. I used to think that being a Christian somehow inoculated me against something as small a little old swear word.
Apparently, that little old swear word has a lot more power over me than I realized. This means, of course, I have to be more vigilant and sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s leading. And purpose in my heart not to swear. Even unintentionally.
The thing is that I think people who swear often “cheat” at their words. If you don’t swear, you automatically have to be more creative in your language. You can’t fall back on the old familiar way of describing a situation or expressing emotion, you have the opportunity to express your ideas in a totally clean and higher way. It actually makes you appear more professional and in charge of a situation.
Mr. Thompson, my eighth grade teacher, was talking about swearing in one of our Bible classes. He said that swear words, with the exception of the Lord’s name, were mostly just “made up” by the masses. That the “real” sin was behind the actual words.
He told us that if we had sinful intentions in our hearts when we talked about someone – if we called them a name – any name – it was just as wrong as swearing. He even said if we called someone a “hammer” but meant another word or had a sinful emotion in our mind, we had just sinned. And that was just as bad as swearing.
That has always stuck with me. I hope my everyday words have honest intentions behind them.
So, I can honestly say that I’m going to keep trying not be influenced and not to swear – not even (sorry, Grandma) the “d” word.
Growing up in a house with two parents who didn’t swear, going to a school where swearing was reason for expulsion, and of course, there was church where, for the obvious reasons, not many people feel comfortable swearing – I didn’t have much of an opportunity to become well versed in profanity.
I was exactly thirteen when I said my first bad word.
Actually, being the writer I was, I wrote the bad word in my diary. I even remember the sentence. “Those stupid cheerleaders think they can do whatever they d--- well please!” I think I went on to be rather indignant of cheerleaders in general.
Not two days after I wrote that particular entry, my Mom and I had a big fight. I was thirteen and so that was pretty much par for the course. Well, in the middle of the fight, my sainted mother, from whom I’d never even heard so much as an “Oh, dear!” exclamation, said, “You are acting like you can do whatever you d--- well please!”
I was furious and burst forth with an accusation. “Have you been reading my diary?” I demanded.
“What?” Mom was totally confused. Then, so was I. Turns out she hadn’t read my diary, but that our two minds had somehow latched on to that phrase and used it within days of each other.
I stormed off to my room. I was less upset that my mother had just sworn at me, and more worried that she’d want to know exactly what kind of filth I was writing in my diary.
After a few minutes, Mom knocked on my door. She came in and apologized for swearing at me. Being the smart mouth teenager I was, I agreed to forgive her…if she was d--- sure she was sorry.
Now, most parents would have hit the roof. But Mom didn’t. Instead, she sat down and told me a story.
She told me her own mother, who raised 12 children, had also used the “d” word once. Mom remembered it all very clearly. She said all the kids were in the kitchen, clamoring for attention, when my Aunt Laurie, who was very young, picked up a pair of scissors and started playing with them.
“D--- it, Laurie! Put those down,” my normally even-tempered grandmother exclaimed. Mom says the kitchen fell silent, Aunt Laurie dropped the scissors, and Grandma just went back to her chores. Mom said that no one mentioned it again until years later when they were all old enough to laugh about it.
By that time, both of our tempers had cooled off. I apologized for swearing, and Mom joked that all Rehfeldt women were allowed to say the “d” word once, and we’d both just used up our turns.
Later, I told the Grandma the story, and we laughed about it together. She told me how incredibly guilty she had felt, but also how (in that instance) it sure did get her point across!
So, mostly, I am a stranger to swearing. But now, after having been in the professional world, and just less sheltered, I suppose, I have been introduced to swearing in regular conversation.
I have always worked in professional offices, so my swearing exposure has been less intense. Brett assures me that the “factory” work world is just one long swear word after another.
But swearing definitely also exists in the “office” world. I’ve worked in a nurses’ office, a Chamber of Commerce, and a non-profit office, and I’ve heard clever and not-so-clever uses of profanity in all of them.
The thing about people who swear – they get uncomfortable when they realize you don’t. In the different places I’ve worked, I’ve gotten a reputation as a goody-two-shoes, people who try to get me to swear, and even the nicest people who say the obligatory “Sorry!” in my general direction after taking the Lord’s name in vain.
Mostly, I take it all in stride. I figure that the people who are swearing are, most likely, not saved, so it’s not like they are under Holy Spirit’s influence. And, since it IS an office environment, the swearing is mostly light and never used professionally.
Occasionally, I’ve had the chance to make a point here or there. Once, our bookkeeper took the Lord’s name in vain, and then started choking on a hard candy. It took her several hearty coughs and throat clears before she could speak again. She looked at me, and since I knew her pretty well, I said, “Serves you right.” She nodded, smiled, and said, “I suppose you’re right!”
But occasionally the swearing gets to me. One of my pastors once said, “When you get bumped in life - whatever you’re really full of - will spill out.”
I work with a woman about my age. We get along very well and work great as a team. The problem? She swears more than anyone I know. I could take her through the alphabet, and I’ll bet she knows a swear word for every letter.
One time I made a joke about how much – and how graphically – she swears. She kept insisting that “I’m not THAT bad.” But she is, and being with her all day seems to push the words through my ears and into my brain. And a couple of times, when I’ve been “bumped,” a word has come out.
Last night, we were at Wendy’s, and Brett was joking about eating some of my fries. I was jokingly thinking, “Oh, no you don’t.” But that’s not what came out. “Oh, h---, no!” I said.
Before the words were even completely out, I clapped my hand over my mouth and stared flabbergasted at my husband. My eyes must have been huge.
I know exactly why I said it. My swear-prone friend from work had walked around all day complaining about a recent project using those exact words.
I was instantly ashamed and apologized to my husband. He was really surprised but could tell I felt bad about the whole thing.
Brett has sympathy for the swearing situation. He knows what it’s like. Unlike me, he didn’t grow up in a Christian home, attend Christian school, or go to church. His parents didn’t swear, but that didn’t help him from being introduced to swearing at a very young age.
Now, people who know Brett, know he is mostly a very quiet person. But that all changes when he gets behind the wheel of a car. That’s when his swearing temptation is at its highest. He knows this and has worked for years to control it. That’s not to say his control hasn’t slipped from time to time in the years we’ve been together. He’s had to apologize to me for the very same reason from time to time.
Still, it frightens me to think that I am so easily influenced. I used to think that being a Christian somehow inoculated me against something as small a little old swear word.
Apparently, that little old swear word has a lot more power over me than I realized. This means, of course, I have to be more vigilant and sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s leading. And purpose in my heart not to swear. Even unintentionally.
The thing is that I think people who swear often “cheat” at their words. If you don’t swear, you automatically have to be more creative in your language. You can’t fall back on the old familiar way of describing a situation or expressing emotion, you have the opportunity to express your ideas in a totally clean and higher way. It actually makes you appear more professional and in charge of a situation.
Mr. Thompson, my eighth grade teacher, was talking about swearing in one of our Bible classes. He said that swear words, with the exception of the Lord’s name, were mostly just “made up” by the masses. That the “real” sin was behind the actual words.
He told us that if we had sinful intentions in our hearts when we talked about someone – if we called them a name – any name – it was just as wrong as swearing. He even said if we called someone a “hammer” but meant another word or had a sinful emotion in our mind, we had just sinned. And that was just as bad as swearing.
That has always stuck with me. I hope my everyday words have honest intentions behind them.
So, I can honestly say that I’m going to keep trying not be influenced and not to swear – not even (sorry, Grandma) the “d” word.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
A Very Special Episode
ER, the TV show, was just hitting its stride when I got to college. And, thanks to George Clooney and the Noah Wyle, it was a female campus favorite.
Every time ER was on, there would be a mad dash in my dorm. The elevators would be packed out with excited girls as we all rode down to Houghton 2, the only floor with a TV. It was commonly referred to the ER Rush.
We’d all be in our pajama pants, Diet Cokes in hand, bowls of popcorn in giant tubs, and wait for the opening credits when we could swoon over “our boys.” There was always quite a crowd, so sometimes, my roommate and I would try to sneak down a little early so we could get a seat on one of the couches, as opposed to the floor option offered to late comers.
