I've had one of "those" days when I was seriously tempted to go back to bed at 11:30 and not wake up until the sunrise tomorrow morning. Something within me was just a little of kilter. I couldn't explain it. I didn't even realize it was there until I snapped at my husband while he was home for lunch. He gave me one of those, "I'm really glad we don't have a loaded gun in the house" looks as he went back to work. I washed dishes. I cried. Loudly. And dripped tears in the dish water. The dogs and I went out the front porch and sat in the breeze. I cried. Longer. Louder. Harder. I prayed. I'm a little ashamed of some of what came out of my mouth, but I believe that God understands better than anyone both my heart and my humanity. When my tears traded themselves for a pounding headache, we went back inside. A few hours later I finally realized what was wrong. Someone in my family is giving birth today. I go through this anytime a baby is born to

We... Have... Internet... At... Home...

Some people collect coins. Others collect books. I know a few people who collect ex-spouses. Apparently, I collect exercise DVDs. I have enough DVDs to do a different workout each day for six weeks. I'm not entirely sure how this happened. Each time I go into a Ross or Big Lots, I scan the DVDs. They snuck up on me, really. But at least I have a quick reference for those moments when someone wants to know the difference between Mountain and Cobra poses or just the right way to sway hips during a hula dance. These are the important things in life, you know. This obsession will come in handy starting tomorrow. I sat down at my computer and created my own gym schedule. My "gym" is closed on Tuesdays. Sundays are reserved for Qigong and Tai Chi. Mondays will be yoga and Pilates. Wednesdays is conditioning. Thursdays will be dance of some sort. Saturdays are for hardcore cardio. Then I dutifully organized all my DVDs in chronological order. It's the only piece of my life t

“This is the best Christmas ever…yep, ever!” “How did they know you wanted that?” “This is the best Christmas! I finally get my first Christmas present!” We had our “party” yesterday. The students all thought they were selected to take a test for the state. As they sat there with their pencils ready, the pizzas arrived. Then the chips. Then the cokes. Then the presents. I can’t remember ever seeing smiles as broad as these. Some kids tore into their gifts. Others wanted to keep them wrapped so they had something to open Christmas morning. I cannot begin to explain exactly how it felt to witness such a display. We all dug deep into the wells of our souls, both to give and receive. I know for a fact that one girl had not ever received a gift before that moment. (She screamed when she heard she was getting a stocking filled with candy.) One boy ran around the room chomping pizza and telling us, “I don’t know how you made this happen, but thank you.” Another girl literally stopped breathin

My sweetie stormed through the front door Saturday morning asking me if I knew where the shovel was. When I asked what was going on, he yelled, "You don't want to know" and stormed back out. I knew this wasn't good, and I continued scrubbing away at the bathroom counter while I made a list in my head of what could be going on in the pre-dawn darkness that required a shovel and my blissful ignorance. When he finally came back inside, my never-miss-a-meal husband washed his hands, sat down at the table, and told me he wasn't hungry. It turned out one of the cats outside had been hit by a car sometime during the night. It's moments like that that make me so appreciative for that certain quality this man has. He took care of something gruesome because he knew I'd need a mega dose of valium to get through it. And then he fought back the tears at the thought of what he had just seen. I love that mixture of masculine strength and humanity rolled into his broad sh

The weather outside is just the way I like it. Gray. Dark. Drizzly. It's kind of the way I've been feeling lately, and that's okay. I was musing just a few days ago about how much we complain about the rollercoaster of life. We always seem to be either up or down. And yet, isn't that what life really is? We're either up or down or somewhere in between. And that's okay because wherever we are, there's a purpose. So there must be some poetry or essays buried within my soul right now. I woke up yesterday with the wonder that goes along with not going to work. (Even though it was for a dentist appointment). In that wonder, I sat at my computer and wrote the beginning of two essays that I will be sharing soon and read The Federalist No. 10 . It felt so liberating to surround myself with words, and I know I've missed that. Sigh. I chopped off my hair yesterday. And my coloring fiasco is mostly repaired. I feel free-er. And it's pay day.

