This. Very. Moment.

With Gratitude

2011-03-09T22:18:00.011-06:00

send some rain

would You send some rain
cause the earth is dry
and needs to drink again
or maybe not
not today
maybe You'll provide in other ways
and if that's the case
we'll give thanks to You
with gratitude
a lesson learned in how to thirst for You
how to bless the very sun that warms our face
if You never send us rain
-nichole nordeman

On paper, this might seem a strange time to be pondering gratitude, to attempt a continual immersing of my soul in a pool of thanks. Much to be disquieted in spirit over, at least by any mortal standard. And yet I find my weary, lonely heart returning to this prostrate position, facedown before the Giver of All Good Gifts, grateful for all, for all is gift, all is good that He works together. He is doubtlessly at work here.

In my deepest places, the most true and least seen, I sense a quiet resignation. No lament or mournful accusation over grievances endured, no fanfare or dramatic unveiling of higher wisdom attained. Reticent with genuine gratitude, green and small with the newness and promise of Spring, a tender budding. Giving up my say, my false semblance of control, my call for rain. Accepting as a gift that all is good, whether I can discern the inherent goodness or not. Withstanding the drying and the heat, focusing my intention to bless the kiss of warmth upon my face. Trusting at last the Orchestrator I claimed to trust all along, and catching back up to His masterful melody when I inevitably begin to fumble with the notes. Changing not my circumstances but my approach. Even if nothing else ever changes. Recognizing that it is well, that all is well, whether floating on peace like a river or through sorrow like sea billows, when Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

For I was not placed here to merely measure up, and the standard to which I aspire is far from mortal. My business is with here, with now. With a life abundant not once this or after that but in the present. To be present. Existing in this moment that is, that I may meet I Am. Thirsting after nothing else but His presence that quenches. Convinced again of His intricate designs, His boundless power, His overwhelming love, what else have I to do but surrender, to fall before Him with heart and soulfelt thanks? Understanding that it is not mine to understand, only to accept from the One who is and always has been exactly what He said He is, to believe what I have always said I do.

With gratitude.

Instead of Sheep.

2010-12-15T20:00:00.005-06:00

*Thank you, Irving Berlin, for putting my 2010 to song. In 1954.*

When I'm worried and I can't sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep
Counting my blessings

When my bankroll is getting small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep
Counting my blessings

I think about a nursery
And I picture curly heads
And one by one I count them
As they slumber in their beds

If you're worried and you can't sleep
Just count your blessings instead of sheep
And you'll fall asleep
Counting your blessings

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year To You & Yours
(From Me & Mine.)

Change

2010-12-02T12:57:00.017-06:00

just enough light for the step i'm on.
stormie omartian

Recently I had an epiphany. Most of you already have this truth tucked away snugly in your hearts where it radiates warmth and makes you secure and happy. Until this epiphany popped randomly into my mind one day, my heart was hypothermic, my attitude dismal and gross, and I was succeeding only in making myself and my husband and anyone else who had to live with me fearful and miserable. What's even more embarrassing is that the truth had made it's way to my heart before, and if I'm honest, it never really left my mind. But maybe you know what I mean when I say the cerebral, intellectual understanding of some truths is nowhere near as potent as the profound, deep in your heart and gut identification with them. When a truth becomes part of your makeup, of how you exist, a thread in the fabric of your being, and not just the words of a sentence strung coldly together in your hazy thoughtspace. And so I'd like to change the mode and location of transportation: everything shifted when this epiphany melted it's way through the layers of slushy sleet and hard-packed snow and solid ice of my heart and lit everything on fire.

The epiphany is this: God is powerful.

So powerful that if He wanted to, He could today make one of several things I know of and a few million more I don't happen and completely turn everything around for us. That is not hard for Him. When He looks at our situation, He doesn't say, "Well I'll be," and sit down stumped, fist to His cheek, trying to figure out what the heck to do next. No that's what I do, and usually my choice of words isn't so benign and flailing would more accurately describe the motion of my fists. Because I had forgotten that although right now everything seems weird and somewhat scary and out of my control, that's not how it seems to God at all. When did I decide projecting my mental state onto the Creator of the Universe was a good idea? (Whole other issue.) This epiphany, like all great and important ones, is multi-faceted. Not only is God powerful, He loves me. Or should I say, is in fact powerful enough to love me exactly the way I am. And so it follows that if He is able to change everything instantly but doesn't, because I know He loves me, that means right here is exactly where I'm supposed to be, where He wants me to be. Which changes my responsibility to the present. If God's as flabbergasted as I am at the latest turn of events, we can both be kinda moody and upset and complain about it. But since He's not, since I am convinced now that He has me exactly where I am on purpose, and He loves me and wants more for and from me, my conviction becomes that I not only have to survive this season, I must find a way to thrive in it. Make no mistake, He could move me with ease. And make no mistake, He has promised me life and that more abundantly every second of every day, not just when I get to where I want to be. And so my charge is to do it here, to do it now, to thrive where there are no answers and not a single, tiny thing has changed.

It's called being faithful, and He has set a perfect example for me.

And so, imperfectly, I have set out to adjust not my circumstances or my future but my outlook. To approach each day not as one more meaningless box to check off on my way to real living, but as the organic, moving, breathing, essence of my real living. It's not a mistake. God doesn't make those. He's far too powerful, and to believe otherwise is to discredit Him. And it's for my good. He loves me and has promised me that, and I have never known Him to be a liar. With this gift in hand: knowledge of the intention and lovingkindness of God in every situation, what choice do I have but to walk in faith and joy? Releasing my claim to the future, trusting Him, hoping in His sovereign power, believing that He knows what He's doing, and that He loves me. Seeking the ways He wants to use me to be a blessing to the people He places in my path every day, and the specific purposes He has for every beat of my heart and every breath from my lungs. For there is much He has for me, but I'm usually too busy doing anything and everything else to notice it. Killing my time, not using it.

And therein lies the change. Not of my circumstances, because that's not really the point. The change is in me. In how I view my God who is in control, and His loving expectations of me. Want to know why I'm so convinced they're loving expectations? Because when I wasn't requiring much of myself but was instead just passing through life as though I were sleepwalking, well I've already described what life was like for me and those closest to me then. Since I've begun holding myself more closely to His requirements of me, I've been living. And it's been beautiful and good and I've been humbled. I have to admit, a big part of that humbling comes from the fact that I can only do it with moderate success. Even though I know exactly how great life is when I keep myself in this holy mindset, I still falter and have to recalibrate and keep coming back to the epiphany. Often.

But the change has begun - and that's something.

Blessed Are

2010-09-24T10:00:00.001-05:00

If a fair weather friend is one who only sticks around for the easy stuff and bails when life gets real, I've been a bad weather friend lately.

Summer blazed this year. Under that oppressive heat, internally I was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. For days, weeks even, I couldn't make it through the day without being in nearly constant prayer, referring regularly to scripture that would pop into my head, clinging to it like my only lifeline. I was desperate, and I knew it. My utter dependence on my Heavenly Father was a given, and I leaned heavily. Which meant that in the midst of painful chaos, my soul was finding unparalleled nourishment and I was graciously sustained through several infernal heat waves. As I said, it was a hot summer.

The air is beginning to change. A coolness has crept in, gently stirring things up with subtle welcome breezes. And I find myself making it through my days completely on my own. Or at least without a genuine thought of or word to the One Who daily saved me mere weeks ago. What I'm most ashamed of is the timing when I do find myself thinking of Him or talking to Him, or searching His Word - it's when those last vestiges of heat make me start to sweat, when my fears and doubts begin to bubble up and need to be calmed and cooled. When the bad weather returns, so do I to Him.

I am not ok with that.

Because the truth is, I do recognize that I need Him every day. Even in the mid-70s without a cloud in the sky. Every single breath that fills my lungs, beat that fills my heart, and thought that fills my mind depends on Him in Whom I live and move and have my being. My need is constant, even if my perception of that truth isn't. I am desperate for Him. But that's the ironic truth and priceless beauty of suffering: in moment by moment survival, you experience the extravagant riches of intimacy and communion with God. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. As I clung to Him with my last shreds of strength and relied upon Him for my next breath, I knew Him in a way I never have before. With complete intention, I swore my undying devotion and closeness, declaring that it would never fade, now that I'd tasted the sweetness.

But when my eyes don't open in a flood of tears and anxiety isn't already tearing at my heart before my alarm sounds, my snooze button is what I think I need more than my time in His Word. A constant soundtrack of music or phone calls fills my drive time, not fervent prayers from my heart's wretched depths. Not that those other things are wrong. Sleep is important, as are the benefits to my soul that music and the people I love bring me. But still. There was something powerful and profound about those days where my next moment was uncertain, except that I trusted the One who held it. This fair weather distance is breaking my heart.

And so I will make the effort to be the friend I want to be. In every season. To train my mind to recognize my still constant need for Him. To attune my heart to the rhythm of His, aching for the beats to synch. That as I emerge from my time of mourning and His comfort, I may find my heart pure.

That I may see God.

After A While

2010-06-11T12:11:00.008-05:00

Swirls.

That's what my life feels like right now, a succession of swirls. Moving from one busyness to the next with nothing more than a total exhaustion-crash day to break them up, and even those breaks few and far between.

Since the end of April and probably through the end of this month, it's been all swirls.

Exciting, unpredictable, colorful and bright - the swirls haven't been all bad. But they sometimes spin too fast, or come one after another too quickly, and I tell you what - stay on this ride long enough and it's bound to make anyone feel a bit sick. Especially when I fell into the swirls already less than 100%. Swirls will take it out of you.

Reminds me of some fishermen who'd been going about business as usual - kinda like me in the beginning of April - until one night when their "boat was now in the middle of the sea, tossed by the waves, for the wind was contrary" (Matthew 14:24). Swirls. Literal swirls for them.

They had been deliberately sent on this journey earlier that afternoon, told to head for the other side. But with the evening came this swirling storm, and now they were struggling. For hours. All night, in fact. Until about 3:00 in the morning, the fourth watch.

That's when He came to them. In a miraculous way - right across the top of the water that seemed so dangerous and deadly to their frightened spirits. He stepped on their swirls as though on solid ground. When one of them realized what was going on and asked in faith if he should hop out to go meet Him, He agreed. And then that lowly man stood a moment with God on top of the threatening swirls.

"But when he saw that the wind was boisterous," (v.30) when he looked away from the One who had the swirls safely underfoot, fear strangled his heart. And under the weight of such heaviness, he began to sink.

I feel like Peter right now.

Out of this chaotic storm has come a lot of growth, more than a few wildly extravagant blessings, and a deepening faith - one that allowed me for a few glorious moments to stand atop the swirls beside Him. But then that wind. Fear, that rushing chill that shocked and knocked the wind out of my sails and broke me down, confused and unable to find Him and lock Him in my sights. Fear managed to tighten it's death grip on my heart, and I've been sinking.

Lord, save me!

I've been praying that a lot lately. And still, to me of little faith, He has proven Himself faithful. Reminding me yesterday when I met with Him that "there remains therefore a rest for the people of God" (Hebrews 4:9). In response to my questions and doubts, speaking the truth that "your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you" (Matthew 6:32-33). And finally, the one that never ceases to bring me to tears, He invites me to "cast all your care upon Him, for He cares for you" (1 Peter 5:7).

Did you notice who He used to give that last invitation, that promise? Peter. A man who, like me today, knows what it is to stand before Him, ashamed to find he is one of little faith. In the midst of those fearful swirls that fateful day, he'd lost it. But he sure found it again - and deeply and strongly enough that God chose him to be His mouthpiece for this particularly precious promise. Because the man who struggled and needed it the most, the one who I know had to fight to convince himself to believe it, he's the best person to offer it to me today.

I sincerely hope your skies are blue and dotted with puffy white clouds today, and that you are at peace wherever you are. But if you're like me, caught in the swirls and losing sight of the One who stands firmly on top of them, please claim this promise along with me: cast all your worries, questions, and doubts on Him, and believe beyond any fear that tells you otherwise that He does indeed care for you.

I think it'd make Peter really happy.

But may the God of all grace,
who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus,
after you have suffered a while,
perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you.
To Him be the glory and the dominion forever and ever.
Amen.
1 Peter 5:10-11

The Human Story.

2010-05-07T09:25:00.033-05:00

This is the part I didn't want to write. Because these people have had everything taken away from them, and I didn't want it to seem like I was exploiting their pain. These are the stories of heartbreak, tragedy, courage, and brotherly love that are dominating televisions in Nashville these days. But my dear friend Jillian said that these are the stories they're not showing in California, and those are the ones she wants to see, to help her understand.

And so I will tell this part of the story here in case the news where you are isn't - in the hope that it encourages you to pray, perhaps to give, maybe even to come on out and help your neighbors.

When It Rained

Rick Murray - The Tennessean
Andrea Silva, a Beech High School graduate, and Jamey Howell, a soon-to-be Beech High School graduate, clung to Howell's Jeep as flood waters overtook the vehicle at the intersection of Saundersville Road and Lower Station Camp Creek.

Shelly Mays - The Tennessean
Brent Reed, 13, tries to save flowers from the flooding at his grandparent's store, Reed's Produce Market & Garden Center in Downtown Franklin on Saturday May 1, 2010.

Shelly Mays - The Tennessean
Metro Fire Department Special Operation rescues a Belle Meade police officer off Harding Road in Belle Meade on Sunday May 2, 2010. Police officer Norm Shelton was clinging to a tree for an hour before being rescued. The location of his patrol car is unknown.

Shelley Mays - The Tennessean
Neighbors carry Janie Cramen to an ambulance after she was rescued by boat from her West Nashville home on Sunday.

Alan Spearman - Commercial Appeal (via Zuma Press)
Raymond Alexander, in black, wades through the water to assist others who were stranded Saturday by floodwaters in Millington.

Mandy Lunn - The Tennessean
The man canoeing down 5th Ave, a block away from Main Street in Downtown Franklin.

What Was Done

Woody - BNA -Photo - woodfinx.net

Mark Humphrey - AP

John Partipilo - The Tennessean

Tom Stanford - The Tennessean

Morris Abernathy - The Jackson Sun

When The Sun Came Out

Dipti Vaidya - The Tennessean
Allison Patton gets a hug from her sister-in-law, both emotional as she recovers earrings that her husband (who recently died in February) had given her from her flooded-out home in Beech Bend Drive Tuesday, May 3, 2010 in Nashville, TN.

Shelley Mays - AP

Sanford Myers - The Tennessean
Rhonda Hand gives David Francescon a hug after he gave her ride on his boat so she could check on her home and pets in the Somerset Farms development off of Coley Davis Road in Bellevue Monday, May 3, 2010.

Mark Humphrey - AP

Shelley Mays - The Tennessean
Lighthouse Christian School teacher Heather Harrell becomes emotional after finding her grandmother's Bible in her classroom that was destroyed by the flood. The school is located on Antioch Pike. The clean up effort for the school began on Monday May 3, 2010.

Jeff Gentner - Getty Images

Frederick Breedon - AP
Gabe Gardiner, left, sits with a neighbor on his living room sofa outside his flood-damaged home in the River Walk subdivision of Nashville, Tennessee, Tuesday, May 4, 2010.

Jeff Roberson - AP

Unspoken Words.

2010-05-05T10:11:00.009-05:00

The Nashville skyline the way I'm used to seeing it.

I work from home on Wednesdays. Today I'm watching the Today show. For the last two hours, I haven't heard a word about what is going on in Nashville. Not a single word. And here's why I think that is.

Despite the national media's silence, President Barack Obama has declared Tennessee a major disaster area, we've lost almost 30 people as of this morning, there are untold hundreds of millions of dollars worth of damage, and we are on a mandatory water conservation because one of our two water treatment plants was ruined and the other is being threatened by floodwater.

I'll let the following images speak the words for them.

The Nashville skyline the way it looked yesterday.
[Please click on the picture to enlarge it and see the full impact.]

The Titans LP Field. Josh & his friends sat this season
in the section on the top right, below the red lights.

Outside The Opryland Hotel.
If you've visited me in Nashville, we've gone here.

The Opryland Hotel Delta Atrium.

The Opryland Hotel Cascades Atrium.

The Grand Ole Opry.

The Grand Ole Opry Stage Door.

Downtown Franklin. Main Street is on the top left.
The Carnton Plantation and cemetery the right, underwater.

5th Avenue, a block from Downtown Franklin's Main Street.

If you ever visited us in Bellevue, this is Coley Davis Road.
The driveway to the right is to the Hampton Inn.
The wood railings to the left lead down to the soccer field.
In the distance you can see the top portion of the 100' field lights.

This is my home.

For Nashville.

2010-05-04T09:40:00.006-05:00

I didn't grow up in Nashville. In fact, my husband and I have only called this place our home since December of 2006. Maybe a little before that, because when I stepped off the plane at Nashville International Airport for the first time in August of 2005 for a music visit with Josh's Orange County songwriting community, I told him I felt like I had come home. We weren't married yet, we wouldn't move for another year and a half, but at that moment it was settled: Nashville would be my home.

My home is underwater.

Our first home in Nashville, a beautiful 2-story townhome in Bellevue, privately owned and rented to us by a lovely single lady, literally was under water. The Harpeth River that flowed lazily behind a large field behind our little subdivision at the tail end of Coley Davis Road turned into a raging beast and rose 33 feet, engulfing the countless subdivisions leading off of the 4 mile stretch of Coley Davis Road - a two lane road that is the only way in, and the only way out. Watching the aerial footage made my heart hurt and my stomach sick. We thought of our neighbor Amber, a single mom my age who owned the cute little townhome next to ours. We thought of our friend Karen, so proud of her beautiful, first little place where she had us over for game night and appetizers. Without warning or anyone's prediction, the water rose quickly on a Sunday, a day when I probably would have been purposely watching no news, very likely napping on my couch. I can't imagine the horror my neighbors experienced that day. And the loss and devastation won't be fully understood for days.

Yesterday, as footage showed the Cumberland River continuing to rise, my heart sank. Downtown is the heart and soul of Nashville. Efforts to clean up the city have been astoundingly successful, and especially along Broadway and 2nd Ave. are places that define Nashville in my heart. The honky tonks on Broadway, the history and vibrant life and music they offer. Demos' where you will be treated like family and eat far too many of the best rolls you've ever tasted in your life. The Ryman, enough said. The breathtaking Schermerhorn Symphony Center. The Nashville Public Library, State Capitol, Farmer's Market, Tennessee State Museum, and the list goes on and on. And our beloved Buffalo Billiards on 2nd Ave. I've yet to see it with my own eyes, but I have heard that floodwaters overnight overtook 2nd Ave.

A place that has become a second home in our hearts, Franklin, was one of the hardest hit. Pictures and footage of parts of the town we know, love and always show off proudly to our visitors were surreal - I just can't get an image of someone canoeing down 5th Ave. out of my mind.

