Random Jumbled Thoughts

I'm Chirpy....and this is a good thing

2011-10-22T23:25:00.003-05:00

As I am filling time, trying to write my final India installment(and writing it is killing me), I thought I'd throw this little nugget out there. I AM CHIRPY! At least that is what I've been told by an observant someone.

The word "chirpy" conjures up visions of birds and high pitched, loud, obnoxious sounds they make. Some people may like this sound, I; however, do not particularly care for birds. They are a necessary evil, destined to poop on my vehicle right after I have spent hours detailing it.

So you can see that I have some negative connotations regarding the word "chirpy."

But not to worry my friends, "chirpy" is also a good thing. According to my observant someone, "chirpy" means lively, cheerful, bubbly. These are very good adjectives! I especially appreciate "bubbly" because I relate that to champagne. If I relate it to champagne, then I am sparkly, bubbly, and intoxicating.

And who doesn't want to be intoxicating???

Where My History Begins: Not So Final Thoughts

2011-10-15T12:14:00.016-05:00

I've started this post on a beautiful Saturday morning in October and I have been struggling with what to write. How do I properly end my India posts? The installments were designed to capture every memory I had made; to give everyone a glimpse of the who, what, when, and where I was experiencing. Maybe foolishly, I thought I would share and move on. It was only a business trip, right? However, it quickly it became so much more than just visiting the teams.

Since these post can be read by anyone, I've kept them as innocuous as possible. All the important details are on the journal in the photo. I stumbled across it on my last day there. If you could see the pages...hand written, sometimes tear stained and always with my heart spilled across it's beautiful pages.

Re-reading my blog posts, I laughed, I cried, and I relived every moment I had there. I hope as you have read them, you enjoyed the journey. And for you my friends, this is where the written journey ends. For me, it just might be where everything begins.

Something deep within me has changed; and I cannot go back to the person I was before I left. It is a rather frightening prospect. Change is good. But change is scary, especially when you have no idea what change might bring.

It's been obvious to everyone around me that I have changed. I walked into the office the Monday following my return and three people said I was glowing and asked if I had fallen in love. What? In love? Huh? Craziness? Even if I had, I wouldn't tell. What I will say is that Bombay was exceptionally good for me. Everyone sees an outward difference and I can feel the internal change.

Can visiting a new place really cause that much change to your persona? Was it something deeper? I've questioned that so many times since coming home. Being introspective is so difficult when you can't put your finger on a specific "thing" that happened. It was everything and some things more than others. It was everyone and someone more than others. It was everywhere and some place more than others.

What I saw of Bombay was so brief. Five and half days in the office and one weekend. And yet it made a huge impact on me. How is it that I feel so connected to a place that has previously held no interest to me?

For those who have been around me forever, they know I had always been drawn to Ireland. Fascinated by it's history, captivated by it's music, intrigued by its rich Celtic mystique. I was happy to claim my "Green" card and I firmly believed that there was some Irish in me somewhere. That would explain the deep pull I had. After all, there were Irish in India in the 1700's. Surely, some pretty Indian girl fell in love with a hunky dark headed, blue-eyed Irish lad and generations later, that love of anything Celtic resurfaced in me. Turns out there are some similarites between the Celts and Hindus.

A funny thing happened though. As I left Bombay to come home, crushed in so many ways, I briefly saw the coast of Ireland, and then it was gone. Shrouded in cloud cover so thick that I never saw the island again. A friend said it was a "sign from God" and maybe he was right. While I still love the Celtic art and the music; the lure and magic it once held is greatly diminished. It has been replaced by something closer to the core of my very existance.

Since I've been home, it feels like all roads are leading back to India. I don't know why. So I've been praying daily for discernment and to understand why I feel the way I do. I need the clarity but don't have it yet.

I have been told numerous times over the last 4 weeks, "come back soon." How do I ignore such an entreaty? I have an ever growing list of things to do when I get back there: Places to go, things to do, food to eat, lessons to learn. Adventures not yet named. Going back will not be soon enough. I want to go back to Gateway of India. I want to eat great curries. I want a perfect chai tea and chococinos from Cafe Coffee Day. I want a home cooked meal. I want to learn the about the history and cultures. I want to visit Goa, Kerala, and Benares. I want to sit in the sand and daydream. I want to dip my toes in the Arabian Sea.

So much to do, so much to see...and India is so far away from me.

While I bid Bombay and those there a fond farewell, it's only for a short time. There is no doubt that I will be going back. The question is when? If not for work, then definitely on a personal vacation.

Who would have ever thought a girl, at least four generations removed from India would visit and immediately feel at home.

Bellybuttons and Big Decisions

2011-10-15T09:06:00.004-05:00

After many years of wanting to get it done, I think I have finally decided that I am going to get my belly button pierced. Maybe because I can finally see it..haha! I have contemplated for at least the last 5-7 years, if not more. So it's been some serious thinking.

I've been looking at various types of navel adornment and stumbled upon Tummytoys. Since I am not a blingy type of girl, I wanted something that was a little different and definitely me. Here are the three belly rings that I really like. Simple, clean, fun. A plain ring with some minimal bling. A ring with a garnet (my birthstone). A ring with a flower. All in sterling silver. Of course, these rings are for use when the darn thing has healed and I can switch out the standard surgical steel ball/post ring.

Now, the kicker to all of this is the pain. I have a friend who has had hers pierced. By all indications, it can be painful for a while. I guess I have a decent pain tolerance. I suppose that I will find out just how decent that tolerance really is.

Not sure when this magnitudinous event will take place. In the mean time, any volunteers to hold my hand?

Where My History Begins: The Great Mumbai Adventure Day 1 9/21/11

2011-10-12T23:01:00.017-05:00

Flight just landed in Mumbai. Its some ridiculous hour in the morning and I am in friggin' India. Someone shoot me now. Loved Etihad but don't want so many connections ever again. Wait a dang minute, I am at an international airport and I have to take a bus from the tarmac to the terminal? Lovely! Let me express my joy!

Going through immigration. Yes, I am here for business purposes. What a bunch of churlish folks. Of course, its typical of some government employees. Then again, I am not Miss Happy Pants either; having been on a plane since Monday afternoon. Nice! I am cleared. Welcome to India. Whoofreakinhooo!

Now to get my luggage, hoping it has arrived. Losing luggage is one of my biggest fears. I'm standing at the carousel next to a skinny Indian guy who is wearing his jeans too tight. Poor guy is really uncomfortable and um...itchy...for lack of a better term and really needs to...oh heck just made eye contact with Karen and nearly bust out laughing. She has seen him doing his scratchy dance. Oh! There is my suitcase.

Get me outta here!

Now all the bags have to go through xray. I am directed to put mine on a belt and guess what? No one is manning the unit. Seriously!? Can I just go home now? Don't want to be here in the first place.

We are all dragging our stuff down the longest corridor every constructed. The thing goes on for days. Think I just moved into another time zone. Oh wait there is the exit. Gaaaaacccckkkk! Humidity!!! Can I go back inside? Throngs of people...oh the humanity. A jacked up looking military style vehicle is parked near the exit. We have to stop for a picture. Someone tell me how we find our ride in this mad crush. Oh, there they are. Another long walk to the car park.

And we're off. Are you kidding me??? Driving like maniacs around here. But I'm observing everything. Galvanized shacks against buildings, storefronts. It reminds me of Trinidad. People hanging out in front of little stores. Dogs wandering the streets. We finally arrive at the hotel. But wait, we have to go through vehicle security. Since we are in the Renaissance van, it was quick. We get to the hotel and head through more security. And yes, I set off the metal detector. A quick step into the "private" room so the lovely lady can verify that I have nothing on my person whichcould be dangerous. A 2 second hand wand swipe that beeps at my bra...what do the magnatometers have against my chest?? Sheesh.

To the front desk and hello! The most beautiful Indian man I have ever laid my eyes upon is smiling at me and asking how he may assist. He is...I have never...he... deep sigh...and I lose all powers of speech. Tall, probably 6'3" and G O R G E O U S!!! Thick, jet black hair, deep brown eyes, a killer smile. Here I am, feeling and looking like a frazzled, worn out traveler. I got no game! Regardless, I can't help but stare and smile and nod when he asks a question. And the accent? Deliciously toe curling in the best possible way. Would it be wrong to stand here drooling over him for a bit? He gets me signed up for Marriott Rewards so I can have free internet while I'm here and he asks if there is anything else that I need? You know, when you aren't at your mental best, the witty retorts just don't come. Even so, I don't think he could have come to my room so I could stare at him for the rest of the night. This whole India thing might be starting to shape up.

The room is amazing. I have a king size bed, which makes up for the hillside view. The picture with all the shanties, yes, folks, thats my view. Granted there is a hillside too. I snap my pictures of the hotel room and start unpacking. The shower beckons me. Oh my gosh, a large stand up, marble shower with STEAMING HOT water. I stand under the shower, letting it wash 30+ hours of travel away. Unfortunately, I start to fall asleep standing up. Before I collapse into a heap on the floor, I get out, slather on my cucumber melon lotion, throw on a t-shirt and dive into the amazing bed. Sleep. It's 6:30 in the morning and for some ridiculous reason the driver is coming to get us at 2:00??? WHY? But it doesn't matter, my alarm is set and I'm very nearly asleep.

Are you kidding me, why is someone knocking on my door at 8:30? Yikes! It is housekeeping. Heart racing, I leap out of bed and race to the door, I tell them I'm sorry, that I had just checked in and to come back later. Privacy tag goes on door. I go back to bed and as soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm gone.

UGH, even in India, my alarm is annoying. I'm sooo tired. I grab another shower and get ready to go to the office. We meet downstairs to grab what would technically be breakfast, but I don't think a burger is really breakfast fare. We wait in front of the hotel for the driver pick us up. After some confusion, he shows up. What a nice looking man.

Ok, what's the deal? I've seen more good looking men in less than 24 hours in country that I have seen at home. What the what? Not that I am here to look at men, but I'm not blind and they are so damn cute! I need to find a nice Indian guy for my very own...The eye candy factor alone has this horrid trip looking up!

We head for the office taking a route that is narrow, winding, and the traffic is unbelieveable. There are small shops along the side of the road and holy cow, there is a man peeing...look away, look away...and now there is a dog taking a poop...my eyes, my eyes! A most interesting journey to the office. And we are there!

I am an absolute bundle of nerves. I am about to walk into an office full of people that I don't know..well except for one, sort of...and it's really stressing me out. I keep telling myself not to get shy and quiet. I just have to be me. I have a plan in my head and that's to really get to know everyone and look at the processes. We enter the building and it's show time!

I am face to face with the management team. Everyone knows everyone and I'm there like the odd duck. That's not to say that I don't get introduced, but you can tell there is a working relationship that I don't have and will have to start building. Smiles, handshakes, hello's, nice to meet you, all the standard stuff. I'm really struck by someone because strangely enough I feel as though I've already met him. It is way beyond odd as I haven't met anyone before. I can't shake the feeling but I have to put it aside. Weird. Here is the conference room, get settled in. Teams will be here at 5:30.

Knees knocking. Yes, in spite of the outward portrayal of confidence, I am nervous. We go out to the floor to get introduced. Every single head turns in our direction as we walk through. Deep breaths, it's only my teams. No one bites!

Collections: Great team. Prashant, my friend...charming, quick to smile, great booming laugh, gregarious. He would be fun to hang out with. Rajeev - determined, stoic, keeps you at arms length. Asif - charming, willing to talk, eager to listen and learn. Shilpa - sweet, quiet. Farida - strong, capable. Chirag - smiles all the time, can sense he wants to do well. Lester & Samantha - both new to the process and in learning mode. It was so great to meet them all finally! There is so much potential with this team. They have a difficult job, but I firmly believe in all of them.

PI: Kalicharan - amazingly hard worker, dedicated, thoughtful, smart, knows his process. Amita -smart, eager to learn, also knows her process. Aparna - sweet, quiet. Matuilla - young, stylish. Hanoz - teddy bear :), shy. Khozema - all smiles. Small group of dedicated folks. Working hard to meet the demands that have increased.

Recon: Vijayenda - wow, reminds me of my dad when he was younger, smart, willing to take on more difficult tasks. Sneha - fiesty, sharp, knows what she's doing, willing to speak. Amit - the newbie, sweet, learning. Kiran B - quiet, hard working. Kiran P - pays attention to everything, smart, willing to engage in conversation. Wahida - super sweet. And for the life of me, I struggle to remember their names. Maybe it's the two Kiran's. I feel really bad about that.

WCT: Only two folks on this team. Roopali - sharp. Tirth - did not get to meet him :(

I look at the sea of faces and I wonder how the heck am I going to be able to sit with each of them. I want to see everything they do, to understand the process. I want to know that they are handling it in the best way possible. How do I do that with less than a week in the office? I am daunted by the tasks which lay ahead of me. I have no idea how I am going to accomplish any of it. All of this on top of tearing apart some of the processes. Anyone have a brick wall handy so I can go smack my head against it?

Maybe being here won't be as bad as I have thought. All I can hope is that if I give them my best, I'll get the same in return. Day One, 4.5 left to go and it just won't be enough. It is evident that I need to be here longer than I am. Sure doesn't mean that I want stay though.

Where My History Begins: The Office Day 2 9/22/11

2011-10-12T05:23:00.004-05:00

Traffic on the way towards Day Two in the office. It's a quick drive from the hotel to the complex. I've been riding shotgun and I can tell you, I've squealed a number of times. Our driver, Sharad, is da bomb and just as cute as he can be. But that's beside the point. We get to the office, grab our ID badges and off to the conference room.

We talk about keeping US hours, but arriving at the office at 4:30PM is 6:00AM our time. Not to mention, I am generally up around 1:30PM (3:00AM at home) to get ready then make our way downstairs for a bite to eat. Don't care what you say, these aren't US Hours. Teams usually don't get here until 5:30, so we have an hour to download email and attempt some semblance of normalcy with our "regular" job.

I'm still tired, but have a lot to do with my teams; who I met yesterday. I don't even know where to start with this. It's my first trip and I'm a bit overwhelmed. I'm already being pulled into meetings and that's so much fun. Just trying to figure my way around here and to be honest, I'm totally scared to walk back to the floor on my own. I know it's silly but this isn't my office.

Dangit all! Stupid adapter won't stay in the wall and my laptop battery keeps dying. Connections in this place are HORRIBLE. Ok, that's a bit harsh. I'll say it's less than stellar. And if I hear one more person complain about something, I will lose my mind. Seriously, team, SUCK IT UP. We only have 3.5 days left in the office. Yes, it's cold in the conference room, wear a jacket. At least we have AC, a supply of water, and diet cokes. I'm happy and will survive without incessantly complaining.

Oh good, I can tag along with someone going to the floor. I'll have the hang of this tomorrow. Ok, it's kinda unnerving to walk through the first bullpen and have every head turn and stare. I'm sure by the time we leave, we will no longer be a novelty. Right now, I want to smile, wave and say "Hi y'all, how ya doing and please quit staring."

And it's really no different on the floor with my teams. You can see every pair of eyes focus on the door when we walk in. Again, unnerving, but since it's my first time there and having the client visiting only happens once a year, I can see why it happens.

So my teams, wow, my head is swirling; but it has been really wonderful to place names and faces. I know all of collection and PI, but Recon is still a mystery, even though I met all of them yesterday. I've left them alone to focus on the processes with the most challenges, i.e. collections.

Oh collections, the source of much anxiety for me. I really want to sit down with Dipesh and tear apart the process, hopefully we'll have time. I'm going to sit with Asif. He's a young gun and is showing a great deal of promise. If he was to shave his head, he'd look like my cousins Ed and Bill. I kid you not, I see my family wandering around Mumbai, so weird to actually kinda fit in. Have a chat with Asif for a couple of hours. I like what I hear from him.

Need to have a chat with my brother from another mother, Prashant. What a gem!!! Every one thinks so highly of him, including me. Great attitude, very intelligent, willing to express his opinions. I've been lucky to have established a relationship with him via IM so I don't feel so alone on the sea of new faces. I mean, I know names, but haven't really had conversations of a non-work nature with anyone else. Good to have a "friend" in the mix.

Now I'm off to meet with Kali on the PI team. He's a gem too! We have much to discuss, the PI team and myself. There are a few things that need fixing but we're getting there.

I'm here, there, and everywhere! By the time I get settled down it will be time to leave and I'll have barely scratched the surface. I can tell I needed a minimum of 3 weeks if not 4. I've warmed up to being here. Everyone has made it impossible do dislike it.

It's so different being in the office with everyone. So much easier than managing at a distance. I can build on a relationship with a person, not just a disembodied voice on the phone. I can see the reactions when I say something and not just hear "Yes" on the phone. I can guage if there is real understanding or if there is simply agreement for the sake of agreement.

Yay, I've been invited to see the cafeteria and to have a cup of coffee! Someone on my team says I am brave to drink the coffee. Seriously, I am already annoyed by some of the attitudes. I'm going to drink the coffee. The water has been boiled. I am not going to get sick and I am damn sure not going to disrespect our hosts. Ugh, I totally get why Americans have such an awful reputation.

Avinash shows up with a "sambar" I think...looks like doughnuts in a tomato sauce with a piece of "drumstick" on it. He offers to let me try but I decline. It looks interesting. So we have discussion about "drumsticks" which is apparently a vegetable. Maybe I'll get lucky and see one while we are out and about over the weekend.

I get back to the conference room, download a ton of email and the next thing I know it's time to go. We have got to quit leaving at 1:00-1:30...really there isn't enough time!!

Wonder if I can get Karen to buy off on me staying a bit longer. I don't mind traveling by myself and I have the feeling I'm really, really going to enjoy it here.

Where My History Begins: A Happy Day (or night) at Cafe Coffee Day 9/23/11

2011-10-09T16:56:00.014-05:00

TGIF! I've been jonesing for a tall, hot, dark ......

Cup of coffee....Really, people; what did you think I was going to say? The last cup I had was on the plane from Abu Dhabi to Bombay, and I can't really say it was the best cup of joe that I have had.

We leave the building through employee entrance/exit and run the gauntlet under the trees. Gauntlet you might ask? Why yes, there are birds in the trees. What kind of birds? The pooping on your head kind. They are an ancient species, found world wide. After carefully avoiding being targeted for strategic poop bombing, we move up the sidewalk and what to my wandering eyes do appear? The cutest tannish/yellowish colored dog. Debbie goes into full "Awww" mode. This is Mango, the office dog...Kim had warned me about all the stray dogs and had asked about Mango. He wants some love, but I'm playing coy and we are on a time schedule. Mango stays and we continue to make our way to the road.

To get a more well rounded India experience, we are taking the rickshaws to the coffee shop. Ummm, I've see the way these folks drive. Mental checklist: Will and Beneficiaries set, check. Life insurance policy and beneficiaries set, check. Everything right with the Lord, check. Ok, I'll take a quick trip because it's good to experience new things.

Oh yay! A snap to commemorate my potential final day, er, night in India. Dipesh, me, Palak in a rickshaw and off we go. Dipesh quips something along the lines that I can use the seat belt, but there is no belt. Nice! But hey I am not worried. I've got Dipesh on the right and Palak on the left...it's like having side impact airbag protection, but way better looking! :)

A 60 second ride and we're there! No mishaps...all is good.

Cafe Coffee Day is the Indian version of Starbucks, but 1000 times better. Better coffee, brightly lit, cheerful, cool music playing, less expensive. And a menu...a really large menu with too many selections of hot and cold drinks.

After much agonizing as to what I would like to have: hot? cold? hot? cold? I opt for a hot drink, a Chochino. Little did I realize I'd have have a lovely work of art before me. I could have stared at my drink for much longer than I did, such a pretty flower created with the chocolate sauce which had been placed on the foam. It was nearly too pretty to drink. But I took a picture for posterity's sake, added a packet of sugar and brought the cup of art to my lips.