Yesterday I went home and wrote in my journal: My heart has cried and filled my soul with its tears. I work with some of the most amazing people I have ever had the opportunity to know. (And for those of you who know me, that's a pretty high standard.) The school I'm at this year is an interesting place. Just take the pieces I've shared and put it together. It's one of the lowest socio-economic areas settled next to one of the wealthiest sections of Florida. Most of my students are the children of farm workers. The parents work in the fields or packing houses from before sunrise to well past sunset and even into the wee hours of the morning. This back breaking work often provides for them a government-assisted duplex, Habitat for Humanity home, or a single-wide trailer shared with another family or two. During our meeting yesterday, we discussing some rather disturbing information about some of our students. In the process, we decided to throw a small holiday party for

For the last few weeks, I've been reading a book called, For Parents Only . It's appeared in my life at an interesting time. This is my fifth year as a middle school teacher, so I've seen first hand the delightful changes adolescence brings on a daily basis. My oldest nephew officially became a teenager this year, and it's been interesting to see these very same changes in him—and listening to my sister's side of things. Shaunti Feldhahn and Lisa Rice have written an amazing book. Don't let the title mislead you. If you live with or work with teenagers, you should read this book. The writers conducted a nationwide survey of teens about their thoughts on everything from rules to rebellion and what's going on inside their head. I enjoyed many of the comments, especially the kids' insights into the way their parents discipline (or don't discipline) effectively. In my classroom, I've since found myself stopping before writing out a detention slip to

Yesterday morning, Alan and I both woke before the alarm rang and stayed under the sheets in that last desperate attempt to squeeze a few more minutes of sleep before the day. He reached over and wrapped his arms around me. This is one of my favorite moments and always shifts my mood. As I lay there, my head swirling with all sorts of gratitude for this wonderful man and the precious quiet, he leaned onto my shoulder and whispered into my ear: "I REALLY need to pee." This is real love.

"What's going on with you today? I should not have to ask you to stop talking more than once." "It's your fault. You put me in a group where you knew I would talk." "Okay, so do you want me to move you out of that group?" "I'm not saying that!" (Slumps down in chair.) "Then what are you saying?" "I'm saying that you knew I would talk in that group and you put me there anyway. I don't know why you did that." "You talk in every group I put you in." "See, you know that. Why did you put me there?" "Okay. So you're gonna talk no matter what if you're in that group?" "Yes." "Okay. So if you're gonna talk in that group, then do you think you need to move out of that group so you don't get in any more trouble?" "I'm not telling you what to do! You're the professional!" "I'm glad you know that." (Suppressing a laugh.)

So far, this school year has been...well, just different. Of course, my mascot has changed, the map is shifted, and my classroom is a much farther walk to the restroom. It's been a rough year. I've made it through some days with only enough energy at the last bell to plop my head on the desk and cry. I've screamed. I've ranted. I've struggled. I've even considered giving up. (Surely, there has to be an easier job. I've had one!) The one thing I had not considered was just being myself. If you *really* know me, then you know that I'm one of the most intense people you will ever meet. I talk with my hands. I talk really fast. My conversations jump around and about. So do my ideas. Get me going on something, and I will wear you out with my thoughts and research and even an anecdote or two. This is usually way too much for most people. (Even my own father has been ended discussions with me!) For much of my life, I have held back that personality. You could s

I woke up Sunday morning in such a grateful mood. The end of Daylight Savings always feels like a special gift. An entire hour to do whatever I want. It's like finding $20 in a coat pocket and being able to spend it without rewriting the budget. I don't think I've ever slept away that hour. I'm more likely to sit on the front porch with my notebook and a cup of coffee. The time change has also affected my drive to work. The only road that goes to my school cuts directly southeast from my house. My drive yesterday can be described in one word. Sucked! I wore sunglasses and sat up as I high as I could to block some of that glorious sun, but I still left 20 minutes earlier this morning. The sun still rose and was perfectly poised to blind me again. However, this morning, I found myself behind a beer truck. This delightful beer truck formed a perfect eclipse between me and the sun. I said out loud, "Thank you, God, for the beer truck." Oh, how I loved that truck t