But that's a beautiful example of why I know Nashville is going to be ok. People here are different than anywhere else I've ever encountered. Like that man in that canoe - he was out rescuing people who had been stranded in their cars when the water quickly attacked. As news broke of the horrific conditions in Bellevue, not only law enforcement rescue boats showed up, but locals wanting to lend a hand. Over 1,000 people were rescued from Coley Davis Road Sunday afternoon, a large proportion by Good Samaritans who had a boat and came to help.

The people of Nashville are good people. We care about our neighbor. We hear of a need and we try to meet it. We are proud of our city and will work to make her well, to shine again. Today, much of Nashville is still under water. But she's going to make it, and she's going to be the home we all know and love again.

And this is where, possibly, you come in. Nashville has a long road ahead. If you feel so moved, would you consider sending reinforcements? There are several churches taking donations, and as always, the Red Cross. And if you're the praying kind, Nashville could sure use some of your prayers right now.

One other request, inspired by our dear friend Jason Bradford: Come Visit Nashville. Not today, unless you want to come and help rebuild - in which case bring a hammer and all your friends. But this fall, when we've had a chance to collect ourselves and get back to putting on a good show for you. Tourism is an important aspect of Nashville's economy, and we're going to need all the help we can get. If you've visited here before, you get it - there's something special about Nashville. Most people who have come to visit us have considered moving here. Actually, I can't think of a single one who didn't at least say they could see themselves living here, and a few have actually made the leap. So come. If I know you personally, you can stay on the queen-size, elevated, super comfy air mattress in our living room - I'll take care of you. If I don't know you personally, let me know if you're coming in to town and I will show you a time, take you to all the places I love that make Nashville home to me.

Please open your heart to Nashville, in any way you can. I promise you - Nashville will not disappoint.

This is a beautiful video (I stole from Jason Bradford) to give you a glimpse of what happened here Sunday. You don't know these places, so there's not much frame of reference. Here's a hint: there's not supposed to be water most of the places you see water.

Where To Begin?

2010-05-03T13:27:00.007-05:00

When there is so much devastation. When I have so many strong emotions that need some sorting. When there are so many words, and yet somehow not the right ones.

Where to begin?

I'm going to begin with one I hadn't anticipated: anger. This morning, after the countless horrifying images and video I'd watched on the news all night, when I opened the MSN homepage and looked for the top story slideshow, the internet age equivalent of the front page, big picture story of the natural disaster covering my town in unimaginable feet of water - instead I saw a small snippet next to a tiny obscure picture down in (at least) the Must-See section. As of a few minutes ago, it has been downgraded to South braces for more floods in the second-tab News.

I was livid. How can people not care? How can the fact that people I know and countless more I don't have lost everything, that the places I love and where I live my life are submerged, that no one has heard from one of my precious co-workers who lives in a rural area and no one can reach her - how can that not be news? My righteous indignation was building when it suddenly hit me in the gut.

How many times have I done that? How many times have I seen a blurb about a town I don't know personally experiencing some kind of devastation, and then clicked on to see who Jessica Simpson's new love interest is? Instead of being moved to pray. To pray for the people in that small place that is familiar to them - and that is now surreal and unrecognizable.

The same people who - I now know - are hoping word is getting out and people are praying.

I'll be doing that from now on.

Would you please consider starting that with Nashville?

[Thank you.]

*If you want to see some of what we're seeing, you can check here .
**If you are moved to help - thank you - perhaps you can start here.

Postscript: We've now made that MSN top story slideshow, first slide. Wanted to be sure I give credit where credit is due. Things are still dangerously unstable here, and we won't know the full extent of damage for days - please keep praying. Thank you.

Late This Friday, Upon Returning From A Girls Night

2010-04-11T13:38:00.005-05:00

It wasn't the first time.

It certainly won't be the last.

An 11:37 pm impromptu Steak 'N Shake date with my man?

Saved. My. Life.

[Happy Weekend To You.]

Faith My Eyes

2010-04-08T15:54:00.007-05:00

Today, everything broke down. Our car. My beautiful plans for the afternoon. My understanding of our current financial situation (see "car" above). My perception of this state of uncertainty where we've seemingly staked out a capital.

Me - I broke down.

Sitting in my parked car outside my office, face plastered against the steering wheel, crying my eyes out, the exhaustion in my spirit caused me to think for a moment,

"This is too much."

Lately, a few things have seemed to go especially encouragingly well, and then just as we reach our pinnacle of excitement and anticipation - the bottom drops out from underneath us, and we land on our bums with a thud, our cherished prize snatched away. How many more overwhelming pieces of bad news can our weary hearts handle?

Today, in that split second, sitting defeated before my tear-soaked car horn, the answer was none. No more. Enough. This is not what I signed up for, not what I want. [That's a powerfully lonely split second. If you ever find yourself there, please call me. I mean it.] There wasn't a single shred of determination left in my battered heart, not a rational thought in my worn out mind. For that moment, I genuinely wasn't sure I could even gather the strength needed to walk back into my office. Which was bad, since it was 1:43 and I had a meeting at 2:00.

Something else broke down today. Something not listed in that pitiful collection at the beginning. That thing was my sense of entitlement, my say in how things in my life turn out. The part of me that looks at a situation and decides what I want it to look like and how I think it should go, and devises Plans B, C, sometimes through K. Very little occurs in our lives that I don't have a game plan for tackling. Money disappears from our account (thanks, State of California)? Out pops our budget and I'm crunching numbers before California has a chance to even enjoy the stolen fruits of our labor. Difficult health diagnoses? My Mayo Clinic online researching skills are nearly unparalleled, if I do say so myself. Feelings of work frustration or a sense of being stuck? Additional training options or recreational possibilities aplenty begin filling my Firefox bookmarks. Things obviously happen to us beyond my control, but I have a pretty strong say in what we do from there, what our retaliation entails.

Today, my say broke down.

Because I needed to really learn a humbling lesson: that God is the One Who has all the say. My Plans B - K are sweet and all, but He is the architect of my life, and it is His blueprint that will be followed to the letter. My reactionary measures may be admirable, but with or without them, God's ultimate designs on my life are what will be performed. Why is this distinction important?

Because when I have a plan and then things work out, I give God token credit. How nice of God to work my plan out. Or when my ideas or desires materialize, He gets some praise, but it's really sorta what I expected to happen anyhow.

As I mustered the willpower to step out of my car and walk slowly through the chilly wind into my office, I had nothing: no plan, no course of action, no agenda. No idea what is going to happen. What I did find was the indescribable peace that comes from laying down a burden that is far too big for me to carry at the feet of the One Who can lift it with just the strength of His pinky finger. And the real relief that comes with honestly letting go.

Right now, I've got nothing. Sure, we'll formulate a plan (because I believe God expects me to be a good steward with everything He has given me - including my brain), but know this: whatever good comes from this point onward will be purely a gift from the brilliant mind of our Creator.

I'm finally realizing my best course of action is to just go along for His ride.

[Which works out well - seeing as how my car is broken down.]

So keep 'em coming
These lines on the road
And keep me responsible
Be it a light or heavy load
Keep me guessing
With these blessings in disguise
I'll walk with grace my feet
And faith my eyes
-Derek Webb

The Same.

2010-03-24T23:10:00.006-05:00

I saw him tonight. There deep in those beautiful blue eyes, tucked into the lines and kind creases. It had been a while.

So much has gotten in the way. Cares and concerns. Grown-up adult issues that caught us off guard because we underestimated their bigness.

Lately I've tried diligently to put on a silly brave face. Silly because sometimes my efforts involve dancing with just my shoulders while we're driving in the car, while other times it's a total loss of body control convulsion move in a back aisle at Target - whatever it takes to make a smile break the tension clenching his jaw. Brave because I'm terrified.

It was the terror that grabbed hold and got the best of me when we got home tonight. Sitting on opposing couches, laptops balanced on our knees, I IMed the words I couldn't bear to say out loud. Will things ever be the same again?

Immediately, he set his computer aside with a Baby, come here. And I sat forehead to forehead with him and lost it. Neither silly nor brave, just a broken weepy mess.

After choking out a few pathetic phrases and attempting to explain my overwhelming feelings of helplessness, he suddenly caught my attention. There was a flicker. Something familiar.

There he was.

The same him.

And I stopped holding my breath (I do that without noticing sometimes), and breathed a sigh of relief.

Because I don't need anything to be the same. I don't need anything. As long as I have him. Him, who is still the same.

And tonight, I saw him.

The Rain Is Here.

2010-03-11T10:11:00.003-06:00

My soul feels a little flooded.

But we're staying afloat.

And if it means He is close at hand,

I'll take it.

He shall come down like rain
upon the grass before mowing,

Like showers that water the earth.
Psalm 72:6

Rolling Thunder.

2010-02-19T09:43:00.011-06:00

[Don't you wish your photographer was hot like mine?]

It is going to rain on my parade.

When I was little - ok when I played with dolls (I may have done that later than is socially acceptable, and past what can correctly be defined as little), one of my favorite things to do was to create a perfect setting in our backyard wherein I and my cotton-stuffed guests indulged in a delightful tea party. With my best dress-up dress and my dolls elegantly styled and coiffed, together we would sit around my plastic pastel dishes and pour and sip and ask for seconds of the delicious imaginary tea.

Magical.

Today I am picturing myself in the heart of one of those magnificent outdoor gatherings, mid-laugh, being suddenly silenced by an ominous clap of thunder. What to do? Gather up those I love, hunker down inside, and wait out the storm? Quickly move everyone to safety, then return to salvage and retrieve the delicate plates and cups and saucers, focused intently on taking care of all the details? Sit down in the growing mud, ruin my dress, and cry my eyes out?

What would you do?

Because I hear the quiet boom of the distant, rolling thunder, and I find myself wishing it weren't time. Not yet. Everything is so beautiful right now - can't it wait just a bit longer? We've only just poured our second cup.

Unfortunately, there is no doubt, the next Great Storm is on a clearly discernible path, heading straight for us. There will be even deeper, deafening thunder. There will be shocks of lightning. There will be torrents of rain. And tears.

I'm not going to lie - I am appropriately afraid.

But I'll tell you what I'm not: I'm not defeated. Even more clearly than the last time we headed into this same deluge, I see that we are going to make it, we are going to be ok.

Almost exactly a year ago, we sat there, stunned into near-paralysis, exposed to the downpour, and we were drenched and cold and genuinely afraid of drowning. It's not going to be any easier this time - I don't expect that.

But this time, I do know exactly what I'm going to do:

I'm going to hold on tight to the one I love
[he knows who he is]
walk him inside
go back out and calmly gather everything I can manage
before it starts really coming down,
and then we're going to continue that tea party indoors.

Philosophy 101

2010-02-03T12:25:00.014-06:00

*photograph courtesy of the Great Nashville Blizzard of 2010*

Forgive my philosophical indulgence here, but

I am not my feelings.

There. I said it.

Want to know how I got here? Well hop aboard this train of thought, and I shall lead you back down the windy track to my mental station.

So Pink was amazing at the Grammys. Did you see? Beautiful. Not only did she sing a heartbreaking, beautiful song with such vulnerable, raw emotion - she performed a visually gorgeous performance art piece. Without missing a note. Impressive. And breathtaking. Basically, I went from being a general fan of Pink (I have a soft spot for strong sassy girls - what can I say) to being a pretty big fan of Pink.

Still moved by her performance, yesterday I found myself reading Pink's wikipedia entry, and before I knew it, I was traveling down that sneaky rabbit hole we all know Wikipedia to be. Somehow I ended up at Pink's collaboration on India.Arie's song "I Am Not My Hair." (Coincidentally, India.Arie was also on the Grammy red carpet show I watched - see how this is all interconnected in my brain?)

Sidenote: I love India.Arie's song Video. So much more than I can possibly take time to express right here. But for reals. And without shame.

Anyways, "I Am Not My Hair" is one of those songs that I can thank an early infatuation with Lauryn Hill for loving. (You follow that?) Love the message, love the feel. Made me feel groovy and mellow for the rest of my workday.

Then last night I found myself firmly planted in a serious funk. Feeling frustrated, feeling hurt, feeling indifferent. And more than anything, it was this indifference that bothered me. After talking my poor husband's ear off and in circles, I finally broke down. Good man that he is, he hugged me, he comforted me - and then he asked me to come look through the new Anthropologie and J.Crew catalogs with him. (He's the best husband ever. I think I shall keep him.)

Waking up this morning, feeling fresh and ready to face a new day, I instead found myself even deeper in the same funk. Things at work were frustrating me, other things were swirling around in my thoughts, and I found myself once again responding with this indifference - and I was concerned. Anger, frustration - I can handle those. But this feeling like I just don't care (and not in a wave my hands in the air kind of way) is not like me.

Wednesdays I work from home, and my husband happened to be sitting on the couch across from me when I finally looked up and told him about my concern. For some reason, I found that I couldn't shake this indifference, and I was feeling at a loss as to what to do about it.

[Possibly melodramatically,] I asked him what was wrong with me. As he stood up from the couch to go get ready for a meeting he said,

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you.
I think you're wonderful.
But I also think you need to just rationally decide
how you should be acting,
and then decide to act that way,
whether you really feel it right now or not."

Then he kissed my forehead and walked out of the room.

And BAM! that's when it popped into my mind.

I am not my feelings.

Despite the intensity and enormity of the way I'm feeling right now, those feelings don't define who I am. My current state of indifference does not mean I'm the person the indifference makes me feel like I am. And so I move forward - the way I know I should - whether I feel like it or not.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is how you put Descartes before the horse.

[hardy har har]

Postscript: For the record, I am also not my hair.

ˈra-shə-nəl

2010-01-29T16:40:00.011-06:00

Fact: I drink my coffee with a straw. When I was 18, I got braces for the first time in my life, and I developed a complex about staining the areas around the brackets and having a glaring white spot in the center of each of my teeth. So I started drinking coffee from a straw. Now I basically can't drink coffee without it. If I don't use a straw, it feels like my teeth are immediately being stained as the brown liquid passes over them.

It's an irrational fear.

I'm still going to use my straws.

Rationality has never really been an exactly weighty issue in terms of my behavior. That's my complicated way of saying I'm kinda crazy.

For instance, when I first started keeping this record of my writing, it was in secret. From everyone. For months. And then one day I couldn't contain the secret within myself any longer and I sort of expelled it all over the people I love. (Sorry folks.) Without any real forethought or plan - there it was. Out there in the world, being read.

By all 3 of you.

Now I'm starting to wonder - what's my reason for existence? Not on a grander scheme, but here, within the network of this medium wherein I have chosen to deposit my writings - what's my point?

Not sure.

What I am sure of is what I am not: I'm not a mother, I'm not a design demi-god, I'm not a chef (that hurts to say a little, but alas, it's the truth), I'm not a photographer - and I'm not the Pioneer Woman. What exactly I am supposed to be trying to say in my own personal voice and to who (whom? I'm also not the grammarian, obviously) is what I intend to figure out.

So there may be some changes coming soon. Some restructuring, some shifting around. Because while I appreciate every one of you (3) who are regulars here, if I'm going to send my thoughts out into the universe, I want to try to package them in a way that is relatable and worth the outputting.

So look at me.

Being all rational.

Oh Canada: Part II

2010-01-21T10:39:00.007-06:00

THE FOOD. Can we please talk about the food?

(I'm going to go ahead and talk about the food.)

Actually, I'm going to let the pictures speak for themselves.

Il Terrazzo:

BeautifulDelicious

Cremes Brulees

Leftovers

At the Office:

Vegetarian sandwich from the local co-op
that I ate Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday

Greek catering

Shizen Sushi:

Salmon Sashimi & Alaska Roll

The Curry House:

Indian food

Mango ice cream

Dear Victoria, BC:

Thank you for your culinary charms. I wish we could have spent more time together, and that I could have enjoyed your daylight hours outdoors instead of inside a windowless training room. My hope is to return one day and see you in all your true beauty.

Until then, my 5 extra pounds and I remain respectfully yours,

Christiana

Oh Canada: Part I

2010-01-18T18:08:00.004-06:00

(view of the Inner Harbor from my cozy bed)

Newsflash: 5 am is not my friend. Not even a little bit.

Sunday morning - after going to sleep around midnight, being awoken by loud downstairs neighbors who think we live in a dorm (we do not), and 1:30 am city street jackhammering(?!) - my alarm went off at 5:00, and we went to the airport.

My eyes stung a little as my husband drove away, but I did not cry. I'm typically a huge baby, so be proud of me. But seriously - a week is a long time, especially since I never travel for work. (Never.)

But I zipped through security with plenty of time for my first flight of the Grand Trek to Victoria, BC. In fact, I was the first one there to Gate 12, waiting to board my flight to St. Louis. By a long shot. I mean, no one else was there - not even 20 minutes before the flight was scheduled to take off.

"Christiana Rush, please come to Gate 10."

Uh oh. This can't be good.

Apparently, my flight to St. Louis had been canceled, and although I would make it to Seattle in time for my final connecting flight to Victoria, the kind lady behind the airline counter apologetically informed me that they were going to have to reroute me.

Through Dallas.

Backstory: My sister and her husband and their children (children who are made of sugar and sparkles and cream) live in Dallas, pretty near the airport. My parents, who live in Southern California, are visiting my sister and her husband and their candy-coated children in Dallas. And - oh yeah - it was my sister's birthday.

Dallas would do just fine.

Shortly after touching ground, I was running to swoop up my precious little Eddie Bear. Poor kid's face/cheek/neck was covered in smooches, and I hope no ribs were bruised from the earnest squeezing. My Mom was holding his hand, and I hugged both her and my wonderful brother-in-law. Then I saw a tiny angel running straight for me as fast as her 3-year old legs could carry her, with a huge grin and giant brown eyes locked on mine. Scooping her up, she nuzzled into my neck, just as my beautiful Jen walked up and I wished her an enthusiastic "Happy Birthday!" and hugged and kissed her. Then my Dad wrapped his arms around his girls.

It was a Dallas-Fort Worth Reunion at Baggage Claim A16.

(We didn't have time to go anywhere before my next flight, so seriously - Sophia gave me a tour of the baggage carousel and Eddie raided the vending machine. It was awesome.)

As we said goodbye, I very nearly lost it when Sophia asked if I was coming to her house, and when I said no, she said, "May I go on the airplane with you?" Sure Honey. You can have whatever you want. (I wish.) Gently, I told her no, but promised to return soon. Then my Mom got a little misty-eyed as I was gathering my bags, and I told her no tears - I promised I would see her soon.

And I didn't cry. (Who am I?)

Security decided that they would take upon themselves the task of being the balancing factor in my little universe and compensate for all the happy by (unsmilingly) searching my bag. My flight almost left without me, and the man behind the airline counter (unlike the kind lady in Nashville) was super mad at me for being so late and rudely tried to keep me from carrying on my carry on. Still on a Family Induced High, I cheerfully showed him how I could remove a bag from the front of my suitcase and - tada! - it would fit into the overhead compartment splendidly. Apparently unimpressed with my grin, he begrudgingly waved me through, and I found a spot for my bag and myself in the nick of time.

At this point, I was ready for some peanuts. Pretzels, crackers, anything. Guess which airline no longer gives you any complimentary snacks, 4+ hour flight or no? The airline I flew.