Foam, chocolate, coffee, sugar. Did I mention chocolate? Sweet, wonderful, hot coffee. A jolt of java pleasure skittering down my spine. Caffeine withdrawals averted. But wait, a whisper in my head. My dad's caution to avoid all milk products while in India. Well blankety blank blank! Thanks, dad's voice in my head. But sometimes, it's good to be disobedient. Sometimes a girl has to be a little naughty and borrow a little trouble. Throwing caution to the wind (and knowing I had more pills to cure the ill than was probably needed)I had my Chochino.

Maybe my toes curling because I am drinking coffee is a tad much, but the slow slide of delicious coffee was really that good. Smooth, warm, tasty, satisfying. Everything that Starbucks could only hope to be. I can have coffee there every day/evening/whatever time it is that we actually work. And the group is having a great time! Coffee, laughter, and lessons on money and language. I learn what a Paise is and how to say "how much?" in Hindi (a valuable lesson since it is a shopping day on Saturday). And then it's time to go back to work...killjoy! Braving oncoming traffic, night time, and scads of people, we walk back to the office. A pleasant albeit humid return.

We make our way back towards the "gauntlet" and what do I see but the cutest white and black, chubby, dog curled in a ball on the sidewalk. Hmm, Mango has been replaced by another. And what does Debbie do? "Awww look at that baby!" Of course, I'm thinking about my Finn-boy and Mollie-girl who have now been kenneled for 5 days. I know they are missing me...so I walk up to the dog, named Vanilla.

Vanilla and Mango, I sense a trend. I ask where Chocolate and Banana are (yes I was a smarta$$) and am skooled on the fact that the dogs are named for their colors. Reeeallly? Are you sure? I mean a tannish yellowish dog named Mango and a white dog named Vanilla? Again, everyone makes me laugh. Personally, I've seen several Chocolates and Bananas and I've only been here since Wednesday.

So sweet Vanilla uncurls itself (I have no idea for gender) and walks right up to me. I am apprehensive to pet because I'm thinking about mange, fleas, infectious animal to human diseases...but since I am being adventurous, I decide to give into temptation. I could love on that dog for hours. What would the gang think if I follow my instincts and sit down on the pavement to play with Vanilla? Its tail and hind end are in full wag as I am scratching under its chin. When I decide to walk off, Dipesh says "It's going to follow". Sure enough, my new friend is trotting after me. Knowing that the relationship could never last, I say, in my alpha dog voice, "stay" and I'm promptly told that saying "stay" isn't going to work...hmmm that is a good point. What if the dog only understands Hindi or Marathi? However, since tone and posture are everything, I think I'll be successful.

Ha! The darnedest thing happens. Vanilla stays. Oh yeah, who is the Dog Whisperer now, baybee?!

Once we get back into the office, all laughs and smiles, I beeline to the restroom to wash my hands. Dog germs successfully averted. It is another good day at the office, made better with coffee, puppies, and great people.

Where My History Begins: The Weekend 9/24-25/11

2011-10-08T00:53:00.007-05:00

It is very nearly impossible to put into words the extraordinary day I had on Saturday with everyone who joined us at Leopold's Cafe. What started out with shopping turned into the best day I've ever really had. Laughter, beer, shopping, a carriage ride, an amazing dinner, being chased by a man wielding a pornographic balloon...the laughter and joy of that evening will be a cherished memory for a long time. That is, until I can make some more.

I think about the day, driving to downtown, stopping at Dhobi Ghat to see the laundry. Which by the way, is really amazing. I've never see whites get that white. The kids trying to sell you trinkets. The constant horn honking, the traffic. The scent of exhaust. The crush of people. The rise of new buildings. Chowpatty Beach and Marine Drive during the day. Again the people. A woman walking down the street with a basket balanced on her head. The architecture of old buildings, reminders of bygone days under British rule. The swirl of traffic circles. Kids in school uniforms. People doing life.

And then there was Leopold's. A cafe and bar which one of the first places struck during the 2008 terror attacks. Staring me in the face were two large bullet holes in glass. Reminders of what happens when people who hate for no reason decide to kill for no reason. A 3 litre column of ice cold Kingfisher beer and a lot of laughter. Everyone just made me smile.

A chance to show the group what we wanted to buy and everyone else haggled for us. Now mind you, I did learn "Kitna Houa" and I could have said it, but once a conversation would have been started, I would have been up the proverbial creek. I bought some beautiful green and silver tea light holders and carved elephants at Colaba Causeway. What a great crush of people and vendors selling their wares. It was fun listening to our friends go back and forth trying to get the best price.

Wandering around, making our way to the carriages near Gateway to India. A quick negotiation and we have three carriages to take us on the ride. So much fun. A walk over to Gateway and instead of going to see the darn thing, we are striking Bollywood poses and doing the silliest things while photos are being snapped. I can't help but imagine the locals were thinking "stupid tourists" but who cared...it was just soooooooooooooo much fun! But it wasn't all silliness.

I can close my eyes and see the families spending their evening milling about. A lot of people everywhere. I can remember the smell of roasting corn, that acrid, almost choking scent of char and smoke. I could see the wood coals glowing fiery red and see the sparks float upward as the vendor shook the can holding the embers. I can hear the sharp pop as fire consumed wood. I watched the vendors roll paper to hold the peanuts that were also being roasted. I could hear the hum of foreign languages being spoken. I could have stood in the center of all of that for a while, just observing. I felt like the centerpoint of a kaleidescope with everything swirling around me. As if I could take a deep breath and drink it all in.

The evening was capped off with an excellent dinner at Koyla's. The only word that comes to mind is WOW...and yes, I realize I have said that a lot over these posts. Koyla's is a roof top restaurant. You take the smallest elevator ever with an old fashioned metal sliding door, then a winding spiral staircase which freaked me out, and when you open the door, you have stepped back in time.

It was a dimmly lit and for me, full of a sensuality that was palpable. The scent of spices: rich, warm, inviting. Hushed conversations floating through the air. Nothing spoken above a whisper. Staff moving silently to see to their patrons needs. The thought that this would be a great place to make out for hours flickered briefly through my mind. Such an irreverent thought, but if you could see it and you knew me, you'd get why I probably had it :)

It was a feast for my senses. Visually stunning, with fabric draped pergolas under which was a low table surround by a concrete platform with a red velvet covered cushion. Once you left the path to make your way to the table, you met sand. Taking off your shoes you stepped over the low concrete bench to sit at your table. For any girl who has ever read a romance novel and the eventual object of her desire is a tall, dark, and handsome sheikh, prince, sultan, man who is set on making her succumb to his will (and not in that domineering, overbearing, I am lord of all way but the I love you and will not rest until you love me too way) and she eventually falls hopelessly in love with him only after he's taken her from everything she knows and keep her in a fantasy suite some where in the desert...this is that place.

Did I say it would be a great place to make out for hours at a darkened table for two? Now I need to figure out how to get back there with a handsome man to have dinner and entertain thoughts of making out...although reading a really good romance novel would be less expensive.

But I digress...The atmosphere, the food, the friends. The fact that I FINALLY got to have some curry...YUM! Now, part of the reason we were even there is the fact that out of everyone on this trip, I wanted curry. Hello! I'm in India. I am Indian. My middle name is Indira. Are you seeing a pattern? The curry in India is different that the curry my mom fixes...and I really wanted to experience it.

I tried a paneer dish and a chicken dish. I had mayti (fenugreek) roti, plain naan, cheese naan. Eating with my hands, just like I do at mom's, felt right and I fit in as that how we Indian like to eat our curry. Would it be impolite to surreptitiously lick my fingers?? I was going to say I had to smile, but I did that nearly every day there...I found it curious that my friends were always watching me while I tried new dishes. Almost felt like I was being tested. If so, I hope I passed with flying colors. Everything was delicious!

The evening ended much too soon. Some of our friends had to catch trains to get back to their homes. How incredibly generous of them to make the trip to downtown to spend it with us.

The weekend was just smashing. I smiled so much my face hurt. I got to be silly and have ridiculous pictures taken. One of my new friends said I was fun to be around since I was always joking and enjoying life. You know what, I was enjoying life, in a way that I haven't done in a long time. This weekend made me feel good to be alive and to be in a place where I could feel my own history singing through my veins.

Where My History Begins: I Feel Pretty Oh So Pretty 9/26/11

2011-10-06T21:46:00.003-05:00

Maybe I should say pretty pudgy...haha! Ok this is the sum total of my clothes shopping in India and I can tell you I want more. The blue churidar kameez is the most comfortable clothing I've ever worn. Aside from that here is the story.

Over the weekend, we went shopping. I especially wanted a shalwar kameez until I discovered these. I slipped into the blue and knew it was mine immediately. Love the color and unfortunately you cannot see the embroidered detail, but it's cream and silver. LOVE IT.

So those of us who had purchased clothing decided to wear it all to the office on Monday. I'm not sure what reaction everyone else got, but for me it was very similar to the mehendi. If nothing else, being in India sure made me feel good about myself. Any time a guy utters the word "beautiful" you can't help but feel kinda special.

As strange as it may sound, I really felt at home in the clothes. It was nice enough for the office, could wear it out, but it was still girlie and it made me want to twirl around in a circle. This is the only Indian clothing that I own so it's all very special to me.

The red...what can I say about the red, but WOW! Cannot wait to wear it at Christmas. I might even get some portraits made in it.

Every time I wear these, I'll feel pretty, oh so pretty!

Where My History Begins: Of Mehendi and Elephants 9/27/11

2011-10-05T21:34:00.007-05:00

On Saturday or Sunday I asked wonderful Charlotte if she knew a place where I could get mehendi. She actually arranged to have someone come into the office and do it for us there. Sadly, the pictures of my arms with the henna on are on someone else's camera and I'll have to ask for them, but what no picture can convey is how truly stunning it is.

All the work was free hand, no tracing, no stickers. Henna tubes and a steady hand. I was the first to go, told her not to do my finger tips as I had to type, not that i would have been able because my palms were decorated as well...oh well tips go done. We set the henna with lime juice and sugar and off I went to do stuff on the floor while everyone else took their turn.

I'm trying to type with my fingernails...not easy let me tell you. Then it's my turn for the backs of my hand/arms. 25 minutes is all it took...stunning...and I'm so enthralled with it. But now I am a wet mehendi mess who's stinking up the place with the smell of henna and eucalyptus...I love the scent but you can smell it all over.

I've got a meeting with Dipesh and bless him, I turn my computer over to him so he can do the typing. It really was all sorts of adorable. He graciously toted my laptop from the conference room to the floor, opening doors (which he did even when I didn't have mehendi), and being a really great guy. American men, please take note...women love it when you treat them like this!

We have a call in meeting with the recon team and the SME back here...good meeting...I'm getting high on the fumes. I apologize profusely. And all they can say is it's ok, the mehendi is beautiful. And you wonder why I love them all?

He's toting the laptop back and my eyelid starts itching...great! Wet hands, can't do anything...Dipesh to the rescue...he took my glasses off so I could itch. And if it wasn't just the nicest thing, it would be super funny...ok it is now...but in the midst of this all I could think was "wow!" yep that was it because my words just failed me.

Lots of nice compliments from everyone on my mehendi. The ladies from my teams kept coming to the conference room to see how it was turning out. They knew you had to set it with lime and sugar so they went to get that. I was limed and sugared and then spent the rest of the time on the floor.

Based on all the comments, everyone was waiting on the great reveal. I'll come back to that after the elephant story.

Harish (our 2nd driver) picks us up and off we go. Roads are pretty deserted at 2:30AM. We're driving along when my boss and I both spot the elephant walking down the street. The driver pulls over and I left Shawna out of the far back seat because she has her camera in hand. Driver stays back and she is in the middle of the road snapping pictures. At one point she has to jump on the top of the median wall so a truck doesn't take her out.

The car lights are not allowing her to get good shots, so he pulls ahead and she jumps out and snap. She's jumped back in and with her came the elephant's snotty trunk. We all screamed...yes five grown women screaming...and Shawna ended up in Carrie's lap in the next seat. Hysterically funny! The driver gives the elephant and it's keeper money. Elephant takes it into its trunk and lifts it to the dude on top. So Shawna gives it more money. The dude (ok it's really an old man with someone behind him sleeping) give the elephant a command, it lifts its trunk and trumpets...as the trunk is coming down, he snots the back window of the car. EWWWW!

Ok back to the mehendi...we are at the office on Wednesday (the last day), my mehendi is stunning even to me. The palms are nice and dark, think dark chocolate, and the arms are a rich cocoa brown. If I had known the reaction I'd get from everyone in the office, especially the men, I would have covered my entire body in mehendi, not that they would have been able to see any of it, but you get the idea.

Let's see, I got: "Wow!", a jaw drop and what appeared to be a nearly swallowed tongue, "beautiful", "the color came out amazing on you", "you carry it really well" and a lot of other really nice compliments.

I have to say it made me feel, I don't know, kinda sexy. It's so exotic and beautiful and the color is so complimentary with my skin. And while I really usually want to blend into the shadows, right now I'm strutting my stuff with my mehendi proudly on display.

Seriously though, I am considering having it done over my shoulders and across my collar bones. It's just exquisite.

Sunrise 10/5/11

2011-10-05T21:22:00.003-05:00

Night swiftly flees from dawn's glorious rising. Deep blue melding with pale orange held together with strands of gold. It was a perfect morning.

Where My History Begins: Last Day at the Office 9/28/11

2011-10-04T21:01:00.005-05:00

Taking full advantage of a deliciously comfortable king size bed and a cold room, I was cocooned under the fluffy white duvet with the best pillows ever cradling my head. Clean white sheets, soft against my warm skin. Bliss!

Then the blasted phone rings. It's the front desk at 12:30PM asking if I was checking out. After a few choice words ran through my sleep logged brain, I told him that I informed the front desk at 3:00AM that I would be checking out late. "When, madam?" I'm thinking when I'm darned well good and ready. By 2:30!

I dragged myself out of the bed (with much regret because it was the most comfortable bed that I've ever slept in) and started getting ready for the last day at the office with the teams. I had too much to squeeze into a much compressed schedule. So like the proverbial chicken, I'm showering, changing, packing, repacking, wondering how my backpack was 3 times heavier than when I arrived. Shoving more stuff into the suitcase and praying that it wasn't overweight.

A coworker calls to say that there are some cool shops by the ATM. Great, I need to find some postcards and maybe a t-shirt or two for the nephews because incredibly carved elephants just aren't enough. I'm such a teriffic aunt, if I do say so myself. But I digress. Have to move the suitcase and bags to another room that we're keeping an extra day. This way when we get back from the office we can eat dinner, change, freshen up and leave for the airport at 1:00AM. Oh happy joy joy!

The driver picks us up at 4:00 and we get to the office by 4:30. This is crazy, I have to meet with everyone. I have too much to do. Dipesh and I have barely cracked the surface of refining the collection processes, but I've tossed something out there for him to think about and he has. Go Debbie! Improving processes one step at a time. Needed to have this conversation with him all week but the other processes captured his time. I feel like throwing a temper tantrum because I need to talk about the processes with him. Needless to say, my processes got hosed in the time department.

The teams get there at 5:30, I have to upload some recons. Blankety blank slow blank connection! Have to go sit with the teams. For the entire week, I have felt like the rope in a tug of war game. I have to sit with PI, then I'm pulled to sit with Recons then I'm yanked to sit with collections...oh goodness it's not enough time!!! and it's ticking FAST!

I'm like a jack in the box, bouncing from person to person. Finally, I get some much needed time with Dipesh. He's run numbers, made a pretty chart and we start to talk about what we think this can bring to the table for the team. I want to test with a couple people. Would love to be there when it's implemented. Hey boss, I want to come back for at least 3 weeks!

Somehow we drift into a personal conversation about cars and motorcycles and history and culture. We really could go on for hours, but I'm getting ready to leave. Here comes some folks to usher me into a conference room. Um, ok. I've already met the teams a week ago.

If I had only known or been prepared for this...anyone who really knows me knows that despite of the "I'm tough, no one can hurt me, whatever, it ain't nothing but a thing" persona that I generally show to the world, I truly wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm easily touched and really can be very emotional.

So the teams gather to present us with gifts. Yep gifts! I'm standing there looking at all these smiling faces being handed a package wrapped in hot pink paper and...a hard swallow past the lump in my throat. I can't do this. I turn around and will the tears not to fall. I am so completely overwhelmed by their generosity and spirit. My boss, all calm and cool, gives her speech and I can barely get two words out. A beautiful purse and bracelet in a turquoise blue to match the churidar kameez that I had worn on Monday. My heart crumbles. I just want to hug them all.

But wait there's more...that's just one of the 4 teams I have. Here comes the other two in a joint effort to push me over the emotional cliff. But hey, I know what's coming and I've got this. Right. I open my mouth and nothing. I cannot get anything past the lump that is now twice the size it was. So completely choked up, tears welling in my eyes. The only thing I'm thinking is please, Lord, don't let the tears run down my face. This is so embarassing. Dipesh is standing to my left but I can't even look at him. Avinash is standing to my right watching intently. I really want to find an empty room, put my head down and cry.

I really was humbled to be there with them. Always a kind word and a smile for me. They are generous of spirit and heart. I can't tell you what that kind of outpouring does to me. I really was emotionally crushed by all of it. As the visiting client, I know it wasn't a good business practice, but before I'm a supervisor, I am a human...and on this day, this human was emotionally undone.

We have a quick moment to snap pictures because it's so dang important that we leave on time. Whatever! I don't want to go back. I still have too much to do here. I was asked if I could stay and I wished I could. It really was the beginning of something good happening, I could feel it.

Then chaos, it's time. I'm shaking hands with everyone when all I really want to do is hug, but that probably isn't appropriate...but sometimes you have to say appropriate be damned. I threw a few hugs out there. Take that business etiquette! If I can cry, I can hug.

I have three amazing teams and cannot wait to see them again! Missed getting a photo of one, but the manager for that team is working on it for me!

Where My History Begins: I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane 9/29/11

2011-10-03T19:55:00.007-05:00

Arrived at Bombay's international airport about 1:40AM so we could get to our gate in time with all the enhanced security measures. Having to zigzag past armed guards and barricades wasn't necessarily the enhanced security measures I was expecting, but hey, you do what you have to do. Don't I feel safer?

The airport was crowded, people lining the drive waiting, apparently. And there we were, 5 women sticking out like sore thumbs with no idea where to go. Finally, we found a nicely suited woman who told us to roll past the people standing and head to the security guards to gain entrance into the airport.

I handed my passport and itinerary to a tall Sikh guard, who checked out my documents, mumbled something to me, which I didn't understand then let me go through. Whew...now off to find the Etihad gate. Suitcase check through to DFW, backpack and personal bag tagged...off to immigration.

Didn't really want to leave but can't really stay. The immigration folks aren't particularly pleasant. Even a thank you and a smile only received the head nod. Don't worry, it's all good. Waiting for the rest of the group because the Indians have never seen a Mexican traveling there before.

Traipsing to the gate...whoohoo 2 hour wait until boarding time. Oh look, security. Men to the left, ladies to the right. 4 magnetometers for the men, maybe 2 for the women. One of the men has me put my bags on his conveyor and tells me to go around...dang shoes set the mag off again. Whoohoo another wand search and pat down.

Make it through, but tags on the handcarry bags have to be stamped. Two guards, five feet away from where they were just stamped are checking to see if they are really stamped before letting you down the escalators to the gates and a very stylishly expensive duty free. Hey folks, I may be American but I still can't afford Coach and if I could I won't pay that kind of money for a bag.

The Etihad folks come gather all of us to take us to the business class lounge. Only after schlepping our bags there and taking a tip, do they say only the two with business class sticker can stay and the rest of us have to pay. Whatever, off we go to the not so pleasant restaurant. We took it for about an hour then moved to look at the gift shops and head for our gate. It's all a blur...I'm so tired..I have been up since 12:30 Wednesday afternoon.