Many, many boys wondered why no girl wanted to go out on those nights. We knew. We were already “booked” with the Men of ER.
ER started when I was in high school and has now morphed into a completely different show. Or at least, I think it has. I stopped following ER closely after I graduated from college, and it amazes me that it is still on at all.
What I don’t understand is the new ER marketing campaign. I mean, I know it’s been on the air f-o-r-e-v-e-r and all, and they’ve probably run out of storylines AND ways to make it sound new and exciting, but now every time I see a promo it’s “Tonight on a very special episode of ER….”
Now, how can EVERY episode be a special episode? Doesn’t it prevent it from being “special” if every one is? I just wonder. And they also seems to be raising the stakes – like a soap opera – I have a sneaking suspicion that eventually someone will have an evil twin brother that appears and tries to sleep with someone’s wife. Call me psychic.
I think it just needs to just go off the air. Then maybe, we can convince George Clooney and Noah Wyle to star in a new show.
Now, that one, I’d watch.
Every time ER was on, there would be a mad dash in my dorm. The elevators would be packed out with excited girls as we all rode down to Houghton 2, the only floor with a TV. It was commonly referred to the ER Rush.
We’d all be in our pajama pants, Diet Cokes in hand, bowls of popcorn in giant tubs, and wait for the opening credits when we could swoon over “our boys.” There was always quite a crowd, so sometimes, my roommate and I would try to sneak down a little early so we could get a seat on one of the couches, as opposed to the floor option offered to late comers.
Many, many boys wondered why no girl wanted to go out on those nights. We knew. We were already “booked” with the Men of ER.
ER started when I was in high school and has now morphed into a completely different show. Or at least, I think it has. I stopped following ER closely after I graduated from college, and it amazes me that it is still on at all.
What I don’t understand is the new ER marketing campaign. I mean, I know it’s been on the air f-o-r-e-v-e-r and all, and they’ve probably run out of storylines AND ways to make it sound new and exciting, but now every time I see a promo it’s “Tonight on a very special episode of ER….”
Now, how can EVERY episode be a special episode? Doesn’t it prevent it from being “special” if every one is? I just wonder. And they also seems to be raising the stakes – like a soap opera – I have a sneaking suspicion that eventually someone will have an evil twin brother that appears and tries to sleep with someone’s wife. Call me psychic.
I think it just needs to just go off the air. Then maybe, we can convince George Clooney and Noah Wyle to star in a new show.
Now, that one, I’d watch.
Plain Jane
In most respects, I am not a Plain Jane.
I color coordinate my cosmetics, do my hair, and wear carefully selected clothes. I don’t ever leave the house unless my hair is done and NEVER sans lipstick and mascara.
In college, nothing drove me MORE nuts than those girls who showed up to class in wet hair and pajama pants. My poor roommates had to listen to me rant and rave about how time management and personal presentation were lost arts.
Once, I even had a potential suitor tell me that, as much as he liked me, he thought I was too high maintenance for him. He was right! But then again, his idea of a good time was spitting off an overpass.
However, there is one area in which I am totally a Plain Jane – when it comes to sandwiches. Whoever decided that we should slap random food groups on otherwise-perfectly-delicious-sandwiches?
If I wanted a salad, I’d ask for a salad.
And who decided to add vegetables anyway? In my opinion, they do NOTHING for the sandwich. Instead of tasting beef-chicken-tuna-whatever – you taste lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion. So, why waste money on meat and a bun? Just get a salad, you know?
And who got to decide on veggies? Let’s throw some peanut butter on that chicken sandwich. How about we add maple syrup to that hot-beef-and-cheddar? See what I mean? If you wanted to taste peanut butter, you’d eat peanut butter. Same for maple syrup.
I know, I know. People like to make their sandwiches to their own particular tastes. I mean, otherwise Subway would be out of business, right?
So, I’ve been like this for my whole life, right? And the other day my husband, who has known me for TEN years, brings me sandwich with lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion.
When I exclaimed, “What?!” He looked down and realized his mistake.
Then, before I could even say it, he held up his hand. “I know. I know. If you wanted a salad, you’d order one.”
You know, maybe I do say that a little too often!
I color coordinate my cosmetics, do my hair, and wear carefully selected clothes. I don’t ever leave the house unless my hair is done and NEVER sans lipstick and mascara.
In college, nothing drove me MORE nuts than those girls who showed up to class in wet hair and pajama pants. My poor roommates had to listen to me rant and rave about how time management and personal presentation were lost arts.
Once, I even had a potential suitor tell me that, as much as he liked me, he thought I was too high maintenance for him. He was right! But then again, his idea of a good time was spitting off an overpass.
However, there is one area in which I am totally a Plain Jane – when it comes to sandwiches. Whoever decided that we should slap random food groups on otherwise-perfectly-delicious-sandwiches?
If I wanted a salad, I’d ask for a salad.
And who decided to add vegetables anyway? In my opinion, they do NOTHING for the sandwich. Instead of tasting beef-chicken-tuna-whatever – you taste lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion. So, why waste money on meat and a bun? Just get a salad, you know?
And who got to decide on veggies? Let’s throw some peanut butter on that chicken sandwich. How about we add maple syrup to that hot-beef-and-cheddar? See what I mean? If you wanted to taste peanut butter, you’d eat peanut butter. Same for maple syrup.
I know, I know. People like to make their sandwiches to their own particular tastes. I mean, otherwise Subway would be out of business, right?
So, I’ve been like this for my whole life, right? And the other day my husband, who has known me for TEN years, brings me sandwich with lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion.
When I exclaimed, “What?!” He looked down and realized his mistake.
Then, before I could even say it, he held up his hand. “I know. I know. If you wanted a salad, you’d order one.”
You know, maybe I do say that a little too often!
Monday, November 13, 2006
The Scope of Sarcasm
My cousin Beth says my posts have sounded a little depressing lately. The truth is that I’m not depressed – I’m sarcastic, and (unfortunately) tone-of-voice doesn’t translate well to the written word.
My friend Julie and I have talking for two years about trying to becoming radio personalities. She plays a great straight man to my sarcastic comedienne. We even have the perfect name for our show – The Julie Ann-Marie Show. See, when you say it, it sounds like “The Julie and Marie Show.” Ha!
We’ve also tossed around crazy ideas for new careers. One of my favorites has been our Anger Advocacy Corporation. Our motto would be “If you hate it, then we’ll hate it, too!”
Let’s say you hate your boss. Well, we would host a Boss Hating Convention where people could come and take baseball bats to fake rubber bosses or go tell a fake boss what a horrible job they’re doing. Let’s say you hate people who drive too slowly – we’d make you a virtual car where you could pass those slowpokes and leave them in the dust. You get the idea.
We’re just kidding of course, but it’s nice to be with someone who gets me.
Although, if I truly was going to do a radio show, there is only one person whom I would choose to be my co-host – my old roommate, Kelly.
Kelly is the only person I have ever clicked with 100%. We met in college and became fast friends. It was like meeting the twin I never had. She connected with me. She understood my humor and played off it brilliantly. Some of the funniest moments of my life happened in my dorm room. It was like a never ending Saturday Night Live sketch.
For once, I was with someone with whom I didn’t have to guard my “real” self. So, when we did have a falling out (as it is with all fights, over something very stupid), it was like chopping off a limb to be without her. We’ve since reconnected, and I’m reminded every time I hear from her how much we are (still) in sync.
See, the problem with me is that I don’t know HOW to be FUNNY without being sarcastic. ‘Tis me, what can I say? To be honest, I’m not really sure it IS possible TO be funny without sarcasm. Does that make me warped in some way?
I can’t remember the last time I laughed at something that wasn’t at least vaguely sarcastic in nature. For me, self-deprecation and sarcasm are just a way of life.
My boss, who is slowly and strangely becoming my friend, says she used to be like that. Then she realized her life became consumed by it. In every sentence, she was looking for the inevitable punch line (much like I find myself doing).
So, now, she makes a conscious effort not to be sarcastic. She says sarcasm can put a negative light on your personality, especially to others. But the truth of the matter is that when I’m in her office and I get going, she laughs so hard that her face turns bright red. In fact, she can rarely look me in the eye at staff meetings anymore.
