Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I have spent some time remembering how much I love Christmas Eve.
In my own experience, my favorite family traditions occurred on Christmas Eve. We always had a good meal; some years prepared solely by us kids. I particularly remember the year that I made lasagna and my youngest brother John made three lemon meringue pies. We always watched the Santa Alert and were completely convinced by the news anchor that Santa was indeed, making his way over the mid-west and would be in our neighborhood soon.
For many years, we acted out the Christmas story to the amusement of the myriad of guests we invited into our home. It seemed that Marty was always Mary and I was the angel bringing good tidings of great joy. John was Baby Jesus a few times and Gil always looked good as a shepherd or as Joseph. In the recent past, we have spent Christmas Eve decorating the tree and laughing at all the crazy ornaments we have all collected over the years. That is one thing we are never lacking in our family, something to talk and laugh about.
But my favorite Christmas Eve tradition that we carried on for years and years was that all of us kids piled into the same bed and stayed up all night talking and laughing. When we were younger, we all fit pretty well into a bed but as we got bigger, we would run mom and dad out of their room and pile into their king size bed for the night. Later, we had to be satisfied that we could all fit in the same room, some in beds, others on the floor. But no matter what, we were all together and it was fun.
To me, it was as if the magic Christmas lights cast some sort of spell on us. Usually, if the four of us were in close quarters, like a car or the dinner table or the pugh at church, there would be some sort of scuffle :) Brothers and sisters are like that, always picking and playing, I'm sure at the exhaustion of my parents! But not on Christmas Eve, I can't remember one fight or skirmish on those evenings. And whether my memory is completely accurate or not, those moments of togetherness are dear and sacred to me.
Of course, time passes and lives change. There had to be that first year when we weren't all together for our Christmas Eve slumber party. I was serving as a full time missionary and was in Colorado. I was happy to be a missionary but missed the fun and the togetherness. Since then, there have been less Christmas Eve slumber parties. We've added new siblings to our family, a brother-in-law and a sister-in-law, and now there are two new little Shaw grandbabies crawling around, adding their own light to the magic of Christmas Eve.
This year, Christmas Eve will be quiet. Instead of being Mary in our play this year, Marty will be at her in-laws, cuddling her own beautiful daughter and pondering those things in her heart. And our little brother John, who played the Baby Jesus not so long ago, is serving our country in Iraq. Yes, Christmas Eve will be different. Holidays tend to highlight the changes in life and be painful for us. I'm sure my mom is a little sad that all of us won't be piled in a bed in the next room this Christmas Eve and I know my sister-in-law is sad that John won't be here to play Santa for Riley's first Christmas.
Yes, it will be different but the Reason we celebrate on Christmas Eve will be the same. That's what brings the joy and light to this season of the year. And even though the years will pass and things will change, the light and love the we can receive from that Holy Infant born so long ago will never fade or change. I am so thankful to know that Christ was born and lived and still lives to lift and love us all.
I hope that each day of each year that passes for us all can be filled with a bit of the true Christmas Spirit - the Spirit of perfect love and sacrifice. That way, no matter what changes occur, our hearts can be filled with the peace and happiness knowing that with our hearts filled with His love, we can spend our days and nights knowing that all is calm and all is bright.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Thursday, December 9, 2004
"I just saw you naked!"
I have definitely concluded that until I have a somewhat less chaotic life, I will have to reduce my publication of the Flicted Friend to once or twice a month! I apologize for yet another delinquent issue. However, I hope this one is well worth the wait :)
You never know who's watching you. That is a lesson that I am learning over and over again. No matter what it is that people see you do, the fact remains that there is always someone watching. I don't know what it is that gives me that false sense of total privacy but in the end, it is just a dream, because Someone is always watching.
This past weekend was one of those emotional roller coasters. After a very long week at work, I had a major confrontation with my boss on Friday. I stood my ground on some very important issues and it took every ounce of emotional energy I had to be firm and assertive and not let myself be bowled over. I was able to hold it together long enough to make it to the car and then proceeded to cry as I drove the entire 24.6 miles of I-40 between work and my apartment. It was one of those good cries, too. You know what I mean, when you can't catch your breath and about every five minutes a fresh rip tide of emotion pulls you under and if you fight it, it only makes it worse :)
I made it home without incident, and sat in my car trying to catch my breath. I pulled myself together and rushed up to pack a bag and head off to a very anticipated slumber party with a group of great girl friends. However, the emotional exhaustion made me a real party pooper and I don't think I added much to the evening as I continued to ponder and pout about my poor self and situation. Plus, my emotions were so raw, I found myself laughing too loudly and even snorting once or twice at dinner as the conversations turned silly, which only added to my complete embarassment and exhaustion! The highlight of the night came as I received a Backstreet Boys video as a white elephant gift. Around 1:30 AM, we all fell asleep, piled on the floor in our sleeping bags. I was so tired that when I woke up the next morning, I realized that I hadn't moved positions all night and had an impression of the zipper of my sleeping bag across my face.
In the morning, I showered quickly and rushed off to the next event, a photo shoot with my sisters and nieces. For the next hour, I made crazy noises and faces at my one-year-old nieces in hopes of evoking a smile or laugh. It was so much fun and I look forward to when they are sixteen and can remind them how they were when they were one. We all had lunch together and then I went to the movies with my dad and sister-in-law, something I hadn't done in a long time and had forgotten how much I enjoyed.
At 4:00 PM, I was in my car, on my way back to Chapel Hill. I would have just enough time to change my clothes and meet some friends to ride to our church Christmas party. Between the puffy eyes from the extensive blubbering the day before and the lack of sleep, I had a hard time keeping my eyes open as I drove. But I made it back and wheeled my car into a space in front of our apartment building. I made it upstairs and into my room where I promptly took off the shirt I was wearing and stood in front of my closet, completely overwhelmed with what to wear. After about a minute of staring at my less than thrilling options, I picked something comfortable threw it over my head. I was still standing in front of my closet when my roommate and her friend came in the door.
As they made their way into the apartment, my roommate said loudly, "Tracy, I just saw you naked!"
Pause.
What do you say to someone who says, "I just saw you naked!"
I said with a sarcastic laugh, "Oh, that's so great!" I mean, really, what else is there to say! It wasn't so bad, I was partially clothed so the naked part was a bit of an exaggeration, but still, it certainly wasn't my favorite thing to hear.
Evidently, the blinds covering the window were turned the wrong way and although they partially blocked the view, there was still much to be seen. Like I said, someone is always watching and complete privacy is a dream. As I reflected, I realized that my blinds have been down but turned up ever since I moved into the apartment in May. Who knows who else has been looking at the opportune, or should I say inopportune, moment? I guess I'll never know and really, I don't want to know!
So, what have I learned? Well, I have certainly learned that there is always someone watching and that total privacy is myth. But, when I think about it, that's ok. I'm glad Someone was watching on Friday as I cried all the way home from work because Someone made sure that I was surrounded by good friends to lift my spirits and make me laugh. I was glad that Someone was watching while I spent time with my family because Someone made sure that I felt the special love that we share as we laughed and talked and acted silly. I know Someone was watching as I drove home, tired and exhausted because Someone made sure that I got home safely. And I'm glad that Someone was watching as I changed my shirt because Someone made sure that my roommate was the one who saw me and told me that I needed to adjust my blinds to prevent any other embarrassing moments :) Yes, Someone is always watching and when it comes down to it, I'm so glad.
You never know who's watching you. That is a lesson that I am learning over and over again. No matter what it is that people see you do, the fact remains that there is always someone watching. I don't know what it is that gives me that false sense of total privacy but in the end, it is just a dream, because Someone is always watching.
