When I was in 2nd grade, I switched schools. I didn't know anybody at my new school, and I was in a class that had kindergarteners, first graders, and 2nd graders. There were 3 teachers (Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Hagadon, and Mrs. Haff), and 73 students. There were a handful of other 2nd graders, but they were in the 2-3 split across the hall.
In my new classroom there were a lot of kids who had been at Webster for the last year, some even since kindergarten. They knew who was who, and without knowing it I relied on their wisdom to select who might be my new group of friends.
Stay away from Sara, they all said. She picks her nose. I remember thinking this was gross--although I, like every 2nd grader ever, picked my nose, too. Just not in public. But regardless, I heeded their warnings. I was never mean, she just wasn't one of my "regular" friends. I played mostly with Stefanie, Kelly, Julia, and Miti.
I remember in 3rd grade I got invited to Sara's birthday. She was a grade behind me, and I honestly can't remember too many times we played together or anything. I didn't really want to go, but I did. I remember thinking that I was going out of pity, like I was doing her some sort of favor.
At Sara's party, it was me and a girl named Abigail. She didn't go to our school, but I actually remembered her from Kindergarten. She was so cool--she wore a real Chinese cone-shaped hat for Halloween and eyeliner and a real Chinese robe and everything! Turns out, she was one of Sara's good friends. It was only us at the party. I got there and I remember thinking that it was a good thing I came, because apparently nobody else decided to.
Sara's parents took us to the Marquee Theatre, and we watched the play Jack and the Beanstalk. It was so fun! It was a really special and big deal to go to the theatre any time! And then her parents took us out to eat. When we got back to their house, we got goodie bags and they had the coolest things in them.
I remember leaving the party thinking it was the most fun birthday party I'd ever been to. And I remember thinking that I was mad at people for telling me not to like Sara the year before. She didn't pick her nose one time while I was at her party! I remember feeling sorry for her because if I went by the mean things everyone said, and how kids teased her, I would have thought she would be sad. But Sara didn't seem phased one bit.
Looking back on the entire experience I try to evaluate what kind of person I was. And I am convicted every time I remember the pride in my heart, thinking that I was doing Sara a favor by gracing her party with my presence. I am embarrassed that I let my peers influence my perception of someone who could have been a good friend. But I think the thing that sticks with me the most is that Sara invited me on purpose. She got 2 invites, and I was one of them.
Whatever kind of person I was in 3rd grade was the kind of person that Sara wanted at her super-special birthday party. I'd like to think I was the kind of person who was nice to everyone, and didn't participate in bullying. And Sara noticed.
Sara and I never became close friends. But I never believed any negative words I heard about her ever again. And I always defended her if I ever heard anyone talking unkindly. We went to high school together, and got to spend time on the cross country team together. And she was the kind of person who worked hard, and didn't let anyone bring her down.
I want to be the kind of person who doesn't judge people based on gossip.
I want to be the kind of person who people know will stick up for them.
I want to be the person who gets one of two invites because for whatever reason I was special enough. Because who I am made someone feel safe enough to want me around.
I am thankful that Sara couldn't read my mind or my intentions that day. And I'm grateful for the lesson she taught me about how others words can shape our impressions all too easily. And not always for the better.
Monday, February 06, 2012
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Here We Are, 9 Months Later....
No, we are not pregnant.
As you may or may not remember, joseph and I got married 9 months ago. And the 3 or 4 days following our wedding were quite eventful. Probably what I would consider the most eventful honeymoon any new couple could have ever asked (or NOT asked) for. And most of those events were like a Ben Stiller movie gone wrong.
Lucky for Team Brevetti, we have a sense of humor. And lucky for us, we've had a pretty uneventful first 9 months of marriage.
So, of course, when the weather starts to get nutty the world must have realized it was off balance. And when the world is off balance, it means that it needs to be shaken back on track. And this is where the events of 9-month-marriage-anniversary-honeymoon-trainwreck begin.
The weather has been uncharacteristically cold these past 5 or so days for an Oklahoma March. On Saturday, we received some cold air from the North that has put our mid-March temperatures of 75-80 degrees down into the high 40's and low 50's. Yes, I realize that this would be typical of Michigan March (so take note, northerners: I am not complaining, merely setting up my story), joseph and I thought this might be a good time to try out our firewood supply.
Saturday evening, our good friend, Eric, brought us some firewood. I was oug grocery shopping, and joseph and Eric took it upon themselves to start a nice fire. It was cozy and comfortable. Joseph and I slept out in the living room together on the couch and enjoyed it. The wood burned itself completely up during the night, and Sunday morning the ashes were waiting for us.
After church, I started another fire and it burned through the afternoon while joseph and Mark had a FIFA date. We were getting pretty used to this comfortable and peaceful way of heating our house just enough to not need the heater, but not too warm that we're burning up. Sunday night, joseph had to drive into work to incubate some bacteria for Monday's experiments. I was nervous about leaving the hosue with the fire not completely dead, so I volunteered to stay behind. We knew we'd be gone only a short while, so we called our next door neighbor (Daniel) to let him know we were leaving and that there was still a little fire burning in the fireplace. I asked him to please call the fire department if the house caught fire, and then to call us. He said not to worry and that he'd stop it with his body and the fire department would not be necessary. Joseph and I laughed about it and drove downtown.
We were gone a lot longer than anticipated, as we stopped by Eric's house and filled the backseat of Rasheed with firewood. And stayed to chat for a little while. When we got home, we found the fire almost out and the house as we had left it.
Joseph put another log on it and re-lit the gas and we pulled a big blanket out onto the floor and fell asleep in the living room again. Monday morning, the fire had gone out, wood was completely burned up, and only ashes were left. Joseph and I went to work as normal.
I had to stay late at school Monday, and it was so nice when I got home to find that joseph had another fire going in the fireplace. We were getting spoiled! He had it roaring particularly well, so we decided (yet again) to sleep on the couch together that night.
Tuesday morning, when I woke up, the fire was out. However, all of the logs were not burned up like on previous mornings. For whatever reason, the fire had gone out before it had used up all its fuel. Before I left for school, I looked at the fireplace and took note of the situation. I blew on the ashes and wood to see if anything was still going. It seemed alright.
I was at school when joseph sent me a text saying that he closed the flu and went to work. This made me a little bit nervous, so I left school during first hour to open the flu. I didn't want our house burning down! Especially with our sweet puppies in their crates! I rushed home, opened the flu, and examined the logs. They were not burning or smoking, but I figured that just in case I should dump water on everything. I took a large glass and dumped 3 or 4 glassfulls of water on the logs and the ashes. They sizzled, and I blew on everything to see if there were any embers still lit. All clear! I rushed back to school.
Tuesday night, we decided not to light a fire. Our house was starting to smell a little bit like smoke, and we wanted to sleep in the bedroom that night. The flu was closed from when I got home from school that day and turned the heat in the house back on. We both noted that the house was stinking a little bit like smoke and I promised I would clean it Wednesday when I got home.
Sleeping in our bed felt nice for the first time in several nights. I woke up around 4AM and noticed that even in our bedroom it smelled like campfire. I was a little annoyed, but figured it was probably my hair and my pillow (which had been out in the living room for the past several days) and went back to sleep.
I'll bet you're wondering when this story gets interesting, huh?
Well, it's about to.
5AM joseph and I are both woken up by the blaring sound of all of the smoke detectors in our house. He and I run out of the bedroom into the kitchen to find that it's full of a vague cloud of smoke. The living room is worse. I grab a towel and head to the hallway to start waving it around to clear the air and I look over to the fireplace to find a significatly well-roaring fire. I quickly pulled my sleeve over my hand and reached up into the fireplace to open the flu. I ran around opening windows and turning on fans and joseph and I were waving kitchen towels furiously trying to get the beeping to stop.
Our fireplace had started itself!
Obviously, the thoughts of "thank goodness we were home!" and "it's a good thing our smoke detectors work" and "we are very lucky it stayed in the fireplace!" were running through my head. But they were equally mixed with "this is probably the most hilarious thing I've ever done at 5 in the morning!" and "this would happen to us!" shooting through my mind as I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the entire situation.
Joseph and I may not like to go out. And we may be somewhat boring in ourlist of extracurricular activities. But I will tell you one thing: Life with Team Brevetti is NEVER boring!
As you may or may not remember, joseph and I got married 9 months ago. And the 3 or 4 days following our wedding were quite eventful. Probably what I would consider the most eventful honeymoon any new couple could have ever asked (or NOT asked) for. And most of those events were like a Ben Stiller movie gone wrong.
Lucky for Team Brevetti, we have a sense of humor. And lucky for us, we've had a pretty uneventful first 9 months of marriage.
So, of course, when the weather starts to get nutty the world must have realized it was off balance. And when the world is off balance, it means that it needs to be shaken back on track. And this is where the events of 9-month-marriage-anniversary-honeymoon-trainwreck begin.
The weather has been uncharacteristically cold these past 5 or so days for an Oklahoma March. On Saturday, we received some cold air from the North that has put our mid-March temperatures of 75-80 degrees down into the high 40's and low 50's. Yes, I realize that this would be typical of Michigan March (so take note, northerners: I am not complaining, merely setting up my story), joseph and I thought this might be a good time to try out our firewood supply.
Saturday evening, our good friend, Eric, brought us some firewood. I was oug grocery shopping, and joseph and Eric took it upon themselves to start a nice fire. It was cozy and comfortable. Joseph and I slept out in the living room together on the couch and enjoyed it. The wood burned itself completely up during the night, and Sunday morning the ashes were waiting for us.
After church, I started another fire and it burned through the afternoon while joseph and Mark had a FIFA date. We were getting pretty used to this comfortable and peaceful way of heating our house just enough to not need the heater, but not too warm that we're burning up. Sunday night, joseph had to drive into work to incubate some bacteria for Monday's experiments. I was nervous about leaving the hosue with the fire not completely dead, so I volunteered to stay behind. We knew we'd be gone only a short while, so we called our next door neighbor (Daniel) to let him know we were leaving and that there was still a little fire burning in the fireplace. I asked him to please call the fire department if the house caught fire, and then to call us. He said not to worry and that he'd stop it with his body and the fire department would not be necessary. Joseph and I laughed about it and drove downtown.
We were gone a lot longer than anticipated, as we stopped by Eric's house and filled the backseat of Rasheed with firewood. And stayed to chat for a little while. When we got home, we found the fire almost out and the house as we had left it.
Joseph put another log on it and re-lit the gas and we pulled a big blanket out onto the floor and fell asleep in the living room again. Monday morning, the fire had gone out, wood was completely burned up, and only ashes were left. Joseph and I went to work as normal.
I had to stay late at school Monday, and it was so nice when I got home to find that joseph had another fire going in the fireplace. We were getting spoiled! He had it roaring particularly well, so we decided (yet again) to sleep on the couch together that night.
Tuesday morning, when I woke up, the fire was out. However, all of the logs were not burned up like on previous mornings. For whatever reason, the fire had gone out before it had used up all its fuel. Before I left for school, I looked at the fireplace and took note of the situation. I blew on the ashes and wood to see if anything was still going. It seemed alright.
I was at school when joseph sent me a text saying that he closed the flu and went to work. This made me a little bit nervous, so I left school during first hour to open the flu. I didn't want our house burning down! Especially with our sweet puppies in their crates! I rushed home, opened the flu, and examined the logs. They were not burning or smoking, but I figured that just in case I should dump water on everything. I took a large glass and dumped 3 or 4 glassfulls of water on the logs and the ashes. They sizzled, and I blew on everything to see if there were any embers still lit. All clear! I rushed back to school.
Tuesday night, we decided not to light a fire. Our house was starting to smell a little bit like smoke, and we wanted to sleep in the bedroom that night. The flu was closed from when I got home from school that day and turned the heat in the house back on. We both noted that the house was stinking a little bit like smoke and I promised I would clean it Wednesday when I got home.
Sleeping in our bed felt nice for the first time in several nights. I woke up around 4AM and noticed that even in our bedroom it smelled like campfire. I was a little annoyed, but figured it was probably my hair and my pillow (which had been out in the living room for the past several days) and went back to sleep.
I'll bet you're wondering when this story gets interesting, huh?
Well, it's about to.
5AM joseph and I are both woken up by the blaring sound of all of the smoke detectors in our house. He and I run out of the bedroom into the kitchen to find that it's full of a vague cloud of smoke. The living room is worse. I grab a towel and head to the hallway to start waving it around to clear the air and I look over to the fireplace to find a significatly well-roaring fire. I quickly pulled my sleeve over my hand and reached up into the fireplace to open the flu. I ran around opening windows and turning on fans and joseph and I were waving kitchen towels furiously trying to get the beeping to stop.
