Spoiled (Un)rotten

Over the years I have received many nice presents. Gifts that touched me and made me grateful for all of the love and thoughtfulness that went into choosing them.

Even the hot pink, barbie blow-up couch given by my niece several years ago, because even though she was little she still wanted to give me a gift that meant something to her.

But this Christmas season I've literally been spoiled with gifts. In a good way. And I like it. A lot.

This is the first year that I've felt confident enough to let a few people know all (okay most) of me, even the messy, extremely ugly parts. And their gifts were thrilling because they spoke to my deepest passions, because the givers knew me well enough to choose things I would love. Things I would never ask for because they seemed too extravagant or expensive, or maybe because I didn't even know I wanted them in the first place.

But as much as those tangible gifts meant to me, as special and loved as I felt because of them, they pale in comparison to the intangible gifts I received.

Gifts of time. Patience. Silence. Touch. Support. Commitment. Grace. Mercy. Encouragement. Celebration. Love.

I am fairly certain that I would not have survived 2009, one of the most difficult years of my life, without the people who offered those things to me when I could not offer them in return.

I would not have survived the intensity of emotions. I would not have survived the memories. I would not have survived the sadness. I would not have survived the fear. I would not have survived facing reality. I would not have survived facing the demons of my past. I would not have survived my faith. I would not have survived myself.

I would not have survived.

Not without the hours of ridiculously long telephone conversations where I was allowed to whine, vent, laugh and cry until I was spent.

Not without the freedom to explore the truth of my story, to literally revisit my past without the fear of rejection in the present. Not without fellowship, food and fun. Not without warm hugs. Not without pursuit and perseverance when I was frustratingly stubborn or withdrawn.

Not without extravagant love.

Not without living, breathing models of the love of Christ in action. No judgment. No criticism. No "I told you so". No "shoulds". No abandonment. No pressure to perform.

Just loyalty, truth, grace and above all love.

Those are the unexpected gifts that have carried me. The gifts for which I am externally grateful. The gifts I cherish the most. Merci.

Ljubljana, Slovenia

Finally I am getting around to posting about my experiences in Slovenia (I'll post about London next time.) Has it already been over 6 months??? My how time flies...

Germany was beautiful, especially after the 36 grueling hours it took to get there! 6 days of rest with a friend who knows me well and still manages to act like she enjoys my company after 17 years. We slept late, talked, celebrated my birthday with really bad Chinese food, talked some more, sang American Idol karaoke with the kids, had tea with her German friend, talked, watched movies, hiked and enjoyed a few outings to Stauffen, Germany and Lucerne, Switzerland before I headed off on my own to explore Slovenia.

When it came time to leave Germany I was a mess of tears and anxiety. Even though I've traveled alone on numerous occasions I was genuinely surprised to experience a rush of fear as Laurie walked away and I faced a long train ride to an unfamiliar country. Anyone who has traveled by train in Europe knows the challenges of navigating the transportation system while speaking a foreign language, but doing it alone at night was daunting and took every ounce of courage I could muster. As I arrived at the main train station I realized that the tourist information office was closed, which was fitting since I could not locate my train and could have really used their help! The station was dark, cold and extremely crowded so I found a track that looked promising and waited. It was an educated guess because the departure time was close to what was reflected on my ticket AND the destination cities seemed suspiciously Slavic; however, Ljubljana was not listed and I was worried. I DID NOT want to end up in Zagreb on that particular trip! Panic was beginning to seize my heart as I listened to the unfamiliar languages and contemplated calling Laurie and just scrapping Slovenia all together. But just as I was about to lose heart the train arrived and I found a sympathetic conductor who confirmed that I was boarding the correct train and that he would awaken me when we arrived in my chosen city.

I hopped on the train with a smile of relief while fun memories of past overnight train rides filled my mind, train rides when I was in my 20s and thought that kind of thing was fun and cool. Train rides shared with others of like mind, not middle-aged Croatians and Germans who were angry that I could not speak any of their languages. Ah yes, my smile froze when I saw my compartment. I knew that this train ride would be COMPLETELY different from the adventurous rides of my youth. My "room" (it was actually smaller than most closets) had 6 bunk beds, 3 on each side and mine was on the top, right next to the ceiling. I could not even sit up and my fellow passengers had so much luggage that I was forced to sleep with my backpack on my tiny bed. And I use the word sleep lightly, because I barely did any of that. Instead I listened to a mix of Slavic and German until at least 2:00 am, apparently these strangers had become fast friends and were too wired to sleep. Finally the symphony of snoring began and I was thrilled to be the quietest of the group! All in all it was a miserable night with little sleep, cramped quarters, no privacy and possible bed bugs. Not an experience I am likely to repeat. Yep, I think my extreme budget travel days are over. I much prefer a little luxury at this stage in my life, and by luxury I mean private room and bathroom in a semi-decent hotel, not a train.

Overall my impressions of Slovenia were very favorable. Ljubljana was a gem tucked into a valley in the shadow of the Julian Alps. The people were friendlier than in most of the former Eastern Block countries I've visited. They seemed more like Austrians or Italians, maybe because they share a border! Either way they were charming, helpful and open. They were eager to share about their history and culture and even about their lives under Tito's rule of thumb. It was fascinating to learn more about the Balkans and their conflicted past.

I loved watching the locals prepare for Easter with hand-carved wooden flowers, beautifully painted eggs and palm fronds. Sitting in the stillness of the large Catholic church on Palm Sunday filled me with peace. The sound of the large pipe organ was stunning and the newly restored frescoes breathtaking.

I made my way to the castle, enjoyed the many bridges, ate lots of gelato in the crowded main square, went shopping at a large department store, ate SOME of the local food, enjoyed the Bosnian Food Festival and dancers at the street fair and spent time reading in the park. The city's charm and relaxed pace were refreshing and in many ways I was reminded of Prague.

If you get the chance to go, TAKE IT. Just take note of the following:

1. DO NOT walk in the bike lane - EVER. They WILL yell at you. If you've never been yelled at in Slovenian I can promise you it's an experience you want to avoid. In fact, I would encourage you to avoid being yelled at in ANY Slavic language. Well, being yelled at in Greek, Italian or German is also unpleasant, heck even being yelled at in English is awful, but it's worse when a large man on a fast bike is screaming before he almost runs over you! :-)
2. They eat horse meat. Really. And no, I DID NOT eat any. Been there, done that - ON ACCIDENT in Belgium. I wish I didn't know that horse meat is red, but I do. Ugh. Perhaps on a trip to Slovenia one should stick to a purely vegetarian diet. I'm just sayin'....




3. Their national soda, Cockta, was um, "hard to swallow"..... Just be warned that it's a mix of cola and lemon-lime. Neither the name nor the flavor were appetizing!



4. They serve their hot panini sandwiches with pickles and hard boiled eggs in the middle - ew! I was quite surprised when I bit into mine.
5. If you see a gelato stand - BUY yourself a scoop, it's just as good as what you find in Italy.
6. DO NOT under any circumstances stay at the hip youth hostel that was once a prison. Trust me on this one. (Yes Lane, you were RIGHT. I admit it for all the world to see, or at least the 3 people who read this blog!)

It was a lovely experience and I'm glad I braved the overnight train ride with a compartment full of strangers. Beautiful country. Fascinating history. Friendly people. Go see it for yourself sometime!