I found "The Chub" last night. This is a small, thick spiral notebook that I had carried around with me for several weeks last winter and spring. Its sole purpose was to be an immediate reservoir for any brilliant ideas I had during the day. The only thing I ever wrote in there (besides grocery lists and bill schedules) was during my family's reunion-birthday-anniversary cruise last January. My words were interesting, and I clearly remembered writing them on the little boat that took my aunt, sister, and cousin to go snorkeling in the Bahamas. The funny part was that I wrote about how the breeze was making the weariness "seep from my bones". I read it yesterday while I was home from work. That is, after I was sent home for nearly fainting during a class. Apparently, the look of my skin was so bad that my students thought I was pulling a Halloween prank. While driving myself home, I was thinking about the recent events that led me to the afternoon and how embarra

I feel like a blog bum. Part of me wants to just put up an audio of crickets chirping. Lately, though, my days are filled with bleary eyed-dinner making and box unpacking and way too many decisions about whether or not to keep the sculpture I made in my college ceramics class of an egg sitting in a tree that actually looks more like a certain part of the male anatomy than the surrealist art is was supposed to be. (It's in a trash box right now.) On top of this, I still have no Internet at home, so my typical wee hours of the morning posting time is mute (or is it blind?). There's a lot in my head right now, but not enough time to process it. Last night, I took the puppy out for a hike. In my front yard. We walked across the road frontage and I stared at the stars. The night sky is one of the best features of my new neighborhood. We're surrounded by a giant farm and wildlife preserves, so the sky is incredible! When I was a kid, I used to drag a blanket outside and lay down

My dear husband gave me the sweetest gift this weekend. He unloaded a trailer full of furniture and appliances and stuff and then drove to Pittsburg to pick up a car part for someone. That left me with an entire weekend BY MYSELF to start getting our home in order. I started Saturday morning by moving the bigger pieces of furniture into their proper rooms. Bed frames were snapped together, televisions were connected, and cupboards filled. It didn't take long before I noticed the dogs were hiking up and down the mountain of assorted dirty laundry. I pushed the washing machine into place and connected all the hoses. I scooted the dryer into it's place and attempted to plug it in. An hour later, I was back from Home Depot with a new cord. An hour after that, I had replaced the cord and had a fully functional laundry room. I'm proud of myself for that one. I don't think I've ever enjoyed doing laundry as much as I did this weekend. I did my own laundry. In my own home.

My sweetie and I have a rule about books. I am only allowed to buy books that I will read more than once. (I read very fast and have been known to finish even very large books in less than a day.) Amy Grant’s Mosaic now has a place on my shelf. I’ve read the book twice now. I’ve read some pieces more times than I care to count. In the meantime, I’ve written…and rewritten…this review just as many times. It’s not that the words didn’t take their rightful place. No, I knew what I wanted to say. I didn’t know how to marry my honest ideas with what I thought the publisher wanted me to say. I even considered using the description they provided for me. Then I read this: “Don’t worry about the consequences of having integrity.” I think Amy herself would agree with this statement. Mosaic certainly lives up to its title. Amy has woven together a collection of essays, journal entries, songs, poems, and photographs that present us a glimpse of her life. For the avid Amy Grant fan, some of the sto

Last night I had a beautiful reminder of why I chose this job. We had our first family literacy night, and I had some much fun manning the bookmark station. I love talking to the younger siblings of my students and watching my students roll their eyes as I talk to their parents. I felt like I was part of life again because at it's core life is messy and beautiful and chaotic all at once. That pretty much sums up the evening. While driving home, I was in tears. Praying. These students I have this year are frustrating me. Although a lot of my frustration stems from my dislocation at home, these kids do have some very real struggles. Many of their struggles are similar to my own when I was their age. I find myself at a loss for words or ideas several times each day. (I'll share some stories at some point.) All I could say last night was, "How am I supposed to do this?" The words echoed back, "You have to love them." Right now I really identify with Jesus' c