We board the plane. I'm at the window, the middle is empty and there is a woman sitting aisle. I'm staring at the airport and thinking about the week. For reasons unknown to me, my heart is just hurting. Ok, so maybe I know but it's nothing I want to face. We take off and I get a blur shot of the Bombay coast line and in a blink it's gone. Like I had never been there.

And I cried. I stared out the window into the inky black as we fled the rising sun, tears slipping silently down my face. Did I remember to put tissue in my carryon bag? No. Ugh, I'm such a moron.

I'm just sniffling now. Maybe I can watch a movie. I don't recommend the last installment of Pirate of the Caribbean. As much as I love Johnny Depp, horrible movie. Then again, I just wasn't in the mood...I'm staring out the window again, crying.

A three hour flight to Abu Dhabi spent crying intermittently, staring out at the blackness of early morning...I can almost see the clock spinning backwards as we lose time. There has been a star following the plane. "When You Wish Upon A Star" begins rolling through my brain. Really, Disney music?

I'm watching amber lights below as we fly over cities and countries, which ones? I don't know...Places I've never been. Maybe someplace I would like to go.

And the sun is slowly creeping up. I can see a brilliant orange slash across the horizon behind me. My star is going to disappear, but I already made my wish. Maybe when I get to Abu Dhabi, I'll be less sad.

It's surprisingly a very gray dawn rising in the U.A.E. I can't tell if that's the sand blowing or it's a misty morning. Wait, we're in a desert, does it get misty? I don't know.

Apparently, I don't know a lot right now. Too tired to care. My eyes are burning. Not enough sleep and too many tears. Betcha I'm not so beautiful now.

The terminal in Abu is gorgeous with a huge mosaic ceiling in blues and greens. Stunning work. Please just let me get to the gate or get something to eat. Oh great security again. Shoes set it off..yay me. I get a full chest grope. Lady, I promise these are real, contain no liquids or gels and they aren't a bomb making component. But thanks for playing with my boobs, somehow that just makes me feel so much safer...not.

Ohhh the food court..hello remember me, I was here a week ago or so. Yay, wireless! Facebook to update my friends. We eat and play Mexican Train. I'm so tired I'm bordering on babbling. Please time, move. I've left Bombay, just get me home now.

Time to make our way to the gate. Well hello! Mister tall Arab man with your white robes, head dress thing and stylish glasses. You're hot and I'm a hot mess. Why yes, you may look at my boarding pass and passport. Do you happen to have an Arabian stallion and sword parked near by...perhaps a lavishly appointed tent in the desert. Feel free to take me as your willing captive. I promise I clean up nice. Uh oh, channeling way too many romance novels...oh well a girl can fantasize. I do like tall, dark, and handsome men.

Yay, I have a row to myself on the big plane...hey, why is that guy on the other side of the plane staring at me. Yes I know my eyes are red. Yes I know both my arms have mehendi on them. Hey, who is poking my back. Awwwwww...you are just the cutest little boy I've seen. This should be a nice flight as long as my cutie bug doesn't scream the entire time.

I sleep for a bit, take pictures for a while. Plug in my earphones and listen to tunes. I fall asleep listening to Keith Urban and wake up to "Making Memories of Us" now why the heck is that making me cry?? Maybe I should play some Demon Hunter, that really won't make me cry. Ahh much better. Hey the guy across the plane is staring at me again. Seriously, if he keeps it up, I am going to go over and introduce myself.

15 hours...in a plane for more than half a day...that clock in my head continues to spin backwards. I just want to be home. Ohhh look the coast of England, the coast of Ireland, the Atlantic. Newfoundland, Montreal....holy moly, Lake Michigan is HUGE. Chicago! Yes, US soil!! Dinner at Chili's and an ice cold beer.

Board the flight for home...what a miserable experience. American Airlines I HATE YOU!!!! I have a seat and yet some one's bag is in my overhead and you want me to put my backpack with my laptop and other expensive items in the cargo hold? What a stupid airline. And you stupid stupid flight attendant guy...shut up no one thinks you're funny.

I'm lucky enough to be seated in front of a family with a small kid who is continually kicking the back of my seat. I would have thought the glare I gave the dad would have given him the message. Aside from it being a night flight and they don't have the courtesy to lower their voices, and the brat kicking my seat; I'm having a lovely time.

What do you mean there are storms at DFW??? It hasn't rained for months and when I come home we are now in a holding pattern. What do you mean we may have to divert to refuel? Tulsa or Alliance in Fort Worth...hey that's not far from the house. I'm gonna cry...and I do...I put my face in my lap and bawl like a baby. I just want this to be over and I want to be home. I miss Bombay, I'm nearly home...please just let me go home.

Control tower allows us to land priority because of the fuel situation. Yay! Crazy at the airport with all the late flights. My luggage gets there pretty fast. Everything in the backpack is intact. Call my sister to come get me. She's there quickly. I get to mom's do a quick show and tell, take a shower and crash.

Home...it feels good but I'm not the same girl who left.

Where My History Begins: The End is the Beginning - 9/30/11

2011-10-01T07:49:00.023-05:00

Because the creative side of my brain is abuzz, I am going to try something different with these posts. I'm starting at the end and will work back through the journey. Maybe putting it all down in print will help me understand the who, what, when, and where that occurred while I was there; and why I feel the way I do. In a strange way, I feel I am going back to the future.

I had to pick up the dogs today. They spent 11 days at the kennel while I was on the trip. I missed my babies after seeing all the stray dogs in India. I also missed my vehicle. For 10 days I had been chauffeured around so I was looking forward to being behind the wheel of my own car. As soon as my sister dropped me off at the house, I jumped in the Xterra and headed north on 35 to Argyle. I had the windows down enjoying the cool weather and the warmth of the sun as it beamed down on my left arm. And as is my habit, the radio was blaring some rock as I hit a nice speed. As I turned off the interstate to take FM407, I looked down at the mehendi adorning my hands and arms.

So began the flood of thoughts about this trip I had taken. Driving down 407, looking at the horses and cattle in the pastures, the wide open spaces; I thought about everything I had seen in Bombay. The clean, the dirty, the beautiful, the not so pretty. The decay, the life. The poverty, the wealth. Then it hit me, for a much as life here in Texas is so very different than Bombay, it is exactly the same.

Take the photo of the beautiful cup of coffee, carefully crafted by a barrista at Cafe Coffee Day. A great coffee shop, with cups and mugs for purchase. Sandwiches, sweet treats, great tunes playing. They are open until midnight. It's their version of our Starbucks at a much better price with much better coffee. My coffee at SB has never been so pretty. Not different from here at all. Yes, the first time we caught an autorickshaw to take us down...more for the experience than the necessity. In the coffee shop, you found the hip and trendy, the worker, the student...everyone you would find in our SB.

During the day, there were people going to the shopping malls. Malls that would rival ours; sleek, modern, beautiful. I didn't make it into one, but drove past and could see it filled with shoppers. Not so different from our trip to the mall if you ignore the traffic and congestion.

Petrol stations dotting the corners of intersections. Just like here. What I would have given for a QT and 52oz cup of unsweetened iced tea.

Barber shops busy on a Sunday night with men of all ages getting their hair cut. People strolling streets stopping in local food stalls for some street food. Slightly different from here, but to me not unlike zipping into a fast food joint for something to eat.

I visited a KFC and a McDonald's...no beef products (not that what McDonald's serves can really be called beef anyway) but still full of people...vegetarian and chicken selections. At Mickey D's you could have a Chicken Maharaja Mac or a McSpicy Paneer. Needless to say I had fries and a diet Coke.

Being back home and having settled into the daily routine of my life, I can appreciate the similarities I found in Bombay. But, there is a part of me that misses the differences....the incessant honking of horns as drivers warn each other; the high pitch whine of an auto rickshaw motor. I miss the crazy traffic that caused me to screech in fear, knowing that my untimely death was imminent. I no longer get to wonder in amazement how you can fit a family on a motorcycle; how a saree or shalwar kameez doesn't go up in flames as the women ride sidesaddle on the back of a motorcycle. I miss the challenge of crossing a street with oncoming traffic. I miss the curious stares of people as we pass by and me looking them with the same curiosity.

I miss smiling at anyone who was helping me and receiving a warm smile in return. I think I miss that the most. A smile that lit up the face and reached the eyes. I have photos of my new friends, each one of them smiling at some point...and every time I look at the pictures, I can't help but smile myself.

So you see, we aren't so different though 9,000 miles separate us. We all want love, happiness, security, comfort, peace, joy, and so much more.

While this trip had ended, I think the journey is only now beginning.

Where My History Begins - Intro

2011-10-01T06:38:00.010-05:00

How does one begin pouring out her heart, thoughts, and memories of a business trip that she never wanted to take? How do you admit to being captivated by a country you had no desire to visit? How do you talk about a team of people who brought you to an emotional precipice with their compliments, kindness, and affection after knowing you 8 days?

This post and those that follow will attempt to share the most amazing time spent in a country where my history begins.

I have never really given much thought to my ancestral country. It has always been a distant place....a "third world country" full of abject poverty, hopelessness and no where I would want to be. I am and always have been an American of Indian descent with no connection to my Indian heritage. Until this trip, I could have cared less. I've always been very grateful that the British took my great grandparents, on both sides, out of India and plunked them in the Caribbean, regardless of the circumstance of that departure.

Now I think of it a little differently. I can only imagine the journey from India to the Caribbean on a ship; and quite frankly, I can't bear to think about how hard that must have been. Family, village, friends, left behind to go to a distant land to work. Did they leave to give themselves a better life or were they unceremoniously removed by the Brits against their will and forced into work bondage?

I'll never know, but I can only be thankful that God had a plan for them. If they had never left India, my grandparents, my parents, my extended family, and my sister and I would never exist. Until this trip, I had never really contemplated that point. When I think of everything that had to occur for me to even exist, I know how blessed I am. God, who knew my name before I was conceived, allowed these events to occur so that I may have the life I have today.

Who would have thought that I would travel back to India with my company to work there for a short time? I've come full circle.

Of Mike and Ends

2010-10-15T23:19:00.004-05:00

4/8/2010

10/14/2010

Photos from two historic days in the life of this hockey fan. April 8 is one of the photos I snapped at the game. The October 14 photo was taken by someone else. Both days I was firmly ensconsed in the American Airlines Center to watch my Dallas Stars play.

April 8th, the last day I would see Mike Modano playing for the Stars in the AAC. For most of us fans, we thought we were looking at our star on the verge of retirement. The #1 American born hockey player, every record with the Stars. Northstars, Dallas Stars, it doesn't matter it was the Stars. 21 years with all incarnations of the team. He is, was, and will always be THE face of hockey in Texas.

But like all good things, they must come to an end. At that last home game, I, along with 18,000 fans cheered him until we were hoarse. Cried when he cried and felt our hearts break just a little knowing that he would no longer be flying down the ice with his sweater flying out behind him.

I was okay knowing that he was going to retire. Or so I thought.

I guess leaving the sport that is as much a part of your physiology as breathing is difficult at best, and excruciating at worse. I can imagine it would be like losing a limb. I guess Mike couldn't leave hockey any more than he could sever his own arm.

But never in a million years did I think he would don the sweater of the Detroit Red Wings. The Red Wings, like the New York Yankees, are a much hated and loved team. Personally, I hate them. So for my Mike to give up retirement from the Stars and sign with Detroit was a dagger in my heart. I was crushed...and ANGRY.

Mike giving voice to retirement and signing with someone else is like Emmitt Smith going to the Cardinals or Brett Favre saying he was retiring. It's just not right.

So after spending 6 months angry, I had to wait for my hockey therapy. Who would have thought that the home opener this year would be one for the hockey storybooks? It couldn't have been scripted any better. Dallas opened at home against Mike Modano and the Red Wings in front of a sold out arena.

You couldn't miss Mike when he stepped out on the ice for the skate around or walking out from the visitor's tunnel at the start of the game. It was surreal. My Mike wearing red and white. My Mike playing on another team. I was prepared to cry. I did tear up when the Stars flashed "Thank You, Mike" on the jumbotron and the camera panned to him. Huge cheers as he stood and acknowledged the crowd. I could have sworn he was teary eyed.

And as quickly as the tribute started it was over. And that's the way it should have been. 60 minutes of great hockey. The Stars dominated the Wings, and in the midst of it all, I forgot to watch Detroit's Mike.

So my dear Mikey Mo, you're free. My heart belongs to the Dallas Stars and while I have your rookie card and an autographed picture...while your jersey hangs in my closet and above all hockey players I will forever adore and love you; I set you free.

Enjoy the blip of time you spend with Detroit. Even if you don't know it, I do; Dallas will always have your heart and you will always be in ours.

Say Goodbye to Russet Shadows

2010-09-14T21:13:00.002-05:00

He decided he wanted to move on down the road and not co-blog. "Our posts didn't overlap, you own the blog, blah blah blah" So if you follow this blog because he posts here, you'll have to find him elsewhere.

Diary of a MDW - 9/10/10

2010-09-10T12:57:00.004-05:00

Dear Diary,

Its been almost a month since I decided to write about my journey. Russet thinks I wasn't mad or angsty enough in my original post. I suppose it was rather benign; however, I have been angry about being diabetic for a long time. Fear, annoyance, anger, depression...I've felt it all since the diagnosis. For the last couple of years though, it's been anger and deep, dark depression, oppressive misery. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. Gloom. Despair. And agony on me. Whoa, a HeeHaw flashback.

What Russet doesn't realize is that I have been horribly angry. I've been shooting the finger at diabetes, but not doing a darn thing about it. I've been living my life without a care while knowing that I have been shortening my life span by about 20 years if not more. I mask the anger well.

But something changed on 8/18. That day was the beginning of a new day and an answer to years of prayer. It was as though a switch had been flipped. With strength from Him, I started an eating plan to combat the trauma I have been inflicting on myself.

I cannot convey how incredible I feel. Everything has changed. I reminded myself that my body is a temple, forged by our Creator to be used for His Glory. I am also looking at life with fresh eyes. I may not be where I want to be in life, but I have to believe this is where God wants me to be. He is giving me the answers I need. More than that, I know He is guiding my every step right now. How do I know? Well, I have been on track for 4 weeks with my eating. I am seeing amazing results. Blood sugar readings are getting normal, my energy is up, depression is gone. It's a new me.

Funny, I'm upset that my new low fasting readings, which are half of what they had been are annoying me. I want to do better. I want to fulfill my purpose in this life. Sitting around and eating myself to death isn't the answer. I'm filling my body with healthy foods. Fruits, vegetables, whole grains, organic milk, grass fed beef, pastured chickens. Foods the way God intended them to be. In this 4 week period, I have eating prepared foods (restaurant) 3 times. 3 TIMES! Before, I could eat prepared foods 3 times in one day.

You know, it's good to be alive and a child of God.

Diary, I'll be back in another month.

Diary of a Mad Diabetic Woman

2010-08-22T19:28:00.004-05:00

Dear Diary,

I've decided to blog about my diabetic journey and where is has/will lead me over the next several days, weeks, months, years.

I can say without hesitation that this has not been an enjoyable process. I was diagnosed 2002-2003 as a Type 2. Easily treatable with diet, exercise and some oral meds. No matter how easy you think it will be, it isn't. I spent a lot of time being in denial about it. No one wants to be a diabetic. A lot of people will spend too much of their time telling you what you should or shouldn't eat. I cannot tell you how many times I've heard, "Oh, can you eat that?" Grrrrr!

Yes, I can eat it. The question is "Should I?" The answer more often than not, is a resounding NO!

For the first year, I did really well. Watching what I ate, exercising, taking my meds. All to no avail. My HbA1C wasn't getting any better, so the doctor added more meds. I hate taking medication. Unfortunately, all of this made me rebel. I finally decided to see an endocrinologist after a year of working out and not having any success with losing weight or getting my readings back in line.

Well golly gee, it's the meds. The cure is as bad as the disease. One of the meds hindered weight loss, but the doctor wanted me to lose weight. That was the point I said, "Screw it!" And for the next 5 years, that's pretty much been my attitude.

The last few months have been hellish for me. Between the stress of work and life in general, I've not been very happy. In fact, I've been seriously depressed. As a woman of faith, I know that God will see me through all of this, but for a while there, I felt He had turned his back on me. That's not the case. I've been praying diligently for peace and comfort. I want my joy back. I want to feel alive instead of going through the motions.

Well, God answered my prayers about a month ago. My parents ordered a book called The Diabetic Dtour by Prevention Magazine. They were on the verge of returning it when I saw it on the coffee table. I asked if I could take it home. It sat here for 3 weeks before I picked it up.

This past Wednesday, August 18, 2010, was my new beginning. I started Day 1. Horrible day. I was so incredibly hungry. I knew it was a result of putting good foods into my body. 3 meals, 2 snacks and I was ready to gnaw my arm off. But I did not shy away. I am currently on Day 5. My energy is already better. I'm not so hungry anymore. My blood sugar readings are getting better. I've lost some weight, mostly water from eliminating the salty foods.

The program says you can lose up to 13 lbs within the first two weeks. I won't know what I've lost to date until I officially weigh in on Wednesday morning as I start Week 2 of the Quick Start.

The food, all my own, has been great! I've followed the plan 98% with a couple of deviations. I have lost the cravings I've had for junky foods. I'm enjoying the whole grains and fresh fruits. I've been taking lunch and cooking dinner every night. It not easy by any stretch, but I have to do this if I want to be around for another 40+ years.

So thanks be to God for answering prayers. I've eaten better in the last 5 days than I have in the last 5 months. I've already experienced an initial 75 point drop in my fasting readings. I know it will fluctuate, but I can't let it get me down when it is elevated. I have to keep my eye on keeping it steady and continuing to drop. As I have said to friends, something is better than nothing.

I have to remind myself that my body is a temple for the glory of God and I need to treat it that way.

Goodnight, Diary. I'll be back in a few days.

2010 - The End of Eras

2010-06-29T18:10:00.004-05:00

....Simply put, all good things must end....

To say that 2010 has been a difficult year would be an understatement.

My company, which prided itself on being a forward thinking organization proved that greed exists no matter what the executives of the company might say. We were "merged" with another organization. What was once the corporate office has slowly been dismantled. Through RIFs and self-terminations, we are down to 18-20 people; hanging on to the hope that we will be kept as a service center with the new organization.
Texas Stadium - that venerable behemoth, the daily milepost on my commute to work. A place where I saw my high school football team be crushed by defeat or vaulted towards state championships. The home of the Dallas Cowboys. A legend in its own right. In April it was imploded. Now my daily commute includes a rather sizeable pile of rubble which is slowly being whittled down.
Mike Modano - oh how my heart hurts today. A future Hall of Famer, the most honored American born hockey player. This fan thought he said goodbye at the last home game of the season. It was something to see this guy cry, unabashedly moved by the outpouring of love from the fans. I bawled like a baby. Then to watch the final season game in Minnesota, where his storied career began....yes, I bawled like a baby.
Today, though, his story with the Stars reaches its finality. The end of his days as a Dallas Stars, THE Dallas Star. This team, the only team he for whom he has ever played, made the decision to not extend his contract. As a fan, I am so wounded. I wanted Mike to retire from this team. I'm sure many of us did. I can't imagine him in the uniform of another club.

90%

2010-02-20T15:35:00.002-06:00

...Mary Carillo is a GENIUS....

Get out of town, a brilliant journalist. Often times "brilliant journalist" falls under the term "oxymoron". This is one such time.

During a recent prime time broadcast of the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics, Mary was in conversation with either Al Michaels or Bob Costas. According to Mary, "90% of Canadians live between our border and theirs." REALLY??? And the other 10% are what? Ex-pats living in a remote mountain village in Nepal?

I realize she meant to say that 90% of Canadians live within close proximity to the US Border. However, I had this mental map image of the borders with dots for all the Canadians living in Canada and10% hovering over Iceland.