When we landed in Seattle, my boarding pass directed me to S terminal - international - which I'd never flown before, so I decided to locate my gate prior to soothing my now weeping stomach. Plenty of time to spare, gate found, prepackaged sushi roll purchased (I was so hungry it tasted like it was fresh from the sea - and being Seattle, that maybe wasn't too far off). Ten and a half hours after waking up, I was finally eating something. At last, we boarded the little puddle jumper that would take me to Victoria, and God decided to bless my travels with high-hanging rain clouds that hovered above our plane, but didn't obstruct my view, and I pressed my forehead against the window the entire trip. It was on this flight that I decided I would just send for my husband and my dog and they could come move out to the Pacific Northwest with me. It's not the first time I've thought that, so I feel like it wasn't exactly impulsive. We honeymooned there, in Seattle and Ocean Shores - and living there someday would be a dream come true for me. (My dreams will never come true, just for your information - unless the epicenter of country music relocates too.)

Upon arriving in Canada, I was whisked away for a quick sandwich (my stomach sang praises to both Margie & health-conscious Victoria for the heavensent vegetarian delight), a scenic drive by the coast (during which I actually said out loud to my two co-workers, "this is good for my soul." Pretty sure Margie thought I was nuts - I think Kay understood.), a quick hike up Mount Douglas to look out over the city and sea, a grocery run for room supplies (goat.cheese.brie.) and finally to the hotel. As evidenced in the picture above, my room has a gorgeous view of Downtown Victoria's Inner Harbor - I can watch the water sparkle from my bed. Since we would be here for a while, my company sprang for a suite, so my adjoining living room and kitchen share this view. I'm starting to feel like this would be a perfect life, if only my husband and puppy would have listened to me and moved out here when I first mentioned the thought.

Personally, I've found Victorians to be familiarly similar to Americans - but with a razor-sharp wit and a nonoffensive cynically sarcastic streak, which I personally love. So far it's been a great trip - good food and good wine at superb restaurants, and a cozy comfortable bed. Not to mention the other enjoyable sights and experiences I've encountered - that perhaps I'll find energy to discuss in the near future.

Stay tuned...

Complete Thoughts.

2010-01-15T14:44:00.011-06:00

"He's either really stylish - or gay," was my first thought. Seated on a chair in a formal dining room in a cliffside house in Laguna Beach, the guy in the black turtleneck was definitely pulling said turtleneck off - which takes no small amount of chutzpah. Hence my original thought. It was Laguna Beach.

It was also my first quarter in college, and for the last few months I'd been tentatively creating a place for myself in this college group at a new church - the first one I'd ever chosen for myself. Meeting on Sunday nights in the generous Shepherd's beautiful home near the sea, that night I had quietly moved from a spot where I was sitting near the garage, outside and all the way around to the front door, to quietly use the powder room. As I gently shut the door behind me, I decided to just sit on the stairs and listen to Gordon speaking in the adjacent living room. That's when the sylish/gay(?) guy stood up from his seat at the table, motioned for me to come sit in it, and smiled at me.

"I'm good on the stairs," was my second thought. Really sweet and all, but not neccessary, since I had hoped to draw as little attention to myself as possible. I was 18, and the fact that people knew I actually ever used the restroom at all was mortifying enough. He was insistent. (This should have been a tip-off for the future.)

Forcing a smile, I stood up and gingerly made my way over to the chair, whispering, "thank you," as I sat down. Later that night, after the study, I went to Diedrich's on Pacific Coast Highway with Jillian and sat on a couch with her and poured out my heart about this boy I was so in love with. Unbeknownst to me, the turtleneck-clad guy had decided to tag along with Jillian's brother and another friend to Diedrich's. Apparently they threw straw wrappers at us all night. I didn't even notice.

"Wait a minute, this isn't who I think it is," was my third thought. Further into the conversation than I care to admit, I realized the person on the phone was not the old friend I thought it was. Unaware, I had been talking to the turtleneck-rocking, wrapper-throwing guy on the phone for the very first time. Familiarity in my voice when I said his name made his heart soar, so he says. When I had to say, "I'm sorry - who is this?" it came crashing back down to earth, so he says. (I appreciate the drama.) But then we talked on the phone for 3 hours. If you want to know anything about me, you should know that I do not do the telephone. When I was 12, I used to have to write down a list of things to chat about with my boyfriend when he called (because obviously, when you're 12, having a boyfriend means you talk on the phone at night and avoid each other like the plague at school) and I would - I kid you not - cross items on the list off as we covered them. Because one time I failed to cross an item out and rehashed it. Awkward. Basically, that's me on the phone to this day - awkward.

But not with him. In fact, everything was different with him. Over the next couple months, we talked on the phone incessantly. When I told him I didn't call boys, he called me on my work break once, and when I said hello, he quickly hung up. Calling him right back, his first words when he picked up the phone were a chuckling, self-satisfied, "I got you to call me." This guy was good. (For the record: stylish, not gay. Carry on.) He kept me on my toes, and he made me feel like I was the most interesting, intelligent, beautiful creature in the universe. We'd talk on the phone for hours, starting at 11:00 at night and all the way into the wee hours, finally hanging up just before the sun broke over the horizon. He'd then drag his sleepless, weary body straight to work, while I'd go back to sleep and awake hours later for class. (College sorta rocked.)

"I'd marry that guy in a second - if I saw him that way," was my fourth thought. But he was my best friend. Over a few months, we'd become so close, hanging out with a group of brilliant people, playing in a worship band together, talking for hours and learning about each other's souls. Without question, he always made me feel wanted, and he always made me feel special. In detail, I remember the day I had to hit eject on my car cassette player (remember cassettes?) because I felt myself falling in love with the beautiful voice and soul on the tape of original songs he'd made for me - but for some reason, I just didn't see him that way.

That's when he called me one night and said we needed to talk. Just the two of us - which was rare - he took me to Corner Bakery, sat across the table from me, looked into my eyes, and said, "I'm trying as hard as I can not to fall head over heels in love with you - and it's not working."

"I'm going to lose my best friend," was my fifth thought. I wasn't ready for this. It wasn't time. With tears forming in my eyes and a catch in my voice, I said, "I don't know how I feel yet." Surprise crossed his face. "I'm not requiring anything of you," he said. "I just want you to know that if you ever decide you would want more - I am here and ready. But if you don't ever feel that way, I still want to be your friend, because I just love being around you." Doubting, I told him I was afraid things would change. He promised me they wouldn't, and they didn't.

I told you he was good.

"I am deliriously happy," was my sixth thought. January 14, 2006 - forecast: rain. As a little girl, I had said that if God loved me, it would rain on my wedding day. Despite my childish presumptuousness, God deigned to shower that day with love. And rain. My pictures from that day say it all - I have a wide grin shaping my lips in every single shot. Multiple people asked me that day how I felt, and that was my answer every single time, "deliriously happy."

That day, I married my best friend.

"This is the better," was my seventh thought. January 14, 2010 - forecast: not a cloud in sight. Despite a couple rough patches over the years, some fights, a few blow-outs, lots and lots of tears - the worse has never outweighed. Last night, after a glamorous sushi date (we were ridiculously overdressed - and we worked it), a laughter-filled tour of TJ Maxx, a gallant solo Sour Patch Kids run (he let me stay in the warm car), a shared bottle of wine and a candle, we finally snuggled up on the couch and held each other. And it dawned on me. Together, we've experienced some sickness, we've enjoyed good health, we've fought through and wept over the worse - but this?

This is the better.

[Happy 4th Anniversary, My Darling.]

Gypsy.

2010-01-13T22:28:00.002-06:00

The lovely ladies at The Gypsy Feet
have graciously chosen to feature an entry of mine.

Again.

I'm honored.

[Might I suggest you also follow them?]

To Every Purpose Under Heaven

2010-01-08T08:38:00.004-06:00

This is Pajamas: Day 3. Tonight we are supposed to have dinner with new friends, so I'll at last have a reason to put on real pants. It's time.

This first week of 2010 has been rather unexpected. My husband and I have a personal New Year's Eve tradition of talking and praying over the year, and through an unintentional turn of events, we didn't do it this New Year's Eve. There have been multiple times over the past 7 days that I've thought, "I wonder if I should ask him if he wants to sit and do our New Year's Eve tradition right now?" but it wasn't the right timing. Last night, it was time.

Realizing the pleasing symmetry of the fact that this was exactly 7 days later - the last Thursday night was indeed New Year's Eve - I felt good about popping open a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses, turning off the lights and television, and lighting a candle. Together, we sat on the couch, sipping the bubbly, and talked about what we learned from the last year, our goals for the coming year, our hopes, and how we both believe this is going to be a good year. Feeling optimistic, we held hands, and my husband prayed over the coming year, offering it back to God. It was time.

This year, I want to listen more closely to the natural rhythms around me, and let them help determine some of my choices. Eating locally, and in season. Understanding that snowy weather means I make a big pot of soup with what we have on hand, and that's what feeds us for a couple days. Spending time with people who mean the most to us, and cherishing them better. Taking cues from nature, noticing and enjoying its beauty when it's offering us its best. There's an underlying sense of peace that I feel from living life this way, a rightness. Less striving and struggling - more going with the flow. I want to experience my life, not just charge through it. To take a minute. It's time.

And now, sitting in my pajamas (my 3rd pair - I have been bathing and changing them each day, never you fear), my boys have just come shivering into the living room to join me and greet the snowy day. I think I'll make us some coffee.

It's time.

Within.

2010-01-07T15:17:00.005-06:00

It's taken me a few days to land on this. Because already this year - you know, 2010, the one that was going to be so awesome and great and so much better than 2009 - it's already started off a wee bit rocky.

I've started this post 3 separate times, and each time, what I had written was so just completely wrong, I deleted the entire entry. Not because it's so important (it's a blog), but because I want it to be right.

And I think that's it.

I'm 7 days - one week - into 2010, and I've already done battle against my tendencies to stress, I've already fought for the happiness and lightness I want to define my spirit, and I've already bitten my tongue when I was about to be a total jerk to my husband. This is not to sing my own praises (check in with me again on 2010: Week 2 - or better yet, check in with my husband), but I'm saying it to to show that what I'm sensing inside my soul is a desire for things to be better, a wanting.

For Grace. For A New Beginning. For a Cleaning Out of the Clutter.

For good things.

And if there's anything I've learned from the last year, it's that there is always good to be found, despite life's pain and confusion. You just have to be determined look for it.

I need to decide that God is good, that life is good, and that this day is good - and then take everything else as it comes.

It's not about how perfectly I execute my desire - it's that I have the desire at all. And that's what I've decided I want for 2010. Good things.

Without, yes.

But especially within.

Before.

2010-01-04T11:07:00.005-06:00

I'm sitting on my chair at my desk in my cubicle. Haven't been here for 2 weeks.

It was a good 2 weeks.

But there is so much to look forward to in 2010, so much before us.

For instance:

~ A New Year of Learning (bent towards a very specific goal, in my case) ~ Possible Cuts (the good, international kind - not the bleeding kind) ~ Peace (in every area, and especially one in particular thanks to the Czech Republic) ~ Health (for what we have, we're grateful) ~ Happiness (which I've learned is up to me) ~

There is something so sparkly and crisp about a New Year. It makes me think of Anne of Green Gables (ok, the miniseries, not the book, since I haven't read it - new goal for 2010) and Ms. Stacey's comment to Anne after Anne says, "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it."

Ms. Stacey gently corrects her, "Well, with no mistakes in it yet."

Here's to 2010, a fresh year with no mistakes in it...yet.

Postscript: I realize I said I would be using this blog more for writing, and that then this, my very next, entry isn't exactly an essay. But that's the beauty of having a blog - it's all mine and I can break my own rules. Sorry if you are disappointed.

Behind.

2009-12-31T14:23:00.005-06:00

"What lies behind us
and what lies before us
are tiny matters
compared to what lies within us."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

I've said it before, and it's still the truth: it's been a rough year.

But it hasn't been all bad.

I have proof:

January: Three Beautiful Years, where I describe A Very Rushian Anniversary.

February: A Love Letter To Spring, pretty much a self-explanatory title.

March: For Him, On A Tuesday, an attempt to express my love.

April: Welcome To Our Easter, a photojournal featuring the Hall family, who graciously adopt us for the holidays.

May: Ode To Scruffy, an homage to the tiniest member of the Rush Family.

June: 6:23 am, ok so not exactly a super happy post, but I've always loved that picture.

July: Snooze, an expression of what's important in life [hint: it's not actually the sleep].

August: Always In Every Way, wherein I basically describe how I felt for much of 2009.

September: Returning, a somewhat poetic offering.

October: A New Beginning, starting to feel like I'm onto something.

November: Happy Halloween, pretty much my favorite Halloween costume of all time.

December: For Larrien, a true story.

Here's what I've learned in 2009, some of which specifically pertains to this blog:

1. I cannot bring myself to type Mr. Handsome anymore. Not that he's any less handsome, but that I'm getting cavities from all the sticky sweetness.

1a. I am, however, apparently still ok with really lame puns and jokes. (I blame the Tiscareno blood coursing through my veins.)

2. More than wanting to post every day during this season of my life, I want to be writing. So although it may be less frequent, hopefully my posting will be more worthwhile(?).

This is up for debate.

3. 2010 is going to be a good year.

The Night Before Christmas.

2009-12-18T08:29:00.004-06:00

*picture courtesy of Debbie Hall's gorgeous tree, Christmas 2008*

I can't tell you enough how serious I am.

You must go get Steven Curtis Chapman's song The Night Before Christmas NOW.

It is beautiful - and it has been making me weep all morning.

Maybe because we have experienced the true joy of giving this season, and the wonder and magic it brings.

Maybe because we've been having slumber parties next to our enchanting Christmas tree, because I just can't bear to tear myself away from it's warm glow each night.

Maybe because we've chosen to decorate our home with handmade treasures - specifically paper snowflakes (which I will write more about this weekend after we've hung them - pictures coming), and they make our home sparkle with love.

But I suspect it's really because - possibly more this year than any other year before - I feel the weight of what it means when I hear that God saw us, struggling in our despair and in the mess we'd made of this world, and in response, He put on humanity and came into our world as One of us. That we might be saved.

That we might not be left alone.

Emmanuel - God with us.

[He really is.]

The Night Before Christmas
by Steven Curtis Chapman

It was the night before Christmas
And all through the world
Everything looked like business as usual
Shepherds sat on a hillside
Looking up at the stars
While the world fell asleep
Unaware just how deep
Was the darkness the night before Christmas

And the night before Christmas
It seemed to be just a night
But the wind blew like something was coming
And like children with secrets
That they're bursting to tell
The cedars danced in the breeze
While all of nature it seemed
Held its breath on the night before Christmas

And hope
Hope long awaited
The hope of the ages
Would break with the dawn
And the song
That all of creation
Was anticipating
Would start
With a baby's first cry

And on the night before Christmas
Mary laid down to rest
While Joseph, he paced the floor praying
And in an everyday stable
In an everyday town
In the hours to come
God would wrap Himself up
And come down from heaven
And the world would forever be changed
After the night before Christmas

For Larrien.

2009-12-16T10:05:00.007-06:00

Mr. Handsome ran through 27 degree, windy, chilled nighttime air.

There were no coats. Larrien needed a coat. Mr. Handsome thought another store in the shopping center might have one, and so he braved the cold. He was right. A $50 coat, size Small - Little Boy 6 - marked down to $19.99. Puffy, black, and very warm.

Perfect.

On his way back to me, he ran in to two more stores, checking for the best price on the highest quality shoes he could find.

Once we were reunited, we navigated the clothing section together, then moved on to the main event: toys. Desperately, Mr. Handsome searched in vain for Hot Wheels Crashers and a Wild Time Fidgets (Google would prove useless in the search for what in heaven's name a Wild Time Fidget even is). Quickly, I said we should move on. Mr. Handsome was insistent, determined.

"He has 2 specific things on his list. Only 2. I want to find them."

And so we asked a nice lady in the little boy toy aisle if she knew what a Wild Time Fidget was. She smiled apologetically - she was at a loss, too. Mr. Handsome circled the toy aisles at least 10 times, scanning with precision every item on each shelf.

They weren't there.

But he did pick out a set of awesome action figures (the request that had tugged at my heart in the first place), a dinosaur book - complete with accompanying dinosaur stickers, a polar bear spelling game from the makers of Cranium, a set of Legos that make 3 different types of trucks, a small room-size basketball hoop and basketball (Mr. Handsome's personal addition), and an entire new wardrobe of clothes. Including a very sleek pair of black sneakers that any 6-year old boy would think are super cool.

And the coat.

We were finished.

This morning at the office, I sat down to wrap the gifts, then suddenly realized I'd left my scissors and tape at my desk. For just a moment, I ran to grab them. When I came back, these sat on the table.

I was speechless. Then I very nearly cried.

I still have no idea where they came from.

Larrien will have every single thing he asked for this Christmas - which wasn't even very much to begin with - and a whole heap of extra things, at that.

And me? I fell more in love with my precious, tender Mr. Handsome.

There's Christmas Magic in the air.

Can you feel it?

Getting Ready.

2009-12-14T14:34:00.009-06:00

*Taken with love by Jillian whilst getting ready for The Nutcracker.*

For so many things.

For the work day to end. For my husband to hug me and kiss me when I get home. For an evening snuggled up by our Christmas tree in our cozy home together.

For Christmas. For my Year of Grace.

For what comes next.

My heart is full today. Despite sending my precious Jillian off with a kiss and a tear yesterday [and although I still miss her fiercely], today I feel filled with light and wonder and joy and hope. It's a pleasant response to my seasonal yearning for that elusive abstract I call The Christmas Spirit.

Not because I have big plans for Christmas shopping. (I don't.) Not because circumstances have suddenly made a miraculous turn for the better for us. (They haven't.) Not even because it's Christmastime. (Well ok maybe a little bit because it's Christmastime.)

But because life is a gift, it's precious - and it's happening now.

Let's live it, shall we?

Wishing you and yours all the
light, wonder, joy, and hope
you can wrap your hearts around
this Christmas season.

*Our Christmas Tree, next to which I will soon snuggle with my husband.*

The Rest of the Story.

2009-12-14T14:28:00.001-06:00

Be inspired.

[And if you missed the first part, start here.]

You Can Hear the Strings.

2009-12-07T13:50:00.008-06:00

I want to be a woman of grace.

This past Saturday afternoon, I excitedly switched on a Christmas music mix on the bathroom sound system my husband bought me, slipped into a piping hot shower, and began my own personal ritual of preparation for our big night out. Most women have one of these, I'm sure: beloved traditions of primping and readying for a special evening. For this night, my Date had bought me gorgeous sparkly earrings and a classy little black dress. The occasion? My company Christmas Party. Torture for my poor man, heaven for me. Although, let's be honest here: the event itself wasn't the reason for my euphoric feelings. The excuse to indulge in my sacred ritual and feel like a princess for a night - that was the real treat.