My sister and I had a conversation last weekend that has haunted me all week. For one thing, just that fact that we had a conversation was a shocker. We haven't talked like this since February. Our interactions have been strained "how's the weather" discussions at two family weddings and a bridal shower. I suppose that's a story for another day, but suffice it to say that I've missed talking to her because as much as I hate to admit it sometimes, she knows pieces of me that no one else will ever understand. It must have something to do with our shared DNA. She said something about how much it bothers her that people cannot be happy for another person's good fortune. I listened to her for a while, and we eventually hung up, but I haven't been able to shake her words since then. All week, I've thought about times when I sat back and sulked when everyone around me seemed to be riding along on the great train of life. Yeah, it's hard to jump up and

I was standing outside in the rain the other day thinking about why I keep a journal. Since I was thirteen, I’ve written rather irregularly in spiral notebooks, hardcover books, the inside of envelopes, and on various scraps of paper. My journals range from essays to poetry, and even some one liners. I thought it might be convenient to scan them all and store them on a USB drive. Well, this isn’t entirely true. I actually was thinking of how much more I would write if I could do so without the fear of someone reading my innermost thoughts and using it as evidence to have me committed to a “facility” for the rest of my life. All this led me to some of the more interesting moments in my life. In my 30 years, I’ve managed to collect a wealth of stories that range from the absurd to the tragic and the brilliant to the insane. I’ve shared several stories with dear friends and a few strangers., but many of these stories are doomed to collect dust in my head. Unless, of course, I go ah

Well, I finally confirmed for myself what I've suspected for a while now. I have anxiety attacks. This explains the weird sensations I've had for months now that the doctors just couldn't explain. My husband chalked it up to hypochondria (which I vehemently denied). The doctors just said they couldn't figure out what it was (contributing to my mistrust of Western medicine). After all, there's nothing in my life that would cause additional stress...like a move, job change, change in income, miscarriage, and lifestyle change! When I think about it, I've had these attacks for almost 18 years now. I've always ignored this possibility because in my head I see anxiety as one step away from schizophrenia. I know this is highly unlikely, but given my mother's mental health history, it makes sense. When you're mother or father has a severe mood disorder, you find yourself hyper vigilant about the symptoms in your own life. I wrote a poem about it in the margi

Driving home one day this week, my head was swirling with too many thoughts to track. How are we going to pay our bills on my salary? When will I be able to blow dry my hair without fear of keeping someone awake? How much more money is my husband going to spend on the new place? When will he be back at work? How am I going to get my 5th and 7th periods to "buy into" this reading thing? Will I ever convince them that they can trust me? Where can I find the time to formulate a plan to help them? I was already in tears as I thought about the social obstacles these kids face. The poverty in this town is unlike anything I've ever seen before. I can handle the sights of it, but I am still struggling with some of the hidden rules in their community. They don't believe they can trust anyone in authority. Education is too abstract a concept because the results are not immediate. They are so far behind their grade level that most of them have just given up. I've watched the

My cousin, Geoffrey , turned 21 today. I called him tonight to wish him a happy birthday and was thrilled to hear his voice. It was filled with life and a sense of awe. As he so aptly put it, "I'm sure Shakespeare has a word for how I feel right now, but I'm too lazy to look it up." I remember that feeling. I still feel it. We talked briefly about those moments in life where you look around and understand right there what a wonder it is to breathe. About an hour later, I found myself stopped on the road waiting for an accident to be cleared. As I watched the medical helicopter fly away, I mumbled, "Lord, please help them." When I was 18, my response to being stopped by an accident was, "Someone had better be dead since I had to wait all this time." Now I want to cry. I love how putting some time under your belt changes your perspective. I find these days that I say two prayers on an almost daily basis. The first is in the morning before I even stre

Right now I'm jealous. I'm envious. I want something that I see in other people. I want a cause. I want an idea that moves me. I want to wake in the morning inspired by something beyond my control. I want to give my life away for something greater than myself. I look around and see that my life has spun far out of control. It's cluttered and suffocated by boxes of trinkets and too much credit card debt. This isn't me. I once said to my therapist that I really don't care what other people think of me, but that I thought I was supposed to care, so I forced myself to do so. There's a reason I'm created this way. There's a reason why my greatest drive in life to live my life. There's a reason why following the "rules" has left me feeling empty. I think I need to drop out of the race. I'm cleaning out the closets of my house and my head. I haven't felt this sure of anything in a long time.