This past weekend was one of those emotional roller coasters. After a very long week at work, I had a major confrontation with my boss on Friday. I stood my ground on some very important issues and it took every ounce of emotional energy I had to be firm and assertive and not let myself be bowled over. I was able to hold it together long enough to make it to the car and then proceeded to cry as I drove the entire 24.6 miles of I-40 between work and my apartment. It was one of those good cries, too. You know what I mean, when you can't catch your breath and about every five minutes a fresh rip tide of emotion pulls you under and if you fight it, it only makes it worse :)
I made it home without incident, and sat in my car trying to catch my breath. I pulled myself together and rushed up to pack a bag and head off to a very anticipated slumber party with a group of great girl friends. However, the emotional exhaustion made me a real party pooper and I don't think I added much to the evening as I continued to ponder and pout about my poor self and situation. Plus, my emotions were so raw, I found myself laughing too loudly and even snorting once or twice at dinner as the conversations turned silly, which only added to my complete embarassment and exhaustion! The highlight of the night came as I received a Backstreet Boys video as a white elephant gift. Around 1:30 AM, we all fell asleep, piled on the floor in our sleeping bags. I was so tired that when I woke up the next morning, I realized that I hadn't moved positions all night and had an impression of the zipper of my sleeping bag across my face.
In the morning, I showered quickly and rushed off to the next event, a photo shoot with my sisters and nieces. For the next hour, I made crazy noises and faces at my one-year-old nieces in hopes of evoking a smile or laugh. It was so much fun and I look forward to when they are sixteen and can remind them how they were when they were one. We all had lunch together and then I went to the movies with my dad and sister-in-law, something I hadn't done in a long time and had forgotten how much I enjoyed.
At 4:00 PM, I was in my car, on my way back to Chapel Hill. I would have just enough time to change my clothes and meet some friends to ride to our church Christmas party. Between the puffy eyes from the extensive blubbering the day before and the lack of sleep, I had a hard time keeping my eyes open as I drove. But I made it back and wheeled my car into a space in front of our apartment building. I made it upstairs and into my room where I promptly took off the shirt I was wearing and stood in front of my closet, completely overwhelmed with what to wear. After about a minute of staring at my less than thrilling options, I picked something comfortable threw it over my head. I was still standing in front of my closet when my roommate and her friend came in the door.
As they made their way into the apartment, my roommate said loudly, "Tracy, I just saw you naked!"
Pause.
What do you say to someone who says, "I just saw you naked!"
I said with a sarcastic laugh, "Oh, that's so great!" I mean, really, what else is there to say! It wasn't so bad, I was partially clothed so the naked part was a bit of an exaggeration, but still, it certainly wasn't my favorite thing to hear.
Evidently, the blinds covering the window were turned the wrong way and although they partially blocked the view, there was still much to be seen. Like I said, someone is always watching and complete privacy is a dream. As I reflected, I realized that my blinds have been down but turned up ever since I moved into the apartment in May. Who knows who else has been looking at the opportune, or should I say inopportune, moment? I guess I'll never know and really, I don't want to know!
So, what have I learned? Well, I have certainly learned that there is always someone watching and that total privacy is myth. But, when I think about it, that's ok. I'm glad Someone was watching on Friday as I cried all the way home from work because Someone made sure that I was surrounded by good friends to lift my spirits and make me laugh. I was glad that Someone was watching while I spent time with my family because Someone made sure that I felt the special love that we share as we laughed and talked and acted silly. I know Someone was watching as I drove home, tired and exhausted because Someone made sure that I got home safely. And I'm glad that Someone was watching as I changed my shirt because Someone made sure that my roommate was the one who saw me and told me that I needed to adjust my blinds to prevent any other embarrassing moments :) Yes, Someone is always watching and when it comes down to it, I'm so glad.
Monday, November 15, 2004
The Electric Slide and the panty hose
Movies have ruined me. You know what I mean. The perfect moment, the perfect exchange of words, the perfect music playing in the background, the perfect resolution to the drama and the perfect ending. I live in reality, yet I am convinced that my life should play out like a movie and when it doesn't, I am left to wonder what happened! I have even gone as far as to pick what music would be playing in the background of some of the more dramatic scenes in my life. I don't know if my life as a movie would be a blockbuster hit, but it would certainly be hysterical! Yep, movies have ruined me.
I am sure that all of you have had those perfect moments in time when, like the movies, all things conspire for your good and everything goes exactly like you planned. Those are what I call "movie moments." In my world, I must admit that I have been blessed with many movie moments. However, I have found that in the time surrounding these moments is when my flictedness is most apparent and I am reminded, yet again, that my life is not like the movies, nor should it be :)
Before I continue, I must mention the fact that I have been blessed with the greatest friends and family in the entire world. They all love and care for me in so many ways and this fact becomes more evident to me everyday I am still here to live and breathe and love and learn. My love for these dear souls will be an emerging theme as you follow the life of the Flicted Friend.
So, let me illustrate by sharing two experiences, one happened just this weekend and the other, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . .
On Friday night, I had a lengthy conversation with a dear friend. My heart was full and somewhat heavy and this friend listened and shared with love and concern. It was very meaningful to me. In the end, my heart was lifted and I felt renewed. It was a movie moment.
After the conversation, I hopped out of the car and walked to the stairs leading up to my apartment door. I started up the stairs, head held a little higher and a slight spring in my step. However, my shoes were a little loose and my newfound stride was a bit too quick. I tripped on one of the last stairs and stumbled up to the landing. No damaged ankles or wrists but I was left to laugh out loud at my anti-climatic, less that triumphant resolution to the evening.
Upon entering my apartment, I was left to consider other such scenes in my past. That bobble reminded me of another moment in my not-so-movie-like life.
Take your minds back to May 1988. I was finishing my eighth grade year at Biscoe Middle School. Like most schools, we had our share of somewhat silly traditions. The eighth grade prom was one: the country club, the dance, the dress, the date, the pictures, the parents, and so on. At that moment in time, it was an important event in my life and so it had the potential to become one of those movie moments.
I had found the perfect dress: knee-length, powder blue with white polka dots and a poofy skirt supported by many yards of crinoline. I had chosen to accessorize this magnificent dress with a pink cumber bun and a pair of two-inch, pink heels. (It was the late eighties so I wouldn't have looked like a clown for another decade :)
The night came and my parents dropped me off at the country club. The foreshadowing couldn't have been more obvious as I wobbled in those two-inch heels up the stairs and into the gala event. After about ten minutes in those shoes, I had had my fill of life in a pair of heels. They were neatly tucked with my other things under a chair in the corner. I was left, scurrying around to all my friends in my stocking feet. The dance played out like most middle school dances, a beautiful blend of awkwardness and silliness sprinkled with bursts of fun and laughter. Most of the details are fuzzy except for the Electric Slide.
The music came on and for one brief moment, everyone was dancing. I think about it now and I am laughing so hard, I am crying. Imagine a room full of fourteen-year-olds doing the Electric Slide in a myriad of bad eighties clothes while teachers and parents watched with awe. Well, you can all imagine where I was: in the front, leading the group, laughing and singing loudly. It was a lot of fun, a movie moment.
However, as I have been reminded over and over again, my life is not like the movies. In the middle of the song, on one of the turns or steps or shuffles, the hard wood floors and the stocking feet conspired against me and I found myself, in a heap, on the floor, poofy skirt, pink cumber bun and all.