I'm certain she didn't mean to sound like an idiot. It's ok Mary, I have learned to speak "stupid" and was able to translate.

Welcome to 2010

2010-01-14T17:22:00.003-06:00

Ahhh my first post of the new year. Whoohoo! Somewhere in the morass of 2009, I lost my creative juices. Perhaps it was drained around the same time I began losing my mind. Seriously though, this year has to be better than the last.

I'm scaling back and exercising self-discipline. What a challenge. First, I'm back in church. REGULARLY. I took almost six months off and came back to a sermon entitled "Every Day With Jesus"...can you say "ouch" for the slap upside the head I received. I haven't quite figured out how the ministers know exactly what to say (translation...what I need to hear).

I am reading the daily devotionals, I'm reading my chronological bible. I am thinking about getting plugged in, but have reservations. Again with the "single" dilemma. Don't have kids, don't have a spouse....blech. But I'm sure I'll find something.

I'm making some serious changes to eating and exercise habits. I'm taking control of my health, something I should have done years ago, but it's better late than never. Besides, I don't want to have to deal with the pending doom of government health care. It costs more and covers less.

I've halved my guitar lessons. Tragic. But it's too difficult when working full time, having a life and other interests, to make a weekly session. However, since I adore my instructor, I couldn't bear to leave him, so I am taking lessons every other week. He made me a very happy girl by tabbing out some small portions to "Die Hard The Hunter" and "Fade to Black" so I can dabble with it. I see an electric guitar in my near future. Trust me when I say these don't have the same impact on a classical guitar.

I am "Dave Ramsey"ing myself. There will be a huge garage sale this spring at Casa de Indie. A chore I do not relish; however, it must be done. I am currently spring cleaning and decluttering. I still haven't figured out how one person can gather so much STUFF.

I am also contemplating a career change. Still don't know what it is I want to be when I grow up, but it's not this.

So, there are my first 14 days of 2010 in a nutshell.

It's Not Always As It Seems

2009-09-26T12:20:00.011-05:00

What would you expect if you heard screaming riffs being played on these guitars by guys in black leather pants, sporting rocker hair cuts?

Perhaps a little headbanging heaven? A touch of metal mania? A precursor to this year's Freaker's Ball? Why, yes, Indie, if I am following stereotype, I can see all of those things.

Ladies and gentlemen, behold some of the axes belonging to the members of Taylor Swift's band.

Yes, this Taylor Swift...

As a woman of a certain age, I can say that I haven't been 19 year old Taylor's biggest fan. She writes cutsey ditties about teenaged heartbreak. Seriously? At 19, you've barely scratched the surface of life. Anyway, one of my good friends invited me to the concert. While not dreading it, mostly because I would get to see my friend, I was not exactly enthused. I really didn't relish sitting amonst screaming female tweens in a sold out show. Face it, we girls shriek. LOUDLY.

Gloriana opened the show at 7:30. Great 4 part harmony. Hopefully, they have a bright future ahead of them.

Kellie Pickler was the second act. Some of you might remember Kellie from American Idol. She has had moderate success in her singing career. Unfortunately, her voice is not suited to an arena. Or should I say the sound engineer just couldn't get it right. She has a higher pitched voice and her mike was up too high. It was a particularly painful experience. Combined with shrieking girls...I believe I've lost my hearing.

Finally, young Miss Swift took the stage shortly after 9:00 PM. Let me add here, that I made some earplugs from napkins to save my eardrums from the assault of shrieks and screams that ensued.

I can't believe I am admitting this, but Taylor Swift, at 19, is a consummate performer. Costume changes, humor, and a humblness belies her tender years. At one point, I really though she was going to burst into tear from the adulation she was receiving from the crowd. Her music, while young, is infectious. And there are a couple of tunes that I do like. So all in all, I have to give Taylor an A for her first headlining show. She's got a bright future. I hope she retains her "sweetness" as her career continues.

Somehow I must get "You Belong With Me" out of my head.

8 Very Good Reasons to Watch AVP Pro Beach Volleyball

2009-08-27T00:05:00.006-05:00

Reasons 1-8: Sean Scott's 8 Pack...enough said!

After a protracted absence from viewing the sport, I have been watching again. Thanks KP :-)
I've been a fan of Pro Beach Volleyball going back to the team of Sinjin Smith and Randy Stoklos. I wanted to name my first born son "Sinjin" back in the day because it was such a cool name. However times have changed...oh how they have changed.

Now, I root for the abs....ok, I really don't care who wins the match. I just want to see the abs.

Sorry readers, this is my moment of completely shallow, insipid, ridiculousness...seriously though, will you look at those abs....

A Moral Compass for the Directionally Challenged

2009-07-03T23:34:00.005-05:00

Do atheists have a moral compass? If so, what is guiding them to choose right over wrong? I ask because of something that has recently happened.

What gives an atheist the direction for their lives? There is no higher power to which they answer; only themselves. So do they inherently recognize and choose to do what is moral and correct? If they have no sense of God, does making a poor choice become okay?

An atheist (or Christian) is confronted with a situation which could be handled two ways: 1. Come forward, acknowledge the issue and work to resolve it. 2. Cover up the situation, which snowballs out of control, and continue the deception.

If option 2 is chosen, the atheist has no recourse for grace or forgiveness. Or does that even matter to them? Perhaps they move through life thinking "oh well, it's no big deal" regardless of whom they hurt.

As a Christian, I know that my faith enhances my moral compass. By that faith, I am driven to live a more Christ-like life. So I am bound by an innate sense of right and wrong; and more importantly, a sense of accountability. I also know that if I do choose a path that is wrong, I can repent and ask to be forgiven and it will be granted. That's the beauty of grace under which Christians live.

But back to the atheist....what drives his/her sense of accountability? What does he/she believe in other than him/herself? I would only have myself to blame. And wouldn't that be a rather miserable way to live?

Oh The Insanity - Part 2

2009-06-08T20:23:00.004-05:00

...A Snail's Tale...

Back in March, I posted a picture of the Celtic cross stitching project that I was starting. Here we are almost 3 months into the project and I have much to show for it...really! That is a lot to show for 3 months. Granted I am not working on it every day. We have a craft day once a month and Sundays are my stitching days.

Every "x" means I am one step closer to my goal of finishing before I am 50.

To give you some perspective, there are 25 "x" in one inch of work. In my first 19 "x" I used 12 different colors.

Needless to say, this is going to be framed and hung with pride when it is completed.

And to show you how insane I really can be, I am also working on a group of snowmen. It's on a much larger count fabric and it will be cute. It's my "look I can really make progress" piece when this one gets on my nerves.

I'll continue posting pictures quarterly for those who many be interested in my progess.

Student of The Year

2009-06-08T15:37:00.002-05:00

...another "you've got to be kidding me moment" brought to you by Indie 67...

A brief synopsis...makeup lesson on Saturday:

Jeff: Hey did you see the board for Students of the Year?
Indie: No
Jeff: You should take a look.
Indie: Why?
Jeff: Well you're my student of the year.
Indie: You're kidding me, right?

Never accepting compliments graciously and flattered, of course; however, me?? "Miss I Don't Practice and Want Immediate Gratification". Me, student of the year? What a crack up. In a year of wanting to bust that piece of wood into splinters...hating it...hating music and within weeks of wanting to end the dream of ever being able to play guitar...

Jeff says I'm his student of the year.

Infreakingsane!

I was planning on quitting at the end of summer session, but my musican therapist aka Mike said he would stop speaking to me. Threat or promise? I'm not sure. So, I'm still plugging away. I'm actually practicing.

Jeff says I'm on the verge of being able to tackle "Stairway to Heaven"...that's my second goal. I've mastered "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" which was my original goal...

I suppose there is not stopping me now.

Ha!

There Just Aren't Any Words

2009-06-02T21:10:00.003-05:00

Seriously...

So I've been planning my fall vacation, giving myself something to look forward to this year. I'm planning a cruise and my vacation bud stumbled across this picture on one of the excursions available in Cozumel.

Undersea Scooters...yes, that's what I said.

Needless to say, when I saw the picture, I laughed.

...and laughed...

...and laughed; so much that I had tears. But imagine the picture enhanced by commentary. "You think the fish will tap on the helmets, wondering if we will wake up?" "Imagine popping a wheelie on the scooter." "My, what a nice tank you have."

Please feel free to continue the commentary in the comments should you so desire.

I'm thinking, great big body, tiny little head.

As My Guitar Vigorously Sobs...

2009-05-04T20:54:00.005-05:00

Ok, bad take on The Beatles "As My Guitar Gently Weeps". Everyone heave the collective groan. Sorry. But my guitar is crying. Probably because I'm playing. Nearly a year and I'm still a sorry guitar player. Is it me or is it the music...maybe I'm not cut out to be a classical guitarist. I really am a rock and roll girl. And while I love classical guitar and would love to master it...I'm not so sure I'll get there.

This guitar experience is humbling. I want so badly to be good, but it feels as though it's taking forever to get there.

Maybe one day I can give my friends a mini concert but not any time soon.

How To Fix The Economy

2009-04-27T21:51:00.003-05:00

...much less expensive than the BILLIONS Mr. Obama has foisted on the American people...

I received this via email from a friend...gave me a good laugh.

There are about 40 million people over 50 in the work force

Pay them $1 million apiece severance with the following stipulations:

1) They leave their jobs. Forty million job openings -
Unemployment fixed.

2) They buy NEW American cars. Forty million cars ordered -
Auto Industry fixed.

3) They either buy a house or pay off their mortgage --
Housing Crisis fixed.

4) Include those already retired in the plan, & require that all these folks purchase long term care & health care insurance --Social Security and Medicare problems resolved.

It can't get any easier than that!

PS If more money is needed, have all members in Congress and other public officials pay their taxes!

Fan Appreciation Night

2009-04-05T22:36:00.003-05:00

Saturday was the last home game for my Dallas Stars this season. After an atrocious start which had them at the bottom of the ranks for the division, they fought their way up as high as 5th. For those who don't know hockey, the top 8 of the division make it into the play off. So don't laugh at 5th.

But I digress...After a dismal, wait that's not exactly a strong enough word...atrocious, disgusting, and to quote Razor Reaugh, "rancid" March, my Stars ended their season with some pretty awful losses. While you never want to use injury as an excuse, this season it was the glaring "obvious" for the team.

Anyway, they were mathematically eliminated last night, after a gutsy, 5-4 win in overtime. They scored more goals Saturday in one game than they had in their last three or four.

I was there and have to admit I always love the last home game of the season. Fans are recognized and get a bit of the love thrown their way. Although as a 4-year season ticket holder, I've not had any of that love tossed in my direction.

So I've come to the conclusion that most sports franchises only love the fans who can dole out the cash for a full season. Yeah, I would have given my eye teeth to stand next to Brad "ohmygoshhe'ssoooohot" Richards and receive one of his game worn jerseys...but again, I'm not a full season ticket holder.

After the game, the majority of us 18,532 fans got to watch the lucky few receive the jerseys right off the guys' backs...literally...game is over and they are stripping of their jerseys right there on the ice. Sure is was a treat to see, for all of 2 minutes...but why stay when I don't get one.

I think all fans should have received something last night, whether you were a season ticket holder or not. Some little token of affection would have been nice.

Guitar Nails

2009-03-29T15:53:00.002-05:00

There are days I feel like a dork when I look at my hands. The left hand sports nails filed below the tip, while the right hand is a thing of beauty. Five gloriously growing long nails. Such are the hands of a classical guitar player. In fact, my right hand is the envy of my teacher.

I find it rather funny that I couldn't grow my nails to save my life and now that I am taking lessons, the nails won't stop growing. Keeping the left hand short is as much a chore as shaping the right hand.

So it only goes to show me that the main outcome of my guitar lessons is some pretty nice nails.

Oh The Insanity...My Own, That Is...

2009-03-11T16:48:00.004-05:00

I'm a cross-stitcher, needleworker, enjoyer of the needle arts...I don't know what you want to call it. Anyway, this is the newest project I'm working on. After years of making beautiful pieces of artwork for everyone else; I am finally working on a piece for myself.

If I am lucky, I will have this piece finished within 5 years. Needless to say, it will take countless hours. One inch of the fabric I am working contains 25 x's. That means one square inch contains 625 stitches. 625 intsy tinsy bitty x's. I'll have presbyopia by the time I'm finished. I worked 19 stitches to begin and in those 19 stitches I used 12 colors. There are 90 different colors in this work.

I've actually started and will blog about the progress from time to time. It will be a love hate relationship, but I fully intent to have it finished and framed while I can still enjoy it.

Wish me luck and good lighting!!

Can't You Play It On A Classical Guitar?

2009-01-18T18:31:00.002-06:00

Good friends provide the humor of life. My closest friend, KP, has been amused for years by my antics. I won't bore you with all the details, but I finally had my big laugh at her expense.

"Can't you play it on a classical guitar?" Oh dear, such an innocent question, really. The answer is no, but here is what made it so funny. Follow me back to the previous evening....

As my guitar lesson was ending, I asked Jeff if he could play the intro to Van Halen's "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love." Of course, I knew it would be a silly question, but I asked regardless. Without hesitation, he uncased his guitar, plugged it into the amp and BAM!

As I am sitting there drooling (over his guitar playing abilities), I realize that I am jealous of his talent. So, now it's back to practicing regularly. Anyway I digress. I love the intro to that song, and he played it perfectly, without a warm-up, without missing a beat. It was great and I was happy.

So KP and I are conversing Thursday and I'm sharing my awe at Jeff's guitar awesomeness...I told her that in our conversation, I mentioned to him, that I wanted to learn to play the intro. So I was now looking at electric guitars as well.

In all seriousness, she asked me, "can't you play it on an classical guitar?" I laughed so hard that I couldn't breathe. Maybe you had to be there, but for anyone who enjoys the hard rock/metal genre, you would know how silly a question this is.

Some songs are made for classical, other for electric. Guess I should be a good friend and introduce her to hard rock and metal.

To Die Doing What You Love

2009-01-06T10:52:00.006-06:00

Prayers for Kim Martin, an old acquaintance. I knew her from a church I attended several years ago. She was in a Bible study program I facilitated for a couple of years.

Her husband, Vyarl, a skilled helicopter pilot, and a U.S. Coast Guard reservist (I'll always remember him saying, "It's pronounced VERL, not VIRAL" was killed in a "helicopter crash" on Sunday. Vyarl was 2nd in Command on the flight.

In the interview with NBC5, Kim said he died doing what he loved.

Should we all be so lucky.

Quote of the Month

2008-12-24T11:33:00.001-06:00

"It was bumpy, then it was bumpier, then it wasn't bumpy."

Random passenger on Continental flight that crashed at Denver International Airport.

Question: How Many People Does It Take To Make Caesar Salad?

2008-12-18T09:22:00.001-06:00

Answer: Apparently more than one

The Forgotten

2008-12-07T14:08:00.011-06:00

I've been contemplating the various demographics of my church lately, trying to figure out where I fit in. As a 40-something, divorced with no kids, there are times I feel I don't belong. And it isn't something unique to me. This was a topic of conversation with a good friend of mine who is also single with no kids. The most obvious difference between us is gender.

We are both lovers of Christ who do our best to fit within the fabric of our respective churches. He serves through playing in the worship band. I serve by volunteering my time in the nursery. But when those opportunities to serve are completed, where do we go?

Let me expand on the "where I fit in." My campus is made up of many couples: Engageds, young marrieds, older marrieds. The majority of these couples have kids: nursery, toddler, pre-K, K, grade school, jr. & sr. high, or college. Many are empty nesters. So, given those demographics, where does a single person belong?

As Christians, we speak of reaching out to the lost, the forgotten. But what happens to the forgotten in the midst of the church? There are programs for just about every group, but nothing that is specifically for singles. I could join the women's groups, but I am pretty sure the only thing I would have in common with 90% of them is the fact that I am female.

I could join a community group but again, I feel like I wouldn't fit in. Most of the folks within the groups are couples. Talk about feeling like the odd man out. The women are talking about their kids and the men are talking about whatever it is men talk about and there I am...no kids, so I can't relate. I'm not a guy, so that's out. Let me throw my hands up in frustration.

I think about this every Sunday since I've been at the new campus. There are a couple of people I am friendly with and our pastor knows me by name, but other than that, I'm on my own. I've left working in the nursery for the sake of my sanity and health. No, the kids weren't driving me insane. So where do I serve now?

I realize that part of my issue is that my family attends another campus so the feeling of being alone is acute. I sit by myself, knowing a handful of the people there. When I am at the other campus, at least I can sit with my family. And while that doesn't address the issue of being forgotten, it is a bit less lonely.

How do singles become strands within the fabric of church? What do we need to do to feel as though we really have a place, where we aren't just a bodies occupying a chair? We are a minority when it comes to demographics. We can be categorized by age or gender. But if we don't have kids, we don't fit with the programming for children. We can't relate to parents or empty nesters.

It seems to me, we tend to fall by the wayside...the forgotten members.

Hawaiian Sunsets 2008

2008-11-25T10:51:00.005-06:00

View outside my bedroom window at Paniolo Greens

Kauna'oa Beach at Mauna Kea Resort

Hapuna Beach State Park.

Last Minute Vacation Burblings

2008-11-15T01:41:00.002-06:00

So the plane is scheduled to take off in 8 hours and 14 minutes. I haven't made it to bed yet. Don't get me wrong, I am packed and ready to go. It's all the last minute things I want to do, but haven't done. Being sick for a week sapped my energy. Anyway, here I am posting a final pre-vacation blog.

It's funny how things start to weigh on your mind before you leave. Did I put my out of office on my email and voice mail? Will things explode at work? I have capable folks who can handling things when I'm not there.

Will my dogs be okay at the vet's office? Mollie didn't want to go, she ran back over to me for a hug. Finn could care less. Fickle male creature.

It's supposed to get very cold (a relative term in Texas). Will the house be okay?

Will I be able to sleep on the plane? I have plans on putting my headphones on and snoozing. Of course I'm thinking it's a darn shame that I've given up drinking sodas. I love gingerale when I'm traveling. I'm not sure why, but that's my drink of choice.

Who is going to miss me? I'm traveling with two of my girlfriends. I have a couple more that wish they could go. And my best guy friend, well, how can he miss someone who already lives 1500 miles away?

I'll miss my folks, my sister and nephews. They have put in their request for buggy cars with surfboards on the top. Boys...don't they know a coconut would be so much more fun?

Well, it's time to stop rambling. I need to clean the kitchen.

I'll post upon my return.

Aloha..Hello & Goodbye...It's All The Same

2008-11-13T21:53:00.002-06:00

...36 hours and counting...

I've been in the throes of bronchitis since last week. Seems that right before I go on vacation with certain friends, I get sick. Of course, right before vacations I tend to be stressed out. I can't tell if it's the friends or the stress. HA! Y'all (my friends) know I'm kidding.

In exactly 36 hours..no wait, 35 hours 59 minutes, I will be on a plane for a long flight. I have two books to read, a book of sudoku puzzles. I'm contemplating my MP3 player, but that means I need to get another memory card and download some CDs to it. So much to do, so little time.

Laundry is chugging away, I'm half packed. I'm taking my REALLY big suitcase. Must have room for souvenirs for the nephews. I'll have a thousand pictures and that's good enough for me.

I thought I was going to get away with not snorkeling. I've been looking for my snorkel for a couple of days. Love the water, being on it, not in it. Irrational fear and all that. Unfortunately I found the darn thing. I'm taking it with me. Maybe I'll actually use it.

Ever Have One of Those Days?

2008-11-11T22:04:00.003-06:00

...when nothing is going right...

Today was one of them. Trying to go on vacation, get everything at work resolved, trying to visit with family before you leave.