I just finished loading boxes into my vehicle. Before I drove to Kissimmee last night, my dear one told me to "load up as many boxes as possible." This tells me that 1. We will be moving in to the new place very soon; and 2. I haven't boxed up as much stuff as I thought I had. When I signed up for this new stage in my life, this was not exactly what I had in mind. I am *still* sleeping on the floor in our friends' house...still eating way too much fast food...still driving six hours each weekend...still wearing the same clothes and flip-flops to work each week...still going to work with bare ears...still waiting to see how our money situation is going to work out. It's the earrings situation that really gets to me. I had a rather emotional week. The a/c condenser in my truck went out, and my lovable, gear-head husband took it one evening so he could replace the part. This gave me a chance to sit in the new place during a fabulous thunderstorm. The batteries in my

Tonight I did something I've never done before. I called the cops. On my neighbors. At 1:00 a.m. I was in the process of describing my for-rent house in an email, and just as I was about to type about my quiet neighborhood, I noticed it was not so quiet. I could hear the same shrieks and screams I've heard all day and assumed were the by-product of a neighbors kids playing in the pool. Just to be sure I wasn't imagining the sounds, I stuck my head out the window into the dark night. Then I dialed the sheriff's department to complain about the "party" that it turns out was coming from behind me. From the teenagers romping around in those inflatable Moonwalk get-ups. I felt a twinge of guilt as I hung up the phone and heard the neighbor yell that the kids were being too loud. But it is now thirty minutes later, and they are still noisy. And I want to go to bed. In my bed which is maybe 500 feet from their reverie. It's also the only place to sleep here becau

Please forgive me. I feel the need to get a little socio-political today. The big news headline in southwest Florida yesterday was "Washington Group Finds the FCAT Flawed." FCAT opponents across the state cheered and shook their finger at the Department of Education at this news. Unfortunately, the actual story resembled the headline like I resemble my brother-in-law's Cuban family. (I'm a bottle brunette.) The Washington group actually found a problem not with the 10th grade FCAT test itself, but in the fact that a high school student needs to pass this test for graduation, thereby proving that he or she is able to work at a 10th grade level. The group recommended students take a test at an 11th or 12th grade level like many other states. At this point, all those cheering people should be hiding right now. But they're not, and the misinformation about standardized tests continues to be passed around like a bad case of the flu. I cry in moments like this because i

Four years ago today I received a phone call from my cousin, Rachel, who sobbed into the phone, "Grandpa's dead." He had been sick for a few years, and we knew this day was inevitable, but it still sent shock waves through my soul. I'd love to tell the story of his funeral, and perhaps I will sometime this week, but for now I just want to share some of my memories of this remarkable man. He was a big man with a gruff voice that scared me when I was younger. I never wanted to make him angry for fear of what he would sound like. And yet, I can also still see him standing next to me in church singing worship songs in that baritone. I can also still hear his voice blessing Sunday and holiday dinners. The year before he died, we stayed up until the wee hours of the morning on the front p orch swing. He told me war stories about Navy ships and German torpedoes and how isolated and frightening the South Pacific is in the middle of the night. I also remember wondering that ni

A lifetime ago I was at Cooper's Rock in West Virginia. The view of the tree covered Appalachian Mountains was stunning. I stood there overwhelmed and dumbstruck. Being outside in the mountains or a forest or the beach leaves me feeling connected to God in a way that a church has never been able to mimic. In this hallowed moment of personal worship, someone uttered the most ridiculous statement I think I've ever heard. "When I look at that, I think to myself, 'Wow, that's a lot of trees.'" We all laughed. This statement still pops into my head from time to time, and it did the other night as I listened to a talk radio show. (I'm addicted to talk radio the way some people are addicted to reality t.v.) The host was talking about some study that found a formula for unhappiness. Basically, we are unhappy when our idea of what our life should be is different from it's reality. Okay, so it was another "that's a lot of trees" statement, but