Our fireplace had started itself!
Obviously, the thoughts of "thank goodness we were home!" and "it's a good thing our smoke detectors work" and "we are very lucky it stayed in the fireplace!" were running through my head. But they were equally mixed with "this is probably the most hilarious thing I've ever done at 5 in the morning!" and "this would happen to us!" shooting through my mind as I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the entire situation.
Joseph and I may not like to go out. And we may be somewhat boring in ourlist of extracurricular activities. But I will tell you one thing: Life with Team Brevetti is NEVER boring!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Team Brevetti
I'm not sure where it all started; but joseph and I aren't just husband and wife. We are Team Brevetti. I think that's supposed to mean that neither of us really can accomplish anything without the other. It was particularly obvious when the addition of Team Huckerby and Cragen joined our family in late December. They lived with me in the house (joseph lived at his parents' house), and without joseph's help I could accomplish nothing with them.
We started referring to ourselves as Team Brevetti in soccer. Joseph would pass me the ball, and I would get confused and kick it anywhere but at the goal. I'm pretty sure there was never any team like it.
Joseph and I would talk about how we go together; we're a pair--we are a team. You don't get one of us--you get both. Whether or not you want both, we're a set. And we will be a set forever.
Joseph bought us a wedding present while I was up in Michigan. Of course, I'm not good at waiting on secrets--and joseph isn't very good at keeping them. I asked him if he'd tell me what it was, and he did. He got us a tandem bicycle. It is really difficult to put into words how tickled I was by the thought of us owning our very own tandem bike! I imagined in my head taking rides through the neighborhood, just like the team that we were.
It was thoughtful.
It was romantic.
It was hilarious.
And I loved everything about it!
You may or may not know about me that I am a control freak. Not really uptight, but I like to know my ducks are in a row--so to speak. I like to be in charge, and make lists, and delegate tasks. And joseph doesn't seem to mind a lot of the time, because maybe he sees it as stability? Maybe he knows what to expect? Maybe it's because he'd rather me make a decision than him have to. Perhaps it's a combination of all of the above. Whatever the reason, we get teased sometimes that I'm the pants. And while we both know that I just happen to be more organized; it's fun to laugh it off. I know I'm a little much at times. And he knows he's a boy at times. And we both know that in the contradictions of our personalities lie the compliments; and thus our teamwork is at its best.
At it's baby-stages best.
On the tandem bicycle, however, I am humbled.
And on the tandem bicycle I realize the places in our relationship on which I need humbling.
I can ride a bike.
I can turn corners.
I can stop.
I can go.
I can (on special occasions) ride with one or (one time) no hands on the handlebars.
It's not that hard.
When the bike starts to wobble, I hold the handlebars and straighten the wheel. Once the bike is straight again, I've gained my balance.
I do not change the posture of my body; I change the posture of the bike.
The bike is what is moving me forward; therefore if it is not straight, I do not go straight.
Apparently, this is not how the average person rides a bike.
The average person rides a bike like it is an extension of his body.
If the bike starts to wobble, he leans to balance the bike.
To turn a corner, he doesn't need to turn the wheel; but only lean his body in the direction he wants to go.
The bike and the person are moving forward together, and therefore must work as one unit to produce the desired result.
I believe that parallells can be drawn between my bike-riding style; and the average person's bike-riding style. But, really if both the bike and the rider are getting there, who cares how?
On the tandem bicycle, I realize the importance of teamwork.
I can't ride on the front of the bicycle.
I can't ride on the front because of how I control a bike. A bicycle carrying two people doesn't turn a corner with just a shift of the front tire. It turns and wobbles out of control.
If the bicycle starts to tip or wobble, I try to correct it with the wheel; which doesn't work. Especially when joseph is behind me, leaning to counteract the wobble. I feel the lean and interpret it as a loss of balance--when really it is what is needed to regain the balance.
So usually joseph rides in the front.
When joseph rides in the front, however, I don't get to coast and pedal when I normally would. And when I think we're going to top, it doesn't do either of us much good when I jerk the handle bars and turn his seat to the side.
I'm sure he gets annoyed as I squeal at him to slow down when we're going too fast; or gasp as he leans into a turn I wasn't expecting.
When we hit a bump and sort of skid and I say, "why did you do that?!" like it was his fault.
Riding on the back of the tandem bicycle makes me realize that I have to trust joseph to be in control. And that when he's driving, the only way I can help us get to where we need to go is to be on his team.
I have to work with him; and lean with him.
I have to not only be one with my team mate; but also with the vehicle that's taking us to our destination.
It's a lot of control that I like to have that I just don't get to have.
But we'll never get there if I don't let go of the way I've always done things.
We'll never get there if I can't trust my teammate to never steer us wrong.
One of these days we'll get good at riding our bicycle.
One of these days I might even be humble and mold-able enough to be in the front.
One of these days we won't wobble
And we'll always get there together.
We started referring to ourselves as Team Brevetti in soccer. Joseph would pass me the ball, and I would get confused and kick it anywhere but at the goal. I'm pretty sure there was never any team like it.
Joseph and I would talk about how we go together; we're a pair--we are a team. You don't get one of us--you get both. Whether or not you want both, we're a set. And we will be a set forever.
Joseph bought us a wedding present while I was up in Michigan. Of course, I'm not good at waiting on secrets--and joseph isn't very good at keeping them. I asked him if he'd tell me what it was, and he did. He got us a tandem bicycle. It is really difficult to put into words how tickled I was by the thought of us owning our very own tandem bike! I imagined in my head taking rides through the neighborhood, just like the team that we were.
It was thoughtful.
It was romantic.
It was hilarious.
And I loved everything about it!
You may or may not know about me that I am a control freak. Not really uptight, but I like to know my ducks are in a row--so to speak. I like to be in charge, and make lists, and delegate tasks. And joseph doesn't seem to mind a lot of the time, because maybe he sees it as stability? Maybe he knows what to expect? Maybe it's because he'd rather me make a decision than him have to. Perhaps it's a combination of all of the above. Whatever the reason, we get teased sometimes that I'm the pants. And while we both know that I just happen to be more organized; it's fun to laugh it off. I know I'm a little much at times. And he knows he's a boy at times. And we both know that in the contradictions of our personalities lie the compliments; and thus our teamwork is at its best.
At it's baby-stages best.
On the tandem bicycle, however, I am humbled.
And on the tandem bicycle I realize the places in our relationship on which I need humbling.
I can ride a bike.
I can turn corners.
I can stop.
I can go.
I can (on special occasions) ride with one or (one time) no hands on the handlebars.
It's not that hard.
When the bike starts to wobble, I hold the handlebars and straighten the wheel. Once the bike is straight again, I've gained my balance.
I do not change the posture of my body; I change the posture of the bike.
The bike is what is moving me forward; therefore if it is not straight, I do not go straight.
Apparently, this is not how the average person rides a bike.
The average person rides a bike like it is an extension of his body.
If the bike starts to wobble, he leans to balance the bike.
To turn a corner, he doesn't need to turn the wheel; but only lean his body in the direction he wants to go.
The bike and the person are moving forward together, and therefore must work as one unit to produce the desired result.
I believe that parallells can be drawn between my bike-riding style; and the average person's bike-riding style. But, really if both the bike and the rider are getting there, who cares how?
On the tandem bicycle, I realize the importance of teamwork.
I can't ride on the front of the bicycle.
I can't ride on the front because of how I control a bike. A bicycle carrying two people doesn't turn a corner with just a shift of the front tire. It turns and wobbles out of control.
If the bicycle starts to tip or wobble, I try to correct it with the wheel; which doesn't work. Especially when joseph is behind me, leaning to counteract the wobble. I feel the lean and interpret it as a loss of balance--when really it is what is needed to regain the balance.
So usually joseph rides in the front.
When joseph rides in the front, however, I don't get to coast and pedal when I normally would. And when I think we're going to top, it doesn't do either of us much good when I jerk the handle bars and turn his seat to the side.
I'm sure he gets annoyed as I squeal at him to slow down when we're going too fast; or gasp as he leans into a turn I wasn't expecting.
When we hit a bump and sort of skid and I say, "why did you do that?!" like it was his fault.
Riding on the back of the tandem bicycle makes me realize that I have to trust joseph to be in control. And that when he's driving, the only way I can help us get to where we need to go is to be on his team.
I have to work with him; and lean with him.
I have to not only be one with my team mate; but also with the vehicle that's taking us to our destination.
It's a lot of control that I like to have that I just don't get to have.
But we'll never get there if I don't let go of the way I've always done things.
We'll never get there if I can't trust my teammate to never steer us wrong.
One of these days we'll get good at riding our bicycle.
One of these days I might even be humble and mold-able enough to be in the front.
One of these days we won't wobble
And we'll always get there together.
Monday, July 05, 2010
For Better, and for Less Better
I am certain that getting married has immediately made mine and joseph's lives instantly more interesting. I have never had a more eventful week full of things that didn't go quite right than this past week.
So, I can say with confidence, that being married is VERY exciting!
Here's the lowdown:
Three hours before our wedding, Livonia was hit with a massive storm that sent tornado sirens whirling. It was pretty exciting, considering not everyone gets tornadoes on his or her wedding day!
The night of the wedding, joseph and I checked into the Embassy Suites in Livonia to stay the night. We no sooner get into our room and I walk back toward the bathroom and the fire alarm starts going off. Still dressed in our wedding attire, we rush to open the door....and no one is outside their rooms. I call the front desk and they send the building engineer up to check it out; and he declares it a-OK. But not before telling us a 4-minute joke.
So later on--maybe about an hour or so--joseph and I are watching soccer (on a TV whose volume would not go below 22) and the fire alarm goes off again. joseph goes to check out the door, just in case it's real this time. It's not. So I called the front desk. They graciously gave us a new room.
Sooooo, still giggling about our unfortunate happenstance, we head back to my parents' house to pack up for our drive up north. We had intended on staying in a Holiday Inn in Petoskey for a night; and then some friends from church so generously let us stay in their cottage in Boyne City for a few nights! The drive up north went well and uneventful. We checked in to our Holiday Inn suite.
...and then we got the text....
Our friend, Katie, had been puppy-sitting our puppies and she'd been texting us pictures of our little guys just to say 'hi.' joseph had told her that we liked the updates, so we get an update that says something like ..."uh, where's your vacuum?" and it had a picture of the back office room that the puppies decided that they wanted to eat. Whoops! It was equally horrible and hilarious at the same time (note: MUCH less hilarious in person....SORRY Katie!).
Our stay at the hotel was a little less exciting than the fire-alarm stay at our first one. Especially since their "complimentary limo service" wasn't up and running that particular night. We ate at Wendy's.
So we get up to drive over to Boyne City to stay in the cottage. We're pretty excited because it's on a lake. And there's kayaks--neither of us had ever kayaked before, so it was appealing. There was a lot of wind off the lake, so our first day in town we were pretty cold walking around trying to find a bar that was playing the soccer game. We spend the rest of that day watching Transformers 2 (it took the rest of the day because it was so inappropriately long) and we're in the middle of Avatar: The Last Airbender Book 2: Earth so we watched several of those.
We knew we were going to Mackinac on Thursday, so we'd planned on kayaking Wednesday. It was about 65 degrees when we woke up; and headed to a high of 73. I didn't quite realize how dead-set on kayaking joseph was until he had his swim trunks on. I put on my suit and we headed down into the windy morning to grab our ships and walk down to the water. joseph was in the blue plastic kayak that you sit down inside; and I was in a green one that sits up above the water and is more of a foam material.
The water was much less cold than I'd expected; and while the waves were high, we were both having a lot of fun. We let the waves a current carry us for a while; and then we decided we'd better start paddling back. It was pretty tough going against the waves, but manageable. I'd finally gotten in the grove of things, and I yell back over my shoulder to joseph that I don't think it will be as hard as I thought. ....and he's not there. I do a double-take and see that he's tipped his kayak and is furiously struggling to drain it and trying to get back in. There's no way for it to drain, so it's sinking lower and lower in the lake and joseph is spitting through the waves that keep crashing in his face. I paddle over and ask him what I can do. He gives me his paddle. I start panicking and brainstorming possible solutions and ask him if he wants to paddle my kayak in and come back to help me. He doesn't answer; and I can see he's getting more and more frustrated and angry. I am getting more and more afraid, so I look around and see that we are about two or three hundred meters from some of the shore and I just start paddling as fast as I can. I realized that it wouldn't be of any help if we had two kayaks and couldn't get back in either.