And you know what? Being funny is my legacy. My dad was VERY funny, and the people who truly knew him, know I inherited his distinctly unique take on the world.
My mom loves my humor. It reminds her of my dad. She says that my sense of humor is what has saved her from crying time and time again. It’s my view of this crazy world that saves ME from crying.
You see, to me, sarcasm is free expression. The way some people sing. The way painters create. A way of celebrating and accepting what life you have. Making good out of bad. When life is darkest, finding the way to laugh.
Of course, as with all good, there is a flip side. The darker side. While sarcasm can be freeing and allow us to make fun of ourselves or of what may frighten or scare us, it can be also be used as an extremely dangerous weapon. Trust me. A few times I’ve been on the receiving end. But mostly, I’ve used it as a weapon when it’s suited my purposes.
See, the thing about being good at sarcasm is also that you can also use it when you’re mad. Sarcasm, especially mine, cuts very deep to the bone. I know how to hurt people. Most people aren’t as quick at comebacks as I am. So, after I’ve lashed out, they sit there looking all hurt and wounded.
My husband has discovered the secret. He refuses to let me play the sarcasm game when I’m angry.
You see, sarcasm can’t exist on its own. In order to BE sarcastic, you have to be able to feed off someone else. When you’re being sarcastic in a light hearted manner, it’s great. It’s just comment-bounce, comment-bounce, like a great drum rhythm. In fact, there’s nothing I like more than finding a sarcastic kindred spirit and just keeping that rhythm going for hours and hours.
And there’s nothing I hate more that someone who instantly gets offended or gets afraid of offending someone else. There’s no one worse than someone who can dish it out but can’t take it. They’re officially TABOO in the true sarcastic circles. In order to play with the big dogs, you have to be willing to get bit occasionally.
Anyway, back to my husband. The first time I tried to use sarcasm on him, in a VERY nasty and mean way, he just looked at me and said, “I’m just going to wait until you can talk to me like a real person. Why don’t you come find me when you’re done acting like a child?” And that was that. He doesn’t tolerate sarcasm when we’re fighting. Which is extremely frustrating to me, since it’s the weapon I am most well-versed in.
But, like I said earlier, I don’t know if it’s possible to be funny, truly funny, without sarcasm. I know it’s probably cultural, but I’m also pretty sure the pilgrims made fun of each other’s hats on the Mayflower.
Which brings me to something I’ve been considering lately, is it okay to be funny? Is it godly to be funny? Or are we all supposed to be serious all the time? Sober-minded? If so, is being funny a sin? I don’t mean the hee-hee funny sermon illustrations, I mean, is it okay to truly belly laugh at something that is REALLY funny?
I refuse to laugh at something that is only barely funny. Is it my fault that I see the funnier side of life? Is it wrong?
And maybe that’s why I don’t fit in - in some circles.
Because, although I don’t know how, there are some humorless people who simply don’t “get” sarcasm. You drop a great one-two, and they sit there with a disapproving look on their face, while the rest of the group howls with laughter. Those people make me nervous. I always wonder if they’re missing a chip somewhere.
Mom once said that God has a sense of humor. Her proof? When God said it was easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven.
Now, THAT’S a little sarcastic, don’t you think?
My friend Julie and I have talking for two years about trying to becoming radio personalities. She plays a great straight man to my sarcastic comedienne. We even have the perfect name for our show – The Julie Ann-Marie Show. See, when you say it, it sounds like “The Julie and Marie Show.” Ha!
We’ve also tossed around crazy ideas for new careers. One of my favorites has been our Anger Advocacy Corporation. Our motto would be “If you hate it, then we’ll hate it, too!”
Let’s say you hate your boss. Well, we would host a Boss Hating Convention where people could come and take baseball bats to fake rubber bosses or go tell a fake boss what a horrible job they’re doing. Let’s say you hate people who drive too slowly – we’d make you a virtual car where you could pass those slowpokes and leave them in the dust. You get the idea.
We’re just kidding of course, but it’s nice to be with someone who gets me.
Although, if I truly was going to do a radio show, there is only one person whom I would choose to be my co-host – my old roommate, Kelly.
Kelly is the only person I have ever clicked with 100%. We met in college and became fast friends. It was like meeting the twin I never had. She connected with me. She understood my humor and played off it brilliantly. Some of the funniest moments of my life happened in my dorm room. It was like a never ending Saturday Night Live sketch.
For once, I was with someone with whom I didn’t have to guard my “real” self. So, when we did have a falling out (as it is with all fights, over something very stupid), it was like chopping off a limb to be without her. We’ve since reconnected, and I’m reminded every time I hear from her how much we are (still) in sync.
See, the problem with me is that I don’t know HOW to be FUNNY without being sarcastic. ‘Tis me, what can I say? To be honest, I’m not really sure it IS possible TO be funny without sarcasm. Does that make me warped in some way?
I can’t remember the last time I laughed at something that wasn’t at least vaguely sarcastic in nature. For me, self-deprecation and sarcasm are just a way of life.
My boss, who is slowly and strangely becoming my friend, says she used to be like that. Then she realized her life became consumed by it. In every sentence, she was looking for the inevitable punch line (much like I find myself doing).
So, now, she makes a conscious effort not to be sarcastic. She says sarcasm can put a negative light on your personality, especially to others. But the truth of the matter is that when I’m in her office and I get going, she laughs so hard that her face turns bright red. In fact, she can rarely look me in the eye at staff meetings anymore.
And you know what? Being funny is my legacy. My dad was VERY funny, and the people who truly knew him, know I inherited his distinctly unique take on the world.
My mom loves my humor. It reminds her of my dad. She says that my sense of humor is what has saved her from crying time and time again. It’s my view of this crazy world that saves ME from crying.
You see, to me, sarcasm is free expression. The way some people sing. The way painters create. A way of celebrating and accepting what life you have. Making good out of bad. When life is darkest, finding the way to laugh.
Of course, as with all good, there is a flip side. The darker side. While sarcasm can be freeing and allow us to make fun of ourselves or of what may frighten or scare us, it can be also be used as an extremely dangerous weapon. Trust me. A few times I’ve been on the receiving end. But mostly, I’ve used it as a weapon when it’s suited my purposes.
See, the thing about being good at sarcasm is also that you can also use it when you’re mad. Sarcasm, especially mine, cuts very deep to the bone. I know how to hurt people. Most people aren’t as quick at comebacks as I am. So, after I’ve lashed out, they sit there looking all hurt and wounded.
My husband has discovered the secret. He refuses to let me play the sarcasm game when I’m angry.
You see, sarcasm can’t exist on its own. In order to BE sarcastic, you have to be able to feed off someone else. When you’re being sarcastic in a light hearted manner, it’s great. It’s just comment-bounce, comment-bounce, like a great drum rhythm. In fact, there’s nothing I like more than finding a sarcastic kindred spirit and just keeping that rhythm going for hours and hours.
And there’s nothing I hate more that someone who instantly gets offended or gets afraid of offending someone else. There’s no one worse than someone who can dish it out but can’t take it. They’re officially TABOO in the true sarcastic circles. In order to play with the big dogs, you have to be willing to get bit occasionally.
Anyway, back to my husband. The first time I tried to use sarcasm on him, in a VERY nasty and mean way, he just looked at me and said, “I’m just going to wait until you can talk to me like a real person. Why don’t you come find me when you’re done acting like a child?” And that was that. He doesn’t tolerate sarcasm when we’re fighting. Which is extremely frustrating to me, since it’s the weapon I am most well-versed in.
But, like I said earlier, I don’t know if it’s possible to be funny, truly funny, without sarcasm. I know it’s probably cultural, but I’m also pretty sure the pilgrims made fun of each other’s hats on the Mayflower.
Which brings me to something I’ve been considering lately, is it okay to be funny? Is it godly to be funny? Or are we all supposed to be serious all the time? Sober-minded? If so, is being funny a sin? I don’t mean the hee-hee funny sermon illustrations, I mean, is it okay to truly belly laugh at something that is REALLY funny?
I refuse to laugh at something that is only barely funny. Is it my fault that I see the funnier side of life? Is it wrong?
And maybe that’s why I don’t fit in - in some circles.