I suppose it could have been a tragedy and I could have left crying and humiliated but what good would that have done? I got up, and finished the song and learned an important lesson about two-inch heels, stocking feet and hard wood floors. It was even rumored that one of the parents had gotten the whole thing on tape, which I still have never seen, but perhaps someday it will surface :)
In all honesty, I am grateful for these not-so-movie-like experiences. In a way, they have been the building blocks to my character. So what if I fell down at the eighth grade prom or the million and one other bobbles I have made in my days on the planet? It's not like I'm not going to quit falling. It's hysterical and is just reminder that I shouldn't take myself too seriously. Plus, every time I fall, I have a choice. I can either get up, laugh and keep dancing or quit and go home. Most times, I keep laughing and dancing. I think if my life were a movie, people would much rather see someone get up and keep going rather than quit. And, I suppose if that is the case, maybe some of my not-so-move-like-flicted-moments are actually real movie moments after all!
I am sure that all of you have had those perfect moments in time when, like the movies, all things conspire for your good and everything goes exactly like you planned. Those are what I call "movie moments." In my world, I must admit that I have been blessed with many movie moments. However, I have found that in the time surrounding these moments is when my flictedness is most apparent and I am reminded, yet again, that my life is not like the movies, nor should it be :)
Before I continue, I must mention the fact that I have been blessed with the greatest friends and family in the entire world. They all love and care for me in so many ways and this fact becomes more evident to me everyday I am still here to live and breathe and love and learn. My love for these dear souls will be an emerging theme as you follow the life of the Flicted Friend.
So, let me illustrate by sharing two experiences, one happened just this weekend and the other, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . .
On Friday night, I had a lengthy conversation with a dear friend. My heart was full and somewhat heavy and this friend listened and shared with love and concern. It was very meaningful to me. In the end, my heart was lifted and I felt renewed. It was a movie moment.
After the conversation, I hopped out of the car and walked to the stairs leading up to my apartment door. I started up the stairs, head held a little higher and a slight spring in my step. However, my shoes were a little loose and my newfound stride was a bit too quick. I tripped on one of the last stairs and stumbled up to the landing. No damaged ankles or wrists but I was left to laugh out loud at my anti-climatic, less that triumphant resolution to the evening.
Upon entering my apartment, I was left to consider other such scenes in my past. That bobble reminded me of another moment in my not-so-movie-like life.
Take your minds back to May 1988. I was finishing my eighth grade year at Biscoe Middle School. Like most schools, we had our share of somewhat silly traditions. The eighth grade prom was one: the country club, the dance, the dress, the date, the pictures, the parents, and so on. At that moment in time, it was an important event in my life and so it had the potential to become one of those movie moments.
I had found the perfect dress: knee-length, powder blue with white polka dots and a poofy skirt supported by many yards of crinoline. I had chosen to accessorize this magnificent dress with a pink cumber bun and a pair of two-inch, pink heels. (It was the late eighties so I wouldn't have looked like a clown for another decade :)
The night came and my parents dropped me off at the country club. The foreshadowing couldn't have been more obvious as I wobbled in those two-inch heels up the stairs and into the gala event. After about ten minutes in those shoes, I had had my fill of life in a pair of heels. They were neatly tucked with my other things under a chair in the corner. I was left, scurrying around to all my friends in my stocking feet. The dance played out like most middle school dances, a beautiful blend of awkwardness and silliness sprinkled with bursts of fun and laughter. Most of the details are fuzzy except for the Electric Slide.
The music came on and for one brief moment, everyone was dancing. I think about it now and I am laughing so hard, I am crying. Imagine a room full of fourteen-year-olds doing the Electric Slide in a myriad of bad eighties clothes while teachers and parents watched with awe. Well, you can all imagine where I was: in the front, leading the group, laughing and singing loudly. It was a lot of fun, a movie moment.
However, as I have been reminded over and over again, my life is not like the movies. In the middle of the song, on one of the turns or steps or shuffles, the hard wood floors and the stocking feet conspired against me and I found myself, in a heap, on the floor, poofy skirt, pink cumber bun and all.
I suppose it could have been a tragedy and I could have left crying and humiliated but what good would that have done? I got up, and finished the song and learned an important lesson about two-inch heels, stocking feet and hard wood floors. It was even rumored that one of the parents had gotten the whole thing on tape, which I still have never seen, but perhaps someday it will surface :)
In all honesty, I am grateful for these not-so-movie-like experiences. In a way, they have been the building blocks to my character. So what if I fell down at the eighth grade prom or the million and one other bobbles I have made in my days on the planet? It's not like I'm not going to quit falling. It's hysterical and is just reminder that I shouldn't take myself too seriously. Plus, every time I fall, I have a choice. I can either get up, laugh and keep dancing or quit and go home. Most times, I keep laughing and dancing. I think if my life were a movie, people would much rather see someone get up and keep going rather than quit. And, I suppose if that is the case, maybe some of my not-so-move-like-flicted-moments are actually real movie moments after all!
Friday, November 12, 2004
The magic of a field trip
I apologize for another delinquent issue. I am glad I don't work for a newspaper. I have been having a hard time finding the minutes that it takes to write something worth reading, which is still debatable!
This week, I reflected on the wonder and amazement of what a good field trip can do for the amount of joy felt in one's life. On Wednesday, I had to pick up some paper work from the Department of Adminstration office building. Since it was such a beautiful day, I decided to walk. I had a lot on my mind so I walked slowly, having a dialogue with myself, of course. When I talk to myself, I try to do it all in my head so no one will realize that I'm having a conversation with myself :)
On the way back, I walked even slower, not wanting to return to work on such a beautiful day. My pace was barely a stroll and as I looked around, I noticed all the school buses in the parking lots. I remembered all the cool stuff to see in downtown Raleigh: the musuems, the North Carolina history sites, the government officials and buildings. It is quite a city.
I remembered how fun our class trip to Raleigh in the 8th grade had been. Mr. Smith, our Social Studies teacher, had wanted us to appreciate it so much more than we could at age 13. I chuckled at myself because I remembered being a ball of teenage emotion and worrying about who I would sit next to on the bus trip. I remembered that the boy I loved sat next to another girl on the bus which made me jealous. Then my best friend sat with me and we talked about the usual worries of 13 year-olds (boys, friends, high school, etc.). I felt accepted and loved.
According to the pictures I have of that day, the boy I loved walked around with me for part of the day because part of him is in every picture I took. I also have a picture of us sitting together at McDonald's when we stopped on the way home, proof that the trip wasn't a total loss!
I kept walking and decided to sit down in my favorite park. A school group was using the park and picnic tables to eat their lunches and so I watched for awhile. It looked like a young middle school group, probably sixth graders, on the cusp of puberty: insecure yet still able to give in to fun of a game of tag. It was fun to watch and remember.
I noticed one boy who was walking on the edge of the mayhem. He was chubby and walked slowly. I could tell he wanted to be a part but was afraid. My heart went out to him, I knew how he felt. I watched as he kept walking around. He made his way over to three girls playing in the leaves under a huge tree.
These girls were picking up arm fulls of leaves and throwing them into the air and laughing as the leaves rained down on them. Over and over, picking up leaves, tossing them into the air, and laughing. It looked like the best time and I wanted to join them myself!
This little boy slowly approached them and in my heart, I was afraid for him. I knew he wanted to play and they were having so much fun. I watched as he walked up and I said a little prayer in my heart that these little girls would include him and let him play. There was a moment of pause in the tossing of leaves, a few words were exchanged, and then the tossing continued with four kids tossing and laughing.
It was a little miracle to watch. I was happy for that little boy and I was proud of those little girls. I am glad that when they are 30 years old and they have a moment of nostalgia about their class trip to Raleigh, they will remember fun with friends and feeling accepted by others.