The evening was everything I expected it to be: lovely, amusing, funny, and awkward. It also held a few unexpected surprises, not the least of which was a slow dance with my ever patient and loving husband. All in all, it was a beautiful, unforgettable night I'll cherish for a long time to come.

It's easy to confuse beauty with grace.

You would think that the next day, both my husband and I would bask in my afterglow from the sublime, enchanted evening I had enjoyed the night before. Sadly, this was not so. For whatever reason, I wasn't a very nice person yesterday. Forget any beauty I'd been able to polish up on Saturday night - I was ugly on Sunday. And I was confronted with some painful, glaring truths: I am unforgiving, unkind, and unloving. When I first wrote that sentence, I wrote, "I can be," which I then changed to the slightly more truthful, "I am sometimes," until I finally realized the humbling reality - the statement deserves no qualifiers. Those unsavory qualities coexist in my heart along with the other more pleasant traits. But they're there. And they've been making more public appearances than I'm comfortable with lately.

This has been a tough year. We've faced a lot of hurt, a lot of disappointment, grief, and anxiousness. I'm exhausted. And I find myself feeling panicked and frustrated and reactionary in stressful situations lately, and I'm ashamed of myself. It doesn't matter how perfectly I apply my eye makeup if there's no light shining through those eyes.

I'm tired of being afraid that things aren't going to work out for us. I'm tired of feeling envious of other people's lives and devaluing my own. I'm tired of being an unforgiving person. I'm tired of being unkind to the man I love with all my heart, and treating him in disgraceful ways I'd never dream of treating anyone else - just because I know he won't leave. [He, the one who loves me most and best.] I'm tired of living without grace - and it doesn't matter how pleasingly I adorn my outward appearance, my spirit needs some extra attention.

Through a flood of tears, the swallowing of countless lumps in my throat, and the feeling of an actual hurt in my heart - I have just finished 1/2 of Stephanie Nielson's story of hope, grace, and the triumph of life. (The second half is coming next Sunday, December 13, 2009 - don't miss it.) How can I complain about my circumstances when I see her courage and her stubborn fight and will to continue to live an unbelievably painful and difficult life? Before the events that forever altered her life, she lived with a delicate balance of beauty and grace, as documented on her charming blog. And now, after traveling to hell and back, she absolutely breathes beauty and grace - it radiates from within her in everything she says, does, and is.

And here I am, unable to find a way to express true beauty and grace in my own life. At least not as consistently as I would (and should) require of myself.

And so, as I prepare to bid farewell to 2009 and look forward to the beginning of a new decade, I'm going to forgo my embarrassingly arrogant Resolve of last year and actually make a resolution: 2010 will be my Year of Grace. I will be more patient, less selfish, more forgiving, less hurtful. Kinder, gentler, and much more loving.

With the ultimate goal being that my Year of Grace turns into a Lifetime.

Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,

But a woman who fears the LORD,
she shall be praised.
Proverbs 31:30

*Christmas Party: 2009*
(the best shot we were able to get - I apologize for the blur.)

My Family Is In Town.

2009-11-24T09:53:00.007-06:00

YOU DO NOT EVEN KNOW.

I am sososososososososo excited.

And BUSY.

But someday

I'll be back.*

*Feel free to nap in the meantime.

Happy Halloween

2009-11-02T09:16:00.001-06:00

from Mr. Handsome & Mr. Handsome.

O-o-h Child.

2009-10-27T15:16:00.003-05:00

I believe it started in 4th grade.

My first year at sleep-away summer camp, my unwitting and loving mother and father kissed me goodbye, put me on a bus, and waved until I was out of sight. I'm guessing Mom probably brushed away a stray tear or two, but in all likelihood they firmly believed they were leaving me in highly capable hands.

I, on the other hand, was inside that bus having a panic attack. Severely riddled with separation anxiety, my little 9-year old heart was breaking. It wouldn't help that when we finally arrived at our destination, we scurried off excitedly to find our cabins - and my counselor promptly passed out on her bed, telling us she had just suffered a miscarriage the day before and would need to call her boyfriend who - oh yeah - was in jail. Pretty sure she subsequently slept through the rest of camp.

There we were - a rambunctious crowd of pre-teen girls - leaderless. In a way, it saved my week because I quickly realized I was going to have to put on my big girl panties and take care of myself. Before long, I had somehow been silently nominated the cabin's unofficial counselor, and throughout the course of the week, one by one the older girls in my room (it was 4th-6th grade camp) came to me to confide in me about things ranging from divorcing parents to physically abusive dads. Heavy stuff for a girl who hadn't even entered double digits yet.

And thus it began - my identity as an unofficial counselor. Ever since those days, I've found myself on the listening end of countless heartaches and hurts, and have gladly helped my friends - and the rare random acquaintance - sort through the pieces of their lives, trying to make some sense of it all.

So it was strange to be on the other side yesterday.

I've had this lingering cloud hanging over my head, and I've been unable to shake it. There are reasons - whos, whys, hows - but no answers. And certainly no clarity. Alternately, I feel hurt and upset - then frustrated with myself for feeling hurt and upset. Which makes me feel hurt and upset. One of my dearest friends happened to casually ask me how I was doing - and before I knew it, out it all poured. She listened. And then she asked me one crucial and insightful question.

Aha.

Suddenly, it all made sense. From her loving place of knowing and understanding, she shed some light on all the mangled pieces, and gently helped me restructure a somewhat sad - but tenacious - version of my heart. Exactly what I had been unable to define, she hit squarely on the head and named. As I sat there, basking in the glow of this newly discovered enlightenment, I no longer chastised myself for feeling what I was feeling, nor made any effort to deny it. With her compassionate, soothing words and timely wisdom, she managed to bandage my wounds, acknowledge that they hurt, validate that they should - and then pointed me toward the healing direction in which I could walk.

You know what I realized?

It feels good to be on this side, too.

And I have a feeling things are gonna get easier.

[p.s. that's not me.]

A New Beginning.

2009-10-26T10:06:00.006-05:00

Jen will remember this.

When we lived in the Santa Ana house, back before David was even born and when my sister and I still shared a room, I remember my blessed Mother (who was a stay-at-home Mom at the time) deciding that the proper way to awaken her weary children on summer mornings was to blast Greg Laurie's 9:00 am radio program throughout our sun-drenched house.

Many mornings, I woke to this theme song: "It's a new beginning, a new beginning. If any man be in Christ, he is a new creation. OLD THINGS HAVE PASSED AWA-AY-AY-AY-AY-AY-AY. And it's a new beginning, a new beginning..."

Then we'd go downstairs, eat cinnamon toast, and play the game of Life.

Summers were pretty awesome when I was a kid.

This morning, I wish I could hear that song. (Lucky for me, I have a permanent loop of it available in my head.) My life feels jumbled. Nothing sounds better to me right now than a plate of my Mom's cinnamon toast and a few rounds of the game of Life.

Instead, I'm sitting at my desk, very uncomfortably present in this world I have created for myself - realizing that this is what I've got to work with. And despite my intense desire to pull an ostrich and bury my head in the sand and stay there until everything around me goes back to normal, I know I need to push forward. Because although my life is sometimes big and scary and overwhelming, it's the only one I've got. And if I'm honest with myself, back when I was rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and lazily slinking down the Santa Ana house stairs with Teddy and Blanket under my arm, this was what I was (grumpily) thinking about. The day that I would be a grown-up, and could decide for myself how I would choose to be woken up on a Monday morning. When I would have my own place, maybe a husband and a puppy of my own, and live my own life, make my own decisions.

Grass is always greener, huh?

Mr. Handsome and I had a lovely weekend. Perfectly lovely. I am so thankful for him. He bridges that deep chasm in my spirit between being a responsible adult and being a happy little kid - and makes me dance and giggle and release the Inner Silly that melds those two selves seamlessly and beautifully. Did I mention I'm grateful? In fact, all I want to do is hop in my car, drive home, snuggle under the covers with him and wiggle my feet around until my toes find his.

But time continues pressing on, a new week has started, and there are people who count on me, tasks to be completed, work to be done. Maybe it's difficult today because my heart is still a little bruised, and my favorite way to deal with hard situations is with a nap.

But back in the corners of my memory, I hear that cheery choir quietly blending their voices: "a new beginning...a new beginning....a new beginning..." and I know that my little packet of cinnamon oatmeal isn't the same as my Mom's cinnamon toast (not even close), but it will do. And it doesn't include a colorful plastic spinny wheel, but I am in fact playing my own game of Life right now.

And Mr. Handsome's toes? They'll be there when I get home.

Time to let the sun-drenched office (ok, I can pretend) and those singers in my head start me off on the right foot - and make the most of this day I've been given.

Good Morning, Week of October 26, 2009.

Let's begin.

The Best Day

2009-10-26T08:31:00.003-05:00

There is one day I value above all others.

That day happened to fall on Saturday this year.

Without this day, my life would be a shadow of what it is.

Because of this day, I smile every single day.

This day gave me him.

[Mr. Handsome devours his Midnight Magic Birthday Cupcake - thanks Gigi.]

What a happy gift to give the world.

[Thanks, God.]

The Best Part Of Waking Up.

2009-09-30T12:34:00.005-05:00

At the moment, I'm attempting to find the motivation to simply get up and make myself a pot of coffee - that's my first goal of the day.

I'm sitting on the couch, further contemplating trying next to move my lazy legs toward a quick shower, getting dressed, and walking down the street (not far) to Bombay Palace for Indian food for lunch.

Mr. Handsome sweetly told me I should, before he left for his writing session.

Is it strange that after this summer, my heart pounds a little and I feel a little catch in my chest every time he leaves me to go somewhere? Even if it's just to a writing session (like today) or to record demos (like tonight), I feel a slight panic that he's going to be gone for a very long time as soon as the door shuts.

And then I will be lonely, and I will miss him.

Despite my completely delusional post-traumatic stress tendencies, I think it's fair to say that this summer was something of a - well, let's just say it was a lot.

And now the declining humidity in the air and the crisp coolness that's steadily replacing the oppressive heat and fullness is leaving me room to breathe, to take in, and to exhale. Across the country, fairs are dismantling their rides and midways and stages and closing up for the season, and Mr. Handsome's calendar is blissfully clear. Just as the earth has decided it's time to cool off and send the wee humans scurrying inside for pumpkin spice lattes and fireplaces and hometime, our lives are slowing to a blessed stop to allow us to indulge in Fall's magic and welcomed treasures.

If I'm honest, 2009 in general was a toughie. Together we've faced illness, fear, separation, distance, and a nagging concern that we've lost some of our vision. This year started with the chill and frozen paralysis of facing unexpected health issues, then mellowed into a blossoming of acceptance and conviction that we could - we would - push forward. Then came the burning heat. Busyness, travels, spinning wildly in circles and feeling like we were going nowhere. How appropriate that now we have come to the end of the chaos and are met with the calm rich hues of change, and the relief of a milder, more gentle and gracious climate. Because I for one am ready to be done with 2009. Not that it's been a bad year, just a big year - and I'm ready to let it wind down, to catalog it away as it's own complex chapter in the story of our lives.

Bring on the corduroys. Cozy up in McCreary's pub. Grab a jacket on my way out the door. Remind my skin what the sun feels like when it's not obstructed by layers of wet Southern hot.

And instead celebrate warmth. Not glaring heat that brings discomfort, but fireplaces, candles, the laughter of our friends - and snuggling up with the only person I'd be willing to face 2009 again with, if I absolutely had to. Wrapped up together, we'll dream big dreams for what comes next, and be grateful for this graceful end to what was a somewhat difficult and definitely interesting year.

Seems a homemade warm beverage might be a good place to start.

Now about that coffee.

It's Not Right

2009-09-29T12:09:00.003-05:00

but it's ok

[Thanks Whitney.]

that THIS
is the only way I'm surviving Tuesday September 29, 2009.

*VentiNonfatAmericano*

[God Bless You.]

Own It.

2009-09-22T10:51:00.005-05:00

Lately I find myself feeling pretty pathetic.

When I get together with friends, I end up whining and complaining far more than I'm really comfortable with. It's as though I'm standing in a batting cage without a bat, and some of these life circumstances - some beyond my control, others just too scary to consider shaking up - keep flying at me with increasing speed, knocking me to the ground, only to hit me again on my way back up.

Which, as a mental picture, is really funny.

As my life, not so much.

When did I turn into this person who allows herself to wear her discontent like a winter's coat on a warm summer's day? It's not comfortable, it's not appropriate, and I need to get rid of it.

So I am.

Really, my life is not actually stuck - my mind is. Recently I stumbled across a pretty incredible article by Laura A. Munson, and was deeply struck by a particular paragraph:

"You see, I’d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I’d committed to 'The End of Suffering.' I’d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I’d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it."

I realize this idea of "The End of Suffering" is terribly Buddharrific, but it got to me. My happiness is my own responsibility - not my career's, my friends', my family's, and certainly not my dear Mr. Handsome's. It's up to me to decide, within myself. And without question, I live a blessed life, and have been given much to be thankful for, to find joy in.

Time to start looking in the right place.

Returning.

2009-09-21T14:22:00.005-05:00

Wet asphalt, rhythmically pounded by
tire tread, raindrop, tire tread, raindrop.

Red highway brake lights, occasional impatient horns sounding,
and a broken radio forcing me to realize I have become
uncomfortable with morning commute silence inside my worn car.

Gray - cubicle, sky, carpet, reflection. As if my eyes
protect themselves from the harsh unnatural fluorescence
by dimming everything that passes into my line of sight.

Office politics, deadline-determined anxieties,
an unsettling panic that this is all there is - and it is not enough.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Calm.

Gently floating in on an easy current, a recognition of
the inherent power contained in a single choice.

Happiness - it is up to me.
No one else.
Independent of circumstance or any external force.

Available, here and now.
For the choosing.

Significant.

And enough.

Bad.

2009-09-09T10:44:00.002-05:00

I've been a bad blogger.

I apologize for my absence.

Mr. Handsome was gone for TEN DAYS and I just barely survived, much less had the creativity to type out a few worthwhile phrases.

But he's coming back.

[So am I.]

S O O N.

When It Rains

2009-09-03T11:25:00.002-05:00

it pours, no?

The Surreal Life

2009-09-02T10:33:00.004-05:00

Holy Moses.

Life is a bit topsy-turvy at the moment, and I've just finally stopped spinning long enough to make a smidgen of sense out of it.

Here is le gist:

Please pray for this scrumptious little darling. He's especially teensy tiny - and spent some time in the Vanderbilt Children's Hospital this week being tested, so they can hopefully figure out why exactly.

(He's a love.)

Please also pray for my brother-in-law, Leonard. He's been through a horrific and unbelievable ordeal and is also in a hospital right now, recovering and healing from his nightmare.

(He's Mr. Handsome's baby brother, and we love him.)

And me, well I'm missing my best guy something fierce (he's on the road for NINE DAYS can someone please explain to me how that's acceptable?)

So wee gentleman Scruff and I are holding down the fort.
It's been a weird week for the Rush Family.

How's your week been?

Friday Favorites - Lina Fox

2009-08-28T08:55:00.011-05:00

*Lina Fox

(You may call her Bean. I think.)
is my new favorite blogger.
And I read a lot of blogs.
A lot.
But in every post,
she tells me a story
and I laugh really, really hard
and then suddenly by the last sentence
I'm a little choked up.
(Ok, usually weeping.)
I love her.
I think you will too.
Come find out.

This is Lina Fox.

I met Lina by chance. If you've ever been to a bridal shower, you'll know what I'm talking about. If you've ever been to a bridal shower in Orange County, you'll definitely get it. Let's just get this out in the open - bridal showers are awkward. Especially if you live in Nashville and travel home to Orange County and are invited to a gorgeous bridal shower where you know all of 3 people. Lina was not one of those 3 people. But by a serendipitous seating arrangement, or the brilliance of Jillian (I'm feeling like it's most likely the latter), I ended up chatting a bit with Lina. Oh my goodness, people. There are so many things that come to my mind when I try to describe how I felt about her - a breath of fresh air, absolutely adorable, belly-laugh hilarious, effortlessly beautiful. But those all sound like cliches.

And Lina is no cliche.

After we clicked at the shower, saying goodbye with anticipation of meeting up again in September at the bride's wedding, I traveled back home - where I happened upon her blog. And was blown completely away. Rocked to my core, blubbering at my cubicle, and dying of laughter. And that was just one post. Because you see, Lina is a storyteller - the very best kind. I would love nothing more than to sit on a porch with her and a pot of tea (ok, maybe actually a bottle red wine - either/or) and a plate of cupcakes, and just have her tell me stories. All night long. Lina sees the world in a refreshingly unique way - and then talks about it using words I never would have even considered mashing up together. And suddenly it's a story worth telling, worth hearing.

You are in for a treat.

I'm just going to let you experience her for yourself and will shut up now.

[one last thing - Lina typically goes by Bean. I like it.]

Me: What's something fun & interesting you'd like people to know about you right away?
Bean: When I was younger I had a very flat nose, which I thought made me less attractive than my White friends and parents, who all had beautiful strong noses. I realize that last sentence makes it sound like my parents are White but they’re not. Just thought I’d clarify. *ahem* In an effort to shape my squishy nose into some sort of shape, I would pinch it whenever no one was looking, and religiously before bed. If someone poked me in the nose, I would pinch it to “fix” it when the nose-poker wasn’t looking. I’m not sure if the pinching changed the shape of my nose or if it finally decided to grow. But it has (yay!) I still do this, though not as diligently or religiously as I used to.
Me: What do you do a.) for a living and b.) for love?
Bean: a) I tell stories, play with the toys in my cube, and drink an inordinate amount of coffee. I work on a team that manages/creates/edits/makes up (shhh about the last part) all of the content in our database. I currently stare at exhibits all day and work on making them pretty for proposals.
b) I tell stories, play with toys (in general), drink an inordinate amount of coffee, and hang out with Mike, my fabulous husband who just happens to look like Elijah Wood. I don’t see it but he is regularly compared to him. Once, while Mike and I were walking across the street, a Black man stuck his upper body out of a bus that was pulling away from the curb and yelled, “Hey, are you Elijah Wood?” to which Mike replied, “No man, but I get that a lot.” And even though the bus was quite some distance down the street, he yelled, “Oh, dang! You really look like him!” It was surreal (and hilarious). In between working and doing all of those things I just mentioned, I also like to read, write, and sing along to songs on the radio.

Me: Speaking of, tell us your love story.
Bean: I first noticed Mike in a few of my writing classes but didn’t bother to really get to know him because 1) I was always doing Latin homework, 2) When I wasn’t doing Latin I was trying very hard to stay awake, and 3) I was scared. Thankfully, my roommate finally introduced us; she had known him since Freshman year. Although we were at the same college within UCSD, I didn’t remember him because I spent most of my time sleeping and eating. I wish I was joking.

He seemed very nice, very cool, and very uninterested in my body parts. So, I told him we should be friends and suggested we exchange numbers. He didn’t call me for almost two years. God is totally looking out for me because we ended up taking another writing class together my fifth year/his last quarter. I gave him a ride home one day since I had a parking permit and discovered I lived right across the street. We became close friends, and then one night he tried to hold my hand (but missed).