Because, although I don’t know how, there are some humorless people who simply don’t “get” sarcasm. You drop a great one-two, and they sit there with a disapproving look on their face, while the rest of the group howls with laughter. Those people make me nervous. I always wonder if they’re missing a chip somewhere.
Mom once said that God has a sense of humor. Her proof? When God said it was easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven.
Now, THAT’S a little sarcastic, don’t you think?
Smells Like a Great Idea
Story inspiration often comes to me in one fell swoop.
I’ll read an article or watch a movie, and a story will come together in my mind. I never know when it’s going to happen, but it’s always amazing when it does. It’s like a tiny miracle seed that grows into a mighty oak.
My stories are like children. Each one is different, yet each one reflects different parts of who I am and what I believe.
So, about two weeks ago, I was inspired! I was reading about the anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s suicide. For those of you who don’t know, he was the lead singer of the grunge band Nirvana (Major Hit – Smells Like Teen Spirit) in the early nineties. His frantic rise to fame coupled with a sensitive soul caused him to spiral into heroin addiction and eventually commit suicide. He also had a shaky marriage to the lead singer of Hole, Courtney Love. (Read his complete biography at www.burntout.com/kurt/biography/ )
Now, I never listened to his music, but I’ve read his lyrics before, along with various biographies. He seems like a kind and sensitive person who just couldn’t handle the pressures of fame. As I was reading his biography again, I felt a new story take root.
I banged out some of the details in my head over the past couple of weeks. And last night, I sat down and wrote out a six page story synopsis. It’s a different turn from my usual style, and it means I’ll have to do more research on music, but the story – oh, the story – is GOOD! So good - I can feel it.
I love writing. I love writing. I love writing.
Even when I don’t, I love writing!
I’ll read an article or watch a movie, and a story will come together in my mind. I never know when it’s going to happen, but it’s always amazing when it does. It’s like a tiny miracle seed that grows into a mighty oak.
My stories are like children. Each one is different, yet each one reflects different parts of who I am and what I believe.
So, about two weeks ago, I was inspired! I was reading about the anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s suicide. For those of you who don’t know, he was the lead singer of the grunge band Nirvana (Major Hit – Smells Like Teen Spirit) in the early nineties. His frantic rise to fame coupled with a sensitive soul caused him to spiral into heroin addiction and eventually commit suicide. He also had a shaky marriage to the lead singer of Hole, Courtney Love. (Read his complete biography at www.burntout.com/kurt/biography/ )
Now, I never listened to his music, but I’ve read his lyrics before, along with various biographies. He seems like a kind and sensitive person who just couldn’t handle the pressures of fame. As I was reading his biography again, I felt a new story take root.
I banged out some of the details in my head over the past couple of weeks. And last night, I sat down and wrote out a six page story synopsis. It’s a different turn from my usual style, and it means I’ll have to do more research on music, but the story – oh, the story – is GOOD! So good - I can feel it.
I love writing. I love writing. I love writing.
Even when I don’t, I love writing!
Loving My MV – No, Not Really
Well, well, Aunt Flo is back in town.
When you’re me (and I am), getting my Monthly Visitor is always a surprise. I have a really whacked out system!
When I was on birth control, my MV was always right on time, lasted for four days, and had very few of the more unpleasant side effects. Ever since I’ve been off BC, ever since we’ve been trying to get pregnant, my MV has gone back to the unpredictable roller coaster I *et-hem* “enjoyed” in high school.
Getting my MV is a bittersweet experience. It means that we are YET AGAIN, NOT PREGNANT. But, it also means that my PCOS and Diabetes are NOT WINNING, either.
Ever since I’ve been on Metformin, my cycle has returned to a somewhat normal schedule. It lasts more than four days, though, and includes those unpleasant side effects I mentioned earlier. Before the Met, I was going three or four very painful, very emotional, MONTHS before getting the-mother-of-all MV’s.
So, I have my MV this week. I got it on Friday, and it really intensified on Sunday. I stayed home from church and just lay on the couch with my friend – the heating pad. I watched the remaining two Quantum Leap’s on my Netflix DVD, Notting Hill, AND the gorgeous Christian Bale’s Batman Begins – all before Brett got home from church.
Brett has weird fascination with my MV. Despite growing up with two sisters and the requisite public school health class, he didn’t know a whole lot about the female system until we got married.
Get this – he thought all women got their period on the SAME day and that it lasted for ONE day. I told him, “Honey that would be one VERY BAD day for the world.”
Anyway, Brett’s fascination with my MV leads him to treat me like a china doll the whole time I’m on it. He goes out of his way to give me back massages and foot rubs. And, since he knows I barely feel like moving, he’ll grab dinner and bring it home.
Yesterday, on his way home from church, he called me and found out what I wanted from Panera. I told him their YUMMY Cream of Chicken and Wild Rice Soup and a tuna sandwich, plain (except for cheese), on Three Cheese Semolina Bread.
Well, when he got home with the soup and sandwich, I discovered the sandwich had lettuce (yuck), tomato (yuck) onion (not-so-yuck) and mustard (double-double yuck).
When I asked him WHY, he said, “Oh that’s right. You don’t like that stuff.” I was like, “How long have we been together – 10 years – and you still don’t know this stuff? Sheesh!”
But I couldn’t come down too hard on him. The man did bring me lunch, after all.
So, I get to look forward to a painful, cramping week with my lovely MV. Stupid MV - even though I’m grateful for it. At least I can look forward to those back massages and sympathy from my husband.
Oh, and he bought me Diet Coke, too, from the store. I didn’t ask him, but he knows I love it (although I rarely buy it for myself) and that the caffeine helps ward off the yucky parts of my MV. Oh, and he bought me CHOCOLATE, too.
Thank goodness my MV is no match for my GH – great husband!
When you’re me (and I am), getting my Monthly Visitor is always a surprise. I have a really whacked out system!
When I was on birth control, my MV was always right on time, lasted for four days, and had very few of the more unpleasant side effects. Ever since I’ve been off BC, ever since we’ve been trying to get pregnant, my MV has gone back to the unpredictable roller coaster I *et-hem* “enjoyed” in high school.
Getting my MV is a bittersweet experience. It means that we are YET AGAIN, NOT PREGNANT. But, it also means that my PCOS and Diabetes are NOT WINNING, either.
Ever since I’ve been on Metformin, my cycle has returned to a somewhat normal schedule. It lasts more than four days, though, and includes those unpleasant side effects I mentioned earlier. Before the Met, I was going three or four very painful, very emotional, MONTHS before getting the-mother-of-all MV’s.
So, I have my MV this week. I got it on Friday, and it really intensified on Sunday. I stayed home from church and just lay on the couch with my friend – the heating pad. I watched the remaining two Quantum Leap’s on my Netflix DVD, Notting Hill, AND the gorgeous Christian Bale’s Batman Begins – all before Brett got home from church.
Brett has weird fascination with my MV. Despite growing up with two sisters and the requisite public school health class, he didn’t know a whole lot about the female system until we got married.
Get this – he thought all women got their period on the SAME day and that it lasted for ONE day. I told him, “Honey that would be one VERY BAD day for the world.”
Anyway, Brett’s fascination with my MV leads him to treat me like a china doll the whole time I’m on it. He goes out of his way to give me back massages and foot rubs. And, since he knows I barely feel like moving, he’ll grab dinner and bring it home.
Yesterday, on his way home from church, he called me and found out what I wanted from Panera. I told him their YUMMY Cream of Chicken and Wild Rice Soup and a tuna sandwich, plain (except for cheese), on Three Cheese Semolina Bread.
Well, when he got home with the soup and sandwich, I discovered the sandwich had lettuce (yuck), tomato (yuck) onion (not-so-yuck) and mustard (double-double yuck).
When I asked him WHY, he said, “Oh that’s right. You don’t like that stuff.” I was like, “How long have we been together – 10 years – and you still don’t know this stuff? Sheesh!”
But I couldn’t come down too hard on him. The man did bring me lunch, after all.
So, I get to look forward to a painful, cramping week with my lovely MV. Stupid MV - even though I’m grateful for it. At least I can look forward to those back massages and sympathy from my husband.