You call one of your best friends and the opening salvo of the conversation feels less than warm. So you own up to possibly being overly sensitive. But the person on the other end of the line is less than talkative. Yet you know that this person wouldn't pick up the phone if there was no interest in conversation. Still, you can feel a bit of a disconnection. That sense of fracture has been present for a couple of weeks, but you can't really put your finger on it. The other person doesn't really sense anything, so you wonder if it's all in your head. And the conversation dwindles, you're the only one talking. You ask a question, the other person hadn't heard about the topic you wanted discuss, goes on to say that he/she doesn't really care. So, why bother continuing a conversation at that point? You take your hurt feelings, say goodbye, have a very girlie moment of emotional purging while thinking, "wow, X has no idea my feelings are scorched." Not that it does any good to have scorched feelings; you're the only one who knows they have been singed.

I think I'm definitely ready for a lovely lei and some tropical island adult beverage. Hawaii, here I come.

Guitar - The Lessons Continue...

2008-11-07T22:06:00.003-06:00

...Acordai Doncela...

Have no idea what it translates to, but it's not easy. Did you know there are other notes on the open strings and you use the fretboard to create them? Yes, I'm being sarcastic; however, just when I though I've finally mastered the open strings, Jeff throws a doozie at me.

Acordai Doncela. It is a Brazilian song, a duet. I've heard two guitars, and piano and guitar. I prefer the two guitars. I've really struggled with this, but somehow picked it up faster than "Melancolia." This is a pretty piece, although Russet says it has a Mafia-esque feel to it. I'll partially agree; however, I think the piece conveys a sense of longing.

Had to play it for Jeff this week. I wasn't perfect, but good enough for Jeff to ask if I would ever consider teaching classical guitar in the future. I can't repeat what I said in my head. But wow!!! Either he really does smoke crack or I'm getting better. If giving him a huge smooch was allowed I'd have done it. It was the best ego stroke I could have ever had.

And considering I called him all sorts of names when he handed it to me...

Humuhumunukunukuapua'a

2008-11-07T21:58:00.002-06:00

No, I did not fall asleep on the keyboard. I'm prepping for my trip to the big island of Hawaii in a scant 8 days. This trip has been planned for a year...talk about long range planning. And the cherry on top...we're flying FIRST CLASS, BABY!!!

But back to the post title. This is the state fish of Hawaii, I believe. The word itself is larger than the fish. And frankly, it's just fun to say. Come on class, let's try, altogether, slowly...who moo who moo new koo new koo ah poo ah ah. See, that wasn't so bad.

Anyway, I've not been to the Big Island before, so I am very excited. I'm going with two of my best girlfriends. One of them is bringing her hubby. So we'll have a male presence. I know, boy cooties. It's ok though. There are times when the island gods require a sacrificial male. He'll come in handy, I'm sure. And knowing that his lovely wife reads this blog, she knows I'm only kidding. I only pick on him out of love.

We are visiting an island that is still being created. How cool is that? Kilauea has been continuously erupting for over 20 years. Sometimes it is lava, sometimes it is steam and ash. I'm hoping for an evening adventure to see the hot glow of lava spilling into the water.

On tap for this adventure: ATV tour, Volcanoes National Park, green and black sand beaches, maybe some snorkeling.

I'm ready. Mentally, I'm exhausted. It's been another rough year at work. Layoffs, people leaving, hiring, they all bring their own unique challenges. I've weathered this storm, but it takes its toll. So, I need this. I need to take myself away from it all.

It's off to an earthly paradise. Aloha!

Tijuana Sunburn

2008-11-01T23:33:00.003-05:00

..it's like a tequila sunrise, but not...

Got to hang out with my pal from high school. She moved back to Texas after a 15 year absence. Two kids and one ex-husband later, she's home. We decided to try out a new little hole in the wall based on the recommendation of her neighbor.

Oh my. I had Ragin' Cajun Shrimp Tacos. Da bomb...but even better, the grande Tijuana Sunburn. It was listed under the heading: "Margarita Therapy". Needless to say I've been in need of therapy for the last couple of months. All I know is this 'rita had tequila and cranberry juice...and it sure was purty.

Three sips and my head was spinning. I nursed it for an hour while eating queso (also da bomb) and dinner. I'm not one for going out and getting ripped anymore, but I will say this was a nice pre-vacation buzz.

And you know what happens when three single women get together over tequila...well I can't tell you. Revealing the mystery of women is against the rules.

I will say that my tolerance for alcohol is greatly diminished and I'm certainly not as young as I used to be. I had to call it a night as I have responsibilities early in the morning...ugh....thank goodness we fall back an hour.

Anyway...if anyone goes to Baja in Grapevine...get a Tijuana Sunburn...it rocks!!

And now the joy of buzzing is gone...tequila does not hamper the capacity for smelling.

One of the dogs just farted. Ewwww!

Neil Diamond - A Closet Conservative?

2008-10-29T12:02:00.001-05:00

Ok, that's stretching the truth more than a bit, but he did show a faint glimmer of conservatism.

I attended his concert in Dallas and was surprised to see that 100% of all merch proceeds were being given to Hurricane Ike relief. Isn't that fantastic? Still, I was not moved enough to spend money on memorabilia that will end up in my concert storage chest. What a noble idea though. Here is a megastar who is not highly publicizing his charity efforts. There was no fanfare in the media, no blaring of horns, no single engine planes with banners floating behind them. Nothing. Just innocuous signs at the merch tables declaring intentions.

Now, with all that said, I realize that Mr. Diamond is a liberal. When he started talking about the proceeds for Ike, I was expecting a diatribe. What I got was a tenet of conservatism. Take the government out of the picture and let the people do the work.

Mr. Diamond said he'd been to Galveston Bay touring the area. He said one of the barrier islands had 350 homes before Ike. Post Ike only 50 homes remained standing. The residents were living in tents. Living conditions were not good, etc. To myself I was thinking, "ok here we go,here is the Katrina reference." But I was surprised. He said 100% of the proceeds from merch would go to these Ike victims. He and his band would match the take dollar for dollar. He wanted to have each of these displaced families within 4 walls of their own home by Christmas.

Wait for it...imaginary drum roll....he did not want to wait for the government to take care of these people. What? Hey don't liberals support government intervention?

Go Neil. My friend who attended with me is a Dem to the core, unfortunately. He said "government" and she replied with "worthless administration can't be counted on to take care of anyone."

While I believe Mr. Diamond was in fact poking at the current administration, remember he is a liberal, he did get this correct. Why shouldn't we arm ourselves with saws, hammers, and the tools of home building? Why not make the trip to Galveston to help our neighbors rebuild.

This ties in with Russet's post on Outsourcing Charity. Why must we always look to the government to solve problems?

Russet Shadows

2008-10-22T12:09:00.006-05:00

...WELCOME to Random Jumbled Thoughts...

!!!BOY COOTIES....BOY COOTIES...BOY COOTIES!!!

Yes, the world is coming to an end. I have allowed a member of the opposite sex to post on my blog (hence it is no longer pink...see I can compromise). Russet is a dear friend; a male version of me, to a degree. We have a 90% agreement rate on most things because 100% would be too freakish. We've been friends for nearly 10 years...maybe longer, but I stopped counting.

A while back, he asked me if I wanted to do a blog together. I balked at first...then thought about it. Humbling that he would think my writing could stand up to a joint blog. And while I agreed, we came to the conclusion that neither of us wanted the pressure of having to post on a regular basis. The perfect solution: An invitation to post on my blog.

So let me tell you about my friend...Russet (makes me think about a potato, but that's really not the point) is Christian, conservative, unique. He has been blessed with a keen mind, a beautiful writing style, and a love of music. He also has a sense of humor. Sometimes I don't understand it, but that is the beauty of being a girl. I don't have to understand boy humor. Oh, he uses really big words, so have the dictionary handy. I have learned much from him. There are many other attributes of which I could extole; however, he is modest and I don't want him to blush.

So, without further ado, may I present one of the best guys in the world: Russet Shadows. He will be posting here from time to time. So, please take time to read what he writes.

And On The Eighth Day...

2008-10-20T11:57:00.009-05:00

...God sent a text message...

There I was in church Sunday morning, listening to the pastor deliver his message. I got distracted by the vibrating buzz a couple of seats next to me. Someone (who shall remain nameless) had his iPhone resting on the bible in the seat next to him. Yay! At least he had it silenced.

Anyway, the light and buzz caught my attention. He reads his text message, sends one and puts the phone down. 2 minutes later, it goes off again. Read. Text. Repeat. This pattern transpired during the majority of the sermon. The more it happened, the more distracted I became. I found myself focused on the number of text messages sent versus the message the pastor was delivering. Needless to day, I was very annoyed at myself.

This person is a part of the ministerial staff...so I should cut him some slack, right? Maybe the folks he left in care of his responsibilities at the main campus needed him. After all, he wouldn't be having a general text conversation with someone during the sermon, would he?

I would like to think not.

Why is it that even in the midst of worship, when our hearts and minds should be focused on the One who loves us beyond all reason, we allow ourselves to be distracted by the world?

Guitar Lessons 11 & 12 - Cialis For Guitars

2008-10-03T14:08:00.004-05:00

...when your performance won't stand up...

Practice. 1 hour, every day until success is achieved.

By the time I hit Lesson 11, I switched to a classical, nylon string guitar. Definitely not a high end classical, but a much richer, full-bodied sound that my very inexpensive steel string. Getting used to the strings and the width of fretboard didn't happen as fast as I thought it would.

Needless to say, practice, practice, practice.

I've been stuck on the same piece of music for the last 4-5 weeks. I just haven't been able to master it. That was until I got home after my last practice. Finally, I understand how the rhythm is supposed to flow. Finally! It actually sounds like a piece of music.

I've also got the Bach piece to use as my warm-up. It's still a struggle as well.

Again, practice, practice, practice. There are days I just don't want to practice. Take today for example. I have a headache. I want a nap. What am I going to do?

Practice

Jalapeno Hands

2008-09-29T12:29:00.003-05:00

...I'm feelin' hot, hot, hot.....

A quick shout out to Buster Poindexter. While I, in my entirety, am not necessarily feelin' hot, hot, hot, my hand is....and so the story begins. We had an Indie family celebration yesterday. As with most of our food-centric celebrations (mom's birthday), the presence of stuffed jalapenos was required.

These fiery little gems are a great treat among the family. Jalapenos, sliced in half, seeded, stuffed with cream cheese and a pepper size piece of turkey bacon across the cream cheese. They are baked and topped off with the broiler. Sweet, a little heat, tangy and crispy. Pepper goodness. They don't last long.

Anyway, it was my responsibility to bring the peppers for the party. Never a big deal. I got everything together and proceeded to prepare them. I generally wear gloves while slicing and scooping out seeds. However, I was at my sister's, forgot my gloves, and I was in a hurry.

I bare-handed the peppers, holding them in the left hand, while cutting out the seeds with a knife in my right hand. No big deal. Got them cleaned, stuffed and in the oven. Family gathers, peppers are done. We have lunch. My 7 year old nephew polishes off 3 of the slices. All is good.

I go home. Around 9:00 p.m. I have the distinct sensation of my left hand burning. Nothing painful, just an annoying feeling. By 10:00, my hand is on fire. The jalapeno oils have coated my hand, even though it was washed multiple times. I resort to soaking my hand in milk. I know you're supposed to drink milk if you eat a hot pepper. It helps with the burn. Nope, didn't work.

I finally ignore the sensation, go to sleep. This morning, it's still on fire. Come to find out, I'm not the first person to experience "jalapeno hand." The latest remedy I've heard is to use stainless steel. Yes, that's something I keep on hand for situations like this.

If only I had remembered my gloves, I would not be relegated to the break room with my hand in the sink.

Certain Death Is Possible

2008-09-20T13:19:00.003-05:00

...really? You really meant to say that?....

For those of you who know me, I am not a journalist of any sort, but I am a lover of words. Few things are as powerful as well crafted wordery (my newly made-up word of the day). Words evoke all manners of emotion. Those who write, or attempt to write (like me) , know the value and impact of words.

So I was surprised, driving home from work as Hurricane Ike was making its way to Texas, that I heard a reporter utter, "...certain death is possible..." Thank goodness I wasn't drinking anything. I would have shot the beverage through my nose onto my dashboard.

Think about it for a moment. Certain death is possible. Let that marinate in your noggin. Certain death is possible. Who writes their copy? If death is certain, how could it be possible?
Everyone knows death is certain. We are all going to die at some point. Maybe you'll certainly die, maybe you won't. Maybe it will be partial death. Maybe you'll be revived after dying. Would that be quasi-death?

To be sure I wasn't the only one who found this amusing, I called a couple of friends. Same reaction as mine. Of course, we were not laughing at the tragic situation brought to bear by Ike; however, it was nice to find some humor at the expense of the poor reporter. I know he was trying to convey the gravity of the situation. He was very serious while reporting on the rising water and possible tide surge.

Certain death is possible. Pigs flying is possible, too.

Guitar Lesson #10 - Melancolia

2008-09-18T21:39:00.002-05:00

...yeah, that piece again...

I have a week to practice it...not doing too badly if I can stop looking at my hands as I play....which is pretty difficult. Mostly because I bought a classical guitar. Sounds much better than the acoustic I had...of course it was a couple hundred dollars more expensive.

Great, now I have two guitars. Makes me sound like I'm serious about this lessons thing.

Guitar Lesson #9 - Why Guitarist Smash Their Guitars

2008-09-17T09:53:00.003-05:00

....frustration...

It didn't take long to become a frustrated, fledgling, quasi-musician. Armed with a new piece of music and a guitar that will never sound great, I discovered that Jeff has never shown me the notes on G-A-D. I don't know a sharp from a flat, and I certainly don't know how to make middle E and F on the guitar. I do now, but I didn't last week.

Lack of knowledge led to a huge meltdown. Literally crying on the phone while speaking to Mike about all things musical. Poor guy. I think it must be annoying for a guy to have a female friend. Most guys don't handle crying girls very well. However, I will say that he dealt with it just fine and finally got me calmed down. You go Mike!!

The piece of music is called Melancolia. Very appropriate given my mood of late. It has got to be one of the most depressing pieces of music I've ever played. Go ahead, slit my wrists and let me bleed out. Ok, I exaggerate. Seriously though, it's haunting, nearly mournful. And sounds even worse on my steel strings.

With this rising frustration, I've decided I have to practice even harder. So what if my hands get cramps and my fingers contort into unnatural positions. I keep telling myself it will be worth it in the end.

At least, I think it will be....

Depression - Who Does It Hurt?

2008-09-07T18:09:00.005-05:00

I have found myself in the throes of depression lately. No singular event triggered the plunge. Generally, I can feel an onset of "the blues", but this time I didn't feel the approach. I'm simply in the midst of it. This has probably been the most profound bout I've suffered. I would be happy to isolate myself, and have at times, but that is not always an option. So, I put on my happy face and go through my day with no one the wiser.

It's a conglomeration of things I guess.

Even though I am surrounded by family and friends, I find myself lonely...which really doesn't make sense because isolation is one of the first things I try to do. It's something I can't explain. I know that I am not alone. In all things, Christ is at my side.

While I love hanging out with my family and friends, lately, I feel like I don't belong. Like I don't have anything in common with them. And I do....but I start looking at what I don't have and it starts the ball rolling. Mom and Dad have each other. My sister and her husband have each other and the kids. I don't have anyone.

With the exception of one person, my close friends are single. We have each other. And we rely on each other for companionship and it's great!!! I love all my friends...but, it's not like they are here waiting for me to get home. I share my burdens with God, but it's not as though He is going to swoop down, clean the kitchen, do the laundry, mow the backyard, walk the dogs, organize my house...all the things I have to do for and by myself.

I'm serving at church in the nursery during the first service. And I love, love, love loving on the babies. But being in there makes me once again remember how much I wanted children of my own. Its connected to having someone to rely on as I age. I am at the point where I am in touch with my own mortality. My parents are aging and I will be there to take care of them. My sister and brother in law have their two boys. But when I get old, who is going to be there for me? Who is going to make sure that I'm taken care of when I can no longer remember who or where I am? I have no one to pass on my legacy, not that I leave much behind.

I stuffed the desire for kids aside a few years ago though much prayer. God answered me, because I haven't had that ache for a very long time. But now that I'm around babies again, it has resurfaced. I know my time for a family of my own is passing rapidly with each month. It doesn't make it any easier when my mom says "I wish you had a family of your own." I have to smile and say, "Yeah, I wish I had one too. I don't know why it wasn't part of God's plan for me." It crushes me knowing that it is very likely that I will never remarry and that I will never have kids (or adopt or marry someone with kids).

On top for that emotional realization, I found out a couple of weeks ago that my ex-husband has retired from the military, achieved his bachelors degree and is teaching at a local high school. All the things I wanted for him when we were together...things that drove a wedge between us...he is now doing. It is upsetting to think that after all this time, he finally did what I dreamt of him doing. Silly man, I was right all along.

I have a friend who won't take responsibility for her own actions. Instead of reimbursing me money which she owes me, she spent wantonly and now it's coming back to haunt her. She is expecting me to handle some business dealings we have together; trying to dump it into my lap. Perhaps, she should have thought about taking care of her obligations instead of purchasing $6,000 in wood flooring and $2,000+ in furniture. All of which were not needed. Now I have the stress of that hanging over me.

I am down two people at work. Last year, I went through an ordeal which I came through on top. I proved to upper management that I could run a group. I rehired all the positions, implemented recommended changes and created a well oiled machine. Now the cogs have slipped again. I cannot control with people do, but to lose two great employees within a month of each other, makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and cry.

My health, which is really in my hands to control, is out of control. I need to take better care of myself while I still can. I know what I need to do, but I don't. Why is that? I know I need to start exercising and eating right, but why don't I? It's not that difficult. Yet....here I am...not doing what I need to do.

As I said, I know that God loves me. I love Him. My relationship is continually growing. But sometimes, its hard to believe He loves me with all the struggles I have. I know that I am no different than anyone else. We all have struggles, turmoils, and hard times. Sometimes, I simply want to say "Why me?" I don't have the answer to my questions. Am I not listening hard enough to hear what He is saying to me?

I really struggle to know what it is that I am missing. God tells us to share our trials with Him. To seek His strength and guidance. I do. I can't go through this life without His presence in it. So why do I feel so hopeless at times? Yes, I am cognizant that I am having a pity party. I know that things could be much worse. I know that I am very blessed. Logically, I know all these things. Emotionally, I'm wrecked.

Writing and music has always given me a sense of peace. I'm on my blog pounding out this post, weeping. Shortly I am going to take the dogs for a walk, get my endorphins going. I'm going to practice my guitar. I need to watch a sad movie and have a good cry. There is something about a good cry...you know the kind where your eye swell and you snot up your face?....that kind...it's a release.

Tomorrow morning, I'll get up, paste a smile on my face and make it through another day. God willing.

P.S. To my friends read this...no, this is not a desperate cry for help...I have no desire to swallow a bottle of pills and drift off, at least not today. Stop it, I'm kidding. I have much to live for (when I figure out exactly what it is, I'll let you know...again my macabre humor). I know y'all are there and love me, warts and all. I'll be back to myself eventually.

Guitar Lessons - Week 7 and 8

2008-09-07T18:03:00.004-05:00

I elected to combine the last two lessons into one blog. Mainly since I've been struggling with the same two pieces. I've have been continually practicing "Spanish Melody" and "Prelude in C Major". However, while I am able to hit the correct notes, my cheap steel string acoustic, does not offer the same resonance as an expensive nylon string classical.

Yes I would love my guitar to sing like Jeff's; however, since playing guitar is for my personal pleasure, I'm not doing to drop mega bucks on a guitar. Anyway, no one warned me that playing classical would require my hands to contort into a variety of positions. Not the just the fretting hand, but the strumming hand as well.

I've really wanted to scream the last couple of lessons. But Jeff is a saint and has the utmost patience. Even when I've horribly embarassed myself with nervously shaking hands.