Since then, we have learned how to hold hands (properly).
It is nice.

Me: How would you describe your fashion sense, and what 3 things would you buy for your fall wardrobe if money were no object?
Bean: Very comfortable. I spent most of college wearing jeans, Rainbows, and men’s undershirts (“wife beaters”) because the 5-pack provided me with an outfit for a week. Is it safe to say I didn’t have much sense then? Since then, I’ve started wearing more dresses because they make me feel pretty AND dresses really help hide my belly rolls and under-the-boob Twinkies. I don’t think I have much fashion sense but I really like clothes that make me feel good about myself and my body, which is grown up and wobbly and soft.

Ooh, here are three items that would make me oh so happy:

1. A Shiba Inu puppy, but only if space weren’t an issue. I would give up purses and boots and plastic toys for a warm, wriggly, chubby little puppy!
2. I’m still searching for a great pair of boots that say, “Bean, you and your size 10 feet need to wear me home. I will make you feel like the coolest kid on the East coast even though you live on the West coast.” I know you’re gawking at the fact that my feet are so long. I was seriously embarrassed to have such long feet for YEARS.
3. A [tattoo] half-sleeve on my right arm. I’m scared to follow through because I think my mom just might chop off my breasts if I do it. Mike said I should get a tattoo on my chest of my mom using a guillotine to chop off aforementioned body parts. Right.

Me: What's the silliest thing you've ever done, and what made you do it?
Bean: I had two sets of push-up pads sown into my wedding dress because I needed some help filling out my dress. The chest area looked small and deflated in comparison to the rest of my dress. You can see in some pictures that my enhancements were bought/unnatural because my dress, which was fitted in the chest and torso area, would be in one position while my body was in another. Silly Bean.

Me: What quality would you like to see more of in yourself, specifically over the next year?
Bean: Courage. I’m learning how to open up to girlfriends again and it scares me more than worms/snails/slugs/black holes.

Me: What would you say is your life's motto?
Bean: Ooh, am I supposed to have this one figured out already? Dang, I’m so behind. I’m bad at this “being a grown-up” business.

For now can I say it’s, “Lather. Rinse. Repeat?”

Me: Please tell us a story. [I'm serious.] It can be true or made up.
Bean: The only time I moved home from school was the summer after my Freshman year of college. I took a job as a receptionist at an aerospace engineering company. Needless to say, I was one of three females so I received a lot of male attention. This was all very new to me; I was 19, till then had been relatively luckless in love, and had just received my first kiss Memorial Day weekend. It was very sloppy and wet, and the boy was a very aggressive kisser. I felt like I was kissing a horse! Anyway, there was a cute older man who worked there that paid me special attention (shame on him!). He was 10 years older than me, had a six-year-old son, and had a terrible drinking/gambling/smoking habit. I know how to pick ‘em, right? One day after work, I mustered up the courage to ask him out. I figured I had nothing to lose (right?) and felt giddy and scared and extremely empowered. I asked him to go out for coffee after work; I’m leaving out the embarrassing details about my stuttering, nervous sweating, and all-around-awkward attempt at flirting. He said, “Let’s go now”, to which I hastily replied, “I can’t. I have to go home and do chores.”

NICE.

A few weeks later, he tried again. I felt particularly cute that day, which helped me feel gutsy. I was wearing a skirt with a faux Burberry pattern, a new choker (not even sure if those were still “in” but it was cheap), and I had curled my hair so it looked big, like a lion’s mane (I thought I looked so cute). He leaned over my desk and said, “Do you wanna get coffee after work today?” I think my face was bright red. Oh my GOODNESS I was over-the-moon excited! I somehow managed to keep my cool while I accepted his invitation; inside, my guts were doing jumping jacks and having a party. I felt like I had finally arrived; little did I know that I wouldn’t actually “arrive” for another three years. Yikes. Poor me.

We made plans. He told some jokes. I laughed appropriately (perhaps a little too excitedly). But when I laughed, I inadvertently shot a gummy booger ball out of my left nostril onto my desk, just inches from his hand (which was very tan, by the way). It was a pretty good size, too, like it had been collecting for some time and had been waiting for a forceful sneeze of some sort. There was no way he didn’t see it since I almost pegged his hand with it. My eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets. Of course. Of course this would happen to me. I wish I could tell you that I owned up to it.

But I didn’t.

I just moved my hand to cover it while we wrapped up our conversation; this was probably more obvious than just admitting I had shot a projectile from my nose. The adult me would’ve said, “Wow, did you see that? I’m glad I didn’t hit you!” Oh well. Thankfully, he returned to his desk shortly afterwards. Neither of us ever brought up the booger incident again.

Me: Where is your favorite place on earth?
Bean: My favorite place on earth? There’s still so much of this world I haven’t seen! However, if I had to pick one place, it would have to be in bed with Mike hanging out/playing/laughing/telling stories/rubbing our feet together/having a nose war. If you’ve never participated in a nose war, you must try it some day before you die. I usually have them with babies but it’s fun having them with Mike, too, although I always lose. You just get in someone’s face and start smashing their nose in with yours until one person laughs or gives up. I always lose because my nose is squishy. Oh, you should make sure you know the person before proposing a nose war. Just a suggestion.
Me: What's a secret dream you cherish [that you don't mind sharing]?
Bean: I dream of having a grown-up job that allows me to be creative and write stories, stories that make people laugh, cry, and touch their hearts. I dream of raising a family with Mike and spending the rest of my life getting to know him and our precious future-babies. I also dream that God would let me still be married to Mike when we get to heaven. And that He would make me a kitten-sized dragon.

I want to hug her, I just think she's so wonderful.

But since I can't, this is me *waving*
[Hi Bean!]
and blowing a kiss.

[Now follow it to her blog.]

H A P P Y F R I D A Y.

New Best Friends

2009-08-27T12:44:00.005-05:00

Last night I dreamed about The Pioneer Woman.

And not just an as I wandered through the Rainbow Palace and chatted with a bullfrog, The Pioneer Woman walked by and waved kind of dream.

No sir, I'm talking a full-on Dream About The Pioneer Woman. In her world, no less. For the record, she was lovely and silly and so much fun. And we spent a significant amount of time in the kitchen at The Lodge.

Do you want to know what The Pioneer Woman and I did in the kitchen at The Lodge?

We cooked.

I showed her how to make my decadent and delicious cocoa brownies, as a thank you for her teaching me how to make The Best Chocolate Sheet Cake. Ever. (And it really, truly is.) Only one problem with making the brownies - The Pioneer Woman didn't have any parchment paper.

And that's when I was certain it was a dream. The Real Pioneer Woman would always have parchment paper on hand, I'm sure of it.

No matter. Content to exist in this dream world, I continued playing with her kids, making friends and laughing with them. Even her Marlboro Man strolled in at one point, and he and I made some jokes back and forth.

So basically, in my dream world last night, The Pioneer Woman and I became best friends.

[And now as I type that sentence out, I am seriously creeped out by myself.]

Perhaps the best part is that, whether or not I ever have the privilege of meeting this effortlessly charming and witty and absolutely adorable woman in real life, if I never win the trip of a lifetime to go cook with her in her kitchen, I will always have this vivid dream of us being buddies, playing with her kids and joking with her husband - and cooking together.

And now that I have made myself completely uncomfortable with that admission, I promise to never ever talk about it again so that none of you grows concerned that I am some kind of crazy person.

[I also promise to limit my Pioneer Woman blog reading in the future.]

The End.

*The purpose of telling this story is to give you a teaser for tomorrow's Friday Favorite. (Although it's also an embarrassingly true story - sorry.) My new best blogger friend, tomorrow's Friday Favorite, is a brilliant storyteller - a trait that makes her magical blog uniquely absorbing and utterly delightful.

I can't wait for you to meet her.

Tomorrow...

Do You Dream?

2009-08-21T15:12:00.006-05:00

I do.

I dream of

someday
escaping my cubicle.

Mark my words

Cubicle

your days are numbered.

What do you dream of?

*Sorry for ending on a preposition, Mom.
Had to.

[oops.]

Friday Favorites - Jennifer Hoehn

2009-08-21T08:00:00.009-05:00

*You are so lucky

because my sister blogs about
my ridiculously adorable nephew and niece
and other assorted wonderful things
about her family's life
over here at The Hoehn Family.
And now you have proof
that I have the cutest nephew and niece
of all time.
[True story.]

This is Jennifer Hoehn.

She's my sister. And the little sister in me is so excited and is doing cartwheels over the fact that my big sister wants to be on my blog. That is just so super cool. My sister and I are sandwiched between two brothers. We share the role of middle child, the role of daughter, the role of sister - and we do it with some serious style. Jennifer Hoehn was my first friend ever, and I love her like I don't love anyone else in the whole entire world.
I'm so proud to share her with you.

Me: What's your favorite season?
Jen: Fall. I love the cool weather, the holidays, and it leads to Winter which is my second favorite! Fall, Winter, and Spring are all really beautiful in Dallas. I love bundling up in warm clothes, drinking hot drinks, and making fires in the fireplace at night.

Me: What is your proudest hidden talent?
Jen: I love to sing and dance. Deep down inside I have always loved to perform in front of people, but most people don't know that about me because I have never really pursued it in my life.

Me: Where would you like to live if you could pick anywhere in the world?
Jen: I am sure there are amazing places in Europe where I would love to live, but since I haven't been there to say for sure, I will have to go with Maui. Maui is so effortlessly beautiful and is a perfect mix of raw nature and civilization. There are places all over the island that you can find and feel like you are the first person to ever step foot there. Each beach is a little different and has its own appeal and I love finding hidden waterfalls and streams in the lush greenery. Then the best part is you can go back home, shower, get dressed up and go to an amazing restaurant and go shopping! Truly paradise. :)

Me: Describe your perfect fall outfit. [I'm pretty much over summer.]
Jen: Oh, I am so over summer too. I was pretty much over it before it started. :) Designer jeans... I always start there. Maybe skinny jeans with a certain pair of brown boots with fringe? A stylish top in a bold color with fun jewelry.

Me: What's the funniest thing your kids have said lately?
Jen: At the pool today I was telling Eddie to do something and he just looked at me with a sheepish/adoring grin. His face made me smile and I was wondering why he was looking at me like that, so I said, "What?" He shook his head, wrinkled his nose, got right in my face (in true Eddie-fashion) and said, "Mommy, you are so polite." I laughed really hard. I guess he was impressed that I always say "please" when I ask him to do something... I don't know! The randomness made it funny.
Ever since we walked to the lake a few weeks ago and I showed Sophia the Lilly-pads in the water, she thinks all leaves are Lilly-pads. The other day when I was eating a salad she incredulously asked me why I was eating Lilly-pads.
Me: What is your dream vacation?
Jen: Honestly, anywhere overseas. I want to go to Italy, Spain, Paris, London, Australia, Sweden, Ireland, Germany, etc... Someday! It would be romantic for it be just Ed and I, but I am also excited to take vacations with the kids as they get older and are able to appreciate and enjoy all the sights and experiences.

Me: What is something you're kinda embarrassed you're afraid of? [For example, I fear for my life every time I brush my teeth if I'm home alone. I'm terrified I'll look up after spitting into the sink and I'll see in my reflection in the mirror that someone is now standing behind me, waiting to do me harm. That's not normal.]
Jen: Hahaha!! That is hilarious! I actually have had the same thought when I am leaning over the sink, about to bring my head up. I don't think it very often though. Maybe because I stopped watching scary movies. I wouldn't say I am afraid of birds, I just strongly dislike them. I mean, birds are small, so they aren't exactly scary, but they are so bothersome with their constant squawking and squeaking! They build their nests right outside our windows so that they wake me up every morning at 5am or disturb the kids during nap-time. I am sure I am known as the "crazy stick lady" in my neighborhood because on any given day you can see me chasing birds away from my house with a stick in my pajamas and slippers.

Me: What's the most romantic thing Ed's ever done for you in the 83 years you've been together?
Jen: Since you asked about all 83 years... I will tell you one of the most memorable from our first year together. When we first started dating, he was staying with a family in Southern CA to go to Calvary [Chapel High School - the same high school where Jen went], but on any long weekends, holidays, or for summer he would always go back home to Northern CA. Being so in love (as you are after 6 months, right?) it seemed a fate worse than death to spend the entire summer without my boyfriend. I remember being so sad, crying a lot, and literally writing him a letter every day (he wrote me every day too). On the day of our 6 month anniversary, July 14, 1996) the doorbell rang and there stood my man! I screamed with joy, jumped into his arms, and he twirled me around (just like in the movies). He had a whole special date night planned for that night and he had to go back home a couple days later, but I will always remember that day that he got his mom's permission (that was the hard part) and drove 8 hours to take me on a date for our anniversary.
Me: Tell us a little more about that guy.
Jen: My sweet husband has been my dream come true ever since I met him. I had just sworn off boys for awhile because they were frustrating me and I told God that I was just going to focus on Him instead. I felt much better living that way, so when Ed caught my eye on the football field while I was cheering I quickly dismissed it and told myself I only noticed him because he was the "new guy" in school. But God had other plans... we kept catching each other's eyes in the hallways and finally one of my friends introduced us. We would talk here and there and I was really trying NOT to like him, but then one day after school he told me his testimony. He spoke with such passion and love for the Lord, that I fell for him instantly. After 3 months of dating he told me he loved me and that if we didn't get married he would never marry another. It scared me because I believed him. But I quickly followed into feeling the same way. He would leave a single rose in my locker, or on the driver's seat of my car with a love note/poem countless times through high school. He promised me he would work as hard as necessary to provide for me when we got married and I never doubted him (even though we both worked at In-N-Out Burger at the time :) ). He has always made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world and that there is nothing he wouldn't do for me. He loves our kids with all his heart and dotes on every little thing they do. Ever since high school I have always said: he is everything I never even knew I wanted... and more.
Me: Am I your favorite sister? [Only one correct answer here, Jen.]
Jen: Absolutely (Side note: I also have a favorite sister-in-law who is also amazing). But, YOU, my dear, are my favorite sister, friend, shopping companion, secret sharer, partner in crime, person to sing with whether it is harmonizing to worship songs or singing at the top of our lungs to songs we feel passionately about, and favorite person to cook with (beginning with the restaurant we ran in our kitchen when we were 6 and 9 years old, Hun's Funs)... you are just my favorite, in general!!

Me: Can you brag about your children? [Is that even possible for you?]
Jen: Well, when I talk about my kids, I feel like all the good things about them come from Jesus, not me, so I am not really bragging on my own account. :) I love Eddie's kind and tender heart and how he really cares about how others are feeling. I love his endless imagination and how passionately he feels everything. I love how he looks straight into my eyes (usually inches from my face) with his eyes wide and dancing with life, and whether he is telling me how much he loves me or about some epic battle from Star Wars, I am on cloud nine. And I love how he loves me so fully and completely. I love Sophia's giggle, the way she adores her big brother, and how she instantly switches from sweet and demure to fiercely stubborn. I love overhearing her sing to herself when she thinks no one is listening and watching her break out in a dance whenever she feels like it, no matter who is watching. I love how snuggly she is and that, for now, she thinks everything is more fun with Mommy there. Last thing I will say is I love their big, brown eyes! I have always loved Ed's big, brown eyes, and I am so glad he passed them on to our kids. :)
Me: What is one quality you would love people to know you for - that you are A Woman of [What]?
Jen: Faith. I know that God's plan is better than my own and I would much rather be on an unfamiliar path facing an unknown future and KNOW I am where God wants me, than being on an easy path that I picked out for myself with my own goals in mind.
I love her.

[And perhaps you should go visit her now?]

H A P P Y F R I D A Y

Expressions Of Gratitude

2009-08-20T21:15:00.004-05:00

One: First I would like to thank Tasti D-Lite, for allowing their custom made Coconut Mounds to be my quasi-single girl, post-agro-workout dinner. I expected you to only taste delicious, and then you came back with D-Liteful. Well played, Tasti D. Well played.

Two: Mr. Policeman up there on the right, for not ticketing me for using my cell phone whilst driving. May your future be filled with exceedingly dumb criminals, and may the doors of every donut store you encounter be ever open.

*Special Sneak Peek* frozen yogurt happens to be the happy snack of choice of tomorrow's Very Special Edition of Friday Favorites. I post this in her honor - and offer her my gratitude for her fine taste in dairy treats, which greatly influenced my own.

Now aren't you intrigued?

A Handy Tip [Or Two]

2009-08-20T10:33:00.009-05:00

Want to know how you can keep from looking sad and melancholy?

[Mr. Handsome, I'm talking to you.]

Stop leaving your wife.

I don't know I've heard it works.

Also, do lots and lots of laundry.

[No I'm just kidding.]

Unless, of course, I'm still talking to you - Mr. Handsome.

Because if you're doing laundry

it means I'm not.

In which case maybe do go ahead and try that one.

Oh - and do your laundry at home.

Not on the road.

Because I'm pretty sure that whole being on the road business?

It only leads to sadness and melancholy.

[and more dirty clothes.]

*This message paid for by
The Ridiculous Guilt-Trip Giving branch
of The Association of Rockstar Wives.

Miso Happy

2009-08-18T10:40:00.008-05:00

[I know, I can't really believe you're reading this either.

But it's been a slow Tuesday.]

Why I Love Miso Soup:

1. It's salty.

2. It tastes like little pieces of Japanese heaven in my mouth.

3. It's salty.

4. I can cook it up and eat it in about a minute in my ridiculously chilly cubicle.
[Seriously - who regulates our office climate control?
Al Gore would not approve.]

5. It's healthy. And low-cal. And vegan.
[For some reason, I am always super excited to eat vegan food.
It makes me feel painfully hip.
There.
Now you know something deep and dark and embarrassing about me.]
[Sometimes I pretend I'm artsy. There's another one.]

6. Did I mention the saltiness.

I'm getting hungry. Is 10:44 too early for lunch?

Perhaps the combination of a stormy rainy day today and me hitting my threshold of being able to withstand summer's pernicious heat has led me to desire Fall's cool climes, and her hearty delicious meals in a bowl.

What kind of soup makes you swoon and sing and compose sonnets?

Or do you even eat soup?

Tell me.

[Yes, this post really is this ridiculous.]

"No soup for you!"
-The Soup Nazi

Friday Favorites - Jillian Charles

2009-08-14T08:21:00.006-05:00

*Jillian effortlessly charms the world

over here at Joie de Vivre.
Grab a chai latte,
curl up with a kitten,
and go experience her peaceful presence.

This is Jillian Charles.

Oh my gracious I love this girl. One day, a long time ago when I was still a very young single girl living in Southern California, I went to an engagement party in Laguna Beach. I didn't know very many people at the party - I had just graduated from high school and had recently started going to a new church, the first church I'd ever picked for myself. The young couple celebrating their engagement were part of the college group I had just begun to attend. At this engagement party, there was a gorgeous blonde knockout - a perfect blend of charm and elegance and confidence, and a sly bit of sass - and wouldn't you know it, we happened to have on the exact same bracelet. In casual conversation with a couple new, mutual friends, someone (I don't remember who now) pointed out this serendipitous alignment of the stars and our styles - and I brazenly said (I do remember this),

We should be friends.