Radioactive Fallout

The doctor looked at me and said, I think you have a stress fracture in the right metatarsal. You'll need a bone scan so I can see the extent of your injury. And just like that I was fitted for a cast and drove off to Concord Imaging, my favorite imaging center. They're nice and it looks and feels like a spa when you walk in, which helps calm me down. I'm on a first name basis with Alma now, we swap stories like we're old friends as she injects me with radioactive isotope. When she maneuvers my foot under the camera I refrain from crying out in pain because I have convinced myself that I really don't have a stress fracture but am instead just reacting like a big baby because I want some extra attention. Even though it really does hurt and the doctor himself noted that the pain was severe.

Then the isotope begins to race through my blood stream down to my injured foot. It pools in the exact location that has been causing so much pain and glows an unearthly white on the screen. And I know that I'm not overreacting. The proof is on the screen and I begin to cry. Somehow seeing it in black and fluorescent white gives me the permission I need to feel the pain and my foot begins to throb. When the initial part of the scan is over I cannot walk. Instead I hobble to my chair and fight the sobs that want to take over. And then I pull it together, put on my cast and drive to work.

5 hours and 32 ounces of water later I am back at Concord chatting with Alma. She compares the new images to those from my bone scan in April that revealed a diagnosis of osteoarthritis. This time the right foot definitely shows a new injury and it glows much brighter than the silly old arthritis, highlighting the inflammation. For the next 45 minutes I try to lay perfectly still as my foot is placed in odd positions so the scan can capture all angels for the doctor to review. As I lay there I continue to berate myself for not seeking treatment sooner, for thinking that I'm still 26 instead of 5 months shy of 40, for trying to be brave or ignore the pain until walking was out of the question.

I'm grateful that despite my stupidity the radioactive fallout of this procedure was mild. Yes the pain is severe, but the prognosis is good. I will be in a cast for 4-6 weeks but there appears to be no permanent damage. I will be forced to care for my foot and not abuse it by pushing it harder than I should. That means no more running or extensive walking, but instead biking or God-forbid water aerobics. It also means old lady shoes instead of heels, once I'm out of my Frankenstein cast that is. And my Frankenstein cast is huge - because in order to fit my ginormous calves I had to get a cast made for Arnold, not Angelina. Hey it ain't pretty but at least I already have a costume for Halloween!

My "Frankenfeet" - driving shoe and walking cast.

My Inner Hippie

I found my inner hippie last night. I didn't know she was lost until my boss gave me concert tickets to Rain: The Beatles Experience. And for those of you who don't know, my boss does everything in style.

• The Majestic Theater
• Box seats
• Private lounge
• Valet parking

It started with I Wanna Hold Your Hand and ended with my favorite, Hey Jude. The other 2 hours were filled with songs like Yesterday, Come Together, Let It Be, Hello Goodbye, A Hard Day's Night, Eleanor Rigby, Girl, Across The Universe, I Am A Walrus. As much as I enjoyed the concert, can I be honest and say that I've always hated the walrus song? Last night didn't change my mind. It's still awful.

But, otherwise the night was AMAZING. I feel like I saw the REAL Beatles live in concert. It was an unbelievable show. Psychedelic lights, a multi-media presentation, musicians who almost perfectly imitated the real stars in look and sound. It made me wish I had seen the real deal. If you appreciate music at all then walk, don't run to the nearest show!

Now if I can just finagle a way to see U2 and Coldplay live in concert before I die.....


http://www.raintribute.com/

Barbie Doll Wannabes

I was in Las Vegas last week. Land of bad Elvis impersonators, an Eiffel Tower knockoff, gondolas that glide across shallow swimming pools instead of murky canals, AND an over-abundance of fake boobs. Lots and lots of silicone.

Come to think of it, aside from Sin City, I don't think I've ever seen so many fake boobs in one place. Not to mention the fake tans, fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake nails, fake noses, fake lips, fake ____________ (fill in the blank). Everyone seemed to be masquerading as someone else. It was difficult for me to discern fantasy from reality, well at least until I looked into the mirror!

Remember that Oprah episode about human Barbie Dolls? It chronicled women who had spent thousands of dollars and endured multiple surgeries to transform their faces and bodies into living, breathing Barbies. With each surgery their noses got smaller, cheekbones more defined, lips plumped, boobs enlarged and fat sucked away. Post-surgery their hair was blonder, teeth whiter, tans darker and jewelry flashier.

In the altered reality of Vegas I encountered one of those women. She almost knocked me over as I tried to exit the casino. As I stumbled I was struck by a few things, including her enormous, fake knockers. She was frighteningly skinny, no bigger than a size 0, her tanned and leathery skin stretched uncomfortably over her 5'10 frame. With her stilettos and teased, blond hair she appeared to be 6'2. Her tiny body could barely support her enormous chest and it was all she could do to stand up straight as she held on to her date for dear life. After my initial shock wore off I looked more closely. I ignored the barely there mini-skirt and the tight & tacky spandex tank top and focused on her distorted features.

Her lips were filled with too much collagen, her brow smooth and shiny from Botox. Restylane filled her cheekbones and fake, feathery eyelashes framed her wrinkle-free eyes. A tiny, upturned nose was barely noticeable above her bee-stung lips, and eyeliner was expertly painted to draw attention to her cat-like, blue eyes.

Although she held herself with an air of confidence, her eyes were empty and she seemed brittle and hollow. It was achingly obvious that she was not as young as she tried to appear. The attention she drew was mostly from people gawking in horror. No one was fooled by her vanity; clearly she had purchased Nicole's nose, Anna Nicole's breasts and Angelina's lips. And all of the money and painful surgeries had failed. She did not look like a Barbie Doll.

As I watched her walk away I thought of how often my own vanity or pride causes me to live under pretense. I don't want people to see how messy my life is, how deep the wounds, how severe the traumas, how pathetic the vanity, how painful the suffering. I would rather appear to have it all together, or to seem smarter or funnier, or even kinder and gentler. But just like the wannabe Barbie, others see through the pretense, and in the instant I choose to keep hiding I miss out on letting them know me as I am, instead of who I wish I were. Funny how that works.

Circle of Life

Years ago when I was a 9-year-old girl something magical happened. My oldest brother and his wife became the parents of a beautiful baby girl. She was christened Andrea Jane and in that moment I became the most ridiculously proud "child" aunt the world had ever seen.

I bragged and BRAGGED about her to all of my friends. No one else in my clique had yet enjoyed the privilege of being an aunt, and I was obnoxiously vocal about my new role. Not that I got to see her much since she lived 4 hours away and I was just a child myself, but no matter, my title was permanent. When we moved to the same town as my brother and his family I was able to spend more time enjoying the wonders of her toddler hood, and before long we welcomed her baby brother, Tyler into the world. Their adorable faces and amazing spirits captured me and I believed with all of my heart that motherhood was on the horizon for me, and I couldn't wait. Little did I know that the waiting would be bitter and endless.

10 years ago this month I was diagnosed with a condition that makes conceiving children close to impossible and carrying a child to term risky and difficult at best. My case was more severe and the doctor said it was unlikely that I would ever be able to conceive, even with the help of medical science. I was 29 at the time and the news sent me into a tailspin. No one quite understood what I knew in my heart. I would never experience pregnancy. I would never feel the flutter of a new life kicking and wiggling in my womb. I would never gaze with wonder on a child I helped create. Never. I was devastated.

For many years I struggled to live life with the knowledge that my dearest dream would never be fulfilled. I tucked away the disappointment and threw myself into being the best aunt I could be. Each time I held one of my nieces or nephews in my arms I was amazed that I shared DNA with such perfect and amazing creatures. Babies are wondrous with their tiny fingers and toes, gurgles, fragility, scent. And oh how I adore 3-year-olds, and 8-year-olds, and, who am I kidding I adore ALL of them! When they're near it proves to me that even though I'll never know the pure love a mother feels for her child I still have a small part in the circle of life.