Field trips can definitely be a source of much joy in life. Going away to have fun with people you know and love. I suppose this life itself could be considered one field trip afer another, always changing, always going somewhere new, with those I know and love and always making precious memories. Those memories are what warms me when the chill of despair or sadness settles on my heart. I can't help but be warmed when I think about all the good memories of people and places that I have known and loved. What a great trip this has been!
This week, I reflected on the wonder and amazement of what a good field trip can do for the amount of joy felt in one's life. On Wednesday, I had to pick up some paper work from the Department of Adminstration office building. Since it was such a beautiful day, I decided to walk. I had a lot on my mind so I walked slowly, having a dialogue with myself, of course. When I talk to myself, I try to do it all in my head so no one will realize that I'm having a conversation with myself :)
On the way back, I walked even slower, not wanting to return to work on such a beautiful day. My pace was barely a stroll and as I looked around, I noticed all the school buses in the parking lots. I remembered all the cool stuff to see in downtown Raleigh: the musuems, the North Carolina history sites, the government officials and buildings. It is quite a city.
I remembered how fun our class trip to Raleigh in the 8th grade had been. Mr. Smith, our Social Studies teacher, had wanted us to appreciate it so much more than we could at age 13. I chuckled at myself because I remembered being a ball of teenage emotion and worrying about who I would sit next to on the bus trip. I remembered that the boy I loved sat next to another girl on the bus which made me jealous. Then my best friend sat with me and we talked about the usual worries of 13 year-olds (boys, friends, high school, etc.). I felt accepted and loved.
According to the pictures I have of that day, the boy I loved walked around with me for part of the day because part of him is in every picture I took. I also have a picture of us sitting together at McDonald's when we stopped on the way home, proof that the trip wasn't a total loss!
I kept walking and decided to sit down in my favorite park. A school group was using the park and picnic tables to eat their lunches and so I watched for awhile. It looked like a young middle school group, probably sixth graders, on the cusp of puberty: insecure yet still able to give in to fun of a game of tag. It was fun to watch and remember.
I noticed one boy who was walking on the edge of the mayhem. He was chubby and walked slowly. I could tell he wanted to be a part but was afraid. My heart went out to him, I knew how he felt. I watched as he kept walking around. He made his way over to three girls playing in the leaves under a huge tree.
These girls were picking up arm fulls of leaves and throwing them into the air and laughing as the leaves rained down on them. Over and over, picking up leaves, tossing them into the air, and laughing. It looked like the best time and I wanted to join them myself!
This little boy slowly approached them and in my heart, I was afraid for him. I knew he wanted to play and they were having so much fun. I watched as he walked up and I said a little prayer in my heart that these little girls would include him and let him play. There was a moment of pause in the tossing of leaves, a few words were exchanged, and then the tossing continued with four kids tossing and laughing.
It was a little miracle to watch. I was happy for that little boy and I was proud of those little girls. I am glad that when they are 30 years old and they have a moment of nostalgia about their class trip to Raleigh, they will remember fun with friends and feeling accepted by others.
Field trips can definitely be a source of much joy in life. Going away to have fun with people you know and love. I suppose this life itself could be considered one field trip afer another, always changing, always going somewhere new, with those I know and love and always making precious memories. Those memories are what warms me when the chill of despair or sadness settles on my heart. I can't help but be warmed when I think about all the good memories of people and places that I have known and loved. What a great trip this has been!
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Just dance
My parents are the greatest parents in the entire world. I can say that because they are my parents. They made sure that I had a childhood filled with many great and wonderful experiences. The list goes on and on - piano lessons, a trampoline, little league baseball, horseback riding lessons and of course - dance lessons.
I, like most little girls, had visions of grandeur - to be a beautiful ballerina on a stage, twirling in a tutu to beautiful music while everyone oohs and ahhs. So at age eight, mom enrolled my sister and me in a dance class.
Under the tutelage of Mrs. Bowers, I made great efforts to make my mark on the dancing world. My first jazz routine was to Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl." And boy was I ever! Every time I hear that song now, I can almost see myself in my purple leotard and shiny purple sleeves with the silver fringe, strutin' my stuff across that stage. Even though the audience was filled with people who had to clap and cheer, it was just as great as I had ever dreamed.
But life changes as you get older.
Unfortunately, my dancing career ended at the tender age of eleven. I am sure there were many reasons why I stopped taking dance lessons but the ones I can remember are not very good ones. Most of the reasons can be summed up into one word: insecurity. And even though I did a lot of other really awesome things like sports and clubs, I never danced again.
Until now.
In September, I enrolled in a beginner's jazz class at Ninth Street Dance. Now, every Saturday from 10 to 11 AM, I dance. At first, I was so apprehensive. I almost backed out a hundred times. I made myself write the check for the cost of the class and put it in the mail a whole month before the class started so I would have no excuses.
The first class was grueling. I had forgotten that I had so many muscles! One of our warm up routines involves holding a one-handed push-up postion for what seems like forever. Needless to say, upon my first attempt, I ended up kissing the floor, with a loud thump! But, no one seemed to notice so I picked myself up and tried again.
This past Saturday, our teacher watched as we worked through one of our warm-up routines and gave us each some individual pointers. When she got to me, I just knew she was going to say, "Give it up!" (Not really, but the disease of insecurity is a hard one to get rid of.) She pointed out that I was not letting my head and neck relax and because of that, my body was not following suit. She said if I would let my head go, the rest of the movements would be more open and fluid. "Your body will follow your head."
After that, I must have come up with a dozen reasons why I couldn't just let my head go. What if it hurt my neck or what if I fell down because of the momentum? How could I ever remember all the steps and remember to let my head go? What would the others think if I looked silly or what if I threw my head around so much, I broke my neck or something like that?! Then, it occurred to me that not only was I not getting the most out of the class, I was allowing myself to be controlled by the very insecurities that I had wanted to overcome by taking the class in the first place!
If I want to be a better dancer, I have to not only hear the advice of the one who knows how to dance, I have to DO what she says, no matter how insecure I might feel. That's life in a nutshell, really. Too many times I am satisfied with the fact that I have heard from the One who knows how to live this life. I let fear and insecurity rob me of the joys of actually living such a life. So what if I looked like a little grape in my purple jazz leotard, I was dancing and I was happy! Fear and insecurity had no place in my life as an eight-year-old, why should things be any different now? It shouldn't. I just have to remember, "Your body will follow your head," and see how it goes from there :)
I, like most little girls, had visions of grandeur - to be a beautiful ballerina on a stage, twirling in a tutu to beautiful music while everyone oohs and ahhs. So at age eight, mom enrolled my sister and me in a dance class.
Under the tutelage of Mrs. Bowers, I made great efforts to make my mark on the dancing world. My first jazz routine was to Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl." And boy was I ever! Every time I hear that song now, I can almost see myself in my purple leotard and shiny purple sleeves with the silver fringe, strutin' my stuff across that stage. Even though the audience was filled with people who had to clap and cheer, it was just as great as I had ever dreamed.
But life changes as you get older.
Unfortunately, my dancing career ended at the tender age of eleven. I am sure there were many reasons why I stopped taking dance lessons but the ones I can remember are not very good ones. Most of the reasons can be summed up into one word: insecurity. And even though I did a lot of other really awesome things like sports and clubs, I never danced again.
Until now.
In September, I enrolled in a beginner's jazz class at Ninth Street Dance. Now, every Saturday from 10 to 11 AM, I dance. At first, I was so apprehensive. I almost backed out a hundred times. I made myself write the check for the cost of the class and put it in the mail a whole month before the class started so I would have no excuses.