While waiting for my modem to reboot (I think it misses me!), I read today's entry: Are you afraid and confused by the waves and the turbulence God sovereignly allows to enter your life?...Reflecting His peace is proof that you are right with God because you are exhibiting the freedom to turn your mind to Him...But if you only try to worry your way out of the problem, you destroy His effectiveness in you. I needed the reminder that the waves and turbulence are sovereignly allowed, i.e. they are still part of the plan. No matter how much I wish I understood, I really don't need an intimate knowledge of the nuts and bolts of this chapter in my life. In the real world, the whole idea of not worrying yourself out of a problem is much easier said than done. I know in my head that worrying is just a guise of control that gives us the false sense of working on a problem. So I suppose a lot of this all goes back to the idea of one day at a time. I've spent a lot of time lately tryi

This picture does not do the sight justice. I saw this the entire way to work Friday morning. The sky was stunning. This is between Fort Myers and Immokalee along SR82. Here's one of the roosters in the school yard. There were three others on the other side of the building, too. So, it's not the greatest picture. I'll try again another day.

As we grow...we are less inclined to say, "I wonder why God allowed this or that?" And we begin to see that the compelling purpose of God lies behind everything in life, and that God is divinely shaping us into oneness with that purpose. (My Utmost for His Highest, August 5) I stopped asking "why" twenty days ago when I first read this. Oh, I still complain and cry and swear and wonder from time to time just how the minutiae of my life is shaping me into God's purpose. But I suppose that deep down I really believe this, so I keep trudging along through what seems like an unending field of uncertainty. It's moments like this that make me really miss my therapist. I'm in a pretty crummy state of mind. Chalk it up to the chaos in my life combined with the fact that I am married to a man who interprets everything that pours from my mouth as either, "you're stupid" or "you don't know how to manage money" or "you're irresp

I'll have to be brief today even though there is so much I want to share! My first week at the new school is almost complete, and I really need some time to sit and process all the bits of information I've gathered about my students. Immokalee is an interesting town. Just to give you an idea of what it's like, my favorite Mexican restaurant here has a sticker vending machine with nothing but cross and Lady of Guadalupe stickers inside. The house is coming along...very slowly and with much aggrivation. I "think" we might be able to paint this weekend. My frightening thought this week: when you reach the point of wishing someone would die, it might be time to reconsider the situation. Yes, that really crossed my mind, and I feel the need to share it in the hope that someone else will chime in and make me feel not so crazy for thinking it. God surprised us last night with a very unexpected check that makes up for almost 2-weeks' worth of Alan's paycheck. I

It's been a busy week for me. I left my house at 4:30 Monday morning for my drive down south and pulled back in my driveway at 1:20 this morning. The days have been long, too, between working at the new school from 7:30 until 3:00 or 4:00 and then working at the new place until 9:00 or 10:00 each night. I now have callouses on my fingers and not one intact finger nail. I think I've also developed a new twitch somewhere on my face. One afternoon this week, I stood in the middle of our new living room and took in the sight of missing drywall, a growing hole in the floor and soaked up my husband's predictions that we still won't be ready to paint by the weekend. All I wanted to do was cry. All I felt was nothingness. Numbness. Anyone who has ever reached the point of numbness knows that it's scarier than feeling like you're falling apart. It's one step beyond feeling like you're falling apart. I couldn't help but wonder just what we had gotten ourselves

Ten years ago, give or take, I saw my first anime movie. I can't remember the name of it right now, but I do remember the one scene my boyfriend wanted me to see. In it, the main character is trying to pull off the cover to a manhole. She struggles so much against the weight of it that she literally rips away her flesh. That's kinda the way I feel right now. Only I'm not a Japanese cartoon. When I get the feeling that I want to rip my flesh away, I know I'm feeling just a tad stressed. The new place is coming along. I picked up some used kitchen cabinets today. They're a little beat up, but they can be painted and will hold all our souvenir mugs and wine glasses. For now they are in the garage. We both hate the idea of putting money into a temporary home for us, but some things have to be done. Like making sure we have a usable toilet seat. My daily refrain is, "Whatever is cheapest, dear!" For those of you keeping track or making bets, we now have kitchen