I can play quite nicely at home. Get me in the room with my teacher and I sound like....well we'll just leave it at "unpretty."

Guitar Lesson - Week 6

2008-08-24T17:55:00.004-05:00

...goooooaaaaaaalllllllllll....

That works so much better with soccer games. Ok, my first guitar goal has been met. Lesson 1 I told Jeff I wanted to learn to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star".....and now I can. Granted it has a couple of tinsy pauses as I try to find "D" but I can play it. My life is complete. Not....

So Jeff has not given me anything new to work on, other than a couple of practice studies I've had for a couple of weeks. Finger are still fumbling, so it's practice, practice, practice.

I'm really more excited that I can say. I told Mike I could play "Twinkle" and now I could quit lessons. Being the guy he is, I get "So, do you think you'll be satisfied with that?" Well no. Mike envisions me jamming Christian doom metal. Uhh...Mike...I'm light and poppy....99% of the time. However, by virtue of knowing each other for 10-11 years, he gently reminded me of a very early conversation centered on the impact of "My Own Prison" by Creed had on us. It tapped both of us emotionally, musically and spritually. Ummm, isn't there something in the guy book that says guys aren't supposed to remember things like that?

Anyway...I'm kinda playing guitar now!!

You go girl!

Women Get on My Nerves

2008-08-23T21:45:00.005-05:00

....we need to use our inside voices....

Don't get me wrong, I love being a woman. I can be girlie or a tomboy. I can dress to the nines and wear sexy high heels or I can shlump around in sweats. I can paint my toes, get false nails, flutter my eyelashes and cry on a dime.

Really, I love being woman and 99% of what being woman entails. But let me tell you something, after this weekend, women get on my nerves.

I attended the Women of Faith Conference. Imagine being in an arena with 18,000 other women listening to stories of faith, grace, forgiveness...humor, song, dance, tears, hugs, applause. We had it all this weekend. And friends, let me tell you, I am wiped out. Sitting for one and a half days in a stadium seat can be painful. I do believe my butt is numb. But I digress.

Let me say it again...women get on my nerves. My friends and I availed ourselves of the Trinity Railway Express to arrive at the American Airlines Center. Getting there was no issue. The return ride, now that was another matter.

Thursday night, I couldn't sleep, so I was up until 1:30 AM. We were catching the 8:46 train Friday morning, so I had to be at my friend's house at 8:20. From where I live, that means leaving at 7:45...I woke up at 6:00. That was 4.5 hours of sleep. Bad sign. I didn't eat breakfast or pack snacks. Bad sign. They did not have any Cinnabon cinnamon rolls ready...Bad sign. I didn't have my usual coffee. Really bad sign.

Obviously I'm having a rough start to the day. The pre-conference was great!! But now it's over and I am ready to be home. The event ended around 10:10. A mere 10 minutes late, but it was enough time to make me regret our unfortunate decision.

So, we get to the train, we find seats and then suddenly 1000s of women gang rush the train. All talking about the night's events, pumped up, loving Christ, feeling His infinite grace. Whooo!!! The back story to this is that we are on the special events train. They run one for events at the American Airlines Center. But on weekdays, there are also regular scheduled commuter trains.

There was a regularly scheduled that would arrive at 10:18. We were told the special events train would be pulling out at 10:10...a check of the watch showed it was 10:10, but we weren't moving. Here comes the 10:18, chugging to a halt beside us....then whoot! whoot! it whistles as it leaves....we gaze longlingly as we continue to sit on the special events train.

Let me share some wisdom garnered from this weekend. DO NOT RIDE ON A TRAINFUL OF WOMEN WHO HAVE NEVER RIDDEN THE TRAINS BEFORE!! First, they have no idea which trains are going east or west. Second, and women, hear me on this...we speak at a decible level that dogs can't hear.

Seriously...it's 10:25...it's late, I'm tired and cranky. I want to relax, run through the evening's events...but what do I get...I get to hear other conversations, other phone calls, other running commentary of the night. Shut up, I was just there.

And it is probably a very unChristian way to feel, but I was so completely annoyed at my gender. I don't speak at such a high decible. And when in public, I try to mind my manners and not share my conversations with other.

It was so painful to sit there for 30+ minutes listening to my fellow women shrieking.

Ladies, I have one sentence for you...it will ultimately save you from me telling you to shut up....

Inside voices.

Guitar Lessons - Week 5

2008-08-19T12:18:00.002-05:00

...better late than never....

Jeff is a mean, mean man. Here I am trying to learn the notes, so I wrote the corresponding letter for each note on my sheet music. Great idea until Jeff saw it. In a split second, he erased my letters. When he realized I marked all my sheets, he took them away. Really? Jeff, babe, did you have to go that far?

Apparently, learning to read music means you can't make notes on your notes...memorization is apparently my friend. Yet, in this fledgling stage of learning, trying to remember time, which fingers to pick with and which strings to press to make the various notes...well it's a bit much for my old brain. Seriously though, I have a greater appreciation for people with musical inclinations. How do you get your brain to do so many things at one time?

Jeff said I'm doing really well for only 5 weeks of lessons. Whoohoo!! I might be on the verge of playing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" after all.

Random Thoughts at 12:12 AM

2008-08-16T00:12:00.002-05:00

It's Saturday morning, early!!! Wired up, but I suppose the iced tea I just finished is contributing to my awakeness. That, and I'm watching the Olympics on my DVR. God Bless the DVR. Such a nifty creation. I can blow through inane commercial and past athletic performances I don't care to see.

The beauty DVR is being able to rewind Michael Phelps AMAZING 1/100th of a second GOLD medal win in the 100m free...unfreakingbelievable....at least 20 times. The kid is simply amazing. A freak of nature, but amazing nonetheless.

Guess I should try to go to bed now. I'm off to my church's newest campus in Roanoke. I have no idea why they picked Roanoke, but God does the leading. Except for Sundays' after service...I'm leading myself straight to Babe's Chicken for the BEST fried chicken and/or chicken fried steak...mmm mmm good!

Texas V42-YGM

2008-08-12T09:26:00.002-05:00

...a jerk in a green, rag top Jeep wrangler...

It's not nice to 1) cut people off, 2) cut them off again when they try to pass you, and 3) flip them off when you are the *delete expletives* who doesn't know how to drive.

Dude, I have your license plate number....

Jersey Boys

2008-08-07T21:41:00.005-05:00

...Stay...ahhhh, just a little bit longer....

In a word: WOW!!! Ok, Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons were popular way before my time, but I have to say this was a great musical. The cast in Dallas was phenomenal. They could sing, play their own instruments, act, dance...but most of all, they told the story of four guys from Jersey who made it big.

I have worn the CD out. Sherry, Big Girls Don't Cry, Walk Like A Man, Dawn, Rag Doll, My Eyes Adored You, You're Too Good To Be True...the list goes on.

Whether you heard them when you were young or you are now discovering the songs, there is something ageless and pure about the music of that era.

Go see the musical....you won't be able to get Frankie Valli's falsetto out of your head for the entire night.

Guitar Lessons - Week 4

2008-08-07T21:29:00.003-05:00

Well friends, I had a three week break from guitar lessons. The school closes for three weeks in the summer. Nice!! I practiced like a fiend for weeks one and two. I was a complete slacker for week 3. I'll just say it showed when Jeff asked me to run my scale.

Milli Vanilli may have blamed it on the rain; however, I will blame my suckiness on my missing nails. The solar nails finally came off. Ok, so I helped them come off and my natural nails are a sad sight to see. In two months, if not sooner, they will be back to normal. Until then, I will shred them on the strings.

So, I break out what I learned. Big mistake. I now have more difficult material. I've spent three weeks with open strings. Now I actually have to use the fret board. Seriously, I have to pick with 4 fingers on my right hand and fret with the left. I'm lacking some coordination.

Jeff, God bless him, says I've gone from walking to jogging. Jeff doesn't know this, but I don't jog. I think I'm crawling. Anyway, I spent an hour practicing tonight. I called my bestest guy friend in the whole entire world and forced him to listen to me totally screw up "Study #12." Mike was nice enough to say kind things about what I played for him. I'm sure he was making it up. That's ok, he'll have many more opportunities to hear me practice on the phone.

On a positive note, I replaced all the strings on my guitar. All by myself! Thank you internet. Jeff said the wraps on the headstock were as professional as a luthier. I may not be able to play "Study #12" well, but I can change my strings with a fierceness.

The Obamessiah

2008-07-25T11:49:00.006-05:00

This has got to be one of the best pieces of satire I've ever read.

"Light To The World"

Strength in Numbers

2008-07-12T15:22:00.011-05:00

.....or a lack thereof.....

Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of hearing Dr. Ajai Lall speak. Dr. Lall and his wife Indu, are the founders of Central India Christian Mission and have helped over 150,000 Asian Indians make decisions for Christ.

He is a faithful follower of Christ, in spite of the shocking persecution of Christians in India. He recounts tales of torture, beatings and rape which brothers and sisters in Christ have endured while delivering the Word to those who have never heard it. My heart and prayers go out to these brave people who share the love and saving grace of our Lord. Equally, I pray earnestly for those who have such hatred in their hearts that they seek to destroy those who would share God's love.

What really disturbed me last Saturday was the lack of participation by our congregation. Granted, it was 4th of July weekend and he spoke at our Valley Ranch campus; however, out of 2,000+ people in the congregation, there were only 50-70 who took the time to hear him speak. How immensely sad.

Here is a couple who have devoted their entire lives to Christ. It's a mission our church supports. Yet 97% of our congregation could not be bothered to hear what he had to say. This isn't a condemnation of my church, but merely a comment about all of us who profess to be Christians yet seem content to let the Great Commission pass by. Don't get me wrong, I love my church and have experienced immense growth in my walk with Christ. Granted I still feel like I am not connected, but maybe that's my fault (and a subject for a different post). However, when you say "mission" a lot of people are quick look the other way.

I think about what other people endure in order to accept Jesus and realize how incredibly blessed I am to have been born here. There are people who have never heard the Gospels, yet we live where they are readily available. We experience no hardships in order to read them, yet making it to church on Sundays is a pain. Taking time for a Monday evening for bible study requires too much commitment. Read the bible daily: why should I when I get snippets on Sunday? Isn't it enough to say I am a Christian and watch a televangelist? Sometimes I think we want a "convenience church." Church - where you can have it your way.

We attend, we give, we profess faith and love, but we can't be inconvenienced to take an hour on a Saturday of a holiday weekend to listen to someone who is serving Christ in a way we would never dream of doing or in a place we would never dream of going.

Wouldn't it have been wonderful for 150 people to show up at the Valley Ranch campus, pushing the occupancy limits of the building; giving props to Dr. Lall for the incredible work he does in India.

Guitar Lessons - Week 3

2008-07-12T14:14:00.008-05:00

....performance anxiety....

So I can bang out the scales like nobody's business....at home. Put me in a tiny room with my instructor and suddenly my fingers ties themselves into knots. Horribly frustrating.

I spent 5 minutes tuning the old girl up. Not me, the guitar. His tuner is faster, more responsive than mine. I'm not going to spend any more money on guitar stuff. Maybe when I buy a new classical guitar, I'll get a new tuner. Until then, just say no to music stuff.

I've got the scale down finally. No biggie. At least it wasn't until Jeff decided to take my pick away. Excuse me? I have to use my fingers on my right hand. Ok, so I'm running the scale down with my left hand and picking with my right hand. My brain is supposed to be smart enough to do two things at once? Really, this is nothing like walking and chewing gum at the same time.

I can do this....can't I? Scale with left and alternate picking between index and middle fingers. Ok, this isn't hard and it does sound better than with a pick. Whoohoo!

I've accomplished something, I feel great. Now for the weekly beat down. Let's read some music. Great. Black dot, black dot with a stem, and circle with a stem. 4/4 time, huh? This is going to be fun.

I can get the EAD open string strumming. It's all downward strums with the thumb. So Jeff says, "We're going to do a duet." I'm thinking, "Yeah, in your dreams." I played the bass notes although not particularly well. But I did it. Yay me! At least it's something.

Jeff suggests that I trot on down to Home Depot for some 600 grit sandpaper for my finger nails. What? I have already cut my once pretty solar nails down the the stub on my left hand. My right hand needs to have ramps...He says to continuing growing the nails so I can use them as picks. I'll look like a freakazoid. Then it hits me; ramps, what the !)%*(^? On ramps or off ramps?

He wants me to turn the nails on my right hand into ramps. Seriously, I think all the studying he is doing to get into grad school has adversely affected his brain. Can't you play guitar without ramps? Personally, I think they are unnecessary. Then again, this is only week 3 of guitar lessons. What do I know?

Jeff seems to think I'm particularly determined to succeed. He's right, so I'm willing to practice. This was the last lesson before summer break. He made a few copies of lessons to keep me busy during the three weeks we are off.

I will go back in August. Meanwhile I continue to practice for 30-45 minutes a day. Maybe by August I'll be able to read the treble notes.

Guitar Lessons - Week 2

2008-07-05T23:19:00.002-05:00

...I still suck....

But not as bad. I know the name of all the strings. EADGBE or as Jeff said, "Evan Ate Dynamite Good Bye Evan." I can tune my guitar (thank goodness for electronic tuners).

I was struggling with playing the scale. My fingers don't want to work. Either I get mushy fingers, which is apparently a technical teaching term and my pinkie is retarded. So Jeff, with his endless patience, helped me with it for the entire lesson.

Problem...my guitar is a full body guitar so getting my arm over the guitar to pick while trying to get my fingers up and over...it doesn't compute. So what does Jeff do? He retrieves his electric guitar. Ok, first warn me the darn thing is 20 times as heavy as my acoustic. All I can think is don't drop it.

I bang out the scale with nary an issue. I rock!!! So he takes it back and jams some cool riffs. So back to mine...still dorking it up a bit. He then hands me his hand-made Alvarez (classical). YIKES!! I'm holding a $2,000 plus guitar in my grubby paws. I'm not worthy, but wow, I can make it work a bit better.

The body is smaller than a steel string acoustic. And the sound...the sound...

So here I was all jazzed that I could play the electric better than my acoustic and I said, "so why do I want to play acoustic?" and he showed me. He played Bach on his guitar and it was all I could do not to weep. The guy can play. Amazing.

We put my acoustic in a classical guitar position, neck at 45 deg angle with side resting on my left leg and the bottom resting on right. Guess what, I can do my scales. It's more of an arm motion now to get the pressure on the strings.

I'm one step closer to sucking even less.

Guitar Lessons - Week 1

2008-07-03T23:26:00.010-05:00

...I suck....

Can I be any more clearer than that? I have the musical ability of a two year old. For a while, my little space on the blogosphere will be a retelling of my weekly adventure in steel string, acoustic guitaring. Is that even a word? Maybe I'll make up a few along the way. Anyway...

I'm taking lessons at "The Master's Touch School of Music and Performing Arts". Me, at a School of Music and Performing Arts. Me, finally taking guitar lessons. I've lost my mind, but my friend Mike would tell you that perhaps I've finally found it.

My instructor is a sweetheart of a guy named Jeff. He's all of 32, but has been playing for 20 years. Don't I feel like a retard. I've wanted to do this since I was sixteen years old. I can't remember when music wasn't a part of my life. I've always listened and enjoyed music at a much deeper level than most of my friends. Music speaks to me, well crafted music that is.

I walk in and as feared, the first question is, "What do you know about music?" Well I like it, I have over 300 CDs in my collection and it is hugely varied. So I told him, think of me as a two year old with a well developed brain.

And the second question, "What kind of music do you like?" Talk about impossible to define. My all time most favorite ever band...The Monkees...Have you listen the depth of feeling conveyed in "Last Train to Clarksville"? There are days I sing, "Here we come, walkin' down the street, get the funniest looks from everyone we meet. Hey, hey we're the Monkees and people say we monkey around. We're too busy singing, to put anybody down." It's a song about relationship building, looking past prejudices and pre-conceived notion. It's about living life to its fullest potential in spite of difficult odds.

HAHA!! Had you going for a moment. My favorite band is U2. I love Celtic music. I like metal, rock, pop, country, Christian, oldies, flamenco, classical guitar....see it's endless.

A brief recap of my first lesson: finger on the 5th fret and work the scale. Index finger - 5th fret. Middle finger - 6th, Ring - 7th, pinkie - 8th. From high E to low E. I was to practice that until Week 2.

I did...I was going to commit to 30 minutes a day, with Sunday off. In a word...stupid. I practiced so hard on Thursday that I actually had to ice down my fingertip. Mike said I was a wuss, and while he was joking, I felt like one. Then again, my fingers have never pressed steel strings against the fretboard before.

While I think I suck and I'm sure somewhere in the back of his mind, Jeff is wondering why he got stuck with me, I'm keeping in mind it's only been a week.

And I can't stop whining about having to cut off my nails. Ah, what we must sacrifice for the sake of art.

Lakes of Killarney

2008-07-02T15:56:00.003-05:00

Photo was taken using a "stitch" feature on my digital. Click on the photo to scroll.

To Be Back or Not To Be

2008-06-29T23:19:00.004-05:00

Here it is, 11:20 PM on Sunday night. 5:00AM comes early and I want to get to the office by 7:00 so I can get our of there by 4:00. I'm on a mission to get there and leave before the roar of traffic reaches it's crescendo (did I spell that correctly?).

Anyway, I can't sleep. After church I had lunch with the folks. Then I spent the rest of the day with my sister. I left her house at 10:05PM. I really need to move closer to her, since most of my life happens at least 12 miles east of me.

I've realized it's been nearly one and a half months since I last blogged. In a word, UGH. Trust me, it hasn't been for a lack of words. It's been recovering from pneumonia (which I have to add is quite exhausting.) It is working hard, taking a business trip (changed my outlook on many things), life, church, family.

And in the chaos that is my daily life, I have managed to let writing slip to the wayside. Not that many people read what I have to say...and that's okay. It's an outlet for me.

I'm sure I'll have a lot to say in the coming weeks. I'm pursuing a 25 year dream. I'm taking guitar lessons. My fingers hurt. Yes, Mike, I am a wuss.

Here is to happy postings.

Plenty of REST and FLUIDS

2008-05-15T14:47:00.004-05:00

Pnuemonia is not exactly how I wanted to take a week off of work. I don't have the energy to do much given that I can't get enough air into my lungs.

Damn the Streptococcus pneumoniae. Of course, I'm assuming that is the bacteria responsible for my current condition.

I'm going stir crazy. I'm TV'd out. I can only lay around for so long and if I drink any more juice or iced tea...ugh!! I told my boss that I'm thinking about coming in tomorrow. Let me quote, "absolutely not." Greatttttt....unwanted, that's what I am. The fever is gone. I'm not infectious any more.

Ok, so my breathing gets labored when I walk more than 10 steps, and when I cough it sounds as though I am trying to rid myself of my lungs...but I JUST CAN'T REST for much longer.

I guess I'll watch "Pride and Prejudice" for the 50th time.

Forced Vacation, Part II

2008-05-14T14:44:00.003-05:00

Great. I have pneumonia! No wonder I'm so darn sick. I'm currently on a fever/difficult breathing watch. I'm to get myself to the emergency room if I have issue. Lovely.

I guess the Stars will have to lose Game 4 without me.

Forced Vacation

2008-05-13T13:12:00.002-05:00

I'm sick.

I mean the high temperature, headache, body ache, ribs hurt when you cough, can't take a deep breath variety of sick. I've spent the last two days at home. And while I enjoy vacations, there is something so lacking as a forced vacation. A vacation by illness. Time off you can't enjoy because your laying in bed wishing for the agony to cease.

And now I'm bored. I'm tired of laying on the couch watching movies. My brain is numb. But I know I need the rest. I'm tired of juice, soup, and apple sauce, but the thought of anything more substantial makes my stomach churn.

I really do hate being sick.