The first class was grueling. I had forgotten that I had so many muscles! One of our warm up routines involves holding a one-handed push-up postion for what seems like forever. Needless to say, upon my first attempt, I ended up kissing the floor, with a loud thump! But, no one seemed to notice so I picked myself up and tried again.
This past Saturday, our teacher watched as we worked through one of our warm-up routines and gave us each some individual pointers. When she got to me, I just knew she was going to say, "Give it up!" (Not really, but the disease of insecurity is a hard one to get rid of.) She pointed out that I was not letting my head and neck relax and because of that, my body was not following suit. She said if I would let my head go, the rest of the movements would be more open and fluid. "Your body will follow your head."
After that, I must have come up with a dozen reasons why I couldn't just let my head go. What if it hurt my neck or what if I fell down because of the momentum? How could I ever remember all the steps and remember to let my head go? What would the others think if I looked silly or what if I threw my head around so much, I broke my neck or something like that?! Then, it occurred to me that not only was I not getting the most out of the class, I was allowing myself to be controlled by the very insecurities that I had wanted to overcome by taking the class in the first place!
If I want to be a better dancer, I have to not only hear the advice of the one who knows how to dance, I have to DO what she says, no matter how insecure I might feel. That's life in a nutshell, really. Too many times I am satisfied with the fact that I have heard from the One who knows how to live this life. I let fear and insecurity rob me of the joys of actually living such a life. So what if I looked like a little grape in my purple jazz leotard, I was dancing and I was happy! Fear and insecurity had no place in my life as an eight-year-old, why should things be any different now? It shouldn't. I just have to remember, "Your body will follow your head," and see how it goes from there :)
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Skip the Cheerwine
So I know it's been three weeks. Don't worry, I'm still flicted. A nice mix of my own flictedness and some life experiences have given me pause. I have wanted to write so much but haven't found the right words. I think that this experience that I had this past week sums up what I'm learning pretty well. I hope I've found the right words.
I'm a native of North Carolina. I've spent the majority of my life here and I love it. However, in all my years as a citizen of the Ole North State, I have never been to the state fair. I know you all just gasped, "Thirty years of life lived as a citizen of North Carolina and she's never been to the fair?!" I know, it's just not right.
Well, this year, I decided to mend my ways and go to the fair. In fact, to prove to my fellow North Carolinians that I am serious about my heritage, I actually went twice. It was all I had expected, and more. I saw everything, and then I saw it again!
I milked a cow and I held some baby chickens. I loved the pygmy goats and the award winning crops. I didn't know pumpkins could get that big! My life has so much more meaning since I witnessed the racing pigs at the Hogway Speedway. I rooted for Piggy Gordon every time. The incredible craftsmanship at the Village of Yesteryear made me wish I had been born then, in a much simpler time when life was about hard work and survival. But then, I was glad I could walk out and down the midway and enjoy a $10 ride on the ferris wheel with my dearest friends.
And then, there was the food. The ham biscuits from the Cary United Methodist Church, the roasted corn, the funnel cake, the boiled peanuts, the ice cream from the State dairy, and of course, the fried everything, including the fried Snickers and the fried Twinkie. Yes, I even had some of a fried Twinkie.
Herein lies the life's lesson learned through my flictedness.
I wanted so much to enjoy this first fair experience. I had heard so many wonderful things about it and I had so many great expectations. In my eagerness to take it all in, I forgot most of what I have learned over the past two years of my life about moderation in ALL things. I figured that I could eat just like everybody else. Unfortunately, I am not like everybody else. I have a capacity issue :) Needless to say, I ate too much. In most people's world, this would mean a long ride home, with the top button on the jeans undone, and perhaps a restless night's sleep.
Not me. In my world, when it won't go down, it has to come up.
Of course, I spent the final thirty minutes to an hour of our outing walking around the fair with my friends pretending that I was just fine. I thought that if I could just keep walking, it would all go down. The crazy thing is that I almost made it. But they stopped for a Cheerwine on the way out and I love Cheerwine. Knowing full well my situation, I had a sip anyway. As we headed for the car, I knew I was in trouble.
We loaded up and drove one of our friends to her car. We found her car and she got out with our happy goodbyes. I just kept telling myself, "You can do it, you can keep it down." I think I was actually using some Lamaze techniques there for a moment, breathe in, breathe out, and focus. To no avail.
Half way down the parking lot, I asked my friend to stop the car so I could get out. I ran behind one car and then - NOTHING. It was horrible. I felt so bad but nothing. So, I ran back to the car and said I was OK. I was passed a plastic bag from the folks in back, just in case.
At this point there was a hush among my friends in the car. We pulled out of the lot and to the stoplight. And then there it was again - the sweaty teeth feeling and the aching jaw. So, I asked her again to pull over as we turned through the intersection, which she did promptly. I jumped out and ran behind a parked car and finally, relief.
Here's what I'm learning from this experience. I can pretend all I want but I'm not like everyone else. I've got limits. If I'm 100% honest with myself, I know those limits. There are times in life when no matter how good something is, I'll still have my limits. Still, there are some things that I want that are beyond those limits. But, no matter what I do, there are going to be some things in life that are great but I'm never going to be able to have, no matter how much I want them. Often, I'll have to be satisfied with just a taste. Experience will continue to be my mentor.
Of course, this was my first time at the fair. First times and new things are sometimes difficult to manage. No matter what others say and how great the expectations are, I will have to experience these things for myself and learn these lessons for my own experience and good. I'm so grateful to have been schooled so well. Now that I've had this experience, next time, I'll be wiser. (Well one can only hope!)
Even though I am pained deeply by the embarrassment of this flicted moment, the knowledge I've gained is invaluable. The solace to my soul in this moment was that this first fair experience was had with dear friends, who, despite my flictedness, love me still.
Of course, there's always next year. I have great hopes for next time. A little wiser and a lot more humble, I know that I will enjoy my next trip to the fair even more. Though there will never be another "first time at the fair" experience for me, the memory of this time will make the next experience even sweeter. I'm so grateful I can look forward with anticipation and back with no regrets.
I'm a native of North Carolina. I've spent the majority of my life here and I love it. However, in all my years as a citizen of the Ole North State, I have never been to the state fair. I know you all just gasped, "Thirty years of life lived as a citizen of North Carolina and she's never been to the fair?!" I know, it's just not right.
Well, this year, I decided to mend my ways and go to the fair. In fact, to prove to my fellow North Carolinians that I am serious about my heritage, I actually went twice. It was all I had expected, and more. I saw everything, and then I saw it again!
I milked a cow and I held some baby chickens. I loved the pygmy goats and the award winning crops. I didn't know pumpkins could get that big! My life has so much more meaning since I witnessed the racing pigs at the Hogway Speedway. I rooted for Piggy Gordon every time. The incredible craftsmanship at the Village of Yesteryear made me wish I had been born then, in a much simpler time when life was about hard work and survival. But then, I was glad I could walk out and down the midway and enjoy a $10 ride on the ferris wheel with my dearest friends.
And then, there was the food. The ham biscuits from the Cary United Methodist Church, the roasted corn, the funnel cake, the boiled peanuts, the ice cream from the State dairy, and of course, the fried everything, including the fried Snickers and the fried Twinkie. Yes, I even had some of a fried Twinkie.
Herein lies the life's lesson learned through my flictedness.
I wanted so much to enjoy this first fair experience. I had heard so many wonderful things about it and I had so many great expectations. In my eagerness to take it all in, I forgot most of what I have learned over the past two years of my life about moderation in ALL things. I figured that I could eat just like everybody else. Unfortunately, I am not like everybody else. I have a capacity issue :) Needless to say, I ate too much. In most people's world, this would mean a long ride home, with the top button on the jeans undone, and perhaps a restless night's sleep.