[She said ok.]

And the rest is beautiful history.

Me: How long have we been friends?
Jillian: 9 lovely years.. (and eagerly awaiting our "Red Velvet" anniversary!!!)

Me: Where would you like to escape to right now if you could, if money were no object?
Jillian: Monaco. (I love this question.) The French Riviera's most enchanting spot..and I dreamed of it all day (thanks to you)!!

Me: What are a few things you love most about your husband [I won't make you pick just one or even three]?
Jillian: Ooh lala I love him. What to say? I love his dimples, long sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, (naturally) tan skin (and that light blonde spot in his facial scruf)..I love that his feet are always warm..I love that flat spot on his arms next to his elbows..I love that he's so affirming..I love that he loves to cook..I love our life together..he loves me perfectly. Always has. I love his fierce protectiveness & God-given wisdom..I love that he's a conversationalist..I love that he's so into fashion he has triple the wardrobe I have..I love that he has a vintage 1920's red satin robe just for smoking his pipe on the patio by the glow of twinkle lights..he's such a grandpa. Such a sexy 28 year old grandpa..and he's all mine.

(I'll stop now).

Me: What do you love doing so much, you wish you could do it for a living?
Jillian: Finding amazing cafes.
Me: What is one dream you hope to accomplish in 2009?
Jillian: Creating a better sense of "home" for my gorgeous husband & I.

(A close second would be owning my first pair of Christian Louboutin shoes)..
Me: What do you think is one of your gifts to the world?
Jillian: Not singing.

Me: How would you describe your style [fashion and home decor, please]?
Jillian: Home ~ I like my closet to feel like a boutique..my bathroom to feel like a vintage apothecary..my dining/kitchen a french cafe..and everything light & open with dark 1930's accents. In a word: enchanting.
Fashion ~ A very cherished friend of mine (wink) once told me I looked like "a model on her day off," and I've been smitten with that description ever since. Always feminine..(mostly) comfortable..experimental..sexy but never contrived..very self~expressive. Still feel the most beautiful in: jeans & a white tank top.
Me: Name 3 women who inspire you, and why.
Jillian: Christiana Rush ~ because she is her husband's biggest cheerleader..because she made a new home very far from her old one..because she lets her beauty show.
My Mother ~ because she is very much herself, always..because she invests everything in love & her life is filled with the fruit of that..because she creates "home" like no one else..and because she always longs for God.
My future sister Gina ~ because she loves women the way God does..protecting, freeing, celebrating them through her daily life & through her work with www.isanctuary.org.

Me: Where is your favorite place [that you've actually been]?
Jillian: L'Auberge in Carmel~by~the~Sea..I dream of it daily.
Me: What is a dirty chai? ;)
Jillian: Pure love..in a cup. Chai Latte with a shot of espresso. Unless you're feeling extra dirty, then 2 shots of espresso!!

Me: When are you moving to Franklin to be close to me?
Jillian: When God puts Franklin in California? Oh my heart is divided.

Me: What is one word with which you would like people to describe you - and why?
Jillian: Radiant. ..no reason ;)

And she is positively radiant, isn't she?

[Now go wander awhile through her blog.]

H A P P Y F R I D A Y.

Always In Every Way

2009-08-12T16:12:00.009-05:00

To be at one with God is to be at Peace .

Peace is to be found only within,
and unless one finds it there
he will never find it at all.
Peace lies not in the external world.
It lies within one's own soul.
– Ralph Waldo Trine

Remember when I was feeling creative and inspired (and oh so clean)?

Well, I still am, but at the current time, I feel the need to discuss something. And it might get kinda sad. So if you don’t feel like reading anything sad right now – and if not, I completely understand, I really do - please be sure to go here.

[Because her place is bright and shiny and never sad.]

However, if you do stick around and read this, I promise not to end on a sad note.

Deal?

Today has been a real day. Not only have I heard about some heartbreaking things an acquaintance of ours is going through, but I talked with a precious friend of mine who is currently in a holding pattern with God – waiting and trusting and hoping against disappointment. And then there’s this guy I have a crush on who’s got some big stuff coming up next week that feels a little bit overwhelming and uncertain and – ok, more than a little bit scary.

And I find myself feeling tired and spent and sad.

And – if I can be honest here – wondering a little bit what on earth God is doing.

Because I know that His ways are not mine (Isaiah 55:8), I know that He works all things together for good (Romans 8:28), and I know that He has a future and a hope for each of us (Jeremiah 29:11).

I know, I know.

I know.

But today I’m sitting here, looking at the heartbreak and sorrow and grief and shattered dreams surrounding me and wondering why.

Without any lack of faith or any disbelief – and in no arrogance – I really just want to know why.

But I’m not going to know. At least not right now. And neither are the people around me who are struggling. That’s just not the way He designed it.

When I was a little girl, in the downstairs bathroom of my parents’ home was a picture of a serene lake with a beautiful white swan in the foreground. There was a portion of a scripture in the bottom right corner, and I memorized my first Bible verse through the use of those facilities (way to go, Mom & Dad):

Peace I leave with you,
My Peace I give to you;
not as the world gives do I give to you.
Let not your heart be troubled,
neither let it be afraid.
(John 14:27)

It’s a tricky thing, Peace. When your life is inundated with it, you tend (if you’re like me) to take it for granted. Without realizing it, you can exist in a state of it for long stretches of time. And then things get messy. And you find yourself on your knees – sometimes flat on your face – begging for it.

Because Peace, Peace comes when you stubbornly will yourself to believe that in the midst of utter tragedy, God is still good. Peace is what you find with the assurance that deferred hope is still living and breathing and is worth believing in. Peace is what meets your feet as they touch solid floor when you are fighting against the feeling that you can’t even muster the strength to get out of bed.

Webster calls Peace many things – one of them is “a state of tranquility or quiet.” No grand enlightenment there. But when Peace comes from the heart of God our Father, it’s more than just that. It’s a tranquility that trusts that despite the raging storm that’s blowing all around you and flooding your heart, the One Who commands the wind and the waves sees you, loves you, and is in control. That’s your tranquility. It’s a quiet that hears the screams and cries of chaos and pain and defeat swirling around you, and allows His Still Small Voice to drown out the noise. That’s your quiet.

Never before entering this time of trial and heartbreak this past year have I known such Peace. I don’t think I realized that it could take this form. Not a delusional thought that everything is going to be turning into rainbows and roses in just a minute. Not a false calm that simply masks the upheaval throbbing below the surface. But a real Peace. One my words aren’t correctly defining, but that my heart is experiencing and feeling and knowing.

And while I can’t put into words this Peace that is flushing out my battered heart today, I hope that wherever you are, whatever you are facing – it spills into your own heart, and brings its spirit of tranquility, of quiet.

Right Now.

Now may the Lord of Peace Himself give you Peace
always in every way.
The Lord be with you all.
-2 Thessalonians 3:16

Three.

2009-08-10T11:31:00.003-05:00

Three things you need to know about my weekend:

1. Mr. Handsome mopped all the floors in my entire house.

2. He also accompanied me to see Julie & Julia.

3. My world has been creatively and inspirationally rocked.

(And expertly deep cleansed.)

More to come...

Friday Favorites - Tara Stepp

2009-08-07T08:00:00.008-05:00

*Tara blogs deliciously over here at One Stepp At A Time.

She is so fancy.

Do yourself a favor and go check her out.
[You're welcome.]

Welcome to my new feature - Friday Favorites.

Because Friday is my Favorite. And because the lovelies who will be featured here are also Favorites. And because I will post about them on Fridays.

[Get it?]

This is Tara Stepp.

Tara is one of my very best friends ever in the whole entire world.

Tara is so super sensational. Everyone should know more about Tara, because she is just so gosh darn wonderful, and she is an absolute doll.

[You'll see.]

Here are her perfectly gracious answers to my random, disjointed questions:

Me: What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?
Tara: I do love ice cream, and I'm a big fan of birthday cake batter, but my favorite would have to be cookies & cream.

Me: If you were given a shopping spree to any store, what store would you choose, and what would you buy?
Tara: Had you asked me 6 months ago I may have had a different answer, but the new fall line at Anthropologie is pretty amazing. I could definitely do some damage in that store. I would buy a pair of AG jeans, a fun dress and one of everything in the home section.
Me:If you could be an expert at any one thing, what would it be?
Tara: That's a tough one, and my answer might be too simple, but I would want to be a Bible expert.

Me: Are you afraid of the dark? (Be honest, now. This is a safe place – we don’t judge here.)
Tara: Yes, definitely. My imagination takes over in the dark, and not in a good way!

Me: What makes you and Todd the fantastically wonderful couple you are?
Tara: We laugh a lot. Nobody makes me laugh like Todd does. I can be having the worst day and he will say something to make me laugh so hard that I'm crying. It's pretty hard to stay in a bad mood and giggle at the same time.
Me: What would you do a l l t h e t i m e if there were no time constraints and money was no object?
Tara: Shop. No, I'm kidding. I would split my time between two things: Entertaining family and friends at my home (there is nothing better than sharing a delicious meal with the people you love) and volunteering as an event coordinator for a retirement community. I adore senior citizens. Their knowledge and wisdom is invaluable.

Me: Describe your life in 3 words.
Tara: Busy, Blessed, Beautiful

Me: What hairstyle would you rock if you could have your choice of any type?
Tara: I would have long wavy locks like Kate Beckinsale.
Me: What’s your favorite season and why?
Tara: Fall. The weather, leaves changing, comfy clothes, football, bonfires, what's not to love?

Me: Do you have any secret hidden talents you’d like to share with ~~the world~~ this blog?
Tara: I can play a mean little number on the clarinet. You want to see that, don't you? :)

Isn't she lovely?

[Now go check out her blog!]

H A P P Y F R I D A Y.

I Enjoy Being A Girl

2009-08-05T21:04:00.005-05:00

Every once in a while, ladies, it's very important to not only

"allow"
Your man to have a Guy's Night
But to encourage it.

There are certain things men need to
"discuss"
[burp, joke, laugh, mildly curse]
Apart from the presence of women.

Mr. Handsome needed that tonight.
Guy Night.
And me?
Well, I decided to have myself
A Girl Night.

I went to my mecca of healthfulness.
My favorite place to lose hours
[and hours and hours and hours]
Wandering in wide-eyed curious wonder.

I did just that.
I wandered.
Aimlessly.
Blissfully.
The way that would drive Mr. Handsome
Batty.

It was lovely.

Ultimately, I ended up with:
1.) a spinach salad with balsamic vinegar
and a dash of olive oil
[and cucumberredbellpepperredonionmushroom]
2.) nonfat greek yogurt
[opa!]
3.) a juicy delicious peach
[very juicy, very delicious]

I sat outside in the waning sunshine.
By myself.
And you know what?

I liked it.
[a lot.]

Maybe I'm growing up.

*For those of you who may be curious,
At Guy Night
My Mr. Handsome had:
1.) chicken tenders
[at least it was chicken breast?]
2.) a vegetable skewer
[very impressive!]
3.) french fries
[because two sides are better than one]
4.) cornbread thingies
[because after all - why not?]
4.) ~a couple~ beers
[I will not select a number, out of respect for his privacy]

He would have laughed
And turned up his nose
At my modest meal.

[ha.]

And that's why
When I want to eat splendidly healthy fare
And wander the market without anyone sighing
Or foot-tapping
Impatiently
I have learned
It's time to have myself

A Girl Night.
*I devoured the salad shortly before
I decided I should take a picture.
Many apologies.
I was quite hungry.*

Gypsy Feet

2009-08-04T12:17:00.007-05:00

Oh my Gracious.

I love this site.
I had to pinch myself to believe it.
[Ouch.]
But it's true.

I am on The Gypsy Feet.

*Please go check.
[Every day.]
Because they are awesome.
[Every day.]

**And by check, I mean click the pretty picture.
[Every day. Just kidding.]

someday...{i will}

2009-07-31T11:24:00.003-05:00

inspired by the matchless j. peri

Someday I will reclaim my soul.
I will walk away from cubicles, deliverables,
And demanding schedules.
I will run away
[with him]
And go where we please
When we please
For as long as we please.

We will play with Nerf guns.
And not get sad when we lose the darts.
Because we will have an unlimited supply.

Until then...
I will work hard.
[kinda.]
And play harder.
[definitely.]

*and try not to worry about the rogue darts.

What will you do someday?

Without Apology

2009-07-26T21:41:00.014-05:00

What does it say about me that I well up with tears every time I see a preview for Julie & Julia?

I mean seriously.

If you're curious, you can see for yourself.

Something in my soul resonates so profoundly with this trailer [I can't even say "story" yet because I haven't seen the film - although I have my suspicions]. Mark my words, August 7, 2009, I will sit in a dark, air-conditioned movie theater, and patronize this film.

I can't wait.

Let's think about this for a minute, shall we? Why am I so emotionally engaged with this film [trailer]?

Here are a few of my considerations.

[Again, from the preview. Because yes, I'm obsessed with a preview. Please let that go.]

Both Julie & Julia have husbands who love them, believe in them, and support them instinctually. I also happen to have a Mr. Handsome who loves me, believes in me, and supports me.

[Like it's his job]

Paul Child: What is it that you really like to do?

Julia Child: Eat.

Paul: And you're so good at it.

Julia: I am good at it!

Eric Powell: Write a blog about cooking.

Julie Powell: I'm not a real cook. Not like Julia Child.

Eric: Julia Child wasn't always Julia Child.

That each of these men cared about their wife enough to encourage her to find deeper meaning in her life, to light upon a passion after which she could wholeheartedly chase - that gets me. How many times have I mentioned an interest I have in something, and Mr. Handsome has unquestioningly facilitated it? I have multiple learn-to-play piano books, an easel and a paint box, months worth of Bikram yoga practice, and so many more tools he has presented me with in order to allow me to pursue my interests. And lately he has patiently and enthusiastically encouraged my new-found passion for cooking.

And blogging.

And calling him Mr. Handsome.

[He's a saint.]

Paul: Your book is going to change the world.

And then there is the sense of restlessness, of wanting something more, something bigger. Not exactly a dissatisfaction, but a feeling that there's more out there - and a firm belief that it's attainable. Something more inspiring than a gray cubicle. A greater sense of purpose and meaning and fulfillment. And a consequent anxiousness as I work to figure the puzzle out, to put all the pieces together and discover how to create a reality out of my dreams.

Julie: Lowly, cubicle-worker Julie Powell [insert my name here, please].

Julie: Do you think I'm lost? Is this lost? If you met me, would you think "That woman is lost?"

Eric: I would think "That woman is strangely repetitive." [He's cheeky like Mr. Handsome. I like it.]

This blog has already been a monumental first step for me. I love to write - I always have. I also love to cook - always have. But now I feel as if I'm finding a rhythm with both, settling into something that fits, that feels right. Whether or not anyone else approves, I've been writing this blog for me. As an effort to write regularly and with intention - to keep a record while encouraging creativity. And the cooking has come along and blended naturally. In the last several months, I've gone from being a girl who loves to cook and create and feed and nourish - but with a limited amount of knowledge and resources - to someone who feels comfortable in a kitchen, comfortable trying something new.

I've found a sliver of self-confidence.

Julie: I could write a blog. I have thoughts.

And maybe that's what appeals to me about this movie [trailer]. In Julie Powell's character, I recognize some of myself. As a frustrated cubicle-dweller who on the inside is a writer and an aspiring chef - and who just needs someone to inspire and validate her on her journey.

Julie: I was drowning and she pulled me out of the ocean.

Trust me. I'll be in that movie theater on opening night. And if all goes according to plan and the filmmakers don't botch the potential and promise they have with this film [according to the trailer - gracious, that makes me feel wildly idealistic and more than a little pathetic], I may even see it twice.

Perhaps the most poignant part to me so far, the quote that rings in my ears when I second-guess myself before hitting "Publish" on this blog, or when I embark on a recipe that seems complicated and over my head, the line that gives the people-pleaser inside me chills - and permission to attempt and experiment and possibly even fail:

Julia: Never apologize.

And that is exactly why, despite the roaring in my head that's telling me this is a silly and unimportant post, I'm going to hit "Publish."

Because it's my silliness to indulge in here.

And because I don't have to apologize for being me.

[Thanks Julia.]

It Doesn't Matter If You're Black Or White

2009-07-24T10:39:00.014-05:00

4:03 am is not my happy time.

Much less when Mr. Handsome and I don't get to sleep until after 12:30 am.

[and it's not like we were doing much sleeping the night before - who could when Moonby is involved?]

Completely not at all when I'm waking that early to take Mr. Handsome to board a jet plane.

[oh sad.]

While Mr. Handsome and Ms. Meliss go regale Denver with their musical prowess

I'm playing dogsitter.

hot dog! [little joke.]

Meet Harriette.

Oops.

[she's looking for her Mom - she'll be back soon, Harriette.]

Here's Harriette.

Scruffy L O V E S her.

He is super excited to have a dog-guest.

[well, they're warming up to each other.]

Now, until Mr. Handsome returns Monday, I'll have two sweet furry canine companions.

[to talk to out loud like I'm crazy.]

Loneliness -

Be

Gone.

Moonby.

2009-07-23T09:59:00.009-05:00

Insomnia can be fun.

Especially when you have

glowinthedark

m o o n g l a s s e s.

People - meet Moonby.*

*The 2nd.

[It's a long story.]

Hey you -
go do something you used to do
or play with something you used to play with
when you were little
(so - peri - when you were like 6)
and haven't in a long time.

Go. Go Play!
[Please?]

Then come tell me about it here.

If you do, I predict there will be some smiling in your future.

[And maybe some neon.]

Mademoiselle J. Peri.

2009-07-22T15:50:00.004-05:00

*photo gently lifted from alookatourworld.blogspot.com*

Good Golly Gracious.

If I had been half as witty/charming/delightful as ms. j. peri is
when I was her age

Well I'd be famous by now.

[No joke.]

Do yourself a big huge giant favor and go check out her bloggo.

I'm not going to tell you how old she is - you'll figure it out
when she mentions it in her toe surgery post.

And then, like me, you will be shocked and baffled into disbelief
and will have to read a few more posts
and go back and look at more of her pictures
trying to figure out

Could It [Really] Be?

And then you will realize yes.

Yes. It. Is.

And you will be enchanted and hooked and happy.

[Trust me.]

P.S. You're welcome.

A Few Reasons

2009-07-22T10:02:00.015-05:00

Here are a few reasons why Mr. Handsome
is the coolest husband I know.

Ready?
1.) He let me buy the same (men's) striped hoodie
he had just bought [for $8.49]
in a slightly smaller size.

Even though I excitedly asked him
if we could ever wear them out in public at the same time.
To which he paused
smiled politely
and said no probably not.

Then I asked him how about at home?

And he said ok.