Now the circle has expanded. My niece, whom I once held in my own tiny arms now holds her own child. She gave birth to Jonathan a few weeks ago. He is perfect and beautiful, a wonderful combination of his proud mommy and daddy. His arrival made me a great-aunt, and I cried tears of joy when I saw the first photo of him gazing at his daddy. Of course I also cried when I saw him resting peacefully in his granny's arms, and when I saw the real smile on my brother's face as he held his first grandchild.

Andrea, Tyler, Bethany, Cody, Bryce, Kaitlyn, Kyle, Zachary and now Jonathan. All miracles. All amazing. All part of my circle.

Cars & Keys

What possesses someone to key another person's car? Seriously, someone keyed both the passenger door and the hood on my new car and I have NO idea why. I haven't flipped anyone off or yelled at anyone while driving for a long time, honest. I finally got over my road rage and was rewarded with.....vandalism. Stupid Murphy's Law!

Even though I had a patient scream (and I do mean SCREAM) at me last week, and another patient who wanted to know why he was billed for his no show since we were just going to stick something up his @*#$@#! @#$, I'm pretty sure they don't know what kind of car I drive. And besides, there are cameras and offices with windows that overlook our parking lot at work so it's unlikely it happened there. I did go to Target and HEB but didn't notice it until the next morning. With my luck it happened at my very own apartment. Hm, I don't think I've ticked off any neighbors, but then I am famous for making people think I'm mad at them when I'm not. The only thing I did was rebuff one of my neighbors who kept hitting on me, she just wouldn't take no for an answer.....

Now I'm worried that there is someone lurking near my apartment, just what I needed something else to scare me. Maybe I should install a video camera so I can see who is out there in the middle of the night when I'm locked tightly in my apartment. I cannot for the life of me comprehend what type of person would do that. Even when I am my angriest I don't mess with other people's stuff!

I guess I'll be calling my Denver brother to see what he recommends to repair the damage. It's frustrating to have to deal with this issue so early in the life of my new car, I mean it still has that "new car" smell (sometimes!) I know it's just a car, but it was my new car and now it's scratched because of someone else's lack of morals, and I have no idea what I did to deserve it. Maybe I should just sell it and start taking the bus! Ha, like THAT'S gonna happen!

Adventures in Puppy Parenting - Chewing it Up

What? I'm not eating your shoes...

I was just moving them for you....
Yeah, that's it!

I promise!

Ah, the teething phase, I REALLY hope he outgrows it soon. Right now as I type, my adorable puppy is gnawing the window sill while eyeing the mini-blinds and curtain. I just noticed that he has already pulled a thread from the once perfect curtain and tried to eat it. Grrr. If I didn't know better I'd think he was hungry, but his belly is most definitely full. Earlier today I had an inkling that he was up to something when he didn't follow me into the kitchen. No sooner had I left the room than he shredded the tissue I had left on the coffee table.






Exhibit A

So far he has inflicted the following damage:

1. He has eaten a hunk out of the wall
2. Destroyed my USB cord
3. Eaten tags off of every toy, blanket, doggy bed, etc. It's his favorite thing to do and it's the first thing he looks for on new toys. I frequently find his beds upside down and the tags chewed
4. Chewed the window sill , curtains and window blinds AND gnawed my sofa cushion, pillows, blankets, comforter, towels, shoes and purse
5. Attempted to eat the vacuum cord, computer cord, lamp cord, or any other cord - if he can get to it it's fair game
6. Mutilated several toys - his bunny is missing it's tail and her back leg is practically severed; his teething bone is unrecognizable and I frequently step on the hard pieces of blue rubber; his bouncy ball is no more - he chewed it in half, ate some of the rubber before I could get to it and proceeded to throw up on my bed, at 4:00 am - um, I'm afraid I wasn't too gracious about it either!

Exhibit B

Sigh. If he wasn't so darn cute he'd be in the dog house, literally. But when he looks at me with his tongue sticking out I find him absolutely irresistible and smother him with kisses! He's got my number!

Puppy Love!

On May 30, 2009 I became the proud "mama" of a bouncing (he literally bounces), 3 pound baby boy named Zeus. He now weighs in at 6.1 pounds and fills my mornings and nights with lots of play and affection.

Here is the photo that made me want to meet him:

Here are a few more recent photos that cannot even possibly begin to capture why I love him SO much:

Sigh, all prejudices aside he really is one of the MOST adorable puppies I've ever seen, and because of his adorableness I now know all of my neighbors and random people who walk by. He attracts A LOT of attention, and he's so friendly and playful that most people are smitten with him immediately. He's a sensitive little guy who gets his feelings hurt when other dogs do not want to be his friend. One of our neighbors Ginger, a Shitzu mix, actually bit him a few weeks ago. But he doesn't hold grudges and his initial sadness wore off after, oh 2 seconds or so. He is a persistent little chap who STILL tries to play with her when he sees her, but I am a wee bit overprotective and remind him gently that she tried to eat him, so no we will NOT be making her acquaintance! Popeye, the silver and black poodle who lives next door, is also a wee bit grouchy but he is warming up to Zeus little by little. Poor Zeus, he really doesn't understand how annoying he is to the elderly.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have LOTS of stories to tell about my "Adventures in Puppy Parenting". I'm convinced that I should write the sequel to "Marley & Me" because apparently I have his spawn.....

When What A Girl Wants Is What A Girl Needs

Sometimes a girl just needs a new car. Okay, I understand that the word "need" is a relative term, but when my 2002 Saturn began to burn oil, I decided that I would begin looking for a new car while the deals were hot. Because putting a quart of oil into my car every few weeks is not an enjoyable experience for me. It involves dirt and grease and it makes my hands smell terrible, not to mention I get anxious about my car dying and leaving me stranded on a dark street when I should be in the safety of my home. Besides, why spend $3,000 to overhaul an engine on a car worth precisely $3,000?

Case in point. Just before driving to The Woodlands to visit my brother and sister-in-law a few weeks ago, I wisely checked my car's oil level and discovered that it was almost empty. So there I was at the gas station, dressed in my work clothes, with the hood up on my dirty car, trying to put oil in the engine through a flimsy paper cone. Of course, figuring out where to put the oil was my first challenge, and unscrewing the lid was the second. I spent several minutes screwing and unscrewing the cap, but it would not budge. Then it dawned on me that perhaps I should just pull it off, and to my embarrassment off it came! I was muttering very unkind words as I drained that quart of liquid gold into my engine and then slammed the hood before locating my stash of baby wipes in a vain attempt to rid my hands of the oil and gas stains and smells.

Finally I was on my way for a mostly uneventful drive, although somewhere outside of Seguin, Texas, with Bon Jovi blasting on my radio I happened upon a white truck (ironically) with a hand-written sign that said, "Save White America". Seriously, it really said that. After 3 hours I made it to Houston and the dreaded tall bridge that lead to the toll road. I did great though and managed to talk myself over it without hyperventilating only to get lost (huge shock, I know) after making a wrong turn in The Woodlands. My brother was kind and didn't laugh at me as he talked me to his house and I only arrived an hour later than expected. :-) Thankfully all was well and we sat down to eat a yummy dinner (thanks Ann!) before settling in for a relaxing weekend.

We watched movies, and ate good food, and talked, and looked at photo albums, and researched dog breeds (more on that in a later post) and had a really nice time. And better still on Sunday my brother, ever the savvy shopper introduced me to www.edmunds.com and because of that I paid below invoice price for my new car. Thanks Ray!!!