Not me. In my world, when it won't go down, it has to come up.
Of course, I spent the final thirty minutes to an hour of our outing walking around the fair with my friends pretending that I was just fine. I thought that if I could just keep walking, it would all go down. The crazy thing is that I almost made it. But they stopped for a Cheerwine on the way out and I love Cheerwine. Knowing full well my situation, I had a sip anyway. As we headed for the car, I knew I was in trouble.
We loaded up and drove one of our friends to her car. We found her car and she got out with our happy goodbyes. I just kept telling myself, "You can do it, you can keep it down." I think I was actually using some Lamaze techniques there for a moment, breathe in, breathe out, and focus. To no avail.
Half way down the parking lot, I asked my friend to stop the car so I could get out. I ran behind one car and then - NOTHING. It was horrible. I felt so bad but nothing. So, I ran back to the car and said I was OK. I was passed a plastic bag from the folks in back, just in case.
At this point there was a hush among my friends in the car. We pulled out of the lot and to the stoplight. And then there it was again - the sweaty teeth feeling and the aching jaw. So, I asked her again to pull over as we turned through the intersection, which she did promptly. I jumped out and ran behind a parked car and finally, relief.
Here's what I'm learning from this experience. I can pretend all I want but I'm not like everyone else. I've got limits. If I'm 100% honest with myself, I know those limits. There are times in life when no matter how good something is, I'll still have my limits. Still, there are some things that I want that are beyond those limits. But, no matter what I do, there are going to be some things in life that are great but I'm never going to be able to have, no matter how much I want them. Often, I'll have to be satisfied with just a taste. Experience will continue to be my mentor.
Of course, this was my first time at the fair. First times and new things are sometimes difficult to manage. No matter what others say and how great the expectations are, I will have to experience these things for myself and learn these lessons for my own experience and good. I'm so grateful to have been schooled so well. Now that I've had this experience, next time, I'll be wiser. (Well one can only hope!)
Even though I am pained deeply by the embarrassment of this flicted moment, the knowledge I've gained is invaluable. The solace to my soul in this moment was that this first fair experience was had with dear friends, who, despite my flictedness, love me still.
Of course, there's always next year. I have great hopes for next time. A little wiser and a lot more humble, I know that I will enjoy my next trip to the fair even more. Though there will never be another "first time at the fair" experience for me, the memory of this time will make the next experience even sweeter. I'm so grateful I can look forward with anticipation and back with no regrets.
Sunday, October 3, 2004
Oh ye of little faith...
I am a chronic worrier. At one time or another, I would wager that as many as 95% of you have had these words come out of your mouth, "Tracy, you worry too much." I used to list it as one of my talents until I realized that it was not something about my personality that needs to be developed and/or cultivated. It adds to my flictedness, often.
As most of you know, this year I turned 30. As a chronic worrier, I spent many hours before and many hours sense, worrying about the dawn of this new decade and what it all means in the scheme of my life. My overdeveloped worry mechanism has provided me with many hours of things to ponder and fret over. I have even made a mental list of things I should have been or done or seen or had by now. Of course, topping the list are the "big three." They are, as many of you might guess, marriage, kids, and a home of my own. Also on that list is the fact that by age 30, I should be pretty well set financially with a career underway and certainly not living paycheck to paycheck. But alas, I haven't managed that yet either.
This week, I was taught a very valuable lesson about my worrying.
As a state employee, I get paid once a month, on the last workday of the month. I suppose once you get used to it, it's ok but otherwise, it's hard. Especially for those, like myself, who are budget handicap. I usually make it work but this last month was crazy. The week before last, I went to the mall to look for dance shoes (which is a whole other Flicted Friend issue :) but couldn't find any. As it would happen, I found myself at the GAP. I looked around for a little while and found some really cute things on sale. I tried on a few things and picked out three items to purchase. All of them were on sale and the total came to approximately $60.
I was excited about my new clothes but as the week wore on, some unexpected things came up and the bank account got lower and lower. By Saturday, the worrier in me was in full bloom. I decided that I would have to take back the outfit so I would have enough money to do the important things like put gas in my car and eat the last week of the month. I was sad as I approached the counter with bag in hand but felt better about my decision as I left with cash in hand, knowing I would survive until payday :)
The day before payday was like any other day. I drove to work and worked all day and drove home. I had managed to only spend about $40 on gas and other necessities so I felt pretty good knowing that I had survived, yet again to another payday. However, as I drove home, I thought about the things I had wanted that I had to give up and that caused me to reflect, yet again, on my list of things that a 30-year-old should have or be or do. I was a bit abashed as I drove into the parking lot and sulked up to the mail box. I opened it and pulled out the few things and then sulked back to my car.
Once in the car, I took a moment to look through the items in hand. The last piece of mail was addressed to me and was from one of the various doctors that I have seen over the past few years. I opened the envelope and pulled out a check for $62.80. Apparently, I had overpaid them and they sent me the difference. At that moment, tears welled up in my eyes and in my mind came these words from Luke:
"Consider the lilies how they grow; they toil not, they spin not: and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and tomorrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?" (Luke 12:27-28).
There are many valuable lessons I will continue to extrapolate from this experience. But for this week, I ask myself, why do I ever worry? I don't have a good answer for that question; therefore, I know I need to stop worrying. I know that yesterday I have been taken care of and that today I have been taken care of. Why should tomorrow be any different? Of course, at some moment in the near future, the worry warts will emerge and I'll battle them as much as possible. But for today, I'm worry free and so thankful for the many miracles I have been blessed with.
As most of you know, this year I turned 30. As a chronic worrier, I spent many hours before and many hours sense, worrying about the dawn of this new decade and what it all means in the scheme of my life. My overdeveloped worry mechanism has provided me with many hours of things to ponder and fret over. I have even made a mental list of things I should have been or done or seen or had by now. Of course, topping the list are the "big three." They are, as many of you might guess, marriage, kids, and a home of my own. Also on that list is the fact that by age 30, I should be pretty well set financially with a career underway and certainly not living paycheck to paycheck. But alas, I haven't managed that yet either.
This week, I was taught a very valuable lesson about my worrying.
As a state employee, I get paid once a month, on the last workday of the month. I suppose once you get used to it, it's ok but otherwise, it's hard. Especially for those, like myself, who are budget handicap. I usually make it work but this last month was crazy. The week before last, I went to the mall to look for dance shoes (which is a whole other Flicted Friend issue :) but couldn't find any. As it would happen, I found myself at the GAP. I looked around for a little while and found some really cute things on sale. I tried on a few things and picked out three items to purchase. All of them were on sale and the total came to approximately $60.
I was excited about my new clothes but as the week wore on, some unexpected things came up and the bank account got lower and lower. By Saturday, the worrier in me was in full bloom. I decided that I would have to take back the outfit so I would have enough money to do the important things like put gas in my car and eat the last week of the month. I was sad as I approached the counter with bag in hand but felt better about my decision as I left with cash in hand, knowing I would survive until payday :)
The day before payday was like any other day. I drove to work and worked all day and drove home. I had managed to only spend about $40 on gas and other necessities so I felt pretty good knowing that I had survived, yet again to another payday. However, as I drove home, I thought about the things I had wanted that I had to give up and that caused me to reflect, yet again, on my list of things that a 30-year-old should have or be or do. I was a bit abashed as I drove into the parking lot and sulked up to the mail box. I opened it and pulled out the few things and then sulked back to my car.