In case you didn't know, today is August 7. I have been waiting for this day for months now, thinking it would never get here and wishing it would take its time because the new school year was just around the corner. Eclipse was released today. My Barnes & Noble gift card has been burning a hole in my wallet waiting for the moment I crossed the threshold into the store. Everyone who knows me well knows that although I love learning and reading, I don't particularly care for fiction. Never have. I still read it from time to time, i.e. when I find something that resonates with me or truly revolts me. Poor Nadia has had to listen to me complain about the crap that gets published and I waste my time reading. (I owe you for that.) The exceptions for my anti-fiction rhetoric have been the Left Behind series and the Twilight series ( Stephenie Meyer's fantastic vampire series). Eclipse is the third book. Finally holding this book in my hands was like smelling a freshly showe

Life is beautiful. Making that statement right now makes me laugh because the rational part of my brain tells me that anyone with one half-packed house, one house with bathtubs that make gas station restrooms in the middle of nowhere Alabama look clean enough to eat out of, who is starting a new job on Monday but has nowhere within a three hour driving distance to sleep shouldn't say this. Yet, this is really the cry of my soul right now. We pulled weeds yesterday. At two o'clock. In southwest Florida. These weeds were scary beasts that stood taller than me, and for the most part they kicked my ass. I attempted to wash down some walls and gave up because the walls were no competition for my Brawny paper towels and Lysol, so I walked through the new place and got a feel for where I want the furniture to go. And fought back tears. Then I drove three hours home last night with a headache so severe that I don't actually remember much of the drive. As sure as I'm sitting her

Right now I'm having flashbacks to the days when my parents would storm into my bedroom once a year with trash bags and threats of sending me to a homeless shelter and make me clean the train wreck that was my bedroom. I'd end up spending the entire day in there, sorting all my junk into piles of clothes, stuffed animals, books, papers to keep, and papers that if I have to throw away something can go. Inevitably, I'd reach the end of the project and sit in the middle of the floor with my one last cubic foot of "stuff" and cry. It's not that I was sad to be finished. It was that that last little bit just confounded me like a Cubist painting. Nothing seemed to make sense enough to sort. Yeah, my house is like that right now. That's why I'm on the computer right now. I've actually cleaned off about half of the stuff that was on the coffee table this morning. (The dogs are a real help.) The kitchen is coming along. I actually have four cabinets cleared

I've been feeling a bit frustrated today. I'm sure the process of packing up a house, getting settled with a new job, and all that goes along with moving have something to do with it. I just have something I cannot get out of my head. I spent several hours on the phone recently with someone, and what I gained from that conversation was a very real fact for me. I make the worst decisions when I base my choices on what I think someone else wants or what I think they will give or do for me through that decision. The sad part is that for a long time that's how I made all my decisions, and I felt completely justified because it seemed so selfless at the time. In the end, though, I'd feel cheated because I compromised and ended up with nothing to show for it but a lot of heartache and embarrassment. What I'm discovering is that I must make my choices based on what I know is true. That can sometimes mean sorting fact from fiction. That can also mean falling back on basic p

It's official. We now have five acres and a home in Lee County. It's complete with electric service, a telephone, and a post office box for mail. Now the fun begins. Our new place needs some work. A lot of work. I keep jumping to step 67 (rearrange furniture) while Alan just wants to concentrate on step 1 (mow down the overgrown bushes) and then move on to step 2 (de-critter the place) before jumping ahead to step 3 (pull out the damaged kitchen cabinets). It's a fun process. I've been a little put off lately that Alan hasn't taken me up on my offer to come down and scrub the walls with bleach while he removes and replaces the kitchen floors. As I was making the three-hour drive down there today, it dawned on me just how much he looks like a six year old on Christmas Eve. He's really excited about his new project, and in the back of his mind, I think he considers this his Charles Ingalls moment when he gets to build a house for h is family with his own two hand

I'm exhausted right now, and I've only been awake for 4 hours. The problem is the 2 hours I stood inside the Social Security Administration building (and I mean stood) felt like an entire day inside a middle school classroom. For one thing, every time an employee called for a number, you would hear a beep followed by the number. Considering the amount of time we were all spending there, you would think people would listen intently in the hope their number would be next. Instead, the conversations grew louder so they could be heard over the interrupting employee. This is not unlike students at the end of the day who miss out on their bus change because they were too busy talking over the announcement. Another favorite moment today was when the security guard announced that anyone parked behind the building without a permit would be towed. People started throwing questions and complaints at him. "But I parked on the side of the building!" "Is it okay if I parked ou