At the time I was looking at Toyota Corollas (gray, black or white - NO silver) and we looked at all of the different prices with the options I wanted and I learned exactly how low the dealer could go on the price so I could get the best bargain. After driving home (and taking an unintended detour to Lackland AFB) I decided to look at cars on Monday. I researched Corollas but also looked for Camrys with a manual 5-speed transmission and to my surprise discovered that there were 4 of them in the city of San Antonio. I went to 2 different dealers and drove 2 Camrys, one silver and one black before talking the dealers down to BELOW invoice price on each car. Ultimately I surprised myself and chose the silver car and walked away with a brand new 2009 Camry, with all the options I wanted for LESS than I would have paid for the Corolla. Apparently no one wants buy a Camry with manual transmission - except me! So now I have a beautiful new car and amenities I never thought I could afford all because of one smart brother and a dad who went with me to help me haggle.

No more putting oil into my engine and looking and smelling like a grease monkey. This car should last me for years before it needs repairs, in fact I'll likely be driving it when my hair is as silver as it is! I'm thrilled with it and feel like I'm driving a Lexus, when I'm only in a base model Camry. My first grown-up car, and I'm only 39..... Like I said, sometimes a girl just needs a new car!

In Transit - The First 36 Hours

Finally, the big day had arrived, after a 3-year hiatus, long years spent wishing, hoping and waiting for the chance to return, I was once again leaving on a big jet plane headed for a holiday across the pond. Hours of packing, hours of planning, hours of obsessing, hours of........waiting in airports. Ugh.

High on adrenaline despite being hormonal and sleep deprived, I checked in and grabbed a few breakfast tacos before heading to gate 33. I was eager to get to Dallas and spend the day with my friend Cindi before heading to London later that night. After a 20-minute delay everyone boarded the plane and buckled up ready for the short hop to DFW. But then the captain made a fateful announcement, there was an electrical problem on the plane, severe enough that we could not fly until it was fixed. Ah but he had hopeful news, it should only take a few minutes to repair, I'm such a sucker that I believed him. Silly me.

Sure enough, after those "few" minutes were memories the passengers were asked to leave the plane and continue waiting in the terminal. I texted Cindi to warn her of the impending doom and settled in with my book, making fast friends with the other disgruntled passengers. Our updates were frequent but progress was agonizingly slow.

Excuse #1: The mechanic could not reach the defective switch because his hands were too big.
Excuse #2: Due to the mechanic's oversized hands he had to disassemble the jump seat.
Excuse #3: When he finally wrapped his GINORMOUS hands around the relay switch he discovered that he needed 2 switches instead of only 1.
Excuse #4: There were no additional relay switches in San Antonio, AA would have to fly one in on another plane.
Excuse #5: The second relay switch did not fix the problem.

After 4 hours I was thinking that if it took that long to TRY to fix the airplane I had affectionately nicknamed Humpty Dumpty, then I would not be flying on it. And finally the geniuses at AA (they're the cream of the crop I tell you, the best of the best) decided that PERHAPS they could fly us out on the plane that had been sitting empty at the next gate for 2 1/2 hours! Of course, they didn't make that decision until a severe thunder and lightning storm had rolled in and caused a power outage in the airport. I'm sure you can imagine that I was a WEE bit grumpy by this point, and hormonal, did I mention hormonal?

So finally, after almost every passenger had missed connections, and I had missed my chance to see Cindi, we boarded the plane and took off before the weather worsened. The trip was so bumpy that the flight attendants were required to stay seated, no peanuts or drinks for us. Unbelievably, when we finally landed in Dallas we circled the runway until a gate could be located for us, I guess they were fresh out. Then the pilot attempted to park, and I write that with a straight face because the parking system failed, so we had to wait to be towed the last 12 feet to the gate. Hey, at least the brakes worked and we didn't crash through the terminal.....

I settled in for a 5-hour layover and read magazines in between switching gates 3 times before the airline finally decided where we would board. I was nearly involved in a hit and run accident with a man (not a teen) who thought skateboarding in a busy airport was a good idea. Those of us who narrowly avoided a visit to the E.R. strongly disagreed. Oh, and I found a Proactiv vending machine. That's right, we have stooped so low as to sell acne medication in vending machines at airports. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity...

And then, I'm sure you'll never believe this, wait for it.......my flight to London was delayed. Huge shock I know. I almost fell over dead when they made the announcement. What? Delayed? You have GOT to be kidding me? That NEVER happens... What were the excuses? Well, the plane was late being towed from the hangar, I guess the scheduled time fell during the union break. Then we needed catering, bad airplane food must be on board before the unsuspecting passengers. And of course, we had "mechanical problems". Did they REALLY need to tell me that BEFORE I left on a 9-hour flight OVER THE OCEAN? But alas, the flight was uneventful. I watched a bad movie with one earphone, ate terrible lasagna and shifted uncomfortably in my seat all while trying to keep the lady in front of me from sleeping with her head in my lap. Gotta love flying coach!

As I awoke from my miserable slumber my eyes feasted on the greenery of Ireland below me before Scotland and England came into view. Upon landing I made my way through customs and walked what felt like miles of hallways before emerging into the largest airport I've ever seen. Heathrow was like a city and I was completely overwhelmed, thankfully the signs were clear and I easily found the shuttle to Gatwick Airport. Once there I watched the Scottish men parading around in kilts, perhaps there was some kind of convention? At least they were not trying to run me over with their skateboards, because skateboarding Scotsmen in kilts may have sent me over the edge! I did rather enjoy their lovely accents, and I have to admit that each time one of them took the escalator upstairs I tried to sneak a peak to discover if he was wearing his kilt properly....I never did figure that one out. ;-)

Finally, after 5 long hours of waiting I boarded the Easyjet plane bound for Basel and settled in for the short flight. Upon arrival I collected my luggage and tried to remember if I was supposed to exit through the Swiss or French sector of the airport. I chose door number 2 leading to France and was rewarded with Laurie and Emmalee's smiling faces, and in that instant all of my stress melted away and I knew that the past 36 hours had been worth all of the hassle.

39 and Holding

As I find myself staring down the last year of my thirties I wonder how I got here. How did I become the girl who no one loves? This birthday is hitting me harder than I thought it would because, even though I have a year to go, I've accepted the fact that one of my biggest fears is imminent:

I will be single when I turn 40

Gulp. It may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but it is the death of yet another dream, my most cherished one in fact, and it has shattered my ability to hope. Last year was unkind to me and all I want to do now is crawl under my covers and stay there for a really, really long time. I don't want anyone close to the gaping hole in my heart because it's too painful. I already gave up my dreams of children and a family to call my own, and even though it isn't the end of the world, being an Old Maid is not something I aspired to.

But hey, at least I can hog the remote, spend my money how I choose and set the thermostat where I want.....those are the "positives" my married friends point out to me. Yeah, FYI that's NOT helpful. I do, however, have Europe, and even though I often travel alone I enjoy people watching while sipping tea in an elegant cafe. I also love seeing art that I never see here, and glimpsing history that was left out of World History 101. It's a pleasant break from my life of boredom and I'd rather explore this beautiful world than not, even if I have to do it alone. Do you think it counts if I turn 39 in a foreign country? Can I choose to stay 39 until I get married? If so, I promise I'll give up the remote control without complaining, but money and the thermostat will take some serious negotiations!

We're Not In Kansas Anymore...