I got up to the shore and pulled the boat and the oars up on the rocks to set so they wouldn't wash away. I jumped back in the water and started swimming out to jospeh. I hadn't realized how bad the waves were until I was swimming against them without the kayak. I finally get out to him and I took his kayak to give him a break so he could float/swim back into shore. I pulled the kayak in and we both (tired as anything else) cut our feet trying to get it out of the water onto the rocks on the shore.
So we're giggling a little bit about how we're glad we didn't drown on our honeymoon. And now we have a half mile to walk two kayaks and paddles back to the cottage. Let's just say that this part of being married was SO exciting, we both slept for the rest of the day.
Thursday, we woke up and packed up all of our things to leave the cottage and head out to Mackinac Island. I won't go into much detail here, but let's just say we didn't explore much because one of us got really sick. Sort of a bummer, but we got fudge and salt-water taffy so that's really all you need.
We stayed Thursday night at a hotel in Flint, MI because we have been waiting for the movie The Last Airbender to come out for EVER. So we wanted to see it! I'm not going to go into too much detail there, but if you know Flint; understand the truth in certain stereotypes; and put the two together....it made for another adventure!
Friday and Saturday we stayed at my parents' house. Pretty boring--I hardly expect the rest of the years of our marriage to compare with these "normal" days and nights.
Especially when our drive on Sunday happened!
So we are barely on the road--we're on I-69 heading out of Michigan and into Indiana. We're about 7 miles north of the Indiana border and Rasheed starts to feel like I'm driving over rumble strips--but I'm not. So we pull over to the side of the highway, and sure enough, we've got a hole in the side wall of our back driver's side tire. I called my insurance people and they call a towing company that will put us in contact with the closest available tow-truck (did I mention that it's July 4th?). So we get the call that someone is coming to get us; and that we have about an hour.
joseph and I, being so adventurously married, pull out a blanket and UNO and Phase-10 from the car and have ourselves a little road-side card-playing date. Joseph beat me in UNO, and in an amazing tenth phase comeback goes out before me on the last hand and beat me at Phase-10 also.
The tow truck shows up, and the guy hooks up Rasheed and we start driving back into town (we called a Wal-Mart Tire Center and they had what we needed). We start talking and he asks us what brought us from Oklahoma to Michigan. We told him that it was our wedding. He congratulated us; and told us that he actually wasn't from Michigan, but lived in LaGrange, Indiana (just over the Indiana border--where my mom is from). But his landlord was from Oklahoma and would call in March or April and talk about how it was golfing weather in Oklahoma. I'm listening (you know....small talk is something you just have to do when riding in the front middle of a truck with a stranger), and I say, "that's so funny! My grandparents live in Oklahoma and rent a house out in LaGrange!" To which he looks at me and says, "what's their name?"
Let's just say I called my grandpa later to let him know that Joe Pardo says hi, and that he and his wife are back together and doing great!
How funny! It pretty much made my whole entire day!
After about a 3 hour delay (all total), joseph and I get back on the road. We stop to eat just outside Indianapolis for dinner, and then by the time we're back driving through the city it's just getting dark. Making our exciting marriage even MORE exciting, we had a 360 view of choice fireworks going off in ALL directions! There were the official ones going off in the downtown; there were some up the river; lots coming from back and front yards; it was the greatest thing!
So we're back home in Oklahoma now; and unpacked and rested from our trip. It's good to be home. It's great to be married. And I am excited to see the rest of our marriage live up to the excitement of the first week!
So, I can say with confidence, that being married is VERY exciting!
Here's the lowdown:
Three hours before our wedding, Livonia was hit with a massive storm that sent tornado sirens whirling. It was pretty exciting, considering not everyone gets tornadoes on his or her wedding day!
The night of the wedding, joseph and I checked into the Embassy Suites in Livonia to stay the night. We no sooner get into our room and I walk back toward the bathroom and the fire alarm starts going off. Still dressed in our wedding attire, we rush to open the door....and no one is outside their rooms. I call the front desk and they send the building engineer up to check it out; and he declares it a-OK. But not before telling us a 4-minute joke.
So later on--maybe about an hour or so--joseph and I are watching soccer (on a TV whose volume would not go below 22) and the fire alarm goes off again. joseph goes to check out the door, just in case it's real this time. It's not. So I called the front desk. They graciously gave us a new room.
Sooooo, still giggling about our unfortunate happenstance, we head back to my parents' house to pack up for our drive up north. We had intended on staying in a Holiday Inn in Petoskey for a night; and then some friends from church so generously let us stay in their cottage in Boyne City for a few nights! The drive up north went well and uneventful. We checked in to our Holiday Inn suite.
...and then we got the text....
Our friend, Katie, had been puppy-sitting our puppies and she'd been texting us pictures of our little guys just to say 'hi.' joseph had told her that we liked the updates, so we get an update that says something like ..."uh, where's your vacuum?" and it had a picture of the back office room that the puppies decided that they wanted to eat. Whoops! It was equally horrible and hilarious at the same time (note: MUCH less hilarious in person....SORRY Katie!).
Our stay at the hotel was a little less exciting than the fire-alarm stay at our first one. Especially since their "complimentary limo service" wasn't up and running that particular night. We ate at Wendy's.
So we get up to drive over to Boyne City to stay in the cottage. We're pretty excited because it's on a lake. And there's kayaks--neither of us had ever kayaked before, so it was appealing. There was a lot of wind off the lake, so our first day in town we were pretty cold walking around trying to find a bar that was playing the soccer game. We spend the rest of that day watching Transformers 2 (it took the rest of the day because it was so inappropriately long) and we're in the middle of Avatar: The Last Airbender Book 2: Earth so we watched several of those.
We knew we were going to Mackinac on Thursday, so we'd planned on kayaking Wednesday. It was about 65 degrees when we woke up; and headed to a high of 73. I didn't quite realize how dead-set on kayaking joseph was until he had his swim trunks on. I put on my suit and we headed down into the windy morning to grab our ships and walk down to the water. joseph was in the blue plastic kayak that you sit down inside; and I was in a green one that sits up above the water and is more of a foam material.
The water was much less cold than I'd expected; and while the waves were high, we were both having a lot of fun. We let the waves a current carry us for a while; and then we decided we'd better start paddling back. It was pretty tough going against the waves, but manageable. I'd finally gotten in the grove of things, and I yell back over my shoulder to joseph that I don't think it will be as hard as I thought. ....and he's not there. I do a double-take and see that he's tipped his kayak and is furiously struggling to drain it and trying to get back in. There's no way for it to drain, so it's sinking lower and lower in the lake and joseph is spitting through the waves that keep crashing in his face. I paddle over and ask him what I can do. He gives me his paddle. I start panicking and brainstorming possible solutions and ask him if he wants to paddle my kayak in and come back to help me. He doesn't answer; and I can see he's getting more and more frustrated and angry. I am getting more and more afraid, so I look around and see that we are about two or three hundred meters from some of the shore and I just start paddling as fast as I can. I realized that it wouldn't be of any help if we had two kayaks and couldn't get back in either.
I got up to the shore and pulled the boat and the oars up on the rocks to set so they wouldn't wash away. I jumped back in the water and started swimming out to jospeh. I hadn't realized how bad the waves were until I was swimming against them without the kayak. I finally get out to him and I took his kayak to give him a break so he could float/swim back into shore. I pulled the kayak in and we both (tired as anything else) cut our feet trying to get it out of the water onto the rocks on the shore.
So we're giggling a little bit about how we're glad we didn't drown on our honeymoon. And now we have a half mile to walk two kayaks and paddles back to the cottage. Let's just say that this part of being married was SO exciting, we both slept for the rest of the day.
Thursday, we woke up and packed up all of our things to leave the cottage and head out to Mackinac Island. I won't go into much detail here, but let's just say we didn't explore much because one of us got really sick. Sort of a bummer, but we got fudge and salt-water taffy so that's really all you need.
We stayed Thursday night at a hotel in Flint, MI because we have been waiting for the movie The Last Airbender to come out for EVER. So we wanted to see it! I'm not going to go into too much detail there, but if you know Flint; understand the truth in certain stereotypes; and put the two together....it made for another adventure!
Friday and Saturday we stayed at my parents' house. Pretty boring--I hardly expect the rest of the years of our marriage to compare with these "normal" days and nights.
Especially when our drive on Sunday happened!
So we are barely on the road--we're on I-69 heading out of Michigan and into Indiana. We're about 7 miles north of the Indiana border and Rasheed starts to feel like I'm driving over rumble strips--but I'm not. So we pull over to the side of the highway, and sure enough, we've got a hole in the side wall of our back driver's side tire. I called my insurance people and they call a towing company that will put us in contact with the closest available tow-truck (did I mention that it's July 4th?). So we get the call that someone is coming to get us; and that we have about an hour.
joseph and I, being so adventurously married, pull out a blanket and UNO and Phase-10 from the car and have ourselves a little road-side card-playing date. Joseph beat me in UNO, and in an amazing tenth phase comeback goes out before me on the last hand and beat me at Phase-10 also.
The tow truck shows up, and the guy hooks up Rasheed and we start driving back into town (we called a Wal-Mart Tire Center and they had what we needed). We start talking and he asks us what brought us from Oklahoma to Michigan. We told him that it was our wedding. He congratulated us; and told us that he actually wasn't from Michigan, but lived in LaGrange, Indiana (just over the Indiana border--where my mom is from). But his landlord was from Oklahoma and would call in March or April and talk about how it was golfing weather in Oklahoma. I'm listening (you know....small talk is something you just have to do when riding in the front middle of a truck with a stranger), and I say, "that's so funny! My grandparents live in Oklahoma and rent a house out in LaGrange!" To which he looks at me and says, "what's their name?"
Let's just say I called my grandpa later to let him know that Joe Pardo says hi, and that he and his wife are back together and doing great!
How funny! It pretty much made my whole entire day!
After about a 3 hour delay (all total), joseph and I get back on the road. We stop to eat just outside Indianapolis for dinner, and then by the time we're back driving through the city it's just getting dark. Making our exciting marriage even MORE exciting, we had a 360 view of choice fireworks going off in ALL directions! There were the official ones going off in the downtown; there were some up the river; lots coming from back and front yards; it was the greatest thing!
So we're back home in Oklahoma now; and unpacked and rested from our trip. It's good to be home. It's great to be married. And I am excited to see the rest of our marriage live up to the excitement of the first week!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Emperor's Clothes
There's a lot of things I think people do, say, or like because they feel like they're "supposed" to.
Green tea. It is undeniable that green tea tastes a little bit like grass and dirt. And also that it looks like pee. Sometimes, there's a variety of green tea that has a flavor (from a fruit or another flower), or even some added sugar. But I'm talking about green tea all by itself, prepared in just boiling water.
It tastes like grass and dirt.
But yet an alarming number of people claim to "love it." Or that it's "so refreshing." Last I checked, hot grass in a cup is not refreshing.
I think that everyone secretly believes those commercials and ads that say things about green tea raising your metabolism and making people skinny. And therefore, they convince themselves that they like it so they don't have to admit that they're secretly hoping it makes them skinny.
The Coen Brothers. There's no denying that they've made some entertaining movies. They've done some great work. Be it quick and witty dialogue; creative and engaging cinematography. I happen to enjoy 3 and a half of their movies very much. And one of them decently well. I'm not sure I see the "genius" of their work. I just enjoy the quirkiness and story of these particular movies. But then they come out with A Serious Man and reviews come out about it that it's their "best work yet." Or "the masterpiece they've finally hit." Or "deep and meaningful."
Okay....I can't say that I've seen the entire movie. Because I was so bored of it I turned it off. But it quite literally had nothing happen for the entire movie. There wasn't any character development. There was no plot. No conflict or resolution. No climax. No theme. Not even really a continuous story. It's not even like they were following a character through any particular event or situation. Nothing happened.
But people in droves were running to talk about how much of a masterpiece this movie was.
Modern Art. A red rectangle on a black velvet canvas. Spikes of glass hanging from the ceiling with a creative title like "Tears of God." An old shoe nailed to a wall covered in torn and mosaic-ally tiled cereal boxes. People pay hundreds of dollars to go see this stuff in a museum and stand around and talk about existentialism and the meaning of life and how well it's conveyed in the painted belly of a pregnant woman standing in the living art display in the far left corner. Pictures that could have been taken out of a kindergartner's backpack and put in the hands of the right person could make millions of dollars because someone important said it meant something real.
I feel like people want to be seen as smart. Intellectual. And things like the Coen Brothers and Modern Art are supposed to be "smart." And I think that people are afraid of "not getting it." They don't like to walk away from a movie by people who typically challenge us thinking "what?" They walk away afraid that "maybe I just didn't get it." Like in English class when the teacher manages to find a reoccurring theme that you never saw coming.
