TaDa!

It's the incredible reappearing act!  I perform this every so often, and I must say I believe I've outdone myself this time.  1 year and 6 months since my last post!  I'm so bad at this.

I do mean to do better this time (like I've never said that before), and actually I think now I stand a better chance.  See, I've recently turned a 15-year hobby into a small business, which means I have a virtual chain running from my rapidly typing fingers to my computer.  Strangely enough, websites don't seem too good at updating themselves.  Huh.  So, since I'll be at the computer more, updating everything from my website to my eNewsletter to the various artist profiles I have scattered throughout the world wide web, I just might make it here more often, too. 

So, what is my small business?  Next post.  (Ah ha! See there?  Now I have to come back and post again!)  By the way, one small downside to all this is the lack of sleep.  Who wants to sleep when there is HyperText Markup Language to be learned?

On another note, got your brackets ready?  The madness begins!  Go UGA!  (I'm not deluded, just incredibly optimistic!)

I went to a movie with my brother the other night (X-Men 3 at the dollar theater for all you detail people) and afterwards we stopped by a gas station.  As my brother pumped the gas (I have a sweet brother), I sat in the car with the door half open because this is Georgia, and this is summer.  The wierd flourescent lights were flickering the way only gas station flourescent lights at night can do, and music was drifting over from a nearby restaurant where a part-time musician who couldn't yet get a better gig tried to entertain dinner customers sitting out on the patio.  A guy with a beer belly and good ol' boy truck was on one side of us and a young woman who already had three kids and a small car was on the other.  I was thinking about how I wanted so badly to go to grad school, and I was going to have to wait another year to do it. 

And it hit me:  This is the American Dream. 

All those battles, all those declarations, public & personal, all those wars from before 1776 to tomorrow & beyond.  All the legislation & governments, from town to state to country.  All so that I could have the freedom to sit in my car on the way home from a movie, secure in my possibilities.  To know that even though I'm nowhere near where I want to be in life, I do have the chance to try for it.  The freedom to go about my daily life in a place where part-time musicians with dreams can sing for patrons who will go home to their families and dream about what their kids will be when they grow up.  The thought that I take this gift of possiblity for granted seems a massive understatement (underthought?). 

It's amazing what goes through your head when you're sitting, waiting, at a gas station on a hot summer's night.

Late-night Comeback

I should've known that after going something like 4 months without blogging, my soapbox persona would suddenly wake up right as I'm getting ready for bed and demand to blog again.  So, here I am, with an insane need to type a few random words on a forgotten blog before I can go to sleep.

I'm trying to become a gracious person.  I like the term "a woman of grace."  Someone that needs only God's presence in order to be content.  Who does not get ruffled by people & problems.  However, the nagging feeling keeps growing in my mind that fitting me & grace in the same phrase convincingly is a little like stuffing an elephant into a speedo.  I can't help but wonder if my personality is a little too spastic to assume the mantle of graciousness without tripping over it.  Maybe I'm thinking of this in too much of a southern belle mindset.  A genteel lady who graciously serves sweet tea and never gets angry I will never be.  I'd blow up.  But if I'm steadfast in seeking God's face, I could possibly pull off being a woman after God's own heart.  I'd be content with that.

Did you know you can buy cockroaches over the internet?  (See? I've blown the whole southern belle graciousness thing already.)  Of course, you have to pay more to get the kind that can't climb walls.  If you can't figure out why it'd be beneficial to have the kind that can't climb, just trust me on this one. 

I had a good Christmas.  (yes, I know it's March already.)  I got a potato in my stocking.  This is normal in my family, by the way.  We like potatoes.

I hate cockroaches.  I've mentioned this before, but I truly hate them.  Nasty, suspicious, armor-plated things.  I think what I hate about them the most is the sound they make when you step on them.  First there's a crunch.  That's not so bad, but it's only the prelude.  Next comes the squish, and the splurt of creamy guts.  Bugs as atrocious as cockroaches should at least die quietly and cleanly, and not squish. 

I have learned something tonight, in the midst of my blogging.  My mind is an unusual entity when it's tired.  I'm going to go put it to bed.  (If you think this is random, imagine what my dreams are like.)

Good night!  It's good to be back. 

I'm reading through Matthew lately.  Ever notice how such simple concepts can take you completely by surprise?  I think the shock is actually half "What a neato idea" & half "You dolt - it took you this long?"  Jesus was blunt.  He didn't practice the art of sugar coating.  If you were in the wrong, He let you know.  Perhaps it is His sincerity in His bluntness that makes His sincerity in His compassion so believable.  If He will be so painfully honest about condemning you, it stands to reason He is also honest about His desire to redeem you.  The people who followed Him did not doubt His love for them, perhaps because they never had reason to doubt His words. 

I've been informed that everything I do becomes an adventure.  This was not meant as a compliment.  I must admit, however, that it does appear to be my default setting.  I was mowing the lawn the other day, which I absolutely love to do because we've got a riding lawn mower and nearly an acre of track.  During the early part of my mowing, I was actually a little bummed that I had this powerful machine to drive around, and nothing too exciting was happening.  I guess my thoughts influenced my subconscious a bit much.  By  the time I hit the backyard and its obstacle course of trees, I had breathed in enough flying dust and dirt and pollen to set my allergies raging. 

An allergy attack on a riding lawnmower - not a good thing, Martha.  In situations like this, I always forget that I have breaks.  And of course, keeping your eyes open while sneezing is pretty near impossible, so it became ACHOO! -open eyes- BUSH!,  ACHOO! - open eyes- TREE!, repeat.  An excellent opportunity to practice those lightning turns. 

Maybe I need more practice.  A little later, I attempted a sharp turn right in front of a rather grand, solid-looking tree.  I got tangled in the branches and couldn't see a thing.  It took both hands to get the branches out of my face so I could see what was beyond them - the tree.  BAM! 

You may not believe this, but it really was the first time I have crashed while mowing.  I yelled, leapt off the mower, and inspected the size of the dent in my paycheck.  Surprisingly enough, no damage.  Tree? Fine.  Mower? Fine.  Me? F-f-fine.

When I told my dad about it later, he dazedly suggested that perhaps there were things I should not tell him.

Currently Watching Newsies (Collector's Edition) By Christian Bale see related