Oh, and he bought me Diet Coke, too, from the store. I didn’t ask him, but he knows I love it (although I rarely buy it for myself) and that the caffeine helps ward off the yucky parts of my MV. Oh, and he bought me CHOCOLATE, too.
Thank goodness my MV is no match for my GH – great husband!
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Cleaning Through the Tears
Can I admit something to you? It’s something I am ashamed of. Here it is:
I hate to clean.
I don’t mean “I hate to clean” like most people mean it – you know, it’s an unpleasant job, but it needs to get done, and so on.
No, I mean I really hate to clean. I detest it. I abhor it. It makes my skin crawl and my stomach revolt.
In the apartment, when we were first married, it wasn’t such a big deal. There were only a few small spaces to clean. I’d grit my teeth, hold my breath, and it would all be over in a matter of minutes.
But now that I have a good-sized house, it has become downright unbearable.
One Saturday morning, Brett found me sitting on the stairs, sobbing uncontrollably. He asked me what was wrong, and I just couldn’t keep it in any longer. I told him how much I dreaded cleaning the house. Instead of giving me the you-are-absolutely-the-worst-home-owner-ever look, he sat down beside me, patted my back and just let me cry it out.
After I was done sniffling, he asked me if I knew why I hated to clean. I couldn’t really put it in the right words (imagine that!). But now, after having several years to mull it over, here are some reasons why I think I find it so horrible.
It’s never done.
It doesn’t matter how good of a job you do, it will get dirty again. You have no control over that. Do you understand the futility of doing something that will never get done? It makes me feel hopeless. It’s like pushing a bolder up a hill to just see it go rolling over the edge to the bottom again.
It’s disgusting.
I DO clean on a regular basis, simply because I have the ages-old-guilt of what happens if I don’t. And I like living in a clean environment as much as the next person. But I hate the dirt, the filth, the dust mites, and mold that invade my house. Occasionally, when I forget to wear gloves, some of it gets under my fingernails, and I swear, I get thisclose to just chopping my hand right off.
I just can’t do it well enough.
I have a lack of “elbow-grease.” I try to scrub shower walls and floors. Really, I do. But those stains just don’t come off. I scrub, and scrub, and scour, and scrub again. Nothing changes. Then, my mom comes over, tackles a small area, and it immediately shines like the sun. I keep trying, but I just can’t seem to get the knack of it. Maybe I’m just not strong enough.
Now THE reason - this will take you on a tour of my sin nature – deep down, I believe I am too good to clean. I went to college for four years. I have my degree. I have a salaried job. I shouldn’t have to clean. Period.
Isn’t that awful? It is! I know, but it’s the way I feel. And you can bet (in a second) that if I had enough money, I’d pay someone else to clean for me. That’s right, I’d hand that job right off. I mean, I’m educated, and I have better things to do, you know? Oh my gosh, it’s so bad that I just admitted that reason! Again, sad but true.
So, my tug-of-war with the cleaning demon goes on. I still hate it, and I cry almost every time I do it. I just let myself sit down and have a good five minute – futile – cry before I start.
Our church doesn’t have a janitor. Instead, the members all go on a six month cleaning schedule. The first time we were called and told it was our Sunday to clean, I just sat down and – you guessed it – cried.
Now, this is where an understanding guy like Brett comes in – he told the people at church that he would willingly come out and clean – then, he told me not to worry about it. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing, ever? I was so grateful!
We got another call this morning, and I avoided my usual breakdown. Somehow, knowing my husband is willing to shoulder that burden for me, made me want to help him clean this time.
So, I’ll be there, Sunday morning, cleaning through my tears, and knowing that it will – almost immediately – get dirty again.
I’m telling you – it’s hopeless!
I hate to clean.
I don’t mean “I hate to clean” like most people mean it – you know, it’s an unpleasant job, but it needs to get done, and so on.
No, I mean I really hate to clean. I detest it. I abhor it. It makes my skin crawl and my stomach revolt.
In the apartment, when we were first married, it wasn’t such a big deal. There were only a few small spaces to clean. I’d grit my teeth, hold my breath, and it would all be over in a matter of minutes.
But now that I have a good-sized house, it has become downright unbearable.
One Saturday morning, Brett found me sitting on the stairs, sobbing uncontrollably. He asked me what was wrong, and I just couldn’t keep it in any longer. I told him how much I dreaded cleaning the house. Instead of giving me the you-are-absolutely-the-worst-home-owner-ever look, he sat down beside me, patted my back and just let me cry it out.
After I was done sniffling, he asked me if I knew why I hated to clean. I couldn’t really put it in the right words (imagine that!). But now, after having several years to mull it over, here are some reasons why I think I find it so horrible.
It’s never done.
It doesn’t matter how good of a job you do, it will get dirty again. You have no control over that. Do you understand the futility of doing something that will never get done? It makes me feel hopeless. It’s like pushing a bolder up a hill to just see it go rolling over the edge to the bottom again.
It’s disgusting.
I DO clean on a regular basis, simply because I have the ages-old-guilt of what happens if I don’t. And I like living in a clean environment as much as the next person. But I hate the dirt, the filth, the dust mites, and mold that invade my house. Occasionally, when I forget to wear gloves, some of it gets under my fingernails, and I swear, I get thisclose to just chopping my hand right off.
I just can’t do it well enough.
I have a lack of “elbow-grease.” I try to scrub shower walls and floors. Really, I do. But those stains just don’t come off. I scrub, and scrub, and scour, and scrub again. Nothing changes. Then, my mom comes over, tackles a small area, and it immediately shines like the sun. I keep trying, but I just can’t seem to get the knack of it. Maybe I’m just not strong enough.
Now THE reason - this will take you on a tour of my sin nature – deep down, I believe I am too good to clean. I went to college for four years. I have my degree. I have a salaried job. I shouldn’t have to clean. Period.
Isn’t that awful? It is! I know, but it’s the way I feel. And you can bet (in a second) that if I had enough money, I’d pay someone else to clean for me. That’s right, I’d hand that job right off. I mean, I’m educated, and I have better things to do, you know? Oh my gosh, it’s so bad that I just admitted that reason! Again, sad but true.
So, my tug-of-war with the cleaning demon goes on. I still hate it, and I cry almost every time I do it. I just let myself sit down and have a good five minute – futile – cry before I start.
Our church doesn’t have a janitor. Instead, the members all go on a six month cleaning schedule. The first time we were called and told it was our Sunday to clean, I just sat down and – you guessed it – cried.
Now, this is where an understanding guy like Brett comes in – he told the people at church that he would willingly come out and clean – then, he told me not to worry about it. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing, ever? I was so grateful!
We got another call this morning, and I avoided my usual breakdown. Somehow, knowing my husband is willing to shoulder that burden for me, made me want to help him clean this time.
So, I’ll be there, Sunday morning, cleaning through my tears, and knowing that it will – almost immediately – get dirty again.
I’m telling you – it’s hopeless!
Do You Know What I Hate?
Do you know what I hate? People who drive too slow. I mean, come on, let’s go. If the speed limit is 45 mph at least try to go 45, okay? Maybe you have all day to get where you’re going, but some of us are on a schedule. Move it, buddy.
Do you know what I hate? People who drive too fast. Slow down, people, this isn’t NASCAR. If it’s 50 mph, there is no reason you need to be going 75. I mean, come on, isn’t safety important to you? Wouldn’t you rather reach your destination a little late than die in a fiery car crash? Slow down, man.
Do you know what I hate? People who throw their nasty cigarette butts out of their car windows. The world is not your trash can, people. I know smoking is an addiction, and I’m not making an anti-smoking post, but my addiction is food, and you don’t see me chucking McDonald’s bags out my window, do you? Keep your used up cancer stick in your own car. Who gave you permission to litter up the world we all share?
Do you know what I hate? People who blast their music at stop lights. Hey, you might like listening to Bleep the Bleep Bleep, but that doesn’t mean that we all want to. Turn it down just a little below ear shattering, will ya?
Do you know what I hate? People who don’t appreciate good music. So what if I turned up Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy when I got to the stoplight. Tell me that song doesn’t make you want to dance. Geesh. Some people.
Do you know what I hate? People who just complain and complain about horrible drivers, bad driving habits, and the complete lack of courtesy on today’s roads. Those people just burn me up. I mean, what do they think they are – perfect, or something?