"How could I have possibly missed that!?" And I think that the Coen Brothers are smart enough to realize this. So they make a movie that means absolutely nothing. No themes. No story. No plot. And put it out and people have no choice but to walk away from it outwardly saying, "oh....It was so deep and complex....I can hardly explain it. The only thing to say is that it's brilliant!" While inwardly all they can say is, "...wait.....what?????"
Modern art. Nobody gets it. But nobody wants to admit that it makes no sense. Because they don't want to be the person who "just isn't deep enough."
Movies and paintings don't really matter in the grand scheme of things. They're meant for entertainment. But if you think about how afraid people are of not being able to see the magical clothes; it makes me worry what happens when somebody important relies on the praises of how great they are.
Nobody wants to be the one to tell the emperor he's naked. Even if he already knows.
Green tea. It is undeniable that green tea tastes a little bit like grass and dirt. And also that it looks like pee. Sometimes, there's a variety of green tea that has a flavor (from a fruit or another flower), or even some added sugar. But I'm talking about green tea all by itself, prepared in just boiling water.
It tastes like grass and dirt.
But yet an alarming number of people claim to "love it." Or that it's "so refreshing." Last I checked, hot grass in a cup is not refreshing.
I think that everyone secretly believes those commercials and ads that say things about green tea raising your metabolism and making people skinny. And therefore, they convince themselves that they like it so they don't have to admit that they're secretly hoping it makes them skinny.
The Coen Brothers. There's no denying that they've made some entertaining movies. They've done some great work. Be it quick and witty dialogue; creative and engaging cinematography. I happen to enjoy 3 and a half of their movies very much. And one of them decently well. I'm not sure I see the "genius" of their work. I just enjoy the quirkiness and story of these particular movies. But then they come out with A Serious Man and reviews come out about it that it's their "best work yet." Or "the masterpiece they've finally hit." Or "deep and meaningful."
Okay....I can't say that I've seen the entire movie. Because I was so bored of it I turned it off. But it quite literally had nothing happen for the entire movie. There wasn't any character development. There was no plot. No conflict or resolution. No climax. No theme. Not even really a continuous story. It's not even like they were following a character through any particular event or situation. Nothing happened.
But people in droves were running to talk about how much of a masterpiece this movie was.
Modern Art. A red rectangle on a black velvet canvas. Spikes of glass hanging from the ceiling with a creative title like "Tears of God." An old shoe nailed to a wall covered in torn and mosaic-ally tiled cereal boxes. People pay hundreds of dollars to go see this stuff in a museum and stand around and talk about existentialism and the meaning of life and how well it's conveyed in the painted belly of a pregnant woman standing in the living art display in the far left corner. Pictures that could have been taken out of a kindergartner's backpack and put in the hands of the right person could make millions of dollars because someone important said it meant something real.
I feel like people want to be seen as smart. Intellectual. And things like the Coen Brothers and Modern Art are supposed to be "smart." And I think that people are afraid of "not getting it." They don't like to walk away from a movie by people who typically challenge us thinking "what?" They walk away afraid that "maybe I just didn't get it." Like in English class when the teacher manages to find a reoccurring theme that you never saw coming.
"How could I have possibly missed that!?" And I think that the Coen Brothers are smart enough to realize this. So they make a movie that means absolutely nothing. No themes. No story. No plot. And put it out and people have no choice but to walk away from it outwardly saying, "oh....It was so deep and complex....I can hardly explain it. The only thing to say is that it's brilliant!" While inwardly all they can say is, "...wait.....what?????"
Modern art. Nobody gets it. But nobody wants to admit that it makes no sense. Because they don't want to be the person who "just isn't deep enough."
Movies and paintings don't really matter in the grand scheme of things. They're meant for entertainment. But if you think about how afraid people are of not being able to see the magical clothes; it makes me worry what happens when somebody important relies on the praises of how great they are.
Nobody wants to be the one to tell the emperor he's naked. Even if he already knows.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Growing Up Stole My Christmas
Here is my disturbing realization:
Christmas Day is just a day.
Christmas is the celebration of Christmas.
This year, I will be waking up on Christmas morning alone in my house. Probably without a tree. Or lights. Or presents. Or stockings. Because it's just me here. And it's making me realize that December 25th doesn't mean anything.
The day that's going to count for me is January 1st or 2nd when I get to be in Tulsa with my sisters, brother, and parents.
Christmas Day is just a day.
Christmas is the celebration of Christmas.
This year, I will be waking up on Christmas morning alone in my house. Probably without a tree. Or lights. Or presents. Or stockings. Because it's just me here. And it's making me realize that December 25th doesn't mean anything.
The day that's going to count for me is January 1st or 2nd when I get to be in Tulsa with my sisters, brother, and parents.
Friday, November 20, 2009
This Didn't End Up Where I Expected. . .
I don't respond well to displays of disobedience.
I don't think it's funny to cause mischeif, or to make big messes for the sake of "having a little fun."
Food fights, toilet-papering, and other "harmless" acts of vandalism don't amuse me.
I always hated The Cat in the Hat for this very reason. Even when I was a little kid in kindergarten or first grade I remember not liking this book.
I don't understand what sort of lesson can be learned when a grown-up (in my mind, the Cat in the Hat was a grow-up) shows up and tells two little kids to disobey their mother. And not to just disobey her--he practically destroys their house. And for some reason, it's all okay in the end just because they cleaned it up and she never found out?
That never made any sense to me.
I also never liked the book Where the Wild Things Are. It's often a childhood favorite of many. People tell me they love it because it's so imaginative. When I was little, I hated even looking at the pictures because I thought they were so ugly. But what I really didn't like was that the little kid was so mean to his mom. And then he went to this ugly place and was mean to these monsters. And then he gets to come back home and have his dinner waiting for him.
Funny, now that I've shortened the plot (if you could call it that) to that short few sentences; it reminds me of all the same reasons I really struggle with seeing King David as a hero. . .
I don't like it when people don't get in trouble for their actions.
And for their disrespect.
And when they leave messes that other people have to take care of.
I don't like it when this behaviour is rewarded.
And I don't like it when characters like the Cat in the Hat and mean Max (isn't that his name?) are considered the "hero."
I think the heroes should be the ones who are bigger than me and can forgive the little punks who break the rules. . .
The One who is bigger than me and has forgiven all the little punks who break the rules. ..
I don't think it's funny to cause mischeif, or to make big messes for the sake of "having a little fun."
Food fights, toilet-papering, and other "harmless" acts of vandalism don't amuse me.
I always hated The Cat in the Hat for this very reason. Even when I was a little kid in kindergarten or first grade I remember not liking this book.
I don't understand what sort of lesson can be learned when a grown-up (in my mind, the Cat in the Hat was a grow-up) shows up and tells two little kids to disobey their mother. And not to just disobey her--he practically destroys their house. And for some reason, it's all okay in the end just because they cleaned it up and she never found out?
That never made any sense to me.
I also never liked the book Where the Wild Things Are. It's often a childhood favorite of many. People tell me they love it because it's so imaginative. When I was little, I hated even looking at the pictures because I thought they were so ugly. But what I really didn't like was that the little kid was so mean to his mom. And then he went to this ugly place and was mean to these monsters. And then he gets to come back home and have his dinner waiting for him.
Funny, now that I've shortened the plot (if you could call it that) to that short few sentences; it reminds me of all the same reasons I really struggle with seeing King David as a hero. . .
I don't like it when people don't get in trouble for their actions.
And for their disrespect.
And when they leave messes that other people have to take care of.
I don't like it when this behaviour is rewarded.
And I don't like it when characters like the Cat in the Hat and mean Max (isn't that his name?) are considered the "hero."
I think the heroes should be the ones who are bigger than me and can forgive the little punks who break the rules. . .
The One who is bigger than me and has forgiven all the little punks who break the rules. ..
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Full Of It
I'm feeling empty.
Well, actually, I'm feeling full.
Just full of crap.
And therefore, empty of anything of value.
And here's what I've realized:
When you give away pieces of yourself, you have to accept the possibility that you will just end up empty. And that it probably isn't going to change.
The only thing you can do is make sure that you're being filled with things that truly satisfy you.
And I can list the things I've been trying to use to fill myself that are not working.
And I can list the ways I've been seeking reciprocation that have not been working.
And what happens is that I give more
and more
and more
and hope that I'll get something back in return
And I just end up disappointed
and even more empty
I try to come up with new ways to give
just craving some recognition
and effort in return
give second chances
give full attention
give time I don't have
and wind up waiting
I prayed for this.
I prayed for compassion.
And the ability to feel again.
To be able to share myself with other people.
And it's all good and right.
It's good to give these pieces of myself.
But I can't seek them in return.
Something else needs to fill up the emptiness that gets left behind
so that I can continue to give more.
Fill me up, Bread of Heaven, fill me
Enlighten me, Bright and Morning Star
Build me up, Master Builder, build me
Empower me, Mighty Great I AM
Heal me up, Great Physician, heal me
Inhabit me, Gentle Comforter
Use me up, Holy Master, use me
Empower me, Mighty Great I AM
In Jesus' Name,
amen
Well, actually, I'm feeling full.
Just full of crap.
And therefore, empty of anything of value.
And here's what I've realized:
When you give away pieces of yourself, you have to accept the possibility that you will just end up empty. And that it probably isn't going to change.
The only thing you can do is make sure that you're being filled with things that truly satisfy you.
And I can list the things I've been trying to use to fill myself that are not working.
And I can list the ways I've been seeking reciprocation that have not been working.
And what happens is that I give more
and more
and more
and hope that I'll get something back in return
And I just end up disappointed
and even more empty
I try to come up with new ways to give
just craving some recognition
and effort in return
give second chances
give full attention
give time I don't have
and wind up waiting
I prayed for this.
I prayed for compassion.
And the ability to feel again.
To be able to share myself with other people.
And it's all good and right.
It's good to give these pieces of myself.
But I can't seek them in return.
Something else needs to fill up the emptiness that gets left behind
so that I can continue to give more.
Fill me up, Bread of Heaven, fill me
Enlighten me, Bright and Morning Star
Build me up, Master Builder, build me
Empower me, Mighty Great I AM
Heal me up, Great Physician, heal me
Inhabit me, Gentle Comforter
Use me up, Holy Master, use me
Empower me, Mighty Great I AM
In Jesus' Name,
amen
Monday, September 07, 2009
About Me:
Every once in a while I get a little pang of conviction. And I get reminded of how selfish I can be. Not necessarily selfish, but self-centered. And I don't meant that in a snotty way. I mean it in the "centered on self" way.
I try to blame it on just not paying attention. But, like they say, ignorance is no excuse for the law. Not too long ago, I was writing my boyfriend an e-mail and I was in a rather moody state. It doesn't happen very often, but I started thinking of all of the ways I could be a better person. A better friend. A better roommate. A better teacher. A better neighbor. A better runner. And really, what it boiled down to is that in order to make myself better I had to own less of myself.
I have this habit to think about people I love; and then not do anything to share with them that I'm thinking about them. Or tell people I'm going to pray about something (with every intention to do so) and then not do it. To be a better friend I have to STOP what I'm doing and act on my thoughts.
I have a really great roommate. And it's crazy-weird how well we get along because we are really quite different. But lately I've been bombing in the communication category; and then instead of trying to fix it I worry about making her mad at me. To be a better roommate I have to remember that I am not the only one who lives in my house.
I love teaching. And I feel like I am good at it. But I don't like to be told how to be better at it. And I don't like to reflect on my teaching. But after some serious (and long overdue) reflection, I realized that in order to be a GREAT teacher I must change what I believe. I must take that extra time and prepare. I must extend my workday until I'm completely ready for the next one. Because it doesn't do anyone any favors to know *what* I'm doing; but not *how* I'm doing it. To be a better teacher I must donate my time and my organizational skills to my students. I must stretch my patience to its full elasticity; rather than just until it's still comfortably bouncy.
I have the greatest neighbors. On all sides. However, I have been taking my sweet time tearing down and (eventually) putting up a new fence. And while they say they don't mind; I can be a much better neighbor by actually following through and getting this fence done. I have time in my day. To be a better neighbor by following through, and sacrificing my alone time a little bit until the job gets done.
I love running. I run because I tend to not like to try at most things. But running is hard. It makes me tired. It makes me persevere. It forces me to take regular showers. It makes feel feel like I've accomplished something that a lot of other people just can't do. But the problem is that I don't push myself. I run at a comfortable pace, and I run for a comfortable distance. I don't try to get better, I just stay where I am. And the reason I started running in the first place was to try to make myself better. So now, to be a better runner, that means I actually have to push. I have to be consistent. I have to work my core. I have to be uncomfortable.
And I think that running makes this an entire metaphor for my life.