Thump, thump, thump, the sound emanating from the bass speakers in the low-rider in front of us should have been the first clue. The KISS 99.5 FM van should have been the second. And the vehicles, a mix of Mustangs, low-riders and tricked-out trucks should have been the third. We were definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Saturday was a beautiful, sunny day, one of those days that makes you happy that you live in South Texas, at least until summer. After a leisurely morning, and a long, flower-filled walk I waited for my friend Amy and her two girls to pick me up. We were headed to the local dog show, a free event that we decided to attend to find out if it resembled the "Best In Show" movie at all. Plus we wanted to DO something, and something different at that. So off we drove not sure what to expect, which may have been a good thing.

Once we arrived at the event, we were surprised when the parking attendant told us that it would cost $5, wasn't it free? We clearly looked puzzled, which caused him to peruse our vehicle, a huge suburban containing two almost middle-aged women, and two adorable girls in the back seat, one sporting long braids. At that point HE looked puzzled and decided to investigate the situation further.

Attendant: "Um, what event are you here for?"
Amy: "The dog show???"
Attendant: "This is the 'Tat Expo', the dog show is at gate E."
Amy & Robin: "Oh"
Robin: "Did he say TATTOO EXPO?"
Amy: "I think he did"
Girls: "Giggle, giggle"

At this point we had completed a u-turn and decided to stop and ask the attendant if he did indeed say "Tattoo Expo", surely we were mistaken.

Amy: "What event is this?"
Attendant: "The Tattoo Expo"
Amy: "Okaaaay, how do we get to the dog show?"
Attendant: "Take a left out of the parking lot, make a left at the light and then left at gate E"
Amy: "Okay, thank you!"

As we drove away we all broke into guffaws, we were clearly out of place. What could have possibly given us away? K-love on the radio? The suburban? The wide-eyed innocence of Amy's girls? Our lack of body art and piercings? Now, I'm not judging those who sport tattoos and piercings, but clearly 2 straight-laced, former BSF leaders and fresh-scrubbed girls did NOT fit the "Tat Expo" demographic!

When we finally arrived at our preferred event, after waiting for the Mustang driver to get directions to the Tattoo Expo, I knew we were in the right place. The Cadillacs, motor homes and, um the smell. We had definitely found the dog show. The girls bounded out and we made our way to an open arena filled with, well, dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. The humans were an afterthought.

After being assaulted with the lovely odor of wet dog and other disgusting smells I'd rather not describe in detail, we decided to watch the show. The sporting class was up so we took our seats and watched women dressed in pantyhose and heels, and men in suits parade their dogs around in complete silence because there were no announcers telling us what was happening. If you didn't happen to be in the know you were toast. Amy and I started asking the people around us and some were helpful and some would rather have been talking to their dogs. In fact, I thought I was having a conversation with a lady who kept talking after answering my question. I mistakenly thought she was talking to me, but nope, she was talking to her dog. It was kind of like that weird feeling you get when someone walks past you and says hi and you say hi because you think they're talking to you, and then you realize they have a blue tooth and they're really on the phone and you've just responded to someone who wasn't talking to you and who is looking at you like you're crazy.......yeah, kind of like that. Awkward!

So then we decided to walk around and we saw even MORE dogs. Most of them were being groomed for the main event, and I have to be honest and say that the smell was 100 times worse in the grooming area! We looked at Poodles, a weird, hairless Chinese dog, Labradors, Golden Retrievers, Pugs, Collies, Bulldogs, Sheep Dogs and even a Texas Chihuahua a.k.a. a Great Dane. That dog was 6-ft tall when he stood on his hind legs. And the slobber, ugh, so gross! We were terrified that he would shake his head and cover us in goo....

After about an hour we were getting hungry and thirsty but there was not a water bottle or snack stand to be found for us humans, there were, however, plenty for the dogs. There was "Bark Avenue", a nice little store selling fancy dog beds, frames, calendars, etc. The "Pet Deli" was exactly that, a deli for the dogs. "B.A.R.F." sold bones and other canine essentials. And there was even an artist willing to draw caricatures of your dog for a small fee. Worse still was the following sign on the bathroom door: "No Dogs Allowed", that could be taken the wrong way folks.

Finally we were longing for Kansas and food and drinks. On the way out we discovered one small table selling mixed nuts. But honestly, we were not even tempted when they offered us samples stating that they were for humans. Just the thought of the Great Dane walking by and drooling in those nuts almost made us B.A.R.F. :-) Instead we opted for Mexican Food and a relaxing afternoon at the park. Good times all around.

14,000 Days

Sometimes a day seems soooo looooong and sometimes it seems shorter than my mother. But in reality time doesn't move faster or slower depending on my mood. It stays the same. Tick-tock, tick-tock, 60 seconds makes the big hand move, 60 minutes makes the little hand move and before I know it time has run away from me and the day has slipped into a memory. Over 14,000 days so far and only God knows how many more are to come.

When I was younger my faith was kind of like my ticket to immortality, a way to be assured of an endless supply of days. Of course, it was also the best way I could think of to avoid all of that fire and brimstone the preacher was always talking about, but I digress. There's a popular CCM band that sings "Take me to the other side, cuz I wanna live forever" and I'll admit that living forever in heaven sounds pretty great. No pain, no suffering, mansions and streets of gold. Who would turn that down? It's just that focusing on the "living forever" part kind of misses the point of living NOW. And no matter how long or short the days, I'm still in the "now and the not yet" part of living. I haven't graduated to heaven yet, and BTW I'm perfectly fine with that!

There is still so much to learn before I am finally complete, and while I'm growing toward the woman God intended when he first imagined me, I'm still SO. FAR. AWAY. Salvation is much more than my personal "get out of hell free card." For me it has become more about reconciliation to my Creator; more about a vibrant, passionate and intimate relationship that quenches my dry and thirsty soul and awakens my numb heart to the experience of living. In him I live and move and have my being - what joy I get from a living, breathing relationship with Christ! It's amazingly beautiful to contemplate the mystery of reconciliation. But, part of reconciling involves looking back, which is something I normally eschew.

Popular culture tells us to never look back, to never stop thinking about tomorrow. But I've learned that the process of looking back, although painful, is helpful in determining why I do things the way I do, good or bad. I'm not talking about simply remembering, I'm talking about a serious in-depth examination of life. Many people never do this. They live convinced of their "rightness" about every issue or opinion, and try to convince everyone else of their "rightness" too. They live to control or fix others instead of themselves. Hm, I wonder how I know that? Ha! Now that I've decided to move beyond that kind of thinking I'm experiencing serious growing pains. Yet, time and time again the pain of examination leads to complete freedom and reconciliation with my Creator.

I've come too far to stop now, and I'm determined to complete this process and see where it takes me, no matter if I have 1 or 14,000 days remaining.

Inmate #107

So here's the deal. Apparently I'm off my rocker. And no one bothered to tell me until Saturday. You see, after a 3-year hiatus I will soon be strapping on my backpack and leaving on a jet plane for another European adventure. That sounds pleasant enough, right? Counting a few sheep in a sleeping berth while being rocketed to a former Eastern block country. Exploring the caves of the Karst Region of Slovenia despite claustrophobia. Taking in the studs ;-) at the Lipizzaner farm. Getting lost a million times in a foreign city. No news there, been there and done that and I've lived to tell about it each time.

But this time I was contemplating something totally different. And I have no idea why except that I've been a little bored of late. You know how it is, the same routine, the same city, the same ole' life without any excitement or adventure. So I've been reading my guidebook and looking up websites and generally trying to stick to a tight budget while paying for hotel, transportation, food, etc., with a devalued dollar.

