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

Today we had one of those glorious Florida summer afternoons filled with lots of booming thunder and rain that forms sheets so thick you can't see through them. I drove in it on my way to a movie theater. Learning to drive in this kind of weather made driving in ice and snow a piece of cake. The movie was a blast and my friend was the perfect companion for this girls night out. On the way back my husband and I were talking on the phone about the upcoming move. He's feeling apprehensive about our growing to-do list. We've divided up our worrying responsibilities well--I take care of fretting that our coughs might be signs of tuberculosis and he takes over for me about how we're going to get "it" all done. My well-rehearsed response is, "We just have to take it one piece at a time." And for the record, I really do believe that line. I wish he would, too. We hung up with mounting tension, and I reached to take sip of my chai tea. At that moment, the lid

Dear Lord God in Heaven, As I sat in the dentist's chair today, contorting my face into Cirque du Soleil positions during each poke and prod, I realized that I must take a moment to thank you. So here it is. Thank you for blessing me with such glorious teeth. Although I have a few fillings and a crown, they are in remarkable shape, especially for someone who hates the dentist as much as I do. You know my phobia, and I am grateful that the hygienist actually believes that I brush my teeth three times a day and floss daily. We both know the truth about that. Thank you for not giving up my secret and for teeth that must have their own built-in supply of fluoride. Not everyone can go for three or five or fifteen years without a dental cleaning and still remain cavity-free. I love them.

My cousin, Rachel, and her almost-four-month-old baby spent the weekend with me. We both needed the down time to sleep and laugh and pour out our hearts (something we've been doing since we were 10 and 17). Rachel is one of my kindred spirits who embodies an amazing ability to accept you as you are but not let you walk all over her. It's one of my favorite qualities in her. As our time together neared it's end, we landed in an extremely emotional discussion about choices and consequences and the human spirit. At one point, my faced scrunched up and I yelled, "Why do we have to be so mean to each other?" She looked at me and said, "We all forget that we're human and don't like the reminder that we all make mistakes." Think about that one for a minute while I compose myself. There was a time in my life when I sat in my own ivory tower and passed judgment on those around me. I could spot a sin a mile away and rested in the knowledge that I could po

Christy and Becky tagged me to do one of those list things. I have to post the rules first. Here they are: 1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts. 2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog. So on with my things: 1) I prefer to eat and drink everything (except ice cream) at room temperature. 2) Speaking of food, I use utensils only when I absolutely have to, i.e. when I am eating in public or when my husband is looking. 3) I have three times in my life vacationed with complete strangers (and not as part of a civic, church, or work group). They were all people I met accidentally over the phone, computer, or started talking to while out of town. 4) I was 29

I just spent the last hour trying to fax two documents to my new school district (yes, I accepted the "heart" position). It wasn't pretty. The fax machine ate the paper like it was in the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, so I had the bright idea of seeing if any of my 17 email accounts has the option of faxing. They don't, and it turns out the fax machine's problem was a paper clip wedged inside. I did, however, find an old email I had saved. This email appeared in my email box December 10, 2000. I still don't know who sent it to me, but it is a rather interesting note. Dear Allison, I'm not exactly sure how to begin. You were my biggest competition when we were in high school. I always thought that you're poetry was very profound and that you have a very inspiring intellect. I was moved by the way that you were able to paint a picture with the words that you used. So many poets try to accomplish that goal,but fall short in the end. You should feel

Just a few weeks ago, my life seemed in such a state of disarray, I couldn't drag myself out of bed in the morning. The school year was wrapping up. My much anticipated vacation was canceled. We couldn't seem to find a home we both liked. Our bank account was about to reach the point in the year when it would only decrease. The strain of holding "it" all together was just a little too overwhelming so I slept. And slept. And slept. If you know me, that's all you really need to know because you understand that if I'm getting more than six hours of sleep a night, something is wrong. The time I wasn't sleeping, I was praying that everything would work out exactly the way it was supposed to. I wasn't worried because I knew it would. It seems like all those little loose ends are finally tying themselves together. This week, I've managed to find two positions in the area where we will be moving. I applied for a loan so we can purchase the property we'