It's true. I did start running because I felt like I didn't know what it feels like to try. Or to hurt. Or to be so tired I couldn't move. Because I don't put that much effort into anything. Relationships. Work. School. Fence-building. Anything. And when my outlet that is supposed to make me feel becomes "just another thing to try to make time for" I know I have to let go. I have to let go of myself and get up and push harder. I have to become uncomfortable. I have to push beyond my means. I have to sacrifice my time.
On Facebook there's a part in the profile where it says "About Me:"
I have a friend who pricked my heart when she put it perfectly in two words:
It's Not.
I try to blame it on just not paying attention. But, like they say, ignorance is no excuse for the law. Not too long ago, I was writing my boyfriend an e-mail and I was in a rather moody state. It doesn't happen very often, but I started thinking of all of the ways I could be a better person. A better friend. A better roommate. A better teacher. A better neighbor. A better runner. And really, what it boiled down to is that in order to make myself better I had to own less of myself.
I have this habit to think about people I love; and then not do anything to share with them that I'm thinking about them. Or tell people I'm going to pray about something (with every intention to do so) and then not do it. To be a better friend I have to STOP what I'm doing and act on my thoughts.
I have a really great roommate. And it's crazy-weird how well we get along because we are really quite different. But lately I've been bombing in the communication category; and then instead of trying to fix it I worry about making her mad at me. To be a better roommate I have to remember that I am not the only one who lives in my house.
I love teaching. And I feel like I am good at it. But I don't like to be told how to be better at it. And I don't like to reflect on my teaching. But after some serious (and long overdue) reflection, I realized that in order to be a GREAT teacher I must change what I believe. I must take that extra time and prepare. I must extend my workday until I'm completely ready for the next one. Because it doesn't do anyone any favors to know *what* I'm doing; but not *how* I'm doing it. To be a better teacher I must donate my time and my organizational skills to my students. I must stretch my patience to its full elasticity; rather than just until it's still comfortably bouncy.
I have the greatest neighbors. On all sides. However, I have been taking my sweet time tearing down and (eventually) putting up a new fence. And while they say they don't mind; I can be a much better neighbor by actually following through and getting this fence done. I have time in my day. To be a better neighbor by following through, and sacrificing my alone time a little bit until the job gets done.
I love running. I run because I tend to not like to try at most things. But running is hard. It makes me tired. It makes me persevere. It forces me to take regular showers. It makes feel feel like I've accomplished something that a lot of other people just can't do. But the problem is that I don't push myself. I run at a comfortable pace, and I run for a comfortable distance. I don't try to get better, I just stay where I am. And the reason I started running in the first place was to try to make myself better. So now, to be a better runner, that means I actually have to push. I have to be consistent. I have to work my core. I have to be uncomfortable.
And I think that running makes this an entire metaphor for my life.
It's true. I did start running because I felt like I didn't know what it feels like to try. Or to hurt. Or to be so tired I couldn't move. Because I don't put that much effort into anything. Relationships. Work. School. Fence-building. Anything. And when my outlet that is supposed to make me feel becomes "just another thing to try to make time for" I know I have to let go. I have to let go of myself and get up and push harder. I have to become uncomfortable. I have to push beyond my means. I have to sacrifice my time.
On Facebook there's a part in the profile where it says "About Me:"
I have a friend who pricked my heart when she put it perfectly in two words:
It's Not.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
She's Just Not That Into You
Ashley and I rented "He's Just Not That Into You" and watched it tonight. Despite my inability to recall the title when I told people what movie we were watching for our "roommate date," I did really want to see it. I was secretly hoping that there was a character in it with whom I would relate. . .and then I could watch it from outside myself and observe what my future might hold.
Despite my award-winning personality (middle school honor roll), my dashing good looks (thanks dad), and my charming giggle (owe it to you, grandma Merilyn) I think it's fair to say I've not had the best luck with relationships.
Now, I will take complete blame here--because I pull what I like to call "an Elaine" and randomly start finding things that weird me out about boys on whom I once had a crush. Be it a sudden realization of very effeminate flailing while playing the drums in a band that played music that made me want to beat my head against a wall. Or walking with such superb posture and grace that Audrey Hepburn would be put to shame. Or the inability to form a sentence lasting less than two minutes (74% comprised of the word "ummmmmm"). I immediately started developing a reputation (perhaps in my own mind) for being cold-hearted. And I started finding things I did NOT want.
I am a pretty strong person. I think I can thank a former boyfriend for that one. Because I got used to having my feelings not matter that much. And I think that's okay. Because it's almost gotten to the point where it's uncomfortable to feel them without proper planning. I've been praying about it, though. It's probably not a good idea to be so inept at recognizing feelings that I laugh when I tell stories about the awkward kid who tried to ask me out. But it was so funny. But that's no excuse. I need some compassion.
So watching the movie. . .there aren't any of the girls' situations that really match mine. And then I realized the awful truth: I related the most with Justin Long's character. I was the boy. I was not just the boy....but I was the insensitive, jerk-faced, hollow boy.
That was a little bit of a slap. Especially when the psycho emotional girl who liked him told him off. She said, "I'd rather be like this than like you and alone." Or something to that affect.
And I do that.
I attract the really sensitive ones; get really annoyed with their sensitivity; and then toss them aside and label them as women. But if I'm that guy in the movie, I'm living up to my role.
Now, in the movie, he says something cheesy to her like "you're my exception" and they end up together and happy. Fine and well. I guess I could buy that. But here's my problem: I'm not a boy. I don't want to be the boy in the relationship.
And I definitely don't want to be the boy in the relationship if my counterpart is a boy who is actually a super-paranoid over-sensitive girl (metaphorically speaking, of course).
So while I'll admit that I'm terribly callous, and could use a good dose of feeling (hence prayers for compassion--which I am honestly not sure what I'm getting myself into); have I just really just forgotten what it's like to have emotions and have them be accepted? Am I just living in a constant state of defense mechanism, hoping that if I hurt him first it won't hurt me as much?
My mom says that I only have crushes on famous people because it means I don't have to commit to anything.
And she tells me that I'm "too picky."
And I believe it's okay to be picky.
But maybe I'm not as sure of myself as I always thought I was.
Because if the only character with whom I can relate is the jerk, then maybe I ought to re-examine my intrapersonal relationships. Because I don't think I want to be that jerk.
As for the movie--it's not really that good. You're not missing that much.
Despite my award-winning personality (middle school honor roll), my dashing good looks (thanks dad), and my charming giggle (owe it to you, grandma Merilyn) I think it's fair to say I've not had the best luck with relationships.
Now, I will take complete blame here--because I pull what I like to call "an Elaine" and randomly start finding things that weird me out about boys on whom I once had a crush. Be it a sudden realization of very effeminate flailing while playing the drums in a band that played music that made me want to beat my head against a wall. Or walking with such superb posture and grace that Audrey Hepburn would be put to shame. Or the inability to form a sentence lasting less than two minutes (74% comprised of the word "ummmmmm"). I immediately started developing a reputation (perhaps in my own mind) for being cold-hearted. And I started finding things I did NOT want.
I am a pretty strong person. I think I can thank a former boyfriend for that one. Because I got used to having my feelings not matter that much. And I think that's okay. Because it's almost gotten to the point where it's uncomfortable to feel them without proper planning. I've been praying about it, though. It's probably not a good idea to be so inept at recognizing feelings that I laugh when I tell stories about the awkward kid who tried to ask me out. But it was so funny. But that's no excuse. I need some compassion.
So watching the movie. . .there aren't any of the girls' situations that really match mine. And then I realized the awful truth: I related the most with Justin Long's character. I was the boy. I was not just the boy....but I was the insensitive, jerk-faced, hollow boy.
That was a little bit of a slap. Especially when the psycho emotional girl who liked him told him off. She said, "I'd rather be like this than like you and alone." Or something to that affect.
And I do that.
I attract the really sensitive ones; get really annoyed with their sensitivity; and then toss them aside and label them as women. But if I'm that guy in the movie, I'm living up to my role.
Now, in the movie, he says something cheesy to her like "you're my exception" and they end up together and happy. Fine and well. I guess I could buy that. But here's my problem: I'm not a boy. I don't want to be the boy in the relationship.
And I definitely don't want to be the boy in the relationship if my counterpart is a boy who is actually a super-paranoid over-sensitive girl (metaphorically speaking, of course).
So while I'll admit that I'm terribly callous, and could use a good dose of feeling (hence prayers for compassion--which I am honestly not sure what I'm getting myself into); have I just really just forgotten what it's like to have emotions and have them be accepted? Am I just living in a constant state of defense mechanism, hoping that if I hurt him first it won't hurt me as much?
My mom says that I only have crushes on famous people because it means I don't have to commit to anything.
And she tells me that I'm "too picky."
And I believe it's okay to be picky.
But maybe I'm not as sure of myself as I always thought I was.
Because if the only character with whom I can relate is the jerk, then maybe I ought to re-examine my intrapersonal relationships. Because I don't think I want to be that jerk.
As for the movie--it's not really that good. You're not missing that much.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Chasing Song; Part 2
It's always a bad sign when I feel like I have no valuable thoughts trickling around in my head. Typically, as the pattern goes, it means that I've made myself much too busy with myself. . .
I've given myself a pretty busy schedule this summer--which I do not mind at all. I have this horrible habit of being completely content plyaing free cell for an hour at a time.
Or plunking out my favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs on the piano.
Tuning the guitar and trying to perfect "Mexico" by Jump, Little Children because when I sing it it makes me feel like there's someone somewhere I could influence into not being far away from me.
And we can't forget Facebook.
I am just an overall happy person. I don't need bells and whistles to keep my attention, or to keep me satisfied. But the more complacent I get in my routine (and believe you me, I THRIVE on routine), the easier it become to just turn on auto pilot. I stop looking for ways to deliberately make my steps be worship and my thoughts be praise. And I stop actively seeking ways to seek God.
I was driving home from Tulsa the other night, and to my left there was a giant billowy cloud in the southern sky that was constantly lighting up with lightning. There wasn't any thunder, rain, or wind. Just flashes of electricity. In that 90 minute drive, there was not more than 3 seconds that did not contain a flash of light. And I turned off the radio and really tried to consciously pray and listen to God. And I couldn't hear him. I couldn't turn down the volume of the plan for the next day. I was hungry. I was tired. I was thinking about all the boys I have crushes on. I was mad because I couldn't watch the lightening and drive at the same time because I'd have to turn my head to the left. And I couldn't shift my focus off myself.
I got home and I lay in bed, trying to just be still. And then I feel asleep and dreamed about a Chinese family. I'm pretty sure that wasn't some divine message for me to decipher.
I'm not really sure where this leaves me.
But I'm thinking it might be time for another trip through the Psalms. . .I need to get in touch with my alter-ego, David. And try to remember what it takes to be a girl after God's own heart.
I've given myself a pretty busy schedule this summer--which I do not mind at all. I have this horrible habit of being completely content plyaing free cell for an hour at a time.
Or plunking out my favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs on the piano.
Tuning the guitar and trying to perfect "Mexico" by Jump, Little Children because when I sing it it makes me feel like there's someone somewhere I could influence into not being far away from me.
And we can't forget Facebook.
I am just an overall happy person. I don't need bells and whistles to keep my attention, or to keep me satisfied. But the more complacent I get in my routine (and believe you me, I THRIVE on routine), the easier it become to just turn on auto pilot. I stop looking for ways to deliberately make my steps be worship and my thoughts be praise. And I stop actively seeking ways to seek God.
I was driving home from Tulsa the other night, and to my left there was a giant billowy cloud in the southern sky that was constantly lighting up with lightning. There wasn't any thunder, rain, or wind. Just flashes of electricity. In that 90 minute drive, there was not more than 3 seconds that did not contain a flash of light. And I turned off the radio and really tried to consciously pray and listen to God. And I couldn't hear him. I couldn't turn down the volume of the plan for the next day. I was hungry. I was tired. I was thinking about all the boys I have crushes on. I was mad because I couldn't watch the lightening and drive at the same time because I'd have to turn my head to the left. And I couldn't shift my focus off myself.
I got home and I lay in bed, trying to just be still. And then I feel asleep and dreamed about a Chinese family. I'm pretty sure that wasn't some divine message for me to decipher.
I'm not really sure where this leaves me.
But I'm thinking it might be time for another trip through the Psalms. . .I need to get in touch with my alter-ego, David. And try to remember what it takes to be a girl after God's own heart.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Best of Pancakes and Tea
I've been feeling less than inspired lately. And when I feel uninspired, I always go back and re-read old articles in this blog. Sometimes I can't believe how smart I used to be. And occasionally I feel like I've definitely done some serious backsliding in my relationship with God. I feel like I've been calling more and more on myself, and less and less on him.