And then I found out about Hostel Celica. It's a restored "detention" facility, a.k.a. former prison, which is apparently THE place to stay for backpackers trekking through former Eastern block countries. And we all know that I like to be different so my curiosity was piqued. How unique to stay in a "cell" that has been decorated by a cool, hip designer. The place has an art gallery. Laundry facilities. Cafe. Internet. TV room. AND, it's cheap - really cheap.

Of course, I overlooked the fact that it is state run. Anything state run in a former Eastern block country should invite suspicion. And I wasn't thrilled that I would have to share a bathroom, but I figured I could survive that for 3 nights. And being required to leave my cell open for the daily tours was disconcerting to say the least.... But the kicker was discovering that it was next to the city's hippest teen club frequented by those looking for drugs, sex and rock-n-roll - and um, well I'm NOT. Then there is the lack of sleep from the ongoing party next door, and nothing I could do about it except get grumpy and sick from sleep deprivation. Uh-oh.

Thankfully someone whose initials are LA ;-) pointed out my obviously flawed thinking by asking a few questions such as:

1. Do they allow cell phones? (please tell me you get the pun because that is funny!)
2. If so, are you allowed only one call?
3. If valuables are required to be kept in the safe deposit box does that mean it's only a minimum security prison?

Great, now I'm questioning my sanity. Can you say PROZAC? Ultimately I reconsidered and booked a nice B&B. MOSTLY out of concern for my safety but also because I'D NEVER live it down if I actually stayed in a former Eastern block prison! So now, instead of being Inmate #107, I will be plain, ole' boring Robin from Texas. I'll try to enjoy the real bed, breakfast, tea, Internet, telephone, room service, en suite toilet and shower..... Prison? Yeah, WHAT was I thinking?

Deep In The Heart Of Texas

It has been a long time since I retreated. Almost two years since I took the time to drive away from the distractions of city life and into the wide open spaces and gentle rolling hills of the Texas Hill Country. This weekend found me unwinding with each passing mile as I made my way to Laity Lodge, an amazingly sacred retreat center nestled deep in the heart of Texas.

In a way I was driving into my past. Transportedto my teenage years when I spent many hours on an old blue and white church bus, looking at the same scenery as we lumbered up the hill to the run down Baptist youth camp. It was old and dusty with the Frio River slicing through the winding, wooded paths. Alto Frio was its name, and a rather strange one if you think about it. For the uninitiated, frio means cold, or very cold in Spanish, but alto is most commonly associated with halt, although a quick google search reveals that it also means tall or high. I spent many weeks of my youth at that Tall, Cold River Camp.

So many cherished memories. Long nights in the bunkhouse with giggling girls; choking down terrible food in the mess hall and making sure I NEVER put my elbows on the table; kicking rocks and holding hands with a cute new guy because PDAs were strictly forbidden, and the reason we snuck down to the river (!); pulling pranks at the boys' dorm; silly "Olympics"; small groups; worship in the open meeting hall; and of course, rededicating my life to God at the nightly invitation offered at any Baptist camp worth its salt! Good times, good times all around.

But now I'm older, and those carefree days are long gone, as well as my nights spent in the rundown bunkhouses of Alto Frio (thank God!) I've graduated to a retreat center for grown-ups. A real treasure that serves nourishment for the body and soul in a serene lodge set in a canyon carved in two by the same river I swam in as a kid. As I contrasted the old and new memories this weekend I was stunned at how they intermingled. Hiking to the top of Circle Bluff I remembered how I used to stare at the canyons wondering if any Native Americans remained hidden in the bluffs. I found myself looking for arrowheads on my hike yesterday, something I have done my entire life whenever I'm outside of the confines of asphalt and highways. I also kept an eye out for jumping cactus and rattlesnakes, I find that I'm still allergic to both...

Dipping my toes in the frigid Frio River took me back 25 years to the laughter and splashing and freedom of playing at Alto Frio or Garner State Park. And the stars. Oh my, the stars! I forgot how much I missed them until I stared up into the inky blackness and looked at the twinkling lights as they blinked on and off. I used to imagine that they were diamonds and I'd wonder how they stayed suspended in the universe. If it were possible I would have stared all night just to burn the vision of those heavenly jewels in my eyes forever so that I would never forget the peace I feel when I gaze upon them.

Yet, as much time as I spent remembering, I found that I was also fully alive in the present. As I listened to a wise, impassioned professor teach old truths of the gospel in a new way I was captivated as I considered them from the context of my personal history. It was powerful and exciting and deeply satisfying to my soul when nuggets of truth finally burst through the soil of my heart, soil that has been tilled for 26 years. And later in the night as I lounged by a warm and cozy fire, snuggled up in a borrowed coat, listening to a beautiful poem, I was astounded as I contemplated the words of "Alive Together" and realized that God created me to be in that very place, at that very moment. I nearly wept as that truth took root in my heart, and I finally just rested in the experience of living. I'm pretty sure a few stars even winked at me as I walked into the quiet stillness of the night and gazed upon them while peace flooded my soul.

Today as I took communion the mystery of my faith was profound as I looked out the picture window to the canyon and river below, and marveled that the Creator of such beauty died so that I might know him. How grateful I am to have once again spent a precious few hours, deep in the heart of Texas, retreating from the works of man. I will spend my upcoming nights in the city remembering the handiwork of God, and waiting with bated breath for my next retreat into a diamond-studded, Texas night.

Cell Phone Etiquette

Cell phone etiquette is a funny thing, every one I know has different boundaries when it comes to their portable tracking device. And it should be noted that the things that bother me obviously don't bother several of my friends. For instance, I cannot stand it when I am at dinner with a friend and the ringing cell phone takes precedence over me. ~Commence rant~ Um, excuse me? Am I invisible once the phone begins ringing? Do I no longer matter? Is my company so boring or meaningless that you MUST interrupt our conversation and ignore me while talking to someone you can call later??? After all, people DID survive before they could be tracked down at all hours of the night and day. ~End rant~

Yet despite my obvious annoyance at the heretofore mentioned scenario, there is something that makes me even crazier, and that, my friends, is when people talk on a cell phone in a public bathroom. That is just incomprehensible to me. Do you really want your friend or loved one to be an auditory witness to your potty break....or mine? Really? Well, I certainly don't! But it happens all the time. I've tried to ignore the elevator talkers and the grocery store arguments I've witnessed via the cell phone. I've even tried to overlook the movie goers and airplane passengers who refuse to turn off their idols, er....phones. But I draw the line at cell phone bathroom talkers. It's. Just. Plain. Wrong.

Yesterday as I was taking a potty break a lady walked in mid-conversation and proceeded to keep talking while both of us were trying to pee. Was I wrong to wish for some privacy? As she was droning on and on at a decibel level sure to inflict hearing loss on anyone within a 10-foot radius, she proceeded to dissect a divorcing couple's marriage. Friends of hers apparently, although I use the term "friend" loosely since I would be livid if one of my friends did that to me.

So now I am privy to the information that Jack and Jill (not their real names) are in the midst of a nasty separation and that divorce is imminent. It's all Jill's fault too, at least according to the anonymous cell phone talker. Jack says Jill is a *!@#* and apparently this lady agreed. Of course, her own marriage is S O L I D as a rock because she and Carlos (his real name) do not suffer the same communication issues. That may change if he ever discovers that his wife is discussing their marriage while taking a pee in a public bathroom!