Do you know what I hate? People who drive too fast. Slow down, people, this isn’t NASCAR. If it’s 50 mph, there is no reason you need to be going 75. I mean, come on, isn’t safety important to you? Wouldn’t you rather reach your destination a little late than die in a fiery car crash? Slow down, man.
Do you know what I hate? People who throw their nasty cigarette butts out of their car windows. The world is not your trash can, people. I know smoking is an addiction, and I’m not making an anti-smoking post, but my addiction is food, and you don’t see me chucking McDonald’s bags out my window, do you? Keep your used up cancer stick in your own car. Who gave you permission to litter up the world we all share?
Do you know what I hate? People who blast their music at stop lights. Hey, you might like listening to Bleep the Bleep Bleep, but that doesn’t mean that we all want to. Turn it down just a little below ear shattering, will ya?
Do you know what I hate? People who don’t appreciate good music. So what if I turned up Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy when I got to the stoplight. Tell me that song doesn’t make you want to dance. Geesh. Some people.
Do you know what I hate? People who just complain and complain about horrible drivers, bad driving habits, and the complete lack of courtesy on today’s roads. Those people just burn me up. I mean, what do they think they are – perfect, or something?
On Not Having A Good Day
Well, it’s Saturday! Just another work day for me.
As I was heading out the door, I called “Have a good day!” cheerfully back in to my husband.
He responded, “I hope you don’t have a good day!” just as cheerfully back to me.
“What!?” I said in disbelief, swinging back in the doorway.
His face lit up with a mischievous smile. “If you aren’t having a good day at work, you’ll come home sooner to me.” Then he gave me hug and said, “Oh, all right, fine, have a good day. But come home soon!”
Sometimes, I think I cornered the market when it comes to sweet husbands.
As I was heading out the door, I called “Have a good day!” cheerfully back in to my husband.
He responded, “I hope you don’t have a good day!” just as cheerfully back to me.
“What!?” I said in disbelief, swinging back in the doorway.
His face lit up with a mischievous smile. “If you aren’t having a good day at work, you’ll come home sooner to me.” Then he gave me hug and said, “Oh, all right, fine, have a good day. But come home soon!”
Sometimes, I think I cornered the market when it comes to sweet husbands.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Getting The Look
Well, I’ve come full circle.
Last night was our After Hours fundraising event. Everything went smoothly, and I had a great time. We’ll find out this morning how much money we raised.
But, as we were setting up for the event in the early afternoon, I had a flashback to my youth. I was, once again, given The Look.
What “look,” you may ask? The Look! The Look I received all through middle school and high school – The Omigosh-Are-You-Ever-Fat! Judgmental Look. It has been a long time since I’ve received The Look, so it startled me.
The Look was delivered by the little-bitty-female whose company was in charge of catering our event. I saw The Look in her eyes, and then the way she spoke to me – like I was a second class citizen.
Now, there was a time when I wouldn’t have blinked an eye at The Look.
I expected The Look while I was in school – after all, I was dealing with kids a whole lot less mature than me. But now that I’m an adult? I’ve rarely received The Look. Oh, I’ve still seen the shadow of The Look in some people’s eyes. Growing up as a fat kid, you are very perceptive at reading people. You know instantly what kind of acceptance level you are dealing with.
I think of myself as a pretty good judge of character (who doesn’t, I suppose?), but I can catch The Look in a heartbeat, and it instantly changes how I "look" at that person.
I’ve always thought that people who give me The Look (and the condescending, dismissive tone that comes with it) are just immature people who’ve never grown up. In this instance, our caterer was from the South, and I know that down there, people with weight problems are judged very harshly – especially overweight women.
People who give The Look, I assume, have never had a weight problem (obviously) and probably have never had any real problems of note. Otherwise, of course, they wouldn’t know how to give The Look – having been on the other end of it automatically disqualifies you from ever giving The Look yourself.
Between my sophomore year in high school and my first year of college, I lost over 100 pounds, thanks to Weight Watchers. When I got to college, no one knew the fat girl I’d been. Oh, but I did!
I distinctly remember sitting with a group of people for lunch. One of them started talking about a fat girl at another table. The others joined in – mocking her and whispering loud enough, so that she eventually looked up. Fury bubbled up deep within me.
I got up from the table to leave. One of the people asked me why I was leaving. I said, “A year ago, that girl was me. If you would have talked about me like that, if you would make fun of anyone like that, I don’t want to be your friend.” And I stormed off.
I couldn’t believe I had just been with people who gave The Look without a second thought!
Mostly, I see The Look in men’s eyes, but sometimes (like last night) it comes from a woman. I’ve been given The Look so many times, you would think the sting would fade, but it doesn’t. The Look still hurts every time.
It’s like someone plunges a sword into your self-esteem. Most overweight people know they’re overweight. And I can’t say I’ve met many of us who wouldn’t like to be thinner. And a lot of us keep trying. But The Look judges us in an instant – it says, “I can’t believe you’ve allowed yourself to become so fat!” As though we’ve gained all our weight in our last five meals.
We don’t want to be this way. Many of us eat the exact same foods and portions as others, but our darned efficient metabolism just takes its sweet time. But then again, people who give The Look wouldn’t know that, would they?
So last night I dealt with The Look the best I could. My high school English teacher, Mr. Wolf, once said that when someone stabs you – you have two options. You can keep pushing the knife in, keeping the wound open, and complain about the stabbing, or you can pull the knife out, go through the healing process, and have a slight scar.
So, I pulled the knife out and threw it away.
Then, I gave the caterer a whole other kind of look – one that said, “Guess who’s in charge of choosing the caterer for our next event? Guess who won’t be getting the job?”
Sometime, when dealing with The Look, it’s nice to be an adult!
Last night was our After Hours fundraising event. Everything went smoothly, and I had a great time. We’ll find out this morning how much money we raised.
But, as we were setting up for the event in the early afternoon, I had a flashback to my youth. I was, once again, given The Look.
What “look,” you may ask? The Look! The Look I received all through middle school and high school – The Omigosh-Are-You-Ever-Fat! Judgmental Look. It has been a long time since I’ve received The Look, so it startled me.
The Look was delivered by the little-bitty-female whose company was in charge of catering our event. I saw The Look in her eyes, and then the way she spoke to me – like I was a second class citizen.
Now, there was a time when I wouldn’t have blinked an eye at The Look.
I expected The Look while I was in school – after all, I was dealing with kids a whole lot less mature than me. But now that I’m an adult? I’ve rarely received The Look. Oh, I’ve still seen the shadow of The Look in some people’s eyes. Growing up as a fat kid, you are very perceptive at reading people. You know instantly what kind of acceptance level you are dealing with.
I think of myself as a pretty good judge of character (who doesn’t, I suppose?), but I can catch The Look in a heartbeat, and it instantly changes how I "look" at that person.
I’ve always thought that people who give me The Look (and the condescending, dismissive tone that comes with it) are just immature people who’ve never grown up. In this instance, our caterer was from the South, and I know that down there, people with weight problems are judged very harshly – especially overweight women.
People who give The Look, I assume, have never had a weight problem (obviously) and probably have never had any real problems of note. Otherwise, of course, they wouldn’t know how to give The Look – having been on the other end of it automatically disqualifies you from ever giving The Look yourself.
Between my sophomore year in high school and my first year of college, I lost over 100 pounds, thanks to Weight Watchers. When I got to college, no one knew the fat girl I’d been. Oh, but I did!
I distinctly remember sitting with a group of people for lunch. One of them started talking about a fat girl at another table. The others joined in – mocking her and whispering loud enough, so that she eventually looked up. Fury bubbled up deep within me.
I got up from the table to leave. One of the people asked me why I was leaving. I said, “A year ago, that girl was me. If you would have talked about me like that, if you would make fun of anyone like that, I don’t want to be your friend.” And I stormed off.
I couldn’t believe I had just been with people who gave The Look without a second thought!
Mostly, I see The Look in men’s eyes, but sometimes (like last night) it comes from a woman. I’ve been given The Look so many times, you would think the sting would fade, but it doesn’t. The Look still hurts every time.