Once in the car, I took a moment to look through the items in hand. The last piece of mail was addressed to me and was from one of the various doctors that I have seen over the past few years. I opened the envelope and pulled out a check for $62.80. Apparently, I had overpaid them and they sent me the difference. At that moment, tears welled up in my eyes and in my mind came these words from Luke:
"Consider the lilies how they grow; they toil not, they spin not: and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and tomorrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?" (Luke 12:27-28).
There are many valuable lessons I will continue to extrapolate from this experience. But for this week, I ask myself, why do I ever worry? I don't have a good answer for that question; therefore, I know I need to stop worrying. I know that yesterday I have been taken care of and that today I have been taken care of. Why should tomorrow be any different? Of course, at some moment in the near future, the worry warts will emerge and I'll battle them as much as possible. But for today, I'm worry free and so thankful for the many miracles I have been blessed with.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
Slow down, Turbo
Why am I in such a hurry all the time? Where is it that I think I need to be? As I reflect on the embarrassing moments in my life, many of them are born of this anxious and hurried pace that I continue to keep.
Take for instance my morning routine. I wish I could say that I arise at 5 AM every morning, refreshed and ready to take on the new day. However, that is a fleeting fantasy, and one to which I aspire. I usually hit snooze till at least 5:45 AM. I roll out of bed, say my prayers, turn on the lights and the race is on. I try to be showered, dressed, fed with lunch in hand by 6:30 in order to spend a few minutes reading and thinking. Then, I'm out the door, in the car, merging onto I-40 with all the other crazy commuters. Some mornings, I feel as if I could be drafted into NASCAR, if there was such a draft, the way I weave in and out of the fray. I wheel my car into space #14 by 7:20 AM and jump out of the car, bags in hand and head into the office.
The other morning, I didn't make it to space #14 until 7:35 AM. I don't know why I worry about that, I am the first to get to work by 30 minutes everyday but from somewhere deep inside me, there is this urge to hurry, hurry, hurry. So, threw my water bottle into my lunch bag and jumped out of the car, poised for another crazy day at the Council for Women.
I work in this old Victorian mansion, downtown Raleigh. However beautiful it is, it is still creepy in the early morning hours, especially when I am alone there for the first hour or so. I always unlock the door and then lock myself in. I then proceed to go through every room downstairs, turning on lights and making sure that I am indeed alone. I then ascend the grand staircase to the second floor, where my office is located, again, checking every room to make sure I am indeed, alone.
After following that ritual the other morning, I turned on my light in my office and put my bag down. My eyes were then drawn to the floor where a small puddle was forming. I know you are all thinking to yourself, "No she didn't wet her pants!" Of course I didn't wet my pants - I mean I am in a hurry but come on!
No, in my hurry to get into the empty, scary mansion, I forgot to tighten the lid on my water bottle. It spilled into my lunch bag and subsequently dribbled a nice Hansel and Gretel trail all over the house, in every room I had been in while checking for ghosts and unwanted visitors. By the time I noticed, my skirt was wet and so was my lunch. I spent the next 30 minutes, paper towels in hand, mopping up the water in all the rooms I had been in.
I have a new goal for this week: slow down, don't be so rushed, think before you speak and act. Life is too short already, why be in such a hurry? So, for all of you who see me on a regular basis, as my friends, I give you permission to remind me of this goal, especially when you encounter me running around like a mad woman. If you will help me then I am sure that I can avoid some future "puddling" predicaments :)
Take for instance my morning routine. I wish I could say that I arise at 5 AM every morning, refreshed and ready to take on the new day. However, that is a fleeting fantasy, and one to which I aspire. I usually hit snooze till at least 5:45 AM. I roll out of bed, say my prayers, turn on the lights and the race is on. I try to be showered, dressed, fed with lunch in hand by 6:30 in order to spend a few minutes reading and thinking. Then, I'm out the door, in the car, merging onto I-40 with all the other crazy commuters. Some mornings, I feel as if I could be drafted into NASCAR, if there was such a draft, the way I weave in and out of the fray. I wheel my car into space #14 by 7:20 AM and jump out of the car, bags in hand and head into the office.
The other morning, I didn't make it to space #14 until 7:35 AM. I don't know why I worry about that, I am the first to get to work by 30 minutes everyday but from somewhere deep inside me, there is this urge to hurry, hurry, hurry. So, threw my water bottle into my lunch bag and jumped out of the car, poised for another crazy day at the Council for Women.
I work in this old Victorian mansion, downtown Raleigh. However beautiful it is, it is still creepy in the early morning hours, especially when I am alone there for the first hour or so. I always unlock the door and then lock myself in. I then proceed to go through every room downstairs, turning on lights and making sure that I am indeed alone. I then ascend the grand staircase to the second floor, where my office is located, again, checking every room to make sure I am indeed, alone.
After following that ritual the other morning, I turned on my light in my office and put my bag down. My eyes were then drawn to the floor where a small puddle was forming. I know you are all thinking to yourself, "No she didn't wet her pants!" Of course I didn't wet my pants - I mean I am in a hurry but come on!
No, in my hurry to get into the empty, scary mansion, I forgot to tighten the lid on my water bottle. It spilled into my lunch bag and subsequently dribbled a nice Hansel and Gretel trail all over the house, in every room I had been in while checking for ghosts and unwanted visitors. By the time I noticed, my skirt was wet and so was my lunch. I spent the next 30 minutes, paper towels in hand, mopping up the water in all the rooms I had been in.
I have a new goal for this week: slow down, don't be so rushed, think before you speak and act. Life is too short already, why be in such a hurry? So, for all of you who see me on a regular basis, as my friends, I give you permission to remind me of this goal, especially when you encounter me running around like a mad woman. If you will help me then I am sure that I can avoid some future "puddling" predicaments :)
Sunday, September 19, 2004
The Umbrella
New situations and circumstances always prove to be a prime opportunity for me to experience some sort of funny and/or embarrassing moment in my life. This week was no different.
Now that I am working downtown Raleigh, my lunch hour can be spent walking up to the capital or sitting in one of the little parks or eating at any of the various restaurants near my office.
On Thursday, I thought I would try out the cafeteria in the legislative building. For those of you who didn’t know, in the basement of the legislative building, there is a great cafeteria that serves the best food at a really good price. If you ever want to see some of your tax dollars at work, you should come to Raleigh and have lunch with me someday!
The weather has been so crazy with the hurricanes coming and going but the “chance” of showers did not worry me at all. I set out for the legislative building, umbrella, purse and book in hand. A half a block into my stroll, the bottom dropped out. I quickly deployed my umbrella and made my way across the street, under a covered walkway. One other gentleman had the same idea and we paused there together.
He had forgotten his umbrella and was very wet. He was also in a hurry to get to his meeting. I smiled and said “Hello” and he responded likewise. I could tell by his accent that he was from India. He then looked at me and asked, “Can I borrow your umbrella?”
All of the sudden I was faced with a crisis. I wanted to help this man but what was I going to do if I gave him my umbrella? Plus, if he took my umbrella, how was I going to get it back? I figured he needed it more than me so I handed it to him but asked, “Are you going to come back?” He gave me this weird look and said, “You walk with me.” Which, of course, was the obvious solution but it had not occurred to me at all. We walked down the street to his building and he parted with a thank you.
I made it to the cafeteria and walked in timidly. It was packed with lots of politicians and their staffers. It was kind of cool but I was a bit nervous. I decided to get the roast beef and rice for $3.95.
In new situations, you just follow everyone else and that makes you look like you know what you are doing. However, I got in the wrong line to pay for my food and was redirected by a nice lady who called me “honey.”