But even worse was the fact that in the middle of this conversation, she did the one thing I was dreading the most, yes ladies and gentlemen.....she flushed.....and then continued talking without skipping a beat. I was blushing and determined not to exit the stall until I knew for certain she was long gone. I was worried that my face would betray my horror at what she had done. Or that I would tell her off for making someone else an auditory witness to my potty break. There are still some things that should remain private. So, for all of you bathroom cell phone talkers out there, please for the love of all things human, let me pee in peace!

Do You See What I See?

Hopefully the answer is a resounding NO if you're observing me because I already see every one of my flaws in glaring detail. They are disproportionately HUGE, as if I'm looking through a magnifying glass with 900x magnification. I will spare you the gory details, mostly because I don't want you to start noticing them if you haven't already! :-) But I am puzzled as to why beating myself up seems to be one of my favorite pastimes.

For instance, I used to have this terribly abusive habit of standing in front of the mirror after taking a shower and making the most horrible comments out loud about my body. I would say awful things that I would never even THINK about someone else, let alone verbalize. It was terribly defeating to believe that I was the most horrific looking naked woman God had ever created. Perhaps it was even insulting to him, since I was made in his image and all. Yet even today, though I no longer abuse myself in that way, my pea-sized brain has difficulty grasping the thought that MY body is an image-bearer of God and therefore has any beauty to offer the world. It's especially hard to grasp when looking at myself naked, which I don't recommend BTW, although it does make one extremely grateful for fig leaves! BUT, I have been unkind to my body and the evidence is etched in every part of my flesh. And now that I'm no longer young and cute, nor sporting a trim figure it's especially hard to see any redeeming value in how my body looks.

So I think, okay I'm not beautiful, but I'm smart and have solid character, strong faith and a winning personality......except I don't. Sigh. Not really. I usually fake it, although a few lucky (they may say unlucky) ones have crossed over to the dark side and now see me in all, okay some, of my messiness, at least part of the time. But because I know how far short I fall I fear that my neediness or messiness will be too much trouble for them and they will walk away, or worse they will simply tolerate me, but not really love and know me. So I try to keep them from seeing what I see when I really examine my life. And in doing so I fail to be God's image-bearer, because it's hard to reflect truth when I'm lying...

I hesitated to even post this blog because it exposes parts of me I'd rather keep hidden, but I know I'm not alone in this. I have beautiful friends with gorgeous bodies, pure hearts, luxurious hair, merciful spirits, stunning features, strong faith and unmeasured talents. Yet I've heard all of them point out their shortcomings in varying degrees of self-abuse. But because I see them through eyes of love I honestly have no idea what they're talking about, I don't see what they see. Yet the women I know can list on demand every single flaw they have, whether real or perceived.

Do men do the same thing to themselves? I'm not sure, but as I was sharing dinner with friends last week I was joking about a pimple I had nicknamed "Mount Kilimanjaro". My male friend looked at me with a tad bit of impatience and said, "Girls, man! I didn't even notice it until you pointed it out!" I was shocked. How could he NOT see it? After all, I could see NOTHING but this GIANT pimple, which I was certain made me resemble Valerie, the horribly ugly witch in "The Princess Bride" when I would clearly rather resemble Princess Buttercup! But he was looking at me through the eyes of grace I am unable to afford myself.

Where do I go from here? Where does any woman go from here? How do we learn to me more gentle and kind to ourselves without ignoring the areas that need improvement? In my case there are multiple physical and emotional traits that could use some fixin', and while I'm sure you have some ideas, I'll ask you to keep them to yourself thank you very much! I'm well aware of my shortcomings, but I'm also aware that I have value because God says I do, not because I look or act a certain way. So how do I begin to live like I believe that? It seems to me that learning to love myself, or at least not abuse myself will make me better at loving others because then I will be free to offer all of myself instead of just bits and pieces. Until then, I REALLY hope you don't see the same things I see when you look at me!

Random Thoughts About.....Not Much

So I'm sitting here in my office, taking a short lunch break before diving into the rest of my day chock full of accounting for 3 businesses, employee evaluations, meetings with the doctors, policy reviews and trying to soothe the ruffled feathers of patients who are positive that:

a.) the office staff is "out to get them" because they had to hold for longer than 2 minutes.

b.) we are IGNORING their desperate need for medication because the pharmacy has faxed their RX request 4 times, even though the fax clearly states "This is the first request".

c.) we are evil for following HIPAA guidelines that require patient authorization before we can talk to family members, even the mommies.

All in a day's work. Sigh. Next stop ESL, even though it is going to be FREEZING tonight and I don't think the students will come. I'd rather snuggle in my soft throw, watch "24", my latest addiction (I'm in the middle of season 1) and sip hot cocoa. That would make me feel better because between allergies and my monthly (or should I say semi-monthly?) visitor I feel like crap looks - pretty gnarly.

To top it off, this morning when I dragged myself out of bed I noted that yesterday's small pimple is now GINORMOUS. I'm talking the size of Mount Kilimanjaro....ON....MY....FACE! Makeup doesn't do it justice. Then I plucked at least 15 gray hairs and wondered again if I should start dying it. At least I don't have to pluck my eyebrows as often anymore, they're going gray and aren't as noticeable, although I DID pluck a few stray chin hairs which were as black as my hair used to be.....

Then there was the matter of getting dressed. Ugh. How can I say this delicately??? Oh I can't so I'll just say it. My steeples have long since pointed in the wrong direction and require a herculean effort to hoist them up to acceptable levels AND keep them there throughout the day so that it looks like I only have 2 stomachs instead of 4. I have no desire to resemble my grandmother just yet, God rest her soul. So the hoisting continues, day in and day out, as does the poking from the underwires, which are clearly a form of torture.

I'm also considering modified Anorexia. Perhaps that is the only diet that will work for me. Oh sure, I've kept 15 pounds off, but I need to lose 50 more so 15 seems like small potatoes, which I'm not allowed to eat by the way. I'm allowed to eat skinless chicken, turkey and fish, non-starchy veggies, eggs, very little cheese, and some fruit. Like I said, modified Anorexia. I also gave up soda, even diet soda, although I do allow myself to drink tea but usually it's unsweet, which is an acquired taste that I haven't quite adjusted to.

Oh, and my apartment is a mess. Truly. I haven't vacuumed since before Christmas. Nor have I dusted. My gifts are still littering my dining table and the ornaments I started making a few days AFTER Christmas are still sitting on my kitchen counter, half finished. And yes, I know that it is strange to start making ornaments AFTER the holiday, but I was bored one day and felt the need to be creative. Hence the ornaments on my counter.

I'm also addicted to scouring the internet for reviews about digital cameras and iPods. I really would like both but I'm leaning toward getting the iPod first because I already have a decent camera, even if it's not digital. I looked at cameras on Saturday at Best Buy and Circuit City but couldn't decide. FYI - Circuit City still has higher prices than Best Buy or Amazon even though they are going out of business. Curious.

Just after I stressed about buying a digital T.V. converter they have issued an extension. I guess that gives me a reprieve from trying to figure out how to hook it up! My brother has agreed to walk me through the process by phone if I get stuck, which is highly likely.

And I just read that Paul McCartney has a new girlfriend, and I REALLY don't care. Seriously, I'm so bored with celebrity gossip, or gossip in general. Yawn. I'd rather sleep.