It’s like someone plunges a sword into your self-esteem. Most overweight people know they’re overweight. And I can’t say I’ve met many of us who wouldn’t like to be thinner. And a lot of us keep trying. But The Look judges us in an instant – it says, “I can’t believe you’ve allowed yourself to become so fat!” As though we’ve gained all our weight in our last five meals.
We don’t want to be this way. Many of us eat the exact same foods and portions as others, but our darned efficient metabolism just takes its sweet time. But then again, people who give The Look wouldn’t know that, would they?
So last night I dealt with The Look the best I could. My high school English teacher, Mr. Wolf, once said that when someone stabs you – you have two options. You can keep pushing the knife in, keeping the wound open, and complain about the stabbing, or you can pull the knife out, go through the healing process, and have a slight scar.
So, I pulled the knife out and threw it away.
Then, I gave the caterer a whole other kind of look – one that said, “Guess who’s in charge of choosing the caterer for our next event? Guess who won’t be getting the job?”
Sometime, when dealing with The Look, it’s nice to be an adult!
Thursday, November 09, 2006
It’s A Fine Life!
I’m so excited! Mom and I just bought tickets for New American Theater’s opening night of Oliver! on December 1, 2006!
I’ve loved the Oliver! musical ever since I watched it on TV when I was nine years old. I’ve never seen it live on stage, though, and it has always been a dream of mine.
I’ve kept an eye on Fireside Theater and Rock Valley College’s Starlight Theater, but Oliver! has never been on the playbill. Finally, NAT is going to perform it! Good for them.
I’m lucky Mom is such a drama enthusiast, too. When I was a kid, Mom and Dad and I would bundle up and head to Fort Atkinson, Wisconsin, to see plays at the Fireside Theater. I’ve seen Steel Magnolias, Guys and Dolls, Sound of Music, Annie, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Fiddler on the Roof, and a lot more I probably can’t remember at Fireside. I’ve also seen Oklahoma at Starlight Theater, Fireside, AND the Clock Tower Theater (back when it was still in existence).
I was ten when Mom and Dad took me to my first play. It was Peter Pan at Starlight Theater. We were all entranced. After that, we tried to go to at least one play a year.
A particularly memorable play for me is when we went to the Spring Green Theater in Wisconsin. It’s this awesome outdoor all stone arena – sort of like the ones gladiators used to battle in. Anyway, we watched Shakespeare’s Othello. The acting was phenomenal! The actors would come right off the stage, into the seats as part of their performances. I personally remember Iago’s dramatically funny then tragic recital as he waded into the audience to explain his misdeeds. Dad, I remember, was particularly impressed.
For my sixteenth birthday, my parents threw me a wonderful party. They let me invite 16 friends to the Clock Tower Theater’s production of Oklahoma! We had to sit in the front row, because my best friend Tania was deaf and had to be close enough to read the characters’ lips. I had such a good time. Afterwards, we celebrated at Cheddar’s. Mom still looks at it as one of her life’s greatest undertakings. It was undoubtedly unforgettable. Thanks, Mom!
At first, Brett wasn’t that interested in going to plays - mainly, because he’d never been to one. Well, after he went with me, Mom, and Dad to Oklahoma at the Fireside, he was hooked! Now, he enjoys them as much as we do.
Mom and I picked the December date because our “men” (imagine big arms thumping hairy chests) will be out hunting that weekend. So, it’ll be just us girls – like old times. Minus Dad (not that we wouldn’t love it if he magically showed up!)
So, anyway, I’m VERY excited!!! If you are not an Oliver! fan or don’t know any of the songs, here’s a preview:
Overture
Food, Glorious Food
The starting song in the workhouse when all the boys come down the stairs for their gruel, singing of all the wonderful foods they would like to eat "cold jelly and custard".
Boy For Sale
Mr. Bumble walking Oliver around the snowy streets, until he finally sells him at the reduced price of 3 guineas.
Where Is Love
Oliver is singing this looking out of the cellar window at the undertakers just before he makes his escape.
Consider Yourself
Sung by the Artful Dodger, one of my favorite songs, this song takes them through the streets of London with some absolutely wonderful choreography, and different store holders doing there own little dance sketches.
You've Got To Pick A Pocket Or Two
A fun song! Fagin, with the help of his boys, shows Oliver the art of pick-pocketing.
It's A Fine Life
This is sung by Nancy in the public house with the regulars and barmaids dancing around - a very lively song.
I'd Do Anything
This is done in Fagin's den, where the Artful Dodger and boys make a makeshift carriage, and along with Nancy, they sing the song.
Be Back Soon
The boys are off to do a days work for Fagin. With his pennywhistle, he is like the Piped Piper as he marches them out and sees them off.
Who Will Buy
This is the second full scale elaborate song and dance scene. It is started off by a rose seller walking down the cobbled street. You then see other street sellers, street entertainers, school children etc. - once again fantastic music and dancing.
As Long As He Needs Me
Bill Sikes has just struck Nancy and walked off. She is crying and starts singing this ballad.
Reviewing the Situation
Fagin is thinking of running away as Bill is getting a little out of control, and Fagin deep down is very much the coward.
Oom Pah Pah
The Oom Pah Pah song has been sang for many years in many variations - but in this film it was sung by Nancy. She used it to get the whole pub up and dancing so she could sneak Oliver out of the pub right under Bill Sikes nose.
Finale
I’ve loved the Oliver! musical ever since I watched it on TV when I was nine years old. I’ve never seen it live on stage, though, and it has always been a dream of mine.
I’ve kept an eye on Fireside Theater and Rock Valley College’s Starlight Theater, but Oliver! has never been on the playbill. Finally, NAT is going to perform it! Good for them.
I’m lucky Mom is such a drama enthusiast, too. When I was a kid, Mom and Dad and I would bundle up and head to Fort Atkinson, Wisconsin, to see plays at the Fireside Theater. I’ve seen Steel Magnolias, Guys and Dolls, Sound of Music, Annie, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Fiddler on the Roof, and a lot more I probably can’t remember at Fireside. I’ve also seen Oklahoma at Starlight Theater, Fireside, AND the Clock Tower Theater (back when it was still in existence).
I was ten when Mom and Dad took me to my first play. It was Peter Pan at Starlight Theater. We were all entranced. After that, we tried to go to at least one play a year.
A particularly memorable play for me is when we went to the Spring Green Theater in Wisconsin. It’s this awesome outdoor all stone arena – sort of like the ones gladiators used to battle in. Anyway, we watched Shakespeare’s Othello. The acting was phenomenal! The actors would come right off the stage, into the seats as part of their performances. I personally remember Iago’s dramatically funny then tragic recital as he waded into the audience to explain his misdeeds. Dad, I remember, was particularly impressed.
For my sixteenth birthday, my parents threw me a wonderful party. They let me invite 16 friends to the Clock Tower Theater’s production of Oklahoma! We had to sit in the front row, because my best friend Tania was deaf and had to be close enough to read the characters’ lips. I had such a good time. Afterwards, we celebrated at Cheddar’s. Mom still looks at it as one of her life’s greatest undertakings. It was undoubtedly unforgettable. Thanks, Mom!
At first, Brett wasn’t that interested in going to plays - mainly, because he’d never been to one. Well, after he went with me, Mom, and Dad to Oklahoma at the Fireside, he was hooked! Now, he enjoys them as much as we do.
Mom and I picked the December date because our “men” (imagine big arms thumping hairy chests) will be out hunting that weekend. So, it’ll be just us girls – like old times. Minus Dad (not that we wouldn’t love it if he magically showed up!)
So, anyway, I’m VERY excited!!! If you are not an Oliver! fan or don’t know any of the songs, here’s a preview:
Overture
Food, Glorious Food
The starting song in the workhouse when all the boys come down the stairs for their gruel, singing of all the wonderful foods they would like to eat "cold jelly and custard".
Boy For Sale
Mr. Bumble walking Oliver around the snowy streets, until he finally sells him at the reduced price of 3 guineas.
Where Is Love
Oliver is singing this looking out of the cellar window at the undertakers just before he makes his escape.
Consider Yourself
Sung by the Artful Dodger, one of my favorite songs, this song takes them through the streets of London with some absolutely wonderful choreography, and different store holders doing there own little dance sketches.