"Keep an eye out for the local hotel when you get into town. You're gonna get a kick out of it." My husband had a lovely smirk on his face that told me I was in for a treat. He knows me all too well. I'm a sucker for anything that smacks of small town America. I pulled into the tiny farm town in the middle of nowhere Florida. All around me, I saw signs of life that you cannot find in well-manicured, gated communities. Box houses lined the streets in an array of colors. Kid paraphrenalia, saint statues, and lawn chairs adorned the yards. Women and children and men lined the sidewalks on foot and bikes. Glimpses of poverty surrounded me. So did a sense of life that you cannot find just anywhere. Families and friends share meals and long conversations. They have one goal: make a life out of what they have. They know what matters: holding on relationships. There are no homeowner's associations sending out letters because a basketball net is in the driveway or the gras

I thought it was bad enough today when I waited in line at the post office for thirty minutes to mail a package I promised would go out today. I thought it was bad enough today when I wandered through the grocery store for twenty minutes looking for Cheese Whiz. I thought it was bad enough today when I waited for three hours for my husband to get back from his one hour errand. That's nothing. I've stayed in destructive relationships with people just to avoid feeling like the time I spent with them was a waste. I've lost years' worth of sleep staying up late to write because I had to work three jobs to pay the rent. I gave up most of my life feeling like I could never fit in with a group of people because there was something wrong with me. I earned a degree and slaved away at jobs trying to figure out a way to marry my dreams with the dreams everyone else has for me. I hate wasting time. Life is too precious.

We're interesting creatures. My husband once yelled at me for not taking out the overflowing garbage can, "You're the stupidist smart person I've ever known!" I chased him down in the rain and tried to explain my absent-mindedness. Apparently, my doe-eyed "I didn't realize it needed to go out" look didn't cut it with him. I meant it. So did he. There was a time in my life when that statement would have sent me on a life quest to figure out what the hell was wrong with me for not being able to read his mind and keep my quirkiness from gushing forth like Old Faithful. (I mean, come on, I really should have noticed that a black banana peel was blocking the cupboard door from shutting.) As I've come to grips with the fact that I'm just another whackjob in the world, I've found that those quirky pieces of me are just part of my fabric. And I can drop the perfection facade and show the real me. Like the fact that in my perfect world, I can

Sunday, I asked a question that has been on my mind. Today I got an answer. "If I drop out of a competition, but my opponent still thinks we're competing, does that mean I'm still in the race?" "No." "But what if the other person keeps going and thinks they're beating me?" "Well, then they're living in a delusional fantasy."

These are paper sculpture greeting cards. I first experimented with paper sculptures in college in Drawing I. We used our sculptures as models for drawings. I thought it could be fun to use photographs and drawings as models for paper sculptures. They are made from pieces of torn paper, almost like a mosaic. Each one is different...and I think they are oh so adorable. This one is for my niece's birthday this week. It's based on a photo I took at the beach. This one (and the next two) are based on my doodles when I'm bored. This one is my personal favorite.

There once were two dogs who wanted to please their master and earn the master's love through obedience. They raced to see who would be first to greet their master and then tried to outjump each other to show who loved the master more. Each one would bring the master a slipper and the newspaper, and they even learned how to carry the laundry basket. When the master wasn't around, they pushed and bit each other and fought epic battles for the top position within the pack. They counted out the number of kibble pieces and kept track of the length of their walks with the master believing that this would show which dog was more loved. And they compared notes. "On Tuesday, you got to climb onto the bed. I don't get to do that." "But I was sick, so that doesn't count. Besides, you got a new collar in my favorite color." This went on for years. The dogs struggled and battled and neither ever seemed content in his position within the pack. They wasted so much