So, sometimes it helps me to remind myself of all of the wise thoughts I've had in the past. I figured I'd to back and find "the best of" in the last 4 or so years of this blog. Some are thoughtful. Some clever. Some just silly. But these are some of my favorites. Maybe you will enjoy them.
The Procrastination Station
The one that started it all.
I Got Used to Sweatpants
The one about sweatpants.
The Jesus I Serve
The one where I don't get to define Jesus.
This Stupid, Stupid Wind
The one where I have a bad day.
I Have Hidden Your Word in My Heart, And I Misplaced it
The one where I begrudgingly relate to David.
Love Letters
The one that's a total metaphor about God's word.
Never, Ever, Ever Give Up
The one where I accomplished my [then] life's goal.
My Hero
The one about heroes.
New Years Resolutions
The one about not making excuses.
Mr. Orkin: Man of My Dreams
The one about my future husband.
Of a Rather Pressing Note
The one where I tell Scott Toilet Tissue what is what.
When I Start to Miss Michigan
The one where I realize I can be happy in Oklahoma as long as I'm trusting God.
A Serious Addiction
The one where I confess my undying love for Rocky Balboa
So, sometimes it helps me to remind myself of all of the wise thoughts I've had in the past. I figured I'd to back and find "the best of" in the last 4 or so years of this blog. Some are thoughtful. Some clever. Some just silly. But these are some of my favorites. Maybe you will enjoy them.
The Procrastination Station
The one that started it all.
I Got Used to Sweatpants
The one about sweatpants.
The Jesus I Serve
The one where I don't get to define Jesus.
This Stupid, Stupid Wind
The one where I have a bad day.
I Have Hidden Your Word in My Heart, And I Misplaced it
The one where I begrudgingly relate to David.
Love Letters
The one that's a total metaphor about God's word.
Never, Ever, Ever Give Up
The one where I accomplished my [then] life's goal.
My Hero
The one about heroes.
New Years Resolutions
The one about not making excuses.
Mr. Orkin: Man of My Dreams
The one about my future husband.
Of a Rather Pressing Note
The one where I tell Scott Toilet Tissue what is what.
When I Start to Miss Michigan
The one where I realize I can be happy in Oklahoma as long as I'm trusting God.
A Serious Addiction
The one where I confess my undying love for Rocky Balboa
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Living in the Past
I have a really good memory.
I have a really good memory when it comes to things that happened a long time ago, that is. Memories, for me, are most often triggered by smells. After familiar smells come memories of touch. If something feels familiar it will most likely trigger a memory. The third trigger is taste--although I have a hard time specifically placing familiar tastes to specific foods or items. I place the taste with the event to which it belongs. The last two senses (sight and sound) least often trigger memories, but neither dominates the other.
I have a lot of really really good memories. And I tend to just bask in them quite often because they make me feel good. I don't tend to express emotion very often (unless I'm watching The Biggest Loser....go figure!), and aside from perpetual cheerfulness the only other side people really get to see me express is what I would call "flustered." Pretty much I'm either always excited, or occasionally flustered. With certain exceptions I'm rarely sad, angry, moody, etc.
I think the reason I tend to live so much in my memories is because when I'm remembering them, they tend to make me feel. They tend to make me feel when real life just doesn't.
This morning I was out pulling weeds in my side yard. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, even though it was only about 65 degrees. It was cloudy, thunder was faintly rumbling in the distance, and a little sprinkle would hit me every now and again. And it all seemed very familiar. I could hear the drops trickling through the leaves in the trees, and a bird squawking about something or other. Something about this seemed very familiar. It reminded me of when my family would go camping every summer in Indiana.
We'd wake up in the morning, and it would be cool, crisp, and a little damp from the morning's dew. A bird or two would be chatting, but other than that it was pretty quiet. It was cool enough that it wouldn't be crazy to wear pants until it warmed up; but since it was summer, we usually just wore shorts. Our cousins were just a campsite or two over, and we'd join up at grandma's campsite for breakfast. We'd go back to our campsite and grab our slightly damp swimsuits off the clothesline and put them on because, surely, within the next few hours we'd be headed for the lake to go swimming and make sandcastles. Then, in a little while, maybe we'd hop on our bikes and ride over to the one random set of cousins who somehow managed to get a site all the way on the other side of the park (it seemed to be a different set every year). Those days we just played. We were outside, rain or shine, together, and I never remember being bored.
Days like this don't happen very often in Oklahoma. And I am so grateful when they do. A cloudy, cool, day spattered with raindrops and thunder can be good for everybody once in a while.
I've always liked the rain. And I especially like it in Oklahoma because (this week aside) it doesn't come terribly often. But when it comes it reminds me that God does provide. And he knows what this land needs. And he knows what I need. And, even when it seems bothersome or doesn't make sense, his timing is everything.
I have a really good memory when it comes to things that happened a long time ago, that is. Memories, for me, are most often triggered by smells. After familiar smells come memories of touch. If something feels familiar it will most likely trigger a memory. The third trigger is taste--although I have a hard time specifically placing familiar tastes to specific foods or items. I place the taste with the event to which it belongs. The last two senses (sight and sound) least often trigger memories, but neither dominates the other.
I have a lot of really really good memories. And I tend to just bask in them quite often because they make me feel good. I don't tend to express emotion very often (unless I'm watching The Biggest Loser....go figure!), and aside from perpetual cheerfulness the only other side people really get to see me express is what I would call "flustered." Pretty much I'm either always excited, or occasionally flustered. With certain exceptions I'm rarely sad, angry, moody, etc.
I think the reason I tend to live so much in my memories is because when I'm remembering them, they tend to make me feel. They tend to make me feel when real life just doesn't.
This morning I was out pulling weeds in my side yard. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, even though it was only about 65 degrees. It was cloudy, thunder was faintly rumbling in the distance, and a little sprinkle would hit me every now and again. And it all seemed very familiar. I could hear the drops trickling through the leaves in the trees, and a bird squawking about something or other. Something about this seemed very familiar. It reminded me of when my family would go camping every summer in Indiana.
We'd wake up in the morning, and it would be cool, crisp, and a little damp from the morning's dew. A bird or two would be chatting, but other than that it was pretty quiet. It was cool enough that it wouldn't be crazy to wear pants until it warmed up; but since it was summer, we usually just wore shorts. Our cousins were just a campsite or two over, and we'd join up at grandma's campsite for breakfast. We'd go back to our campsite and grab our slightly damp swimsuits off the clothesline and put them on because, surely, within the next few hours we'd be headed for the lake to go swimming and make sandcastles. Then, in a little while, maybe we'd hop on our bikes and ride over to the one random set of cousins who somehow managed to get a site all the way on the other side of the park (it seemed to be a different set every year). Those days we just played. We were outside, rain or shine, together, and I never remember being bored.
Days like this don't happen very often in Oklahoma. And I am so grateful when they do. A cloudy, cool, day spattered with raindrops and thunder can be good for everybody once in a while.
I've always liked the rain. And I especially like it in Oklahoma because (this week aside) it doesn't come terribly often. But when it comes it reminds me that God does provide. And he knows what this land needs. And he knows what I need. And, even when it seems bothersome or doesn't make sense, his timing is everything.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Love Ya Like A Sister
For those of you who know me well, you will know that I have a twin. Her name is Jennifer and she lives in Montana. We're not identical, and we actually didn't meet until I was 23 and she was 24. And we met in; of all places; Edmond, Oklahoma.
We met, and almost instantly bonded. We migrated toward each other like some miraculous unknown force of gravity and after much comtemplation and examination we figured that we were clearly just twins separated at birth. 
Jennifer and I would go on adventures together, and took much delight in dressing alike. Friday nights were Twin IHOP Bible Study Nights, and we'd dress alike, go to IHOP and stay there for hours talking and doing our Bible Studies. We had a monthly tradition of getting matching pedicures that would help us represent and celebrate whatever holiday or occasion that happened that month. 
Jennifer and I both enjoyed running, and would frequently run around our neighborhood together. We would talk about how one day when were were grown up we would be neighbors and best friends and have dueling inflatable lawn decorations. Our husbands would most likely also be twins--just like us--so we could all be a happy twin family.
We started gettin really serious about planning our future when we discovered that we had a tremendous amount of musical talent between the two of us and immediately began recordning our upcoming Valentine's Day release, "Greatest Love Songs of All Time." We had a great piano/clarinet/vocal arrnagement of A Whole New World in the works. And plans for Total Eclispse of the Heart, Bicycle Built for Two, and other romantic classics like America the Beautiful and The Star Spangled Banner. 
As you can see, Jennifer and I have a very special relationship. It rivals that of Mary-Kate and Ashley, Zack and Screech, Will and Grace, or even Cheech and Chong (minus any drug reference, of course). I always assumed we were one of a kind. No other twins out there like us; until I came across this lovely pair:
We met, and almost instantly bonded. We migrated toward each other like some miraculous unknown force of gravity and after much comtemplation and examination we figured that we were clearly just twins separated at birth. Jennifer and I would go on adventures together, and took much delight in dressing alike. Friday nights were Twin IHOP Bible Study Nights, and we'd dress alike, go to IHOP and stay there for hours talking and doing our Bible Studies. We had a monthly tradition of getting matching pedicures that would help us represent and celebrate whatever holiday or occasion that happened that month. Jennifer and I both enjoyed running, and would frequently run around our neighborhood together. We would talk about how one day when were were grown up we would be neighbors and best friends and have dueling inflatable lawn decorations. Our husbands would most likely also be twins--just like us--so we could all be a happy twin family.We started gettin really serious about planning our future when we discovered that we had a tremendous amount of musical talent between the two of us and immediately began recordning our upcoming Valentine's Day release, "Greatest Love Songs of All Time." We had a great piano/clarinet/vocal arrnagement of A Whole New World in the works. And plans for Total Eclispse of the Heart, Bicycle Built for Two, and other romantic classics like America the Beautiful and The Star Spangled Banner. As you can see, Jennifer and I have a very special relationship. It rivals that of Mary-Kate and Ashley, Zack and Screech, Will and Grace, or even Cheech and Chong (minus any drug reference, of course). I always assumed we were one of a kind. No other twins out there like us; until I came across this lovely pair: I'm pretty sure that they are our British, and boy counterparts. And one day if we ever meet them, I'm sure we will be best friends immediately and forever.
In related news: Jennifer and I will most likely turn our efforts to video-recording, in addition to our audio releases. Because I think we will make people feel better about themselves. Because laughter is the best medecine--and Jennifer and I are most certainly the BEST!
Friday, February 27, 2009
We Will Never Forget
Last weekend I went downtown with my friend, Chelsea.
I'll be running for you in April.
I took her to the OKC Memorial, and we walked around.
It always takes my breath away. Every time I see it. Even though it didn't ever impact me personally.
It happened ten years before I even moved here.
I remember coming down here to visit my cousins and my aunt taking us downtown to show us all the buildings that had fallen. I will never forget seeing all that rubble, even though I can't say it really moved me.
So this time, when Chelsea and I went to the Memorial, we were looking at the tiles that kids from the US had sent to Oklahoma to show their support.
As a student, probably in the 5th grade, I do not remember doing anything for Oklahoma.
I don't really even remember us even talking about it that much.
But looking at these drawings, I remembered that Oklahoma is called the Heartland.
And I remembered that we live in a country where unity matters.
I was reminded that if any one part of the body is hurting, other parts need to compensate to help it heal.
And I realized that I have such unnecessary spite for Oklahoma. Just because it doesn't have trees. And it doesn't grow apples. And it has cowboys. And that's not any way to treat any part of this country in which I am so lucky to live. Not even Texas.
I'm sorry, Oklahoma.
I'm sorry that you had to be hurt so badly.
But I love that a stupid bomb couldn't kill you.
And I love that even when I wasn't helping, people from everywhere were helping you heal.
I'll be running for you in April. 26.2 miles is the least I can do.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sometimes God Decides to Yell
Before I found a teaching job, I worked at a hospital. I've never had any real desire to go into medicine, or work in the medical field, but when a good friend from church asked me if I'd ever considered being a Nurse Assistant I shrugged my shoulders and said I'd think about it. She explained that the job didn't require any training that I wouldn't receive on site. I would also receive medical benefits through the hospital (now I was interested), and it paid $12.50 an hour (definitely interested!).
I went in for an interview and a couple weeks later started training from 7-3:30, Monday through Friday for two weeks. I learned first aid; CPR/AED; how to change bedding, diapers, and bedpans; universal precautions; air and bloodborne pathogens; taking vitals and everything in between. It was pretty boring. After two weeks of classes, I got to go up to the med/surge floor and shadow another nurse assistant.