Conclusion: Because he loves being my twin.
2.) When I work from home on Wednesdays
(favorite. week. day.)
he will share with me an entire pot of coffee.

He is very tough and strong and drinks his coffee black.
I have to add a little cream to mine.
He never mocks me.

He even suffers quietly
through my bouncing off the walls
every Wednesday night at 12:03 am
and listens to my nonstop chatter
when all the caffeine
in that shared pot of coffee
won't let me sleep.

Conclusion: Because he is a good sharer and doesn't make jokes at my expense and loves being kept awake really late at night to enjoy my deep musings about life and love and laserbeams.

3.) He doesn't say (out loud) that he thinks
me and my vitamins are crazy.
Even when I asked him if I could start one
called EstroFactors.

He didn't even giggle (out loud) at the name.

Conclusion: Because he likes me and would love for me to stick around forever [and even longer] with the help of all-natural herbal supplements.
4.) Shortly after I begged him
to let us up and move
out of our townhome in the country
to an apartment building
[from 1921. sigh. heaven]
right smack dab in the middle of downtown,
he put up twinkle lights
in my lovely kitchen
to surprise me.

They make cozy rainy days like today
even more perfect.

Conclusion: Because he loves to make my life beautiful.

5.) Speaking of making my life beautiful,
he has a raging beard right now.

Conclusion: Because he has a raging beard right now.

That Mr. Handsome.
[He's so cool.]

Lifesavers. (But Not.)

2009-07-21T14:57:00.005-05:00

I was about to

a.) fall asleep

b.) cry

c.) pull out my mullet

today.

The cubicle gray was closing in.

That's when I saw them on my desk.
Bright.

Green.

Gumballs.

Insta-smile Givers.

[it's the little things.]

p.s. I apologize for my distressing photograph quality.
Mr. Handsome is working with a snazzy-pants SLR.
I'm working with an iPhone.
Don't judge me.

ruff.

2009-07-20T18:55:00.011-05:00

Mr. Handsome and I cooked up some deliciousness in the kitchen tonight. Our chicken tikka masala was the stuff of legend.

But that's not what I want to tell you about.

(Maybe I will later. Although I'll admit, I actually just followed this recipe. It's awesome. Pretty pictures, too.)

No.

Tonight after the meal was finished, I was sitting in my lovely kitchen, lingering at the table, when I looked over - and saw Scruffy passed out in the middle of the living room floor.
By the looks of him, you'd think the dog had walked 17 miles uphill both ways, herded sheep for 8 hours, and hauled 732 lbs. of firewood home on his back.

In reality, his day was more like this:

- Sleep through Mom's alarm.(little bugger.)
- Snuggle with Dad.
- Chew on Kitty.
- Cuddle on the couch with Dad.
- Dominate Kitty.
- Take a nap.
- Eat some food.
- Drink some water.
- Take another nap. With Kitty.

It was while he was engaging in that last activity that I caught him.

Slowly, I stepped closer for a better shot.

(Notice the active tail.)

My mistake was trying to get on his level to get a really good shot.
As soon as I was on the floor, he stood up and
assumed that - obviously - I wanted to play with Kitty.

(I did not.)

He was quite insistent.

He tried puppy dog eyes.

Finally I tricked him and grabbed Kitty up off the ground
when he wasn't ready.
He lunged forward, but alas, he was too slow.

Then he gave me the puppy dog eyes again.

Then he realized I was just going to sit there
and keep taking pictures of him,
and he got pretty annoyed.

He gave it one last valiant effort.

Then he gave up and lay back down on the floor.
This time hidden (mostly) behind the couch
so I couldn't keep bugging him.

He underestimated my tenacity.

[Dogs are fun.]

Waiting For

2009-07-16T13:36:00.007-05:00

Such is life.

-Samuel Beckett
Waiting For Godot

Lately I find myself caught in a cycle of expectation. Expecting momentous changes to occur in my circumstances. Expecting striking inspiration to hit me suddenly. Expecting life to grandly happen. And in my eager expectation, I also find myself choosing to stand still.

Waiting.

Two months ago yesterday, I was talking to my Mom when she said something that stopped me in my tracks. I was apologizing for oversharing all the small details of my life that I had just meticulously relayed to her, when she said to me, "Life IS the details."

That Michele Tiscareno. Smart cookie.

While I'm wasting my time, watching for things to come together and looking for the small pieces to find their place, I'm missing the simple fact that my life is what's happening all around me. Or as a bespectacled Beatle once said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

My university experience, being an English major, included a lot of things I read and can't remember. (I'm not Mr. Handsome - his powers of retention are mind-boggling. Mind-boggling, I tell you.) And if you pressed me for too many details on Beckett's Waiting For Godot, I would quickly disappoint you. What I do remember is the chilled feeling it gave me. Not with the existential questions it raised about human existence and what it means or is - or what have you. Instead, I was deeply struck by the fact that these two men were standing around, waiting for life to happen, stuck in an Apocalypse, completely unaware that they were actively choosing to go nowhere and do nothing. In the very act of waiting, life was rapidly swirling past them.

I don't want that for my life.

Obviously, this is not a new subject. People have been talking about the importance of embracing the present and living in the moment ever since time was first conceived. (Have you noticed my blog title?) I recognize that nothing I've said here is revolutionary.

And yet.

My personal tendency is to get stuck in a holding pattern, waiting for the next milestone. Cleverly, I've deceived myself that this isn't the case - I was never one to hurry life up. Mr. Handsome and I dated for 5 years before marrying, after all, and we're going into our 4th year of marriage without children or homeownership anywhere nearby on our radar. And I'm ok with those things. My preference is to take life as it comes and make decisions based on our own timeline, when it's right for us - not to hurry it through. I think that's exactly why this type of realization has thrown me so drastically - because I just realized that I'm not waiting for the big things I have guarded myself against Rushing (yes - I always capitalize it, and yes - it's still always funny), but instead I find myself waiting for other things that I apparently believe will make me feel like I'm actually living my life.

But I am. My life is the details. And I'm missing it.

I need to recognize and consciously experience it now, while I have time and space left to enjoy this fractured, beautiful mystery of a thing called

My Life.

For Your Life

2009-07-07T11:43:00.003-05:00

I have always said I don't run unless someone's chasing me.

True story.

But it turns out wee gentleman Scruffy really enjoys running. Go figure. In an effort to provide my canine companion with a happier existence - and to also get my yoga-yearning body in motion while I'm between health club memberships - I ran the tiny lad to the dog park.

I know. You can scoop your jaw up off the pavement. I'll wait.

In reality, I use the term "run" quite liberally. It was more of a jog/walk. But I did it. And yes, it was also only a 1.5 mile roundtrip "run." But a huge portion of it was uphill. And again, I did it.

I've learned about myself that if my only motivation for activity is my own vanity, sleep and the couch win out over vanity every time. Bikram worked because it was just so gosh dern expensive, I felt guilty skipping. My new Jedi-mind trick is my intention is to be a good pet owner.

Imagine that.

So I'm going to start trying to take my doggie life partner to his Shangri-La every day I can. And I will "run" there.

Because downward-dog-dependent, mushy-booty-getting me?

That's who's chasing me.

Chop?

2009-07-06T12:03:00.009-05:00

Some days

I want

to chop off

All

My

Hair

and start over.

Once upon a time,

my hair looked like this.
And I loved it.

(Please don't be so distracted by all the passion.
He is very Handsome, I know.
Move along now.)

Then there was the time

it looked like this.
I loved that too.

(Oh Victoria Beckham - let's face it, you'll always be Posh to me -
Oh Posh, I wanted to make you proud.
I like to believe I succeeded.)

But right now,

it looks like this.
I have a mullet.

And that makes me sad.

(Isn't my Momma pretty?
But.
Seriously.
What is my hair doing here?
What and how?
And why?)

Sadder than I should admit

(for I hate to appear so shallow and superficial).

But still.

To chop

or not to chop?

That is the question.

Thoughts?

Post-Post Edit: It's not getting chopped. Mr. Handsome - who hardly ever invokes his veto power - has vetoed the measure.

Here's to mullet-growing.

Snooze.

2009-07-02T10:46:00.005-05:00

This morning, I was late to work.

My alarm clock went off, I hit snooze. My alarm clock went off, I hit snooze.

This happened 6 times.

This is not why I was late.

(See, I am well aware of my deep-seated issue with snoozing, so I always set my alarm a good 30 minutes before I actually intend to get up. Because I'm a sneaky chronologistic genius.)

No. Around the 6th time Blues came blaring out of my iPhone in a valiant attempt to end my slumber, I realized I really needed to get up if I was going to make it to work on time. I started to sit up.

And that's when it happened.

A strong, sexy arm suddenly slipped up and over my arm and wrapped around my waist, as I maneuvered just so - into the position we've discovered makes it so we fit perfectly.

Promptness be d*mned.

(Sorry Mom.)

I quickly reentered my dream world - which absolutely included that fine specimen lying next to me. Details of my dreamstate are personal and private and will not be shared here.

(But oh boy.)

Eventually, my eyes popped open again, and despite my speediest efforts, I was an hour late for work.

And you know what?

It's never been more worth it.

Welcome Home, Mr. Handsome.*

*Here's an example of how we fit together perfectly.
And of my atrocious self-portrait skills with my new iPhone.
Sorry I cut your head off, Honey.

A Hand

2009-06-30T20:30:00.011-05:00

Just hung up the phone.

Literally - just.

And the sweeter-than-a-Sprinkles-cupcake creature on the other end of the line was exactly what I needed to shake me out of this insistent haziness I've been caught in, and to take a big gulp of fresh air, up here among the living.

If you are really lucky in life, you have friends who inspire you that way. I hope you are. I know I'm grateful I am. Lucky, that is. Grateful I am. Does that make sense? I'm leaving it.

For some unknown reason, God has seen fit to bless me with a handful of deep friendships that have brought vibrant color and powerful lessons into my world.

Some of the most profound of each have come from this particular girl.

~Choosing to love when it would be easier to walk away and give up~Genuine, unconditional love~Never - never ever ever - letting go~Finding that you've become family, without even realizing it - because maybe you just always have been.~

But we didn't talk about such heavy things - we talked about enchanting weekend getaways with husbands, facials (giving and receiving - and the vast psychological difference between the two), the nameless adventure we want to try to pack into a single evening and morning together next week, sunless tanner that has changed both of us - seriously and for all time, Hanky Panky unmentionables, and how much we wish we were still physically close to each other and could be talking in person over dirty chais instead of from 2000 miles away over cell phones.

And that's a perfect picture of exactly why I love her.

It's easy. It's natural. When we need to talk about serious things, we do. When we need to laugh and flit from train of thought to train of thought and dream out loud - but not try to multitask - we do.

When we need to hold hands, we do.

And when I need someone well acquainted with my soul to reach through the distance and effortlessly charm me back to life,

She Does.

I get by with a little help from my friends.

-John Lennon

Todavía Nada

2009-06-29T00:36:00.005-05:00

You thought I was going to write something.

You were mistaken.

This is me being tricky.

Gotcha.

(me & Eddie Bear being silly.)

Right now, I'm evaluating what my world looks like, how I want it to look, and what's missing between the two. No small feat of consideration, you see.

It takes time.

First I must let it marinate, then it'll have to simmer for a bit, and then finally I'll have to chew it slowly. Can you tell I've been cooking a lot lately? I love cooking. It calms my soul. It makes my tummy sigh with contentment. Cooking is good for my life.

So there's a tiny peek into what I'm mulling over - I want to fit more of the things that are good into my life.

Now to consider where. And how.

One final thing - writing is also good for my life. Very good. So I will be back. But I feel like right now I have so many thoughts and commitments and busynesses pulling at me and competing for my time and attention, I don't want to let my writing turn halfhearted and suffer for the crowding.

And so I will exist here in pieces and snatches. And will one day - hopefully soon - return with gusto.

In the meantime, please - practice your Spanish.

Hasta.

Limbo

2009-06-23T14:54:00.004-05:00

I'm in a sort of introspective place at the moment.

Without question, there are a million words swirling around in my mind, but it feels almost sacrilegious at this point to force them into cohesion.

Surely, I will have much to share sometime in the near future.

(Let's be honest here, probably more than you could ever really care to know.)

But I'm feeling quiet right now, alone with my dog and my thoughts.

And since our dear friend - and photogod - Tony Czech has already perfectly summed up the topic of my current pondering, I'll just direct you to his powerful, beautiful words.

Do yourself a favor and read Big Wave Surfing.

Fair warning before you read - prepare to have your entire world challenged.

See you...soon.

I Have the Best

2009-06-10T08:54:00.011-05:00

"It is not so much our friends' help that helps us

as the confident knowledge that
they will help us."
-Epicurus

A little over a month ago, I sat in a darkened movie theater with Suz, waiting for Ghosts of Girlfriends Past to start. (I do love Matthew McConaughey and Jennifer Garner. The movie? Eh. It was all right.) Mr. Handsome was out of town doing something or other - I really can't remember what now, he's been gone so much lately - and he had told me a couple weeks before that he was going to have to be gone for my birthday. For the first time in 8 years, we wouldn't be together to ring in a new year of life. But the money was good, and Lord knows we needed it.

Waiting for Tara, Christine, and Amy to arrive, I whispered to Suz, "So Mr. Handsome is going to be gone for my birthday," and she nodded sympathetically (I had already bemoaned this fact to my dear friends), and then I asked, "Do you think maybe you could plan to hang out with me that night?"

She stopped for a second, smiled widely and said, "I don't think it's supposed to be a surprise, so I'll just tell you. Al, Tara, and I are going to come spend the night at your place that night. They've already told Jeff and Todd. It's set. You won't be alone."

I'm pretty sure I got all teary and sniffly-nosed. I was thankful for the darkened theater.

Fast forward to my birthday this last Friday. Mr. Handsome and I had a whirlwind couple days before, and the kitchen was in dire need of assistance. Through a devious twist of events, I left work late and ended up arriving at my place at the exact same time as my 3 girls. Perfect. I started frantically working in the kitchen - until Al told me to sit down and relax. It was my birthday. They'd clean my kitchen.

Now, for any of you who know me, this was momentous. Not only because I hate washing dishes (and I do - I really do), but because I like my house to look a certain way when I have company over. I like it to look clean and spotless and like I am relentless in my cleanliness. (Apparently, I'm all about appearances.) So you would think it would be impossible for me to let these 3 girls see my kitchen in its dastardly state - much less allow them to clean up its messiness. It just shows the deep level of closeness and intimacy I have with these girls that I was comfortable letting them clean up my mess.

But isn't that what real friends do? Help you clean up life's messes?

Ok - philosophical break over. Back to the kitchen.

We made Quinoa macaroni elbows with asparagus and Alfredo sauce for dinner. Oh yum. Then we walked down to Maggie Moo's to claim my free birthday ice cream. Because although the plans for the evening already included making Pizookies, we felt it a crime to not make use of a coupon for free ice cream. So we got Better Batter with Twix and cookie dough and 4 spoons. It was gone in about a minute.

Here we are, just after devouring the ice cream. Notice our very happy faces.
Then we got home and the girls had me open my presents. Each card was so beautifully written, and so perfectly picked out by each girl. I could see their distinctive personalities in their cards, and celebrated the uniquely beautiful women God had placed into my life and family. Their gifts were thoughtful, precious treasures. Much more than I expected - since the gift of not being alone on my birthday was already more than enough.

Then we began the Pizookies.

Confession: Tara and Suz and Al started the Pizookies. I was pretty lazy and looked at blogs and talked their ears off while they slaved.

What? It was my birthday.

Finally, the dough had been made and scooped into the deep dishes to be placed in the oven.
A short while later, they were ready. We topped them with Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream.
Oh my.
Can you believe this?
I'm getting hungry again.

After our glorious sugar rush, things got a little wacky, and party hats may have emerged.
I'm not sure what happened here.
Suz demonstrated her knack with a hat, while Scruff stared on lovingly. (He has quite the crush on Suz. And her mile-high legs. Do you see them? I mean really. How is that possibly fair?)
Scruff's adoration was rewarded with festiveness.
We settled in and watched The Secret Lives of Bees, and were again reminded of the gift we've been given as women in our relationships with each other.

Then we went to sleep.

Epicurus was right. My birthday evening was delightful and perfect and wonderful, and it was topped only by the knowledge I'd had in the several weeks leading up to my birthday that I would not be left alone that night. The knowledge that they were my family - my sisters - and they would be there.

When I woke up the next morning, sure enough, they still were.

It was a perfect morning - almost cool enough for a sweater, but since we were walking, a welcome slight chill. We walked a mile or so through picturesque neighborhoods, and landed at Fido for breakfast. Oh goodness gracious. My organic eggs with organic strawberries and wheat toast made me want to sing to the heavens. So did the large coffee. I am a big fan of caffeine.

Huge.

We walked back to my place and the girls gathered their things - with promises of meeting shortly at Al's community pool. Which we did. And we laid out on our lounge chairs for hours, every so often dipping into the refreshing water, reading magazines, chatting, and dozing. It was a perfect day.

(And Mom - I actually wore sunscreen. Don't you worry.)

Back at Jeff and Allison's place, we indulged in a bit more Pizookie because after all, why not? Suz left for other evening plans, Allison and Jeff's plans fell through and as such they were given an unexpected night together, and Tara invited me over to her place to hang out while Todd was busy with a work event until late. Tara and I watched The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 together on her ginormous screen, snuggled onto her cozy couch. Then she made me Orange Chicken from Trader Joe's with brown rice and egg rolls. No one worry - I did not go hungry my birthday weekend. My stars. And while Tara cooked, we talked. We shared stories from high school, stories from the more recent past - and I was reminded for the umpteenth time that weekend how blessed I am to have such high caliber of amazing women in my life. I cherished the time to talk with Tara and learn more about each other, and about what had made each of us into the women we are today.

Just as we were finishing dinner, Todd came home. I started to gather myself together to leave and let them have some time alone together - but they both insisted I stay. Now, this is one of the best parts of our little family here in Nashville. While the girls are easily and obviously my sisters - we also have the further gift of loving each other's spouses like family. Todd and Jeff feel like my brothers, and spending time with them is always fun and comfortable and, well, like being with family. So we had more Pizookie, to initiate Todd (please don't go back and count how many times we ate Pizookie in that two-day perioid. It's embarrassing.), then went back up to the Stepp's inviting family room and watched Changeling. When all was said and done, I didn't get back home until about 1:30 in the morning.

Furthermore, I realized I had spent a solid 24 hours with these girls - and even more in Tara's case - and hadn't had the slightest feeling of being worn out. In fact, the next morning when Scruff and I woke in my quiet home, I missed them.

My sisters.

Al, Suz, Tara - thank you for making what could have been the worst birthday of my life into one of the absolute best. I cherish each of you, and love you from the deepest part of my heart.

*Here's to a million more birthdays to be celebrated between us.*

But the Kitchen Sink

2009-06-08T18:59:00.012-05:00

“There is no spectacle on earth more appealing
than that of a beautiful woman
in the act of cooking dinner for someone she
loves.”