BTW, today I feel like being real, not perfect so I didn't really proofread this post. Please ignore typos and spelling errors. Or point them out if you feel inclined. I'll hate you for it later. At least I have a cool new CD to keep me company in my car. And one of the songs seriously rocks. I almost feel like a 30-year-old again! ;-)

Otherwise life is.....good. At least I keep telling myself that. I'm sure it will be better when my hormones return to normal and the mountain on my face turns back in to a molehill. :-0

Deconstructing Robin

Ever been struck by a wrecking ball??? Okay, not literally but figuratively? Well, just for the record, it hurts, I know from personal experience! The destruction of everything I have been into all I was meant to be is a painful process. I suppose the rejection of being the person your circumstances would have you believe you are, to becoming the person God intended you to be when he first breathed life into your soul happens to every seeker eventually. But it's not fun. Ever.

Admittedly I'm a bit befuddled. How do I really embrace becoming more (according to God's design) while becoming less (according to my own design)? I'm wary of the doctrine that tells me to just "be myself". Because the reality is that if left to my own devices I am self-absorbed, arrogant, overly independent and withdrawn. My natural inclination is to serve myself, not God or anyone else. And sadly, in my efforts to "serve and protect" (myself) I hurt others by conveniently forgetting the greatest commandments spoken of by Jesus. Something about loving him with all my heart, mind and soul and loving others as much as I love myself. Ouch. I have definitely failed at those two things!

Since becoming MORE of a narcissistic idiot is not really on the agenda, I've GOT to figure it out pretty quickly. If only I didn't have an overabundance of rough edges, which I have intentionally overlooked for most of my life. If only I were already there. If only. But instead I find myself in the middle of a long (I hope) marathon and feeling a bit overwhelmed at how much work God still has to do in me. How much more wrecking needs to be done before I can begin sifting through the rubble? When can I clean up the mess?

Well I don't know and God is not really forthcoming with his timetable. At least he's patient with me. And thankfully I have patient friends who remind me that they love me even when I can't understand why. So the wrecking will continue. My only word of caution if you're in the vicinity is to look out for falling debris! Good luck, you're gonna need it. ;-)

Nervous In The Light Of Dawn

This is my favorite song of late. Other than the hauntingly beautiful music and angelic voice of Leigh Nash, it perfectly captures my mood. It's on repeat in my CD player. Amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDtmKBCOaso (ignore the cheesy video, just listen to the song.)

"Nervous In The Light Of Dawn"

Dreamed I was in a desert, without any luck
Storm gray clouds, hovering above
Silence all around me, I was wandering alone
And I realized, there is nothing, anyone can really own

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

It's hard to change, and it's hard to move
It takes years for rough, to be made smooth
You can use up all of your precious energy
To be tossed like a shell, from the hungry sea

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

Hold me, in your arms, until I fall asleep
I'm so tired....
Hold me...

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

Most Embarrassing Moment #2

Ah, the teenage years, full of angst and awkwardness and more excruciatingly embarrassing moments than any one human should have to endure. Things that seem so insignificant to others shape us for a lifetime and leave jagged scars that change how we relate to the world.......oh I kid, oh not really. Okay, perhaps I'm being slightly melodramatic (are you surprised???) but seriously, there are some things that make me cringe even 20+ years later. Especially where horrifically ugly, green, dump trucks are concerned!

You see, my dad had (has?) a knack for picking really ugly vehicles. He could see the "beauty" in them that NO ONE else could see.... Take for instance the aforementioned monstrosity. It was truly hideous. Oh how I wish I could find a photo of it for posterity (the image below is the best I could find on the web), but surely the camera would have broken had we attempted to capture it on film so it lives on only in my family's memory. Of course in my mind it has morphed into THE UGLIEST VEHICLE EVER DRIVEN BY A HUMAN BEING, and yes I know I'm "yelling" in cyberland, I'm still severely traumatized!

Aside from its color this thing had a decaying, wooden bed. And remember those really long stick shifts? Yep, it had one that was at least the length of a yard stick. It also had a VERY short driver (my petite mother) who could barely reach the clutch, which meant the gears would grind - loudly - when she was shifting. Oh and it had a lovely (cough, cough) vinyl (?) bench seat where my brother and I would sit side by side, he in the middle by the freakishly long stick shift, me by the door hoping desperately that I would not slide into him when we turned a corner. And worse still the drivers' side door would pop open at the most inopportune times. It had a mind of its own, staying stubbornly shut when you wanted to open it only to swing open in the middle of a drive down the street when you wanted it closed.....

One day my mom decided that it was high time my brother's cat was "fixed" since we had way too many and did not need anymore. So off we drove, my mom grinding the gears as my brother and I dodged one VERY angry cat who was intermittently sliding around on the vinyl seats, clawing at the door, hissing and hysterically looking for an escape hatch. As if on cue the possessed door unlatched itself and swung open, just as we pulled up to the stoplight......on the main drag......in Conroe, TX.....with the cat hanging onto the door for dear life! My mom was laughing and my brother was trying to coax his cat down from the door and onto his lap. But I on the other hand, HIT THE FLOOR completely mortified that someone might see me, thus ruining my stellar reputation (ha!) but hey I was 15! Things like that matter when you're a kid, and when you're a shy, angst-ridden teenager it's hard to find the humor in that kind of situation. It's funny now, sort of, but you probably won't catch me riding around in a green dump truck unless my life depends on it. I'd rather walk, take the bus, bike or pay for a taxi, heck I'd even consider thumbing it!

And that is why I now suffer from "Dump Truck PTSD". Thanks mom and dad.

It's Not (All) About Me

It's not all about me - um, yeah I keep being reminded of that annoying little fact over and over again. Apparently I have a very short memory when it comes to remembering how to live selflessly in this big, bad world. Of course, being single AND childless lends itself to a higher level of narcissism because there are fewer people making demands of my time and energy; if I'm not careful I become so focused on MY interests and MY needs that I fail to even try and meet the needs of those around me.

In really taking stock of my life I know that even if I never get to be the kind of "life-giver" I've always wanted to be, read: WIFE & MOMMY; I should still give life in other ways, and I NEED to, otherwise my existence feels meaningless. Most of the ways I try to give life are subtle, like staying connected to family.....being present for and spending time with my nieces and nephews.....nurturing friendships by striving to be vulnerable, loyal and gracious. Those things are important and take a great deal of time and emotional energy (especially the vulnerable and gracious parts, I often fail miserably in those departments!) Yet, I long to do more, and the reality is that I CAN do more without sacrificing the time and space I need to recharge and stay connected to Christ so I can truly live my faith.

So, I've begun volunteering again thanks to my friend Lizzo. Tuesday nights are now devoted to assisting her teach English as a Second Language (ESL) to refugees from Somalia. It's a humbling experience and one that makes my heart beat a little faster and adds a spring to my step. We've been on a break for the holidays and I've really missed those ladies. Seeing them arrive in their traditional, colorful outfits; babies slung across their backs. Learning the ABC's of our language while simultaneously adapting to a culture that is vastly different from their own. And the men, so proud of their achievements, making each lesson a competition, smiling like little boys when they say the right word. Oh, and the kids, so curious and wide-eyed and snuggly, with huge, welcoming smiles.....I could spend every second just adoring them.

As I watch them, these amazingly beautiful people from a tribe forced into slave labor during their country's ongoing civil war, I wonder. How did they survive to find joy and happiness again? Do they struggle against the sting of bitterness at all they have lost? How do they manage to live here, in the land of excess and keep their priorities focused on their families? Do they awaken to nightmares as memories of the past invade their sleep? Do they struggle with fear and anger? Or do they just rest in loving each other because they have suffered much and know that their families and communities are what matter most? It's funny, because even though I am one of their "teachers" (I use that term VERY loosely!) I can see that in answering my questions they will teach me more than I will ever teach them. Life really is ironic.