"And I'm Given Time, Just A Short Time Here To Shine The Light"

2008-05-02T13:45:00.011-05:00

(Circleslide "Uncommon Days")

My aunt died today. Four small words which change many lives. A husband lost his wife, three kids lost their mom and eight grandchildren won't know the grandmother who adored them all. Her neices and nephews have lost an aunt. Her sisters have lost yet another. We all grieve.

Many changes.

Monica fought her cancer with prayer, courage, and her normal feisty self. Diagnosed 19 months ago with Stage 4 Lung cancer; she fought hard and for a brief time conquered cancer. Four months ago, the cancer returned, now attacking her liver. A month ago she found out that it was also attacking her lymph nodes and lungs. Not a good prognosis, but she continued to fight.

Strong will.

My mom saw her two weeks ago. Monica was full of life in spite of the shadow hanging over her. Her sisters were visiting. They cooked, they joked, she was living and chemo was nary a thought in her mind. Yes, she had pain, but there were pills to dull that ache.

Love of life.

My sister and I saw her 5 days ago. She looked so small and frail. Her voice was weak, but she still wanted to speak with us. She was in awe over the tulips we brought for her. It was good to see her, but hard. She was cold. She had a heating pad and blanket to warm her. Her hands shook. It took all her energy to drink a glass of ice tea.

Fragility.

We spent six hours simply speaking with her. The first poignant memory of that conversation was our discussion of baptism. Her desire was to be re-baptized by emersion. I had recently experienced a rededication of my life to Christ. It was pleasing to hear of her desire. The second memory was our discussion of a cross wall in her home. I purchased a beautiful rustic wall hanging of a 3-D cross. She showed us the artwork she was going to remove and replace with crosses.

Last words.

As we said goodbye, I didn't realize that would be the last time I would tell her that I loved her. She struggled to stand, to walk us out. I told her she didn't have to; however, she stood and walked outside, leaning on her husband. She waved until we were gone. That was the last time I would see her.

Fond Farewell.

What transpired Thursday was a shock. My cousin called, which is rare, although we are close. She said her dad called to say that her mom was not doing well. A conversation with the doctor hinted at the need to call hospice. An appointment to discuss was made.

I relayed messages to my sister, my father(who was out of the country), and I made a personal appearance at home to talk to my mom. We were planning our trips up to visit for what could be the last time. We would find out more after the doctor's visit. We waited.

Shortly after 6:00 a.m., I received a phone call from my father. He bore bad news. Monica passed away. My uncle was too heartbroken and unconsolable to call us so he asked Daddy to pass the word.

I called my sister, spoke to my mom. I didn't cry. Not yet, there is time for that later. Later was a moment in the car when I remembered our discussion of the cross wall. Later was a conversation with my mom. She recounted Aunty Monica mentioning how nice it was to see us Saturday, how pretty the flowers were, and how she felt bad that she didn't cook anything for us to eat.

Later will be that moment graveside, remembering that she was given a short time to shine the light.

And she did.

Reminiscing

2008-04-27T21:02:00.003-05:00

I made a day trip to my birth place Saturday to visit my aunt and uncle. They live in the house I grew up in until the age of 10 when we moved to Texas.

I haven't considered Lawton "home" for a very long time. I truly am Texan, not by birth, but by choice. Still, there is something to be said about going back to what once was my home.

I have fond memories of people, places, and my elementary school. Garfield Elementary. Terry Martin, Principal. Betty Jo Givens, my kindergarten teacher. Miss Priddy, my first grade teacher who made me eat the disgusting mashed potatoes. Miss Foster whose birthday is January 29th, Miss Chidester who asked me to represent the 3rd grade at the Bicentennial celebration, and Mrs. Beckman, the meanest teacher in school. I also have dear memories of my music teacher, but her name escapes me.

I drove down the street I had walked since Kindergarten and thought that something didn't look quite right. Then it hit me. My elementary school had been torn down. According to my cousin, this happened a couple of years ago. Apparently, they had an issue with mold.

I close my eyes and I can hear voices bouncing off the tile. I remember we didn't have air conditioning when I was there. I remember buying a bag of popcorn every Friday for a dime. I remember gathering in the auditorium to watch films. I remember saying the Pledge of Allegiance to the small flag attached to the top of the teacher closet in each room.

I have vivid memories of walking home, hand in hand with Mark McGee, when the air around us exploded with the sound of tornado sirens. Oh Mark...I had such a huge crush on him(it started at the age of 5 and continued until a year after I moved). He lived a couple doors down from my grandparents. Mark had black hair, piercing blue eyes, and an infectious smile. He teased me unmercifully throughout every grade. I lost track of him after high school and to this day, still wonder what happened to him.

Anyway, my beloved little elementary school is no more. To my consternation, it was rather upsetting and I got a bit teary eyed. I'm not sure why it bothered me. I left it all behind in fourth grade.

Maybe its the loss of a small part of myself.

Hockey Humor

2008-04-26T22:01:00.005-05:00

....Shane, your wit is....well, witty. Thanks for the laughs....

Steve Ott (Dallas #29): "Don't push me there! You're gonna make me fart....err...too late!!"
Check out the referee's grimace...oohh that smell

Marty Turco (Dallas #35): "LOOKIE!!! This is my impersonation of a seal. Arf, Arf, Arf! (clapping gloves together)"

The Greater Plan

2008-04-24T23:32:00.006-05:00

A friend asked me an interesting question the other day. If God loves His people, why does it seem that those who believe and love Him fervently, suffer the most? Good question.

I really don't know that answer. I've wondered that same thing many times. I feel as though I've had more than my fare share of trials. I emerge from each one a better person. My faith in God remains. But, why do I have to continue to suffer?

There is the adage that God will not give us more than we can handle. In the back of my mind, I would like to think the believer would have an easier road. Then again, if our road was easy, would we forget to offer our praises to God? Would our pride take over? Would we be convinced that our success is a result of our own abilities?

I wish I could answer the question. It would help me as I ponder what could be my aunt's final days (see "Jesus Wept"). She loves the Lord, has an unshakeable faith, but her cancer is back and is beginning to consume her.

What God has in store for her is more than I can imagine.

He is in control of the greater plan.

Southern Girl With Hockey Fever

2008-04-21T00:48:00.016-05:00

...Some like it hot. I like it ice cold....

Sunday night, my Dallas Stars, ended any potential repeat Stanley Cup victory for the Anaheim Ducks. As one of my closest 18,351 friends' sign proclaimed, "Duck Season Ends Tonight" and it did. For the first time since 2003, the Stars advanced past Round 1 of the playoffs.

So, how did a Texan fall in love with hockey? It goes back many years, when I first moved to Texas. I attended my first hockey game, the CHL's Dallas Blackhawks. I was at one game during their final season prior to the league ultimately folding, I was 15. DFW was sans hockey until 1992, when the CHL was reborn. I attended a few Fort Worth Fire games. Then in 1993, the Minnesota North Stars relocated to Dallas.

The NHL in Dallas? Are you kidding me? This is a football town. It still is. Football is king in Texas for most folks (and I enjoy watching it). But it doesn't rule this gal. I'll take hockey any day of the week.

I'm not sure what it is about hockey that strikes a resounding chord. I'm not from up north where hockey rules. I can't ice skate to save my life. I didn't attend a college where hockey was part of the extra-curricular activities. I've never dated anyone who likes hockey. How is it that I am a season ticket holder, for three years running?

Maybe its "man in uniform" syndrome. 'Cause I will tell you there is something really hot about a guy in a hockey sweater, pants and skates. Perhaps it is the players' ability to stop on a dime or reverse direction instantaneously. It could be a myriad of other things: the "shush" sound of skates on ice, the crack of a slap shot, the grunt of a check, the ping of the puck hitting the pipes, the roar of the crowd, the amazing bendablity of the net-minder, the athleticism of every guy on the ice.

Or maybe is just the fact that hockey is all-go-no-stop, check you until it hurts, blue line, center ice, face off, shoot out, fighting, agitating, in your face action.

Whatever it is, this chick LOVES every single minute of it.

My Babies

2008-03-16T21:57:00.006-05:00

God blesses some people with children, others He blesses with wonderful pets. Here are my babies. Mollie (black and white) is a 3-4 year old Heeler mix. Finnegan is a 6 year old Cocker Spaniel. Both are spoiled and much loved by their momma.

They are mine because their previous owners did not give a darn about them. I adopted Finn, heartworms and all, from the Fort Worth Humane Society in February 2004. He was a disgusting mat of fur and fleas. I adopted Mollie, November 2007. She was living at Furry Friends Rescue with 10 other dogs.

Finn is on the really smart, but acts really dumb side and Mollie is too smart for her own good.

If anyone ever wants a dog, please get one from a Humane Society or a rescue. One of the best places to find a pet is http://www.petfinder.com/. Rescues are also WONDERFUL. These dogs live with humans, other animals, and often kids. They are screened for behavioral issues and are fully vetted.

Jesus Wept

2008-03-16T20:52:00.005-05:00

What seems like several posts ago, I gave testimony to the miracle of prayers answered. My Aunt Monica's lung cancer was gone. It was truly an answer to everyone's prayers. Therefore, it hurts my heart in so many way to have found out today that the cancer has reappeared in her liver.

I am not going to question why the cancer came back, even though that is human nature. I will not let it shake my faith in God, nor will I raise a fist in anger at Him. Though that is also a human response. I know that our prayers were answered, if only for a short time.

And it was no coincidence that our sermon today, in the "God Did What?" series was "God Cried." John 11:35; the shortest verse in the bible. It simply says, "Jesus wept." Jesus wept compassionately for his friend Lazarus who had died. In Luke 19:41-44, Jesus wept upon his entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday for He knew what would happen.

Two words, yet they convey a wealth of meaning.

Today we learned that our God is emotional and empathetic. With this knowledge, I take comfort; not for the news delivered today, but in knowing that God cries when we cry.

Because I weep for my aunt as she possibly draws closer to the end of her life; He also weeps with me

P.S. For anyone who reads this blog, please keep Monica in prayer. I pray for her body to be healed. If that is not God's plan, I pray that He takes her peacefully and painlessly home and her immediately family is given His comfort.

Top 10 Reasons I Shouldn't Go Snorkeling

2008-03-10T16:07:00.006-05:00

10. The catamaran is a great place for catching a tan

9. Floating around in fish poop...need I say more?

8. Saltwater is very harsh to my delicate self

7. I can see tropical fish in a tank any time

6. If I can't wear my glasses, I can't see the fishies

5. I am not bait

4. Objects in the water may be closer than they appear

3. My snorkel gear doesn’t match my swimsuit

2. My dive fins make me look fat

And the number one reason I shouldn’t go snorkeling….

1. Hello, am I the only person who watches “Shark Week” on the Discovery Channel?

Unplayed - My Guitar Stands Alone

2008-03-08T14:53:00.015-06:00

Turlough Round Tower and Church

2008-03-08T13:07:00.003-06:00

I've been playing with some photo enhancements. This is "metallic."

Never Laugh at The Royal Oracle of Snow

2008-03-07T21:36:00.005-06:00

I love snowflakes. I adore snowmen. I am the royal oracle of snow, goo goo g'joob.

Last year, my staff discovered my penchant for snowthings. Accordingly, they decorated the window next to my office door with "peel 'n' stick" snowflakes. It was our way of heralding the advent of winter in Texas (all 24 hours of it) and decorating our otherwise plain vanilla office (you should have seen what we did at Christmas).

After the stuffing, turkey, and pumpkin pie had been consumed last Thanksgiving, I stuck the same snowflakes on the same window. I also decorated my office with my snowmen. I realize this has become somewhat of a ritual for me. It's all done with the hope for that elusive White Christmas. It's March 2008. I'm still waiting.

Nevertheless, I keep the s'flakes and s'men displayed all winter. This year, I decided to use some reverse psychology on the SnowyGoodnessGod. On Leap Day, I removed the snowflakes; commenting to the staff that I was doing it early hoping it would snow.

They laughed.

The darnedest thing happened. Three days later, we had our first snowfall of the winter. Dang, I'm good. I put away the fake flakes and received the real deal.

But wait, there's more.

I had not yet stored my "Let It Snow" men or my pudgy snowmen figurines. Hmmm, based on the previous weather activity as a result of removing snowlike items; I wondered if I could conjure more snow? I put the snowmen away; and told my staff based on the previous snowfall, I could only assume that by storing more snowmen, we could very well have a blizzard.

They laughed.

Yesterday, North Texas was the recipient of my royal oracle-like snowy prognostication. The lovely city of Denton received nine, yes, nine inches of snow. My fair homestead was graced with two inches, give or take a half-inch.

Again, let me say, I AM GOOD, real good. Next year, I'm going to store my ski jacket, gloves, and goggles.

I wonder what that will do?

March in North Texas

2008-03-06T18:24:00.006-06:00

It snowed!! For the snow starved (most native Texans) it was a big deal. We had it all; rain, sleet, snow. Tonight ice will reign supreme. I drove past two snowmen and kids having a snowball fight.

Finn is busy chasing a stray snowflake. Mollie decided that it was cold and wet, so she high-tailed it inside.

Smart girl.

God Waits For Her Return

2008-03-05T19:42:00.022-06:00

What do you say when someone whom you thought had a heart for Christ says, “I’m an atheist”? What do you do when you can actually feel your heart breaking?

Kate is a very good friend. We bonded over hockey in 1999 and have been fast pals since.

We were very much alike until she forged a friendship with a co-worker. Now, don’t misunderstand me, I have no issues with my friends expanding their "friend" quota. However, this new friend was the antithesis of all in which Kate believed. Over time, her new friend was able to transform Kate's belief system. The change was tangible, from conservative Christian to liberal Atheist.

Kate knew I had been attending a new church; and thoroughly enjoying what I was hearing and seeing. She knew I was recommitting myself to Christ by being re-baptized. To commemorate the occasion, she purchased a lovely Bible charm for my bracelet. I was surprised because I had been exposed to her angst with God.

The same day she gave me the charm, we went to dinner. During the meal, she said, “You can talk to me about church you know. Just because I have atheistic leanings now, doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about what you are doing.” Silence. What could I say? What did I want to say?

“Kate, my heart is breaking for you. What a sad existence you’ve chosen with this path. I’ll certainly pray that your eyes and heart will be opened and you will receive the joy and love that only Christ can bring.”

But I didn’t say those words to her. Instead, I sat silent, allowing conversation to continue. I would like to think my lack of comment was disbelief rather than the ache of confirmation. This was the first time she had given voice to what I had already come to know.

With Kate's revelation weighing heavily on my spirit, I had a “God Moment”. A moment when God loving smacks me upside the head. I’ve always told Him that I do not get subtle. And to His credit, He is not. Then again, He is God.

My church is in the midst of an amazing sermon series entitled, “God Did What?” The second sermon was “God Ran.” One of the main points of the message was that God waits for those who leave and runs to those who return. Can you imagine God running towards you, face aglow, arms open? His willingness to embrace and love you regardless?

I had no idea what the content of the sermon would be, but there was Pastor Drew, speaking God’s words directly to me. A salve for an aching heart. I kept Kate there, in my heart, the entire time. At the end of the sermon, Pastor Drew asked us to put someone we knew was lost or had left Christ on our hearts. He invited us to come forward and he prayed.

I cried for Kate. I prayed for Kate. During the prayer, I became strongly convicted that I need to invite her to the Saturday service for Easter. Shortly after Pastor Drew ended the prayer, he told us to invite that lost person to service on Easter. Ok God, I get it.

I’m not sure what I need to do for Kate after asking her to church. Part of me wants to walk away. Yet, the other part knows I need to love her like God loves us. He never strays from our side. I know I have a part to play in her life. So, I pray.

And in praying, I know God eagerly and patiently waits for her to return.

Baracking Up The Wrong Tree

2008-02-27T22:19:00.023-06:00

….You Can’t Teach An Old Dog New Tricks…

The Big O’s political ads have been running on radio and TV, ad nauseam. Change, change, change. Change of fools. Oh wait, that's chain, chain, chain. Never mind. Exactly what type of change does The Big O have in mind? Sex change, spare change, tire change, change of clothes, change of address, change of habit, climate change?

I digress.

During the ads, I have become intimately acquainted with the mute button. There is something very satisfying about silencing unwanted verbal diarrhea. Mute: It's Kaopectate for the mind. However, one day I was a bit slow to react. In that momentary pause, I was regaled with O’s bombastic blatherings. While I managed to tune out most of the drivel, one sentence stuck in my mind.

Forgive me as I paraphrase: This administration has created a divide between Wall Street and Main Street. A CEO makes more in 10 minutes than the ordinary worker makes in a year.

While I disagree wholeheartedly with blaming "this administration" for any disparity between Wall Street and Main Street, the accountant in me wanted to examine the validity of his claim. I put the spreadsheet to use.

For the sake of this exercise, I looked at 2004 CEO compensations at Forbes.com. I selected Reuben Mark, CEO at Colgate-Palmolive, who was ranked #1 for compensation.

My figures were determined as follows: Hourly wage was calculated on the standard 2,080 hours worked per year and broken down into 10 minute increments (Annual Wage/2080 = hourly wage. Hourly wage/60 minutes = minute wage. Minute wage x 10 minutes). I ran numbers based on "straight salary" (no bonus, other compensation and/or stock options) and "total compensation" (inclusive of bonus, other, stock). Based on the calculations, here is what I found.

Mr. Mark was compensated straight salary at $1.6 million. His earnings for 10 minutes of work was $132.77. Considering his total compensation including bonus, other and stock, Mr. Mark earned $148 million. The wage earned for 10 minutes of work $11,859.00.

Compared to a minimum wage earner, working full time (2,080 hours at $6.15/hour = annual salary $12,792.00) Mr. Mark earned approximately $900.00 less for 10 minutes of work.

Even using the most extremes, The Big O’s assertion is factually incorrect. Hang on folks, we have a politician uttering fallacious statements in an effort to be elected to the Office of President?

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Making Change

2008-02-25T22:52:00.008-06:00

….28 minus 18 equals?….

Tonight, I pulled into a local fast food joint, much to the dismay of my vital organs. I placed my order, received my total and followed the young man’s instructions to drive to the last window.

My total was $5.18, so I gave the guy $5.28; anticipating a dime back. How many of you have done that same thing? It’s a way to clean out pennies from the old pocketbook. I do this all the time. I watched as this kid puts the three pennies on the counter and enters in $5.25. He returns with my change. A nickel and two pennies as the cash register told him to return $.07 plus the three pennies I had given him.

As he handed me the change, I said, "I gave you $0.28 so you’d give me a dime back." He laughed. I could see that I stumped him with that one. Seriously, he had no idea what I meant. You know that vacant, “duh” look some people get when they have no idea what you’ve just said in plain, logical English? The look which incites concern for the gene pool. The poor kid, he did the only thing he could do. He asked if I wanted any condiments.

You can’t make change, but have the ability use the word “condiments"? I am willing to bet “condiments” are explained in the employee handbook. Don’t worry, the register will tell you how much change to return to the customer. It is much more important to make sure the customer leaves with the condiments of their choice.

I’ll have a packet of ketchup with my dime, please.

How E-Mail Can Get You Into A Fix

2008-02-24T18:17:00.009-06:00

....oops!!...

A member of my company's general legal counsel was a bit overzealous when it came to informing us of the upcoming primary.

From the email:

You might have also heard about the "super-delegates" who could end up deciding the democratic nominee. These super-delegates are under lots of pressure right now to announce their support for one candidate or the other. You have the option to encourage them to let the voters decide between the candidates and then to support the candidate who wins the popular vote and caucus. To do so, you can sign a petition at this link:

http://pol.moveon.org/superdelegates/?r_by=-8983846-mmuPe3&rc=paste

I took exception to a couple of items in the email. First, specifics were given for one county. Many of the employees live in other counties. Why not go to the state's voter site and give generalities to cover all the counties? Second and most irritating, I believe it is highly inappropriate for legal counsel to suggest that employees visit a party specific organization to participate in a poll.