-Thomas Wolfe

Isn't that lovely?

Too bad I was only cooking for myself tonight.

Sweet Mr. Handsome had the opportunity to sing 5 - count 'em f-i-v-e - demos today. Which means he brings home some pretty hefty bacon (which I would gladly cook with love, if only it were not a metaphor). I believe the session began at 9:00 this morning. He's still there. And doesn't expect to be home before 10:00 tonight.

And he only just got home late last night from being on the road.

Poor weary Mr. Handsome.

In anticipation of our trip to California this Thursday, I decided to make use of the as-yet-unused veggies hanging around our place. We had many. I also had one last box of my new favorite Quinoa pasta, so I decided to make a hodge podge of deliciousness.

Here's how it all went down.

Christiana's Everything That Will Spoil If I Don't Use It Today Pasta

First I perused my bowl of fresh veggies. Then I checked the refrigerator.

Oh my.

We had:

1 red onion
1 head of garlic
4 Roma tomatoes
8 oz. portabello mushrooms
1/2 red bell pepper
3 zucchini
20 oz. spinach

Whew.

I chopped. Then I chopped. I also chopped. It ultimately looked like this:
Then I warmed about 2 Tbsp. coconut oil (my new favorite to cook with - especially garlic), tossed in the garlic (the smell of garlic cooking in coconut oil is divine), and a couple minutes later, added the portabello mushrooms, then the onion, and finally the zucchini. A few dashes of sea salt were thrown in the mix. After cooking the veggies through pretty well, I added the red bell pepper and slowly began adding the spinach. Because if you don't happen to know this off the top of your head, 20 oz. equals 4 bags. That is a lot of spinach. It cooks down eventually, but I had to add only one bag at a time, and watched as the juices from the veggies, the brown richness of the portabello mushrooms, and the coconut oil created a flavorful sauce base.
So far so good, I thought.

I added my previously cooked pasta.
Tossed in a bit of grated parmesan. For good measure. I have to say something here, if you'll let me? It is worth the extra couple dollars to get really good, freshly grated Parmesan. As opposed to say the pulverized Kraft powdery business. When I opened the lid of the freshly grated Parmesan, I immediately smelled the rich, salty Parmesan scent, and I very nearly dumped the contents of the bowl into my open mouth instead of into the pasta.
(I refrained.)

I stirred everything together, and it looked basically like this.
Ok, so exactly like that.

I gave myself a lovely little serving (with an extra dash of that Parmesan), and it was mind-bogglingly delicious.
I started with a small serving, thinking I may need seconds - but with all the fiber of the assorted vegetables, I barely had room to finish the portion I thought was so conservative.

For those of you keeping track, this pasta dish consisted of 2 Tbsp. coconut oil, a few modest dashes of sea salt and Parmesan, Quinoa pasta, and 7 types of veggies.

That's it, folks.

My favorite new hobby has been finding recipes that are simple and healthy and use the best, freshest ingredients, and - most importantly - taste incredible.

This is easily a new Rush Family staple.

You should try it too! Take stock of what needs to be used asap in your fridge and on your counters, and make your own Everything pasta.

However, I recommend you avoid including the kitchen sink.

27

2009-06-05T13:35:00.011-05:00

Last night I slept on the couch.

Sometimes that happens when Mr. Handsome is gone and I can't bear the thought of lying in our silent lonely bed without him. Scruffy and infomercials were my company as I drifted in and out of fitful sleep last night, t.v. volume on mute.

When my eyes finally opened for good, I groggily looked around myself and had a tiny pity party.

I've never woken up on the couch on my birthday before.

Scruffy crawled out from under the couch (sometimes he camps out there because I think it feels like his own little den - which makes him feel like a real dog) and immediately made his let-me-out whiny sound, so I sighed, lifted my couch-cramped limbs off the sofa and thought about how sad and lonely I felt.

Then I opened the door.

And that's what met me.

The most gorgeously wrapped present I've ever seen - cheerful and bright and happy. Immediately, I smiled, and as little tears filled the corners of my eyes, I thought about the lovely sweet redhead who lives upstairs, and suddenly I didn't feel quite so all alone anymore. I thought about my arms & legs - Allison, Susan, and Tara - who are coming over tonight and sacrificing a night with their own husbands to sleep over and keep me company and celebrate my birthday while Mr. Handsome can't.

Suddenly, I felt very lucky.

Then I opened the card (and teared up a little more at the sweet words) and tore into the present and saw the beautiful green vase the lovely sweet redhead had wrapped up for me.

Very lucky indeed.

What started out as a sad and lonely morning instantly became cheerful and bright and happy.

Just like that pretty little present.

And I've been smiling ever since.

*Hello, 27. Nice to meet you.*

6:23 am

2009-06-04T08:19:00.003-05:00

This morning, at 6:23 am (earlier than we'd first thought), Mr. Handsome left for a rock star gig in Iowa.

Sigh.

I'm gonna miss that guy.

Here is Mr. Handsome looking like a rocker.

(I think he's kicking the dirt like that

because he misses me and is so frustrated about it.)

I Got Nothing

2009-06-01T11:26:00.007-05:00

*Crickets*

Is this thing on?

Regarding my recent absence, I haven't had much to say or time to say it for the last week. Ever since Mr. Handsome returned home, we've been running around like crazy chickens with their heads cut off. Not just headless chickens. Crazy headless chickens.

We've been racing against the clock of doom that will strike cruelly at 8:00 am this Thursday morning, when Mr. Handsome will have to leave. Again. It has come to my attention that Mr. Handsome will be gone every single weekend of June, and even a bit into July. This is completely unacceptable. There's absolutely nothing I can do about it, so technically that's an incorrect description. But still.

This weekend - the one that was supposed to be a leisurely and relaxing gift - turned into a whirlwind. A lovely whirlwind. But still.

Whirly Recap:

Friday
My life has been forever altered by my discovery of a simple recipe for baja sauce. Tilapia fish tacos - corn tortillas (flour for the boys - photogod Tony Czech joined us Friday night), chopped cilantro, fresh-squeezed lime juice, shredded cabbage, spicy baja sauce, roasted chipotle salsa, homemade guacamole - is my new favorite food of all time. So heavenly, in fact, that in my reverie I completely forgot to take any pictures to document the awesomeness. Oh well. Surely we will be making them again soon. After stuffing our faces with fish tacos, the boys helped me finish the last of my homemade brownies (thanks boys), and we settled on the couch to watch Taken. Oh wow. I'll just say this - I would never mess with Liam Neeson if I were you.

Saturday
Errands. (Welcome back to real life - different from the jungles of Belize, huh Baby?) BBQ at the Stepps - besteverbeef burgers, Tara's todiefor chocolate toffee cookies, long walk with the ladies, giggling like schoolgirls over pictures of Tara as, well, a schoolgirl - home. Late. Sleep.

Sunday
6 am road trip to Lousville, KY to visit Josh's Mom and sister and her family. Did you catch that? 6 am. On a Sunday. That's love. Road trip, BJ's (cue angels), road trip. Home at 7:00, fish tacos for dinner (still in love), kitchen cleaning/overhaul, finally snuggled up on the couch for a couple hours before drifting to sleep.

Today
Alarm. Bright and early. Hello, cubicle.

Sigh.

Where did my weekend go?

No idea.

I got nothing.

Adventures in Loneliness - Part 6: The End Is Near

2009-05-24T11:42:00.005-05:00

I really can't write at the moment.

I am busy cleaning and clearing and will next move to bathing and primping and prettying in anticipation of Mr. Handsome's celebrated return this evening.

His plane arrives tonight at 11:20. My intention is to jump him at 11:21.

Just shy of 12 hours.

I better get a move on.

Thank you for joining me on this adventure. I am happy to report it is coming to a close. I am also happy to report no animals were harmed in the making of this series.

(Except wee gentleman Scruffy. But it was by veterinarian intervention, so I don't think that counts.)

I have goosebumps already.

I can't wait for Mr. Handsome to be here.

For him to finally be

H O M E.

This is just about how I imagine we'll look tonight at 11:21.
A little excited.

Interlude - Some Enchanted Evening

2009-05-23T22:08:00.006-05:00

I must say, I'm a little in love with our new kitchen.

And while I'm no photographer (that's Mr. Handsome's territory), I was sitting on the couch in the darkened living room, looking up at the twinkle lights Mr. Handsome installed for me before he left, and wondered what Mr. iPhone thought of the beautiful scene.

Well it's your lucky night.

He was happy to share his thoughts:

"The way the outside light streams through the windows
makes it look like there's a lovely glowing candle on the kitchen table.
Even though there's not."
(Pretty nifty, eh?)

"Someone needs to slow dance with you in this kitchen with the lights just like this."
(I agree, Mr. iPhone.)

"Pretty soon, Mr. Handsome will return and you will cook him a luscious dinner
that you will share at that beautiful table."
(I can't wait.)

Impressive communication skills from a handheld device, I'd say.

Thanks for the assist, Mr. iPhone.

Adventures in Loneliness - Part 5

2009-05-23T13:56:00.019-05:00

Today we had a minor emergency.

Tiny lad Scruffy had an icky awful tick on him last week that I bravely removed with tweezers. I may have shrieked a bit taking it to the toilet to flush it away to its watery grave. Otherwise, I was the picture of stoicism.

Last night, two of my favorites came over. We had a very girly, very fun evening planned. While the first half of the evening (thankfully the one including dinner) was lovely, the second half got a little dicey.

Melissa was lovingly caressing the Scruffmeister when she suddenly froze, mid-stroke, looked up at me and said, "I think Scruffy has a tick." With bravery unlike any I have ever seen before, and most definitely have never known, Melissa plucked the tiny bugger out with her own fingernail. What a woman.

As we planned to resume our girly plans for the evening, Melissa again warmly embraced Señor Scruffy. Then I heard it.

"Uh oh."

Another tick. Can you believe it? In my defense, they were quite a bit smaller and - ok I have no excuse. I am officially Worst Dog Owner Ever. At least Worst Tick Discerner/Disposer. It's all a little hazy, but I'm pretty sure this happened one more time, then we decided to take a look at Scruffer's tail, which he'd been biting at a bit the last couple days.

Uh Oh.

It took me corraling poor Scruffy's head while Suz tried to stabilize his hindquarters and Melissa removing tufts of fur - tweezers in hand - to finally ascertain that something was definitely wrong with the poor little guy's tail. It appeared something had burrowed in.

Yikes.

Fast forward through a night of fitful sleep on the couch, and my eyes popping open at two minutes to 7:00. In the morning. (Those of you who know me know - this never happens.) Williamson County Animal Hospital - the place to which Tony & Melissa have entrusted their sweet Harriette in the past - opens at 7:30 Saturday mornings. So up we got and out we went.

We waited over an hour. During our wait, a lady walked in with an old dog in her arms. Speaking to the ladies behind the counter in hushed tones, she quickly made her way back outside. One of the nice vet assistants behind the counter announced to us in the waiting room that the lady needed to put her dog down, so they were going to let her cut to the front of the line. Apparently, that's standard protocol.

I'm glad it is. I can't imagine sitting in that cold sterile waiting room for an hour or longer, slowly counting the minutes, dreading the unknown moment when they call you in to say your final goodbyes to your beloved furry friend.

I squeezed Scruffy a little tighter. And prayed he would survive the insistent attack on his poor painful tail.

It got a little dramatic.

A tear or two may have been shed I don't remember.

Valiant Scruffy seemed utterly unfazed.
Finally, the same nice lady from behind the counter called Scruffy's name. During our meeting with the kindly vet (who continually called me ma'am. Gosh, I love the South. And gosh, that makes me feel old.), the vet tried to examine the Scruffster's tail and it obviously hurt like a mother, and despite my holding him back, he snapped at the nice man. Who didn't flinch. I, on the other hand, turned into a frazzled mess. Immediately, I apologized and began explaining that Scruffy never ever ever bites, and that he must be in a lot of pain and did I mention I'm sorry? Calmly, the vet said he was going to take him in the back so they could restrain him and take care of him - he didn't want me to have to be the bad guy. He scooped Scruff up in his arms, and in two seconds, they disappeared.

I instantly dissolved into tears.

(Sheesh. How will I ever handle having children?)

Shortly after their retreat into the inner workings of the animal hospital (a place I'd honestly rather not ever visit), the vet returned with my happy pup, looking none the worse for wear.

Neither of them.

For the record, it was not ticks. He also does not have fleas. My heart swelled a little as I stopped mentally chastising myself for being an unfit puppy-mother, as the vet explained that something had irritated my buddy's tail at some point, and since then he'd begun chewing it obssessive compulsively (no idea where he gets that) and it had turned into a pretty hefty wound. A cortisone shot and some antibiotics should do the trick.

However. If he doesn't leave it alone after 24 hours, I will be forced to make him wear the special dog lampshade apparatus that keeps him from being able to lick or bite his nether regions. It also secures him eternal passage on the short bus.

I'm crossing my fingers that he'll just leave it alone.

With a lighter step (and a significantly lighter wallet), I left with a couple medications in hand and my slightly traumatized dog in tow.

We hopped in the car, and over his canine features came something I can only believe was calm relief.
And we headed home.

Please Note: I generally believe that my overly emotional state today arises from the fact that I am missing Mr. Handsome something fierce, as well as from the terrible experience of worrying about and trying to help our sweet mutt all by my lonesome.

Generally, I believe that.

Adventures in Loneliness - Part 4

2009-05-22T22:38:00.013-05:00

Today I had an afternoon social.

The lovely ladies I work with came over to see the new place, and I was grateful to have the company. It's a tad bit sad to have a half-day the Friday before a holiday weekend with no Mr. Handsome to share it with.

So I shared it with Margie, Kathy, Kay, and organic raspberries. Not the same, but wonderful in it's own way.

I do love raspberries.

In preparation for their arrival, I broke out some of my favorite serving bowls and plates, and piled them with some delicious (and sneakily healthy) snacks. Listening to some country radio in my kitchen, I arranged the snacks on the table.

Fresh Lemonade with Lemons * Strawberries * Raspberries * Apples * Dubliner Cheese (Mr. Handsome's very favorite) * Green Olives * Pita Chips * Cucumbers * Celery * Garlic Hummus

And just as I was adding the finishing touches to my spread, I kid you not, "Home" by Blake Shelton came on.

I'll admit I got a little sniffly.

Right before the ladies showed up.

Oh well.

Despite my momentary mistiness, the place still looked beautiful, if I do say so myself.

Another summer day
Has come and gone away
In Paris and Rome
But I wanna go home
May be surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
And I wanna go home
I miss you, you know
Another airplane
Another sunny day
I'm lucky I know
But I wanna go home
I've got to go home
Let me go home
I'm just too far
From where you are
I wanna come home
And I feel just like I’m living someone else’s life
It’s like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right
And I know just why you could not come along with me
This was not your dream
But you've always believed in me
And I’m surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel alone
And I wanna go home
I miss you, you know
Let me go home
I’ve had my run
Baby, I’m done
I'm coming back home
Let me go home
It'll all be all right
I’ll be home tonight
I’m coming back home

Please Note: That last part there, the one about getting home tonight? It ain't true.

No sir.

Not yet at least.

Adventures in Loneliness - Part 3

2009-05-21T19:21:00.008-05:00

You are not ready for this.

You're just not.

Trust me.

Wanna see?

This bowl of delicious started with some sauteed onion and garlic, to which I added and sauteed shitake mushrooms and yellow squash. After the quinoa pasta finished cooking, I added it to the pretty blue Dutch oven I was cooking the meal in, and finally stirred in 2 coarsely chopped tomatoes. Seasoned only with oregano and basil.

And actually, just now as I was typing, I realized I forgot to cook up the basil and sun dried tomato chicken sausage I intended to sautee with the veggies as part of the dish.

It was that good and flavorful on it's own. No kidding.

I think I'll chop up the sausage in just a minute and go cook it up so I can add it to the leftovers - of which there are at least two more servings.

Which means...

Wanna come have dinner with me?

Please Note: I'm not officially giving up wheat or salt or dairy or red meat or any of the other things you may have noticed are conspicuously missing from my still-succulent recipes the last few days. Scout's honor.

But this is YUMYUM. You should try it. Trying new things is fun.

Kinda like I'm trying to change up my scenery - this photo is from my happy kitchen.

But back to my previous offer, I'm actually kinda serious - wanna come over to my happy kitchen and I'll make you dinner? You are welcome any time before Sunday night, because late Sunday night is when Mr. Handsome gets back - and I regret to inform you that upon his return, that fine specimen and I will require some uninterrupted reacquainting time. We'll need to be left blissfully

A L O N E.

Adventures in Loneliness - Part 2

2009-05-21T09:32:00.014-05:00

Apparently, writing about my food expeditions is not boring you to tears.

Which makes me quite happy, because we in the Lonely Hearts Club had a doozy of an adventure last night.

The lovely and generous Melissa Czech created a masterpiece in her kitchen, and I valiantly helped her devour it on her balcony patio.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

For this edition of Adventures in Loneliness, please note that Melissa used a modification of the Martha Stewart Fish en Papillote recipe. It's Melissa's recipe I include below.

Oh. My. Goodness.

It's easier than it looks, and tastes better than my little Mr. iPhone camera can convey. (He tries. He really does. He's no Tony Czech or Josh Rush - but darn it all, he tries.)

Here we go!

Fish en Papillote*
by Martha Stewart
*by way of Melissa Czech

Ingredients:
Zest from 2 limes, finely shredded
2 limes, juiced
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 medium red onion, halved and thinly sliced
2 mild to spicy green chiles, halved
4 fillets (3 ounces each) tilapia
1 head baby bok choy, halved
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Directions:
Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Mix lime zest and juice, garlic, onion, and chiles in a medium bowl. Fold two 20-inch pieces of parchment in half lengthwise. Unfold, and place 1/2 head bok choy against the crease with a fillet on either side. Rub both fish and bok choy with 2 tablespoons oil. Top with half the onion mixture.

Fold parchment over fish, making small overlapping folds along edges and sealing with safety pins. Place on rimmed baking sheets. Roast until parchment puffs, 10 to 12 minutes. Take out to enchanting balcony patio and serve with delectable brown jasmine rice with shitake mushrooms, lightly glazed with olive oil. *(See recipe below)

Here's what it looked like when we opened the tiny paper bags of deliciousness:

And here's what it looked like for the few seconds before I devoured it:

*Brown Jasmine Rice with Shitake Mushrooms
2 cups water
1 cup brown jasmine rice
3/4 cup dried shitake mushrooms
Dash of olive oil

Melissa first boiled some edamame in 2 cups of water and we used the edamame infused water to boil 1 cup brown jasmine rice. Add the dried shitake mushrooms, then reduce heat and simmer for 35 minutes. Mix in a dash of olive oil before serving.

Holy. Moses.

Please Note: Melissa and I each ate only one fillet and half the bok choy from our bag, and half our portions of rice. So that means - you got it - leftovers today for lunch.

I seriously cannot wait.

Most exciting thing that's happened all week. True story.

Mr. Handsome, you better get home. Quick.