I finally found an open seat but didn’t notice it was the smoking section till someone lit up a cigarette. I felt bad about moving because I didn’t want them to think I didn’t know that I was sitting in the smoking section. So my food didn’t taste as good as it could have because of the second hand smoke.
I managed to figure out that you leave your plates on the table for someone to come and pick them up and that you pay as you leave. Both of those revelations were a blessing because I would have most likely tried to find the kitchen to wash my own dishes and then left without paying J I felt a little surge of confidence having conquered my first lunch at the legislative building. I left with a little spring in my step but that only led to me tripping on the sidewalk as I walked past two senators engaged in a conversation that I interrupted as I tripped past them. As, always just a step away from humble!
Now that I am working downtown Raleigh, my lunch hour can be spent walking up to the capital or sitting in one of the little parks or eating at any of the various restaurants near my office.
On Thursday, I thought I would try out the cafeteria in the legislative building. For those of you who didn’t know, in the basement of the legislative building, there is a great cafeteria that serves the best food at a really good price. If you ever want to see some of your tax dollars at work, you should come to Raleigh and have lunch with me someday!
The weather has been so crazy with the hurricanes coming and going but the “chance” of showers did not worry me at all. I set out for the legislative building, umbrella, purse and book in hand. A half a block into my stroll, the bottom dropped out. I quickly deployed my umbrella and made my way across the street, under a covered walkway. One other gentleman had the same idea and we paused there together.
He had forgotten his umbrella and was very wet. He was also in a hurry to get to his meeting. I smiled and said “Hello” and he responded likewise. I could tell by his accent that he was from India. He then looked at me and asked, “Can I borrow your umbrella?”
All of the sudden I was faced with a crisis. I wanted to help this man but what was I going to do if I gave him my umbrella? Plus, if he took my umbrella, how was I going to get it back? I figured he needed it more than me so I handed it to him but asked, “Are you going to come back?” He gave me this weird look and said, “You walk with me.” Which, of course, was the obvious solution but it had not occurred to me at all. We walked down the street to his building and he parted with a thank you.
I made it to the cafeteria and walked in timidly. It was packed with lots of politicians and their staffers. It was kind of cool but I was a bit nervous. I decided to get the roast beef and rice for $3.95.
In new situations, you just follow everyone else and that makes you look like you know what you are doing. However, I got in the wrong line to pay for my food and was redirected by a nice lady who called me “honey.”
I finally found an open seat but didn’t notice it was the smoking section till someone lit up a cigarette. I felt bad about moving because I didn’t want them to think I didn’t know that I was sitting in the smoking section. So my food didn’t taste as good as it could have because of the second hand smoke.
I managed to figure out that you leave your plates on the table for someone to come and pick them up and that you pay as you leave. Both of those revelations were a blessing because I would have most likely tried to find the kitchen to wash my own dishes and then left without paying J I felt a little surge of confidence having conquered my first lunch at the legislative building. I left with a little spring in my step but that only led to me tripping on the sidewalk as I walked past two senators engaged in a conversation that I interrupted as I tripped past them. As, always just a step away from humble!
Saturday, September 11, 2004
In the beginning...
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, and so it goes in the life of your “filcted friend.” I hope you will enjoy the first volume, first issue of this ground breaking, journalism experience. As you are all aware, my life has gone through some crazy changes in the past little while. Most of you have been privy to parts of the craziness, and thank goodness some of you have been there through the “thick and thin” of it all.
I thought a long time about how I could give back to all the great people in my life and this is what I have come up with – a weekly reflection upon the craziness of this existence – packed with experiences that can’t help but make you laugh. (Well, at least I hope they will make you laugh because they make me laugh!)
I feel that the Lord has blessed me with many different talents and one of them is the ability to stumble, if you will, into a variety of life experiences that are just amusing and sometimes completely hilarious.
I hope that you all will enjoy reading about my amusing adventures while remembering how good this life really is. Because if you can’t laugh at yourself, then laugh at me!
I started a new job this week. All of us have had that experience – the first day jitters, the crisis of what to wear, the butterflies in your stomach as you approach the office and the list goes on and on. On Thursday, I was feeling all of those things and wanting more than anything to make the best impression.
Traffic was bad on 40 and I was sweating being late on my very first day. But, to my relief, as I neared the office, the clock said 7:25 AM. I was actually going to be 5 minutes early. I pulled through the intersection and past the first parking lot and as I did, I noticed the cop in the first parking lot pull out behind me and proceed to turn on his lights. Was he serious? Had I broken the law? I wasn’t speeding (really!). I pulled into my parking spot and he followed me, lights on, siren blaring.
All I could think was that at any moment, my new boss was going to arrive and find me there, at the office, police lights and all, on my very first day. I jumped out of the car, much to the officer’s surprise and he approached me with caution. He asked, ‘Do you realize what you just did?” In my mind, all I could think was, “Are you kidding?" Doesn’t the clueless look on my face give that away?” But thank goodness I kept my thoughts to myself. I said, “no,” and then launched into my life story about how this was my first day at my new job and that I had never driven this way before and that my boss was going to be there any minute and on and on.
After my saga, he instructed me that during the hours of 7-9 AM, motorists in the right hand lane at that intersection must turn right. I immediately started my saga again and he abruptly interrupted me and asked for my license and registration. He went to his car and returned moments later to me, a third time, telling my saga. I think at this point, the look of stern cop turned to pity on a poor silly girl and he decided to give me a warning citation. He left just as my boss was pulling in. Whew – what a way to start my fist day of work! As always, what a blessing as well.
I thought a long time about how I could give back to all the great people in my life and this is what I have come up with – a weekly reflection upon the craziness of this existence – packed with experiences that can’t help but make you laugh. (Well, at least I hope they will make you laugh because they make me laugh!)
I feel that the Lord has blessed me with many different talents and one of them is the ability to stumble, if you will, into a variety of life experiences that are just amusing and sometimes completely hilarious.
I hope that you all will enjoy reading about my amusing adventures while remembering how good this life really is. Because if you can’t laugh at yourself, then laugh at me!
I started a new job this week. All of us have had that experience – the first day jitters, the crisis of what to wear, the butterflies in your stomach as you approach the office and the list goes on and on. On Thursday, I was feeling all of those things and wanting more than anything to make the best impression.
Traffic was bad on 40 and I was sweating being late on my very first day. But, to my relief, as I neared the office, the clock said 7:25 AM. I was actually going to be 5 minutes early. I pulled through the intersection and past the first parking lot and as I did, I noticed the cop in the first parking lot pull out behind me and proceed to turn on his lights. Was he serious? Had I broken the law? I wasn’t speeding (really!). I pulled into my parking spot and he followed me, lights on, siren blaring.
All I could think was that at any moment, my new boss was going to arrive and find me there, at the office, police lights and all, on my very first day. I jumped out of the car, much to the officer’s surprise and he approached me with caution. He asked, ‘Do you realize what you just did?” In my mind, all I could think was, “Are you kidding?" Doesn’t the clueless look on my face give that away?” But thank goodness I kept my thoughts to myself. I said, “no,” and then launched into my life story about how this was my first day at my new job and that I had never driven this way before and that my boss was going to be there any minute and on and on.
After my saga, he instructed me that during the hours of 7-9 AM, motorists in the right hand lane at that intersection must turn right. I immediately started my saga again and he abruptly interrupted me and asked for my license and registration. He went to his car and returned moments later to me, a third time, telling my saga. I think at this point, the look of stern cop turned to pity on a poor silly girl and he decided to give me a warning citation. He left just as my boss was pulling in. Whew – what a way to start my fist day of work! As always, what a blessing as well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