I got put on the day shift, which meant I worked from 7am to 7:30 pm 3 days a week and every other weekend. After I was ready to be out from under the wing of my mentor, I for some reason got switched to work every weekend. It worked out that way because in order to have enough hours to still be full-time, I had to put in both weekends and one mid-week day. I got pretty upset because working the day shift every weekend meant I had to miss church.
Enter God, one Sunday morning when my attitude started to get the better of me.
Fact 1: None of these patients get to be at church either.
The typical morning routine was to check everyone's vital signs and record them. Then, after vitals was breakfast. Depending on the mobility of the patients, my role varied. For some, I would just wish them a good breakfast and make sure they had everything they needed. Others needed their food cut up for them. And then there were the patients who could not feed themselves. These patients I sat down next to and patiently spooned food into their mouths as they indicated they were ready for another bite.
Fact 2: Serving breakfast sometimes literally constitutes as serving.
After breakfast, it was time to make sure everyone was cleaned up and the bed sheets got changed. Again, depending on the mobility of the patients, my roles were very different. Some patients went to take their own showers, and I changed their beds in a couple minutes. Other patients got wheeled to the large shower down the hall and tried not to shiver as I soaped them up and hosed them down. Their beds got changed, also pretty easily, and they were assisted back into a clean bed. But then there were the patients who could not move at all. They still needed to be bathed. This is where I would fill a small tub with warm sudsy water, close the curtains, and try to gently--yet thoroughly--clean their bodies and dry, cover, and dress them before they have a chance to get too cold. While bathing, the sheets have to be changed while the patient is still in the bed, so a lot of carefully timed rolling and turning is involved.
Fact 3: Taking care of someone in their most vulnerable state makes you realize no one has to see you in yours.
After baths, the day goes by pretty quickly. There's no routine to it, if someone needs something the call light will go on and a nurse or assistant will go answer the call. I learned really quickly that many of the people with whom I worked did not want to be there. I learned really quickly that some people will ignore a blinking call light, hoping the next person will pick it up.
Fact 4: These patients don't want to be there either.
Once all of these facts were falling into place, I realized that even though I wasn't able to serve God at church I needed to be serving. I needed to be a servant to the patients under my care. And literally from that moment on, I loved my job. I worked hard to make sure that I was always pleasant, patient, and kind when a call light went off. If I could do nothing else to help these people get better, I could serve them genuinely, wholly, and willingly. Whether it was the patient with C-Diff who needed a diaper and complete sheet change every fifteen minutes, or the patient who needed to be turned every two hours so he would not develop bedsores. The patients who couldn't eat or drink, but who desperately needed oral care; or the patients who just needed somebody to yell at. Patients who had run off every other NA working, or who were so senile they played in their poop before rubbing it all over the bed, and then calling for help. I genuinely enjoyed caring for them, and often was surprised at how quickly my days passed. I knew that when God called me to serve joyfully that if I actually asked to be made into his servant that the result of my willing service would be joy.
I loved that job. I loved it in spite of the poop, the puke, the puss, the impertinence, and the occasional painfulness. Sometimes as a teacher, I forget that it's not about me. It's not about what I want my kids to get out of it. It's about serving them and providing them with the skills they will need to make it outside of my classroom.
Servanthood isn't about what I can do. It's about what I will do. It's about what I am doing.
This morning at church, Mark preached about being a servant. We sang some songs that (if you paid attention) were little prayers asking God to make us servants like him. Those are some pretty hefty shoes to fill. But if you ask God to make you a servant like him, sit back and listen for his instruction. Don't assume you must be a slave to anyone in order to serve him. God will yell it if he has to.
Fact 5: Serving with a joyful heart takes the drive out of the slave driver.
I went in for an interview and a couple weeks later started training from 7-3:30, Monday through Friday for two weeks. I learned first aid; CPR/AED; how to change bedding, diapers, and bedpans; universal precautions; air and bloodborne pathogens; taking vitals and everything in between. It was pretty boring. After two weeks of classes, I got to go up to the med/surge floor and shadow another nurse assistant.
I got put on the day shift, which meant I worked from 7am to 7:30 pm 3 days a week and every other weekend. After I was ready to be out from under the wing of my mentor, I for some reason got switched to work every weekend. It worked out that way because in order to have enough hours to still be full-time, I had to put in both weekends and one mid-week day. I got pretty upset because working the day shift every weekend meant I had to miss church.
Enter God, one Sunday morning when my attitude started to get the better of me.
Fact 1: None of these patients get to be at church either.
The typical morning routine was to check everyone's vital signs and record them. Then, after vitals was breakfast. Depending on the mobility of the patients, my role varied. For some, I would just wish them a good breakfast and make sure they had everything they needed. Others needed their food cut up for them. And then there were the patients who could not feed themselves. These patients I sat down next to and patiently spooned food into their mouths as they indicated they were ready for another bite.
Fact 2: Serving breakfast sometimes literally constitutes as serving.
After breakfast, it was time to make sure everyone was cleaned up and the bed sheets got changed. Again, depending on the mobility of the patients, my roles were very different. Some patients went to take their own showers, and I changed their beds in a couple minutes. Other patients got wheeled to the large shower down the hall and tried not to shiver as I soaped them up and hosed them down. Their beds got changed, also pretty easily, and they were assisted back into a clean bed. But then there were the patients who could not move at all. They still needed to be bathed. This is where I would fill a small tub with warm sudsy water, close the curtains, and try to gently--yet thoroughly--clean their bodies and dry, cover, and dress them before they have a chance to get too cold. While bathing, the sheets have to be changed while the patient is still in the bed, so a lot of carefully timed rolling and turning is involved.
Fact 3: Taking care of someone in their most vulnerable state makes you realize no one has to see you in yours.
After baths, the day goes by pretty quickly. There's no routine to it, if someone needs something the call light will go on and a nurse or assistant will go answer the call. I learned really quickly that many of the people with whom I worked did not want to be there. I learned really quickly that some people will ignore a blinking call light, hoping the next person will pick it up.
Fact 4: These patients don't want to be there either.
Once all of these facts were falling into place, I realized that even though I wasn't able to serve God at church I needed to be serving. I needed to be a servant to the patients under my care. And literally from that moment on, I loved my job. I worked hard to make sure that I was always pleasant, patient, and kind when a call light went off. If I could do nothing else to help these people get better, I could serve them genuinely, wholly, and willingly. Whether it was the patient with C-Diff who needed a diaper and complete sheet change every fifteen minutes, or the patient who needed to be turned every two hours so he would not develop bedsores. The patients who couldn't eat or drink, but who desperately needed oral care; or the patients who just needed somebody to yell at. Patients who had run off every other NA working, or who were so senile they played in their poop before rubbing it all over the bed, and then calling for help. I genuinely enjoyed caring for them, and often was surprised at how quickly my days passed. I knew that when God called me to serve joyfully that if I actually asked to be made into his servant that the result of my willing service would be joy.
I loved that job. I loved it in spite of the poop, the puke, the puss, the impertinence, and the occasional painfulness. Sometimes as a teacher, I forget that it's not about me. It's not about what I want my kids to get out of it. It's about serving them and providing them with the skills they will need to make it outside of my classroom.
Servanthood isn't about what I can do. It's about what I will do. It's about what I am doing.
This morning at church, Mark preached about being a servant. We sang some songs that (if you paid attention) were little prayers asking God to make us servants like him. Those are some pretty hefty shoes to fill. But if you ask God to make you a servant like him, sit back and listen for his instruction. Don't assume you must be a slave to anyone in order to serve him. God will yell it if he has to.
Fact 5: Serving with a joyful heart takes the drive out of the slave driver.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Being "It" Made Me Realize I Miss My Favorite Restaurants.
I got tagged a week or so back my my hilarious friend, Naomi. Clearly, this calls for my response. :)
4 Things I did yesterday:
1. Wore jeans to work
2. Went to cheer on the Pistons, even though they forgot to show up to play actual basketball
3. Cut cheese. And ate it
4. Filled up my car for significantly less than $20.
4 Things on my Wish List:
1. I will one day return to Michigan to live.
2. To run at least one marathon a year until I'm 40
3. To one day get married and have like 4 kids.
4. That pancakes will never stop being my favorite food.
4 Restaurants I like (sadly, none of which I've found in Oklahoma):
1. Buca di Beppo
2. Buddy's Pizza
3. Anything with Medeterranian Cuisine
4. East Side Mario's
4 TV shows I like:
1. Gossip Girl
2. Law and Order: SVU
3. Malcolm in the Middle
4. Psych
I've decided to not tag anyone. Not that I don't care about and what you think. But moreso because a lot of my tag-ee's have already been tagged, or have dissed my tags in the past. Or (niki) don't post anything but professional photograpny on their sites. . .
Oh, and Jennifer--I'll get to that award thing you gave me. . .all in due time.
4 Things I did yesterday:
1. Wore jeans to work
2. Went to cheer on the Pistons, even though they forgot to show up to play actual basketball
3. Cut cheese. And ate it
4. Filled up my car for significantly less than $20.
4 Things on my Wish List:
1. I will one day return to Michigan to live.
2. To run at least one marathon a year until I'm 40
3. To one day get married and have like 4 kids.
4. That pancakes will never stop being my favorite food.
4 Restaurants I like (sadly, none of which I've found in Oklahoma):
1. Buca di Beppo
2. Buddy's Pizza
3. Anything with Medeterranian Cuisine
4. East Side Mario's
4 TV shows I like:
1. Gossip Girl
2. Law and Order: SVU
3. Malcolm in the Middle
4. Psych
I've decided to not tag anyone. Not that I don't care about and what you think. But moreso because a lot of my tag-ee's have already been tagged, or have dissed my tags in the past. Or (niki) don't post anything but professional photograpny on their sites. . .
Oh, and Jennifer--I'll get to that award thing you gave me. . .all in due time.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Time I Rode the Short Bus Home
I am not one who embarrasses very easily. In fact, I tend to revel in awkward situations. Therefore, be excited: this is my most embarrassing moment to date.
I was in 3rd grade. I rode the bus every day both to and from school, and never minded it. The bus dropped me off at the end of our road, and I'd walk from the bus stop home. It was probably about a ten minute walk, rain or shine. One time I got bit by a dog. It was no big deal. Bus stops are just a part of life.
I remember feeling a tiny twinge of jealousy because the bus driver was a really nice lady and a lot of the kids she would drop off directly at their houses. If she was going to drive by the house anyway, she said she might as well. I was always the last stop, and I was the only one who couln't be dropped off at my house because my street was a dead end. There's no way a bus could get out.
Then, ond day, our bus was broken down. We waited for a little while, and finally our bus driver pulled up. She pulled up, alright. Pulled up in a short bus. I was mortified, but I figured I would suck it up and rirde the short bus if all my other friends had to ride it too. But keep in mind, those windows aren't tinted! What would people think!?
So our bus driver goes through the route, and as per usual I am the last one on the bus. My stop is nearing and I start to gather my things to walk off this nightmare the second she pulls up to the end of my street. We start getting closer, and I notice that she has passed the normal place that she typically turns on her flashers. In fact, we're practically right up on my stop and she's still driving.
No, wait.
She's not still driving....
she's turning.
She's turning right.
She's TURNING DOWN MY STREET!
Sinking lower and lower down into my seat, hoping that I will wake up any second, the bus turns into my driveway. She (seriously) turns on her flashers and opens the door. She smiles at me as I step off the bus and I run into my house.
And you people wonder why I'm so quirky. . . .
I was in 3rd grade. I rode the bus every day both to and from school, and never minded it. The bus dropped me off at the end of our road, and I'd walk from the bus stop home. It was probably about a ten minute walk, rain or shine. One time I got bit by a dog. It was no big deal. Bus stops are just a part of life.
I remember feeling a tiny twinge of jealousy because the bus driver was a really nice lady and a lot of the kids she would drop off directly at their houses. If she was going to drive by the house anyway, she said she might as well. I was always the last stop, and I was the only one who couln't be dropped off at my house because my street was a dead end. There's no way a bus could get out.
Then, ond day, our bus was broken down. We waited for a little while, and finally our bus driver pulled up. She pulled up, alright. Pulled up in a short bus. I was mortified, but I figured I would suck it up and rirde the short bus if all my other friends had to ride it too. But keep in mind, those windows aren't tinted! What would people think!?
So our bus driver goes through the route, and as per usual I am the last one on the bus. My stop is nearing and I start to gather my things to walk off this nightmare the second she pulls up to the end of my street. We start getting closer, and I notice that she has passed the normal place that she typically turns on her flashers. In fact, we're practically right up on my stop and she's still driving.
No, wait.
She's not still driving....
she's turning.