You've Got To Pick A Pocket Or Two
A fun song! Fagin, with the help of his boys, shows Oliver the art of pick-pocketing.
It's A Fine Life
This is sung by Nancy in the public house with the regulars and barmaids dancing around - a very lively song.
I'd Do Anything
This is done in Fagin's den, where the Artful Dodger and boys make a makeshift carriage, and along with Nancy, they sing the song.
Be Back Soon
The boys are off to do a days work for Fagin. With his pennywhistle, he is like the Piped Piper as he marches them out and sees them off.
Who Will Buy
This is the second full scale elaborate song and dance scene. It is started off by a rose seller walking down the cobbled street. You then see other street sellers, street entertainers, school children etc. - once again fantastic music and dancing.
As Long As He Needs Me
Bill Sikes has just struck Nancy and walked off. She is crying and starts singing this ballad.
Reviewing the Situation
Fagin is thinking of running away as Bill is getting a little out of control, and Fagin deep down is very much the coward.
Oom Pah Pah
The Oom Pah Pah song has been sang for many years in many variations - but in this film it was sung by Nancy. She used it to get the whole pub up and dancing so she could sneak Oliver out of the pub right under Bill Sikes nose.
Finale
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Seeing the Man behind the Curtain
Friendship can be a pretty mixed-up bag.
I’m talking about situations when a friend is facing what he/she perceives as a “difficult” choice, but the correct choice is crystal clear to YOU! Like in the Wizard of Oz when the Wizard keeps saying “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” But Dorothy and her friends see the truth, no matter how hard the Wizard tries to maintain the illusion.
I’ll give you an example.
A friend of mine is facing a situation where her husband is only able to work construction jobs a couple months out of the year. This is obviously creating financial hardship for the family. She has her degree and could easily make more money than he does to support the family. However, she wants to be a stay-at-home mom. Things have gotten so bad; they are having difficulty keeping the cupboards stocked.
She is torn about what to do. I just don’t understand what the conflict is – Go To Work! Provide for your family! In her situation, the kids would still be able to have one parent at home. In my book, that makes them pretty fortunate. And who cares if it’s her husband and not her? Well, besides her, obviously. I mean, they would still be able to make it on one salary. Plus, she would finally be able use her degree which she worked long and hard to earn.
While I’m rambling on about stay-at-home parents, I would like to ask when daycare (of course, I mean a qualified daycare!) became the CENTER OF ALL EVIL? Since when did it become a stigma for Christian parents to put their children in daycare? Huh?
I was in daycare from age 3 until I started kindergarten. Let me tell you what daycare did for me. I learned how to share, how to get along with others, how to resolve conflict, how to respect authority, how to socialize, how to live within a structure society. I learned there were consequences for bad behavior. I gleaned information from other kids that helped expand my own knowledge. And, not to mention, I had a ball!
Now, I know there are a lot of really good reasons why parents don’t send their kids to daycare – finances and such, but as a child of daycare, I’m just a little tired of seeing it get unjustly bashed.
We don’t live in an antiquated society anymore. Thank goodness! Just because someone has different reproductive organs does not mean they are limited to doing just one thing or just the other. God gave us various talents and abilities that He doesn’t want to see go UNUSED.
I think everyone should decide for themselves what works best for their family. But something to keep in mind - just because something is the way you’ve always done it, doesn’t mean it’s the right way. Or the only way.
I’m talking about situations when a friend is facing what he/she perceives as a “difficult” choice, but the correct choice is crystal clear to YOU! Like in the Wizard of Oz when the Wizard keeps saying “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” But Dorothy and her friends see the truth, no matter how hard the Wizard tries to maintain the illusion.
I’ll give you an example.
A friend of mine is facing a situation where her husband is only able to work construction jobs a couple months out of the year. This is obviously creating financial hardship for the family. She has her degree and could easily make more money than he does to support the family. However, she wants to be a stay-at-home mom. Things have gotten so bad; they are having difficulty keeping the cupboards stocked.
She is torn about what to do. I just don’t understand what the conflict is – Go To Work! Provide for your family! In her situation, the kids would still be able to have one parent at home. In my book, that makes them pretty fortunate. And who cares if it’s her husband and not her? Well, besides her, obviously. I mean, they would still be able to make it on one salary. Plus, she would finally be able use her degree which she worked long and hard to earn.
While I’m rambling on about stay-at-home parents, I would like to ask when daycare (of course, I mean a qualified daycare!) became the CENTER OF ALL EVIL? Since when did it become a stigma for Christian parents to put their children in daycare? Huh?
I was in daycare from age 3 until I started kindergarten. Let me tell you what daycare did for me. I learned how to share, how to get along with others, how to resolve conflict, how to respect authority, how to socialize, how to live within a structure society. I learned there were consequences for bad behavior. I gleaned information from other kids that helped expand my own knowledge. And, not to mention, I had a ball!
Now, I know there are a lot of really good reasons why parents don’t send their kids to daycare – finances and such, but as a child of daycare, I’m just a little tired of seeing it get unjustly bashed.
We don’t live in an antiquated society anymore. Thank goodness! Just because someone has different reproductive organs does not mean they are limited to doing just one thing or just the other. God gave us various talents and abilities that He doesn’t want to see go UNUSED.
I think everyone should decide for themselves what works best for their family. But something to keep in mind - just because something is the way you’ve always done it, doesn’t mean it’s the right way. Or the only way.
Temptation Office
Well, I’ve had it. Again.
I’m going back on Weight Watchers. Again.
So, this morning, I decided I would be especially good. “No chocolate. Limit the sweets,” I told myself. That shouldn’t be too hard for me. I can close my office door and only go to the staff lounge at lunch.
Right.
So, I get to work and our newly-hired Department Assistant stops me. “I am really grateful for all the help you’ve given me since I started here, and I just wanted to show my appreciation. So, I made you a coffee cake,” she tells me.
Well, what do you say to that? So, I thanked her and when I went into my office, there it was in all of its crumbly, cinnamon-y glory – just casually sitting there on my desk. Tempting me.
“Okay,” I tell myself. “You can handle this. Just put it in your lunch cooler. You can have a small piece for dessert at lunch.” So, I carefully transfer it my lunch cooler and zip the top. Crisis averted!
Then, my phone rings. “Can you come to my office? I’ve got something for you,” our Registrar tells me.
When I get to her office, she makes me close the door and presents me with a chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles.
I’m serious.
“I just wanted to thank you for helping me with that flyer yesterday,” she tells me.
So, I bring the cupcake back to my office – which now smells painfully deliciously like chocolate and coffee cake.
And I wonder – “Why me? Why today, Lord? I was going to be so good! Why all the yummy temptation?”
So far I haven’t succumbed, but I hear their sweet little voices whispering to me.
I’ve got to learn to stop being so helpful around the office!
I’m going back on Weight Watchers. Again.
So, this morning, I decided I would be especially good. “No chocolate. Limit the sweets,” I told myself. That shouldn’t be too hard for me. I can close my office door and only go to the staff lounge at lunch.
Right.
So, I get to work and our newly-hired Department Assistant stops me. “I am really grateful for all the help you’ve given me since I started here, and I just wanted to show my appreciation. So, I made you a coffee cake,” she tells me.
Well, what do you say to that? So, I thanked her and when I went into my office, there it was in all of its crumbly, cinnamon-y glory – just casually sitting there on my desk. Tempting me.
“Okay,” I tell myself. “You can handle this. Just put it in your lunch cooler. You can have a small piece for dessert at lunch.” So, I carefully transfer it my lunch cooler and zip the top. Crisis averted!
Then, my phone rings. “Can you come to my office? I’ve got something for you,” our Registrar tells me.
When I get to her office, she makes me close the door and presents me with a chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles.
I’m serious.
“I just wanted to thank you for helping me with that flyer yesterday,” she tells me.
So, I bring the cupcake back to my office – which now smells painfully deliciously like chocolate and coffee cake.
And I wonder – “Why me? Why today, Lord? I was going to be so good! Why all the yummy temptation?”
So far I haven’t succumbed, but I hear their sweet little voices whispering to me.
I’ve got to learn to stop being so helpful around the office!
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