I had a difficult time getting to sleep last night even though I was exhausted. I let one of the dogs sleep in bed with me so I had a warm body nearby. I'm sore today. My forearms ache from my death grip on the steering wheel. I think I pulled a muscle in my right forearm; I can't hold anything (like a coffee cup) without some pain. Perhaps I should stop before I start to sound too geriatric. I am, however, feeling very fortunate and thankful for a mother and grandmother who pray for me daily. My ordeal last night could have been far worse. It's a good thing I didn't really have any plans for today. So far, I've sorted through my photographs. I had already planned to do this and bought some gorgeous hat boxes the other day just for this occasion. I'm amazed at how much I hold on to and why I feel the need to keep doubles of just about every picture. I'm also glad I have so many photos because they tell so many stories, like the time I took my nephew to the z

I was on my way to Lakeland tonight for Rachel's birthday, happily singing along with Amy Grant (I told you I sang Amy's songs on drives) when I heard the pop. Now, a pop when you are driving is never a good sound. And it's even worse when you discover that you no longer have control over the vehicle. Which I didn't. This is what happened. Several people stopped on the side of the road to make sure I was okay. They heard the pop and saw me go sliding through the muck. My favorite remark was from the guy who told me I was a really good driver and then offered me some water. Just in case you can't tell from the photos, I was in the middle of nowhere on the main road in and out of Kissimmee. That's swamp land there, and it wasn't a pleasant experience standing there in flip flops. Then the rain started. The tow truck driver finally arrived. That was a show in itself because the tow truck almost ended up in the muck. I'm still recovering from the shock of it

I packed my china today. It's all wrapped in the guest bathroom towels and tucked away in boxes. I was high enough on that accomplishment that I packed up the kitchen cabinet filled with coffee cups and stowed our coats and jackets in a suitcase. I'm spreading out the packing and taking my time. This seems to ease my sadness at leaving my home. I do love my home, especially now that the carpet has been replaced and the broken furniture has been laid to rest. Here is the current version complete with my favorite rocking chair in front of the bay windows. Right now I'm marveling at how God speaks to us. I've mentioned that I know this move is the right thing to do. The circumstances so far have been mind boggling, to say the least, and so much has happened in the moments when I thought there was no way for it to all come together. Even now, the woman we are buying the property from is steadily moving out. My greatest fear, though, has been saying good-bye to the place tha

The human body fascinates me. I am a believer in the idea that our muscles hold an emotional memory of what happens to us, and that part of healing is working through that muscle memory. Make a point of noticing your body's stance during an emotional moment sometime. Chances are, you'll feel tension in certain areas, whether it's a furrowed brow or clenching your rear. I went to my massage therapist today. While she worked my SCM muscle (along the side of the neck going down to the collarbone), I had two very distinct reactions. On the left side, I just cracked up laughing. This was completely an emotional reaction; it wasn't ticklish at all. On the right side, though, I felt nauseous. I really thought I would throw up right there. We talked for a moment about the reactions. She said that nausea (without a medical cause) is a bodily reaction to fear. I'm thinking about this. We all have physical reactions to what happens to us, and we all have bodily cues that tell

And the voice you need to hear is the true and the trusted kind With a soft, familiar rhythm in these swirling, unsure times When the waves are lapping in and you're not sure you can swim Well here's the lifeline ("This is Love"/Mary Chapin Carpenter) Several months ago I started putting together my life story in the form of a scrapbook. Tonight, I pulled it out again and took a lovely stroll through my memory. I reached for the last set of pictures to go in the book and stopped at the very last one--my high school graduation. The event was a little different for me. Basically, I withdrew myself from high school after the first semester of my junior year of high school. Between my mother's deteriorating mental health and my desperate attempts to hold together the family I had left, I could find no significance to sitting in American Government discussing upcoming football games. High school life seemed so self-absorbed