She's turning right.
She's TURNING DOWN MY STREET!
Sinking lower and lower down into my seat, hoping that I will wake up any second, the bus turns into my driveway. She (seriously) turns on her flashers and opens the door. She smiles at me as I step off the bus and I run into my house.
And you people wonder why I'm so quirky. . . .
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Oprah Told Me To Do It.
I don't typically listen to things Oprah says--let alone things she tells me to do. I think overall she's just a tiny bit kooky for my taste. However, yesterday, Oprah told me to do something.
Oprah told me to ask myself a bunch of questions. I don't remember what any of them were except for one: What are you hungry for?
Don't ask me why I suddenly decided that I should listen to Oprah; but before I went to bed last night, I sat down with a pen and notebook and seriously asked myself the question, "What are you hungry for, Kari?"
I started listing things, before each one saying: I'm hungry for. . . or I'm hungry to. . . and by the time I was done I had a list of over 20 things. If I was going to try to be honest and introspective with myself, I figured I would really write it. No matter how trivial.
Oprah didn't tell me what to do next. So I lie there in my bed and looked at my list. It occured to me that only 2 things on my entire list were things in the realm of my control.
2.
Out of 20.
So here's what I took away from it: I am a very hungry person.
But I can physically and mentally only satisfy 10% of my hunger. That leaves me (mathematically) hungry 90% of the time.
I'm thinking that Oprah wanted people to find the source of their hunger so they could conquer it. When you seek what you are truly hungry for, you will not want to fill it with food.
So here's where you step in and say, "Ah, but Kari! That's what's so great! God's word is your daily bread! Your hunger and thirst for righteousness will fill you up!"
Yeah, I already thought of that. That's 5% of my 10. I can't be full on God's word if it's not the only thing I'm hungry for. I've still got 18 other hungers that I can't satiate. Therefore, either I'm always going to fill the need to fill up, or I'm always going to feel empty.
So, literally or figuratively, this is my wisdom:
Next time I'm reaching for food (out of boredom) I need to try to remember what I'm hungry for. Is eating this going to fill me with God's word? Is it going to make me a stronger runner? Is it going to keep my brother healthy? Is it going to give me Michigan? Is it going to de-clutter my parent's house?
I can fill my stomach only so full. But because I listened to Oprah I now have a much better understanding of why I'm not often satisfied. It's because I'm still hungry. And I have to accept that while it's okay to be hungry for things I can't change, no amount of healthy or unhealthy fuel will fill that void. I have to call on outside help.
And I don't mean Oprah.
Oprah told me to ask myself a bunch of questions. I don't remember what any of them were except for one: What are you hungry for?
Don't ask me why I suddenly decided that I should listen to Oprah; but before I went to bed last night, I sat down with a pen and notebook and seriously asked myself the question, "What are you hungry for, Kari?"
I started listing things, before each one saying: I'm hungry for. . . or I'm hungry to. . . and by the time I was done I had a list of over 20 things. If I was going to try to be honest and introspective with myself, I figured I would really write it. No matter how trivial.
Oprah didn't tell me what to do next. So I lie there in my bed and looked at my list. It occured to me that only 2 things on my entire list were things in the realm of my control.
2.
Out of 20.
So here's what I took away from it: I am a very hungry person.
But I can physically and mentally only satisfy 10% of my hunger. That leaves me (mathematically) hungry 90% of the time.
I'm thinking that Oprah wanted people to find the source of their hunger so they could conquer it. When you seek what you are truly hungry for, you will not want to fill it with food.
So here's where you step in and say, "Ah, but Kari! That's what's so great! God's word is your daily bread! Your hunger and thirst for righteousness will fill you up!"
Yeah, I already thought of that. That's 5% of my 10. I can't be full on God's word if it's not the only thing I'm hungry for. I've still got 18 other hungers that I can't satiate. Therefore, either I'm always going to fill the need to fill up, or I'm always going to feel empty.
So, literally or figuratively, this is my wisdom:
Next time I'm reaching for food (out of boredom) I need to try to remember what I'm hungry for. Is eating this going to fill me with God's word? Is it going to make me a stronger runner? Is it going to keep my brother healthy? Is it going to give me Michigan? Is it going to de-clutter my parent's house?
I can fill my stomach only so full. But because I listened to Oprah I now have a much better understanding of why I'm not often satisfied. It's because I'm still hungry. And I have to accept that while it's okay to be hungry for things I can't change, no amount of healthy or unhealthy fuel will fill that void. I have to call on outside help.
And I don't mean Oprah.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
A Serious Addiction
Everyone has a vice. Some are serious, others may be considered trivial. Some require counseling, others just some good old-fashioned will-power.
My current vice is an addiction. It's one that has only spawned as of very recently; but I can't seem to shake the urge. The urge to watch all of the Rocky movies.
Go ahead, get your giggles out. I am addicted to Rocky.
I can honestly say I never (ever) had any desire to watch the Rocky movies, but something inside me was pricked earlier this summer. A good friend stared at me in disbelief when I told him I'd never seen any of the movies and he announced that we would have a Rocky-Thon when I came back to Michigan over Christmas break. I agreed--mostly because with this particular friend there is always much fun had, no matter what we are doing.
Building up from this summer until this December was the anticipation of watching the Rocky movies; and inexplicably the excitement was mounting. I wanted to see them.
Fast forward to Christmas Eve. I hadn't heard from my friend about our Rocky-Thon, and the movies happened to be on television that night in marathon form. Apparently, that was the best way to watch them. I had missed Rocky I, but I tuned in just in time for the beginning of Rocky II. The movie began, and I had been getting so much greif from my brother and brother in-law about how stupid the movies were I wasn't expecting that much.
However, the movie started, and I was loving it. Not just liking it. Not just okay. I was thoroughly enjoying every single second of it. I was laughing, I was on the edge of my seat, I was in total awe.
I ended up falling asleep shortly into the 3rd movie--but not from boredom. Simply because it was 2 o'clock in the morning, and I was getting very tired of having to turn the volume up during the movie and down during the commercials. That Friday night around 8:30 I called my friend and asked if we could still do the Rocky-Thon even though I was leaving Sunday morning, and Saturday was his birthday. He walked into the front door of my house ten minutes later; and thus began one of the most memorable nights of my life. The beginning of my new-found addiction.
Here's what I love about Rocky:
First, and most obviously, I love the entire basis of his career and fame. I love that even though he didn't win the initial fight with Apollo, what made him a hero was that he kept getting up. He did the impossible, and out-lasted any former opponent. There is something really powerful about that to me. The fact that even though you lose the battle, the war isn't lost. Rocky did something that no other professional fighter had done; and it was enough to make an impact.
Secondly, I love the character of Rocky. I loved that he was just a good guy. He wasn't a jerk, or a punk. He respected people, tried to set an example, and did his best to be his best. He wasn't too bright, but he never got cocky (save his initial TKO in Rocky III). I was honestly very surprised by the humility Rocky maintained throughout the series. I loved his initial innocence with Adrian and trying to woo her. He would just tell her jokes, and try to walk her home. I loved the gentleness she brought out in him, and the development of their entire relationship. I loved how hard he worked when they ran out of money. And I love how nothing was below him, even though he had won fame.
Next, I love the relationship between Adrian and Rocky. I liked her blunt honesty with him, and her ability to be a rock for him while being so understated. When he asked her if she needed help she said, "yes." When he asked her if he looked dumb, she told him. I enjoyed watching Adrian come out of her shell and grow into a strong woman who stood by her husband. I like how she provided strength for him, and he helped her realize her own strength.
Finally, I really really was impressed by the writing. I love that there was so much wit and punch (especially in the first two) to the dialogue. I love that Sylvester Stallone was clever enough to write so well that he could make things come out of Rocky's mouth be so completely innocent and idiotic; but yet so terribly witty and hilarious. I love the part in Rocky II where he says, "you like having a good time, don't you? Then you need a good watch." I love the wordplay there. I laughed every time Rocky told somebody he was proud of him. Or, "good job!" But Stallone was able to keep us believing that he innocently was just saying something casual.
Being such a classic movie, I never realized how many allusions TV shows and movies make to the Rocky series. I have been catching little things here and there on TV all week. I have been constantly reminded of Rocky ever since, and have wanted to watch them again. And I don't want to pick--I want to watch them all (even though Rocky II is easily my favorite). I've decided that I'm going to save up my tutoring money that I make so I can buy them. I will do my best to not spend every waking moment watching Rocky--but I feel like I need to make up for my 25 years of life never having watched them at all. :)
Here's to heroes.
Here's to putting hope in the good guy.
Here's to inspiration.
And here's to not fighting an addiction.
May there be many more viewings of Rocky to come!
My current vice is an addiction. It's one that has only spawned as of very recently; but I can't seem to shake the urge. The urge to watch all of the Rocky movies.
Go ahead, get your giggles out. I am addicted to Rocky.
I can honestly say I never (ever) had any desire to watch the Rocky movies, but something inside me was pricked earlier this summer. A good friend stared at me in disbelief when I told him I'd never seen any of the movies and he announced that we would have a Rocky-Thon when I came back to Michigan over Christmas break. I agreed--mostly because with this particular friend there is always much fun had, no matter what we are doing.
Building up from this summer until this December was the anticipation of watching the Rocky movies; and inexplicably the excitement was mounting. I wanted to see them.
Fast forward to Christmas Eve. I hadn't heard from my friend about our Rocky-Thon, and the movies happened to be on television that night in marathon form. Apparently, that was the best way to watch them. I had missed Rocky I, but I tuned in just in time for the beginning of Rocky II. The movie began, and I had been getting so much greif from my brother and brother in-law about how stupid the movies were I wasn't expecting that much.
However, the movie started, and I was loving it. Not just liking it. Not just okay. I was thoroughly enjoying every single second of it. I was laughing, I was on the edge of my seat, I was in total awe.
I ended up falling asleep shortly into the 3rd movie--but not from boredom. Simply because it was 2 o'clock in the morning, and I was getting very tired of having to turn the volume up during the movie and down during the commercials. That Friday night around 8:30 I called my friend and asked if we could still do the Rocky-Thon even though I was leaving Sunday morning, and Saturday was his birthday. He walked into the front door of my house ten minutes later; and thus began one of the most memorable nights of my life. The beginning of my new-found addiction.
Here's what I love about Rocky:
First, and most obviously, I love the entire basis of his career and fame. I love that even though he didn't win the initial fight with Apollo, what made him a hero was that he kept getting up. He did the impossible, and out-lasted any former opponent. There is something really powerful about that to me. The fact that even though you lose the battle, the war isn't lost. Rocky did something that no other professional fighter had done; and it was enough to make an impact.
Secondly, I love the character of Rocky. I loved that he was just a good guy. He wasn't a jerk, or a punk. He respected people, tried to set an example, and did his best to be his best. He wasn't too bright, but he never got cocky (save his initial TKO in Rocky III). I was honestly very surprised by the humility Rocky maintained throughout the series. I loved his initial innocence with Adrian and trying to woo her. He would just tell her jokes, and try to walk her home. I loved the gentleness she brought out in him, and the development of their entire relationship. I loved how hard he worked when they ran out of money. And I love how nothing was below him, even though he had won fame.
Next, I love the relationship between Adrian and Rocky. I liked her blunt honesty with him, and her ability to be a rock for him while being so understated. When he asked her if she needed help she said, "yes." When he asked her if he looked dumb, she told him. I enjoyed watching Adrian come out of her shell and grow into a strong woman who stood by her husband. I like how she provided strength for him, and he helped her realize her own strength.
Finally, I really really was impressed by the writing. I love that there was so much wit and punch (especially in the first two) to the dialogue. I love that Sylvester Stallone was clever enough to write so well that he could make things come out of Rocky's mouth be so completely innocent and idiotic; but yet so terribly witty and hilarious. I love the part in Rocky II where he says, "you like having a good time, don't you? Then you need a good watch." I love the wordplay there. I laughed every time Rocky told somebody he was proud of him. Or, "good job!" But Stallone was able to keep us believing that he innocently was just saying something casual.
Being such a classic movie, I never realized how many allusions TV shows and movies make to the Rocky series. I have been catching little things here and there on TV all week. I have been constantly reminded of Rocky ever since, and have wanted to watch them again. And I don't want to pick--I want to watch them all (even though Rocky II is easily my favorite). I've decided that I'm going to save up my tutoring money that I make so I can buy them. I will do my best to not spend every waking moment watching Rocky--but I feel like I need to make up for my 25 years of life never having watched them at all. :)
Here's to heroes.
Here's to putting hope in the good guy.
Here's to inspiration.
And here's to not fighting an addiction.
May there be many more viewings of Rocky to come!
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