I know the person who wrote the email, and I am sure no malice was intended; however, I was very uncomfortable that an attorney would be putting that type of information out there. I realize that many people are not savvy voters. Many do not exercise their constitutional right to vote, which is a shame. But, to exert pressure in a partisan direction? From your company attorney?

Can you say "ginormous oops!"?

I can.

P.S. I sent the attorney the state's link. She thanked me and said I could send it out as she got into trouble for the last part of her email. Ya think?

Why Did Hillary's Campaign Call Me?

2008-02-23T13:55:00.009-06:00

....Desperation Emits A Certain Stench...

Last Saturday, I was spending the afternoon with my sister, offering some adult company. While I was out, I received a call. Unfortunately, or fortunately for “Fran”, I was not able to take her call. From my answering machine:

Hello Indie67. This is Fran with the Hillary Clinton Campaign. I am calling to remind you that the Texas primary is on March 4th. We would like your support. So remember to vote March 4th and if you would like any other information, please visit us at hillaryclinton.com.

Huh?

I don't know you Fran, so do not use my given name. You can address me as Miss _____ (insert surname here.) I do not like strangers speaking to me so familiarly. You don't know me.

Fran, have you even seen my voting record? I am a registered Republican. I am a conservative; a part of that vast right wing conspiracy upon which Frau Clinton likes to lay blame for many failings of her party? As much as I dislike the heir apparent for the Republican nomination, I would never vote for Hillary.

Did you call me with hopes that you could play the gender card? That I would consider Hillary because she is a woman? Wrong. In my lifetime so far, there has been one woman who garnered my respect and admiration as a political figure. That person was Margaret Thatcher. Dearest Fran, Hill is no Margaret Thatcher.

Maybe in your Hill-induced delirium you assumed I agree with her policies. Fran, Frannie, Fran, you are wrong again. She is doing her best to impose socialism on my country. Could it be that Hill is on the verge of Obamafacation? Her lead is slip, sliding away. Is she really so desperate that her campaign would call people who would never vote for her? Sadly enough, Hillary is the more conservative of the Dem nominee hopefuls. Still, I shudder at the thought of either one assuming the presidency.

Might I make a bold suggestion? Perhaps you should know more about who you are calling.

In this case, your ignorance would not have been bliss. I sure regret missing that call; if only to hang up when the words "Hillary Clinton Campaign" came out of your mouth.

Intercessory Prayer - Part II

2008-02-22T12:00:00.003-06:00

…The Miracle of My Time….

I have previously posted my thoughts on intercessory prayer. Specifically, our direct connection to God and using said connection when we pray. I do not believe in offering prayers to deceased saints. The dead cannot hear nor speak on our behalf.

I am the first to admit that I do not pray with the consistency I should. That is my burden to bear and something I am working to resolve. However, when my Aunt Monica was diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer in 2007, I can say that I, among numerous others, prayed diligently for her recovery. I asked my friends to pray. My sister asked our church. Our parents asked their church. Aunt Barbara requested prayer services from her church. My Aunt Monica and Uncle Tom asked their church and friends.

I saw my Aunt Monica in July 2007 shortly after the birth of her 7th grandchild. She was looking as well as could be expected after being bombarded with toxic chemicals in an attempt to save her life. Her hair had grown back, she was buoyant and vivacious. But the shadow of cancer hovered. The mass was not shrinking as much as the doctors had hoped; especially after 6 months of chemo.

The next day she traveled back home and visited her doctor. The mass was still present and the fluid on her lungs continued to build. The doctor made a decision to insert a drainage tube. My aunt said the drainage tube was the most uncomfortable part of having cancer. Shortly after the tube was inserted, some 3 to 4 weeks, she returned to the doctor for her next scan.

August 2007, the scan revealed something surprising. The mass was gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Non-existent. Her doctor, understandably astonished, said, “You must have had a lot of people praying for you.” Yes!!! Yes, she did. My aunt had many people praying for her; and those prayers were acknowledged by the Great Physician.

So my friends, here is my proof that intercessory prayer does work. With prayer, faith, and God’s work clearly evident; how can you not intercede on behalf of others?

Prayers are answered. Some in direct, tangible ways; others in ways we choose not to see.

God Can You Hear Me

2008-01-20T19:54:00.000-06:00

I've been here before
It's hard to ignore
I'm so used to fighting
The same old wars

Oh what do you see
When you're looking at me
Have I taken You for granted
I can't afford this pain anymore
Won't You help me understand it

God can You hear me
I need You here tonight
I'm tired of pretending
That everything's alright
And I know, I know
That You hold tomorrow
But I need You here tonight

I want to feel
I need something real
I want to go closer to You
I lay down my will

Oh this human disease
Yeah it's killing me
Tell me have I been left stranded
I can't ignore
This pain anymore
Won't You help me understand it

God can you hear me
I need You here tonight
I'm tired of pretending
That everything's alright
And I know, I know
That You hold tomorrow
But I need You here

Say
Won't You say
That You'll carry me
Carry me through the storm
Please stay
Won't You stay Till the morning comes
Morning comes
Just stay

---Tait---

The Dallas Morning News' 2007 Texan of the Year

2008-01-16T08:50:00.000-06:00

…the pimple on my buttocks is more Texan…

Disclaimer: This blog in no way represents, describes, proves, or disproves a pimple is present, has been present or will be present on the posterior of the blogger. However, if it did, does or will be present, said pimple is definitely more Texan than the DMN's choice for the 2007 Texan of the Year.

Drum roll, please. The DMN’s Texan of the Year is: “The Illegal Immigrant”.

My response to this tidbit of information heard on the 10:00 PM edition of the local news (owned by the same corporation as the Dallas Morning News): “You have got to be @#$*)&% kidding me!”

The editorial board of the DMN must have misplaced their communal brain, if they had one in the first place. To be a Texan, you are a valid citizen of the state of Texas. Applying simple logic, if you are an ILLEGAL immigrant, how can you be a Texan? It’s tantamount to me saying because I vacationed in Ireland for a couple of weeks, I am Irish. I love Ireland, anything Celtic actually, but I’m certainly not Irish because of that!

Obviously the article is biased toward the illegal immigrant. I’ll pause while you get over the shock. However, in all fairness, it does point out some of the negatives of illegal immigration in very glossy terms; as if the negatives should be analyzed with a “ho-hum, so what, who cares” attitude. Why should it matter that our schools are busting at the seams, our social services are being depleted, and our laws are being broken?

Notwithstanding the illegal status of the Texan of the Year, I find the article particularly pointed regarding the nationality of the illegal immigrant. The mentioned illegals are those of Hispanic heritage. Gasp! Hasn’t it been pounded into our collective consciousness that Mexicans are not the only illegal immigrants and by singling them out, we are xenophobic?

Say it ain’t so! The DMN is discriminating against illegals of other nationalities. Where is the hue and cry over the Vietnamese, the Ukrainian, the Canadian, the _______ (fill in the blank) illegal immigrant? Why is the focus of the article solely on those of Hispanic descent? Doesn’t Texas harbor illegal immigrants of diverse ethnicities working jobs which Americans don’t want to perform at the (substandard) wages the employers want to pay?

The crux of the matter is proximity. By virtue of geography, Mexico is the only nation with which Texas shares a border and lest we forget, Texas was once a part of Mexico. Maybe the Dallas Morning News wants us to welcome the prodigal flocks back home. After all, according to the article, Texas’ thriving economy is being built on the backs of these illegal immigrants and we elitist, non-Hispanics are reaping the rewards.

I am at my wits end. As a taxpayer, I have to fund the costs of their medical care while I pay for my own; and no, I do not advocate a national health care system. As an automobile owner, I have to carry non-insured/under-insured coverage as the propensity for illegals who drive (and they do drive) is not to have insurance. As a citizen, I have had to endure endless protests and marches by illegal immigrants and their supporters; calling for civil rights and privileges which are not theirs to have. I have watched as my flag was removed from a school flag pole and the flag of Mexico flown in its place. I have read articles about a school district which handed out the Mexican flag and asked all the students to recite the Mexican Pledge. I drive down the highway viewing billboards in Spanish. I travel through parts of Dallas that are beginning to remind me of Mexico. Official documents are in both English and Spanish. Where are the other English/”pick your language” documents?

Don’t misunderstand me; I sympathize with the plight of the downtrodden and poor. I feel for the people who cannot take care of their own. I understand the desire to escape from poverty. However, with all that said, I have lost my sympathy for the illegal immigrant. I simply see a group of people who have no pride in their own country; willing to suck the teat of our goodwill at any cost. There is no desire to be American, only the craving to take what we have and call it their own. Why won’t they fight to make Mexico a better place?

To those who would have us believe that illegal immigration is a good thing, I say: Don’t play the “poor illegal immigrant” card. Don’t call the cities that try to pass/enforce laws “villainous or hateful.” Don’t cry when you have to face the consequences of breaking the law.

Most of all, don’t insult us by nominating a Texan of the Year who is not remotely Texan nor American for that matter.

A Prologue: 2007 Texan of the Year

2008-01-15T13:40:00.000-06:00

Remember the Alamo!!!!

Let’s take a step back in history. Once upon a time, there was a skirmish at a place called The Alamo where larger than life heroes met their fate at the hands of General Santa Anna. The bloody defeat did not vanquish the Texans’ fight for independence from Mexico. Even after the Massacre at Goliad, Texans fought and won their freedom at the Battle of San Jacinto.

On April 22, 1836, Texas ceased being a part of Mexico and the glorious Republic of Texas was born. In 1845, Texas joined the United States to become the 28th state of the Union.

A Day at Blarney Castle

2008-01-14T14:03:00.000-06:00

I did not kiss the Blarney Stone. It is said that the stone was part of the latrine system and raw sewage was poured over the stone down to the moat. I join with the Irish in laughing at all us tourists who spend money to kiss the stone; obtaining the gift of gab. Hmmm, diarrhea of the mouth. Fitting, indeed.

Blarney Castle itself is tall; more so than the other gazillion castles I saw in Ireland. The grounds are beautiful. I would have loved to picnic there, but alas, I decided to spend money at Blarney Woollen Mills. Belleek China, Waterford, and Galway Crystal made the journey back home. I can't tell you how nice it was to purchase items that did not say "Made in China".

Albus Dumbledore Is Gay?!?

2008-01-12T17:11:00.000-06:00

...Now Harry, grab my "wand"...

Suddenly strains of Sinatra’s “Come Fly With Me” started playing in my head. “Once I get you up there, where the air is rarefied, we’ll just glide, starry eyed…” Please hold while I shake myself. Whew!

With closure of her phenomenally successful Harry Potter series, J.K. Rowling tells the world that the beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts is homosexual. What?!?!?! What do you mean, “what?” It’s called alliteration. Not that, what do you mean Dumbledore is gay? She meant gay as in happy, right? No, silly, she meant as in he loved another man. Like a brother, then? No. You get the picture? Yeah, but it’s not something I really want to visualize.

I thoroughly enjoyed all the books in the series. When Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows was released in July, I re-read every book so my mind would be fresh on all the details. Yes, folks, six books in less than two months. Maybe I skim read them, missing important clues as to Dumbledore's sexuality. I simply do not recall any veiled, obscure, or completely disclosed references to Dumbledore's preference for men. Perhaps my gaydar was malfunctioning.

Why now? A couple of media reports referenced this sentence from The Deathly Hallows: '"You cannot imagine how his ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed me.'" Dumbledore was speaking to Harry about Grindlewald; discussing how he was inflamed by Grindlewald’s idea of wizard domination and muggle subjugation. Somehow I am supposed to extrapolate being inflamed about these ideas to being flaming? That Dumbledore was in love with Grindlewald?

Let’s think about this. If you are a single male, inflamed and passionate about another man’s ideas, you’re gay? Ponder that for a moment. How many men would be homosexual if that was the case?

If Ms. Rowling knew, from the beginning, that she wanted Dumbledore as a gay character, why not “out” him in “The Sorcerer’s Stone”? Or, why out the character at all? Shouldn't it have been obvious to the reader?

I am not in a dither about it. Whether a fictional character is gay or not, has no meaning to my life. Wait, let me take that back. I’m wrong after all. I am blogging about it; and it has offered me some humor in the last couple of months.

In the end (to pun or not to pun), who cares? Does it really make a difference? Are the books any less meaningful to the reader because in the 11th hour of her fame, Rowling says Dumbledore is gay?

My Irish Traffic Jam

2007-09-13T21:08:00.000-05:00

Green rolling hills, soft Irish brogues, more castles that you could shake a stick at, and cows. I snapped this shot out of the bus window as we were on our way back to Shannon Airport to leave fair Eireann. I should thank the farmer for allowing me to stay in Ireland five additional minutes.

My Perspective on Intercessory Prayer

2007-09-11T12:52:00.000-05:00

…or How Many Saints Does it Take to Answer a Prayer…

As I examine my Christian background, I am confronted by a veritable smorgasbord of denominations: Presbyterian, Catholic, Methodist, and now Christian. My maturing walk with Christ enables me to view my new church home with different eyes. It is “church” in an unadulterated form. By that I mean am not required to consider my faith through the filter of denominational beliefs. My church is Bible based (and don’t they all say they are?); what the bible says goes. It is the inspired Word of God and is the final authority in all things.

With that said, I now view many widely-accepted denominational precepts differently. One of which is intercessory prayer and the difference in interpretation between Protestants and Catholics. Let me say this: I am in no way bashing, condemning, or judging the Catholic faith. I was once Catholic, though never fully immersed in all the beliefs. I have many friends who are devout Catholics, some not so devout, and some who are lapsed.

I am not questioning their devotion to God; however, I do not understand the concept of offering prayer requests to Saints. Here is what started it all. I received an email from friends who were leaving on a pilgrimage to Eastern Europe. They wrote, “As we prepare to leave Monday on our pilgrimage to Eastern Europe we would like to carry your prayer requests with us. We will be celebrating Mass everyday at a very special church so we could offer your requests to many Saints.”

“…so we could offer your requests to many Saints.” Huh?? That simple phrase struck me with full force. As a Christian, I believe in intercessory prayer. I have tangible, personal proof that prayer has undeniable power. Individuals praying to God on behalf of each other form a steadfast bond in the body of Christ. I know God answers every prayer, although they are answered in His way and for His purposes.

So I posit this question: If I (an accountant by trade) travel with my dog, should I offer a prayer to St. Matthew, the patron saint of accountants, or St. Joseph, the patron saint of travelers, and St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals? I am not asking these questions in jest, but from lack of understanding on the necessity of saints to intercede.

Why can I not simply pray directly to God for safe journey for both myself and my dog? When the prayer is answered, who gets the credit? For me, praises are given to God for both good and bad. If a saint is interceding on your behalf, does God receive the full measure of glory, or is thanks shared with the saint who interceded on your behalf? If your prayer is unanswered, do you revile the saint to whom you offered your prayer?

If Christians believe we have an unequivocal relationship with God, why do we need to offer prayers to anyone/anything other than Him?

Here Today...Gone Tomorrow?

2007-09-10T20:51:00.000-05:00

Hi y'all in the blogosphere. After a rather long absence, I am back. I shall be blogging more frequently now: maybe once a month, or as the mood strikes. Life, work, a vacation to Ireland...these things take precedence over blogging.

However, Indie67 is back and ready to share more Random Jumbled Thoughts. Enjoy or flame away.

I Pledge Allegiance To:

2006-10-22T22:12:00.000-05:00

….the United States of Mexico???…

Never thought in my life time that I would see the disintegration of the country I so love. Before I get into this, let me preface what I have to say. I am a first generation American, raised by two people who were legal immigrants to the country. Both of whom are naturalized citizens and love this country as much as I do. I’ve been to the country of my parents’ birth. I have no desire to live there. Not that it’s a bad place, but, I’m spoiled. I am not against immigration as long as it is legal. If you here legally, I will bend over backwards to help you. If you are here illegally, get out of my country.

I was disturbed to read a “story” Friday, about a school district here in Texas that distributed the Mexican flag to the students and had them recite the Mexican pledge of allegiance. Although the principal says the students weren't asked to recite it. Now the last time I checked, Texas was still a part of the United States. I know my Texas history. We were once a part of Mexico. We also fought at the Alamo and San Jacinto. We obtained our independence. We joined the US.

So forgive me when I become just a tad UPSET that we have our students reciting the Mexican pledge when the ACLU is all a-twitter because we say “one nation under God” in our pledge????? The principal didn’t realize folks would be upset??? Maybe he was smoking some good drugs that came up from Mexico.

Where is the allegiance to the United States? It’s all about what we can do for them but nothing about what they can do for this country. Once upon a time, immigrants would come and embrace the American dream. They would learn to speak English, they would assimilate into our melting pot culture. They would contribute to society. What happened? When did it all go so very wrong?

We are told that illegal immigrants make significant contributions to our society. Really? What might those contributions be? I am certainly not reaping the benefits of illegals doing the jobs “that Americans don’t want.” If I hire a landscaping company to mow my yard, I’m paying between $30-35. I’m paying $1500 to have my fence replaced. All the work is done by non-English speaking Mexican, supervised by an English speaker.

I was recently in Denver, Colorado. I stopped at McDonalds to use the facilities and get a milkshake. I asked what time the sun set and the gal at the counter didn’t understand a word I said. She got her manager and the manager did not understand me either. Yet, there they are, working with the public.

This is not a screed against Mexicans. I enjoy traveling to Mexico. There are many beautiful vacation destinations. I was there this past May and had a wonderful time. However, I did my best to speak my broken Spanish. I was given some of the best service because I tried. The Mexican culture is vibrant and colorful; sometimes bloody. They have a history and should try to preserve it. It’s their heritage.

As an American citizen though, I should not have to feel obligated to embrace their culture in my own country. Yes, I can appreciate and acknowledge what they have brought to Texas in the past. However, I don’t think it’s a good thing when I have to learn another language to communicate in my own city.

Unfortunately, I think this is a sign of the times. I know that I certainly do not want to pledge allegiance to a green, white, and red flag. Do you?

A Lesson on Society

2006-10-15T17:20:00.000-05:00

….from an unlikely source: the boob tube….

Who would have thought that a succinct statement about our society could come from a popular television program? I am a fan of "CSI: Crime Scene Investigations" . The original series which takes place in Las Vegas, not the NY or Miami variety.

I record it on my DVR in order to breeze through annoying commercials. Thursday's (October 12) show was a good episode (“Fannysmacking”) as all of them tend to be. However, this one struck me as extremely powerful. The ending made me say “Wow!” That a popular television program would make this statement, floored me.

Long story short, a gang of thugs spent their time assaulting tourists in Vegas. One of the CSI investigators, out on his own, stumbled upon these thugs and stopped them from killing another victim. He, in turn, was beaten. Eventually the thugs were taken down by the team. The dialog from the last 3 minutes of the show was profound.

In the locker room, the investigators were talking about the thugs, only one of which was over 18; the remainder underage, the youngest of which was 14. Ensuing discussion dealt with where the parents were, who was raising the kids, what caused these kids to beat up people for entertainment, etc. “Sara” commented that it sounded as though the other investigators were exonerating the kids because of bad homes, drugs. Essentially, she said the kids knew right from wrong.

Enter “Gil Grissom” and his comment, “The truth is, a moral compass can only point you in the right direction. It can’t make you go there. Our culture preaches that you shouldn’t be ashamed of anything you do anymore. And unfortunately, this city is built on the principle that there’s no such thing as guilt. Do whatever you want; we won’t tell. So without a conscience there’s nothing to stop you from killing someone and evidently you don’t even have to feel bad about it.”

What a statement of our times. How often have we heard about horrors in a person’s past which caused him to do one thing or another? You see it day in, day out. From the media, politicians, social groups; they celebrate “victimhood”. We are constantly barraged with the idea that we are not accountable for our actions.

Poor serial rapist, he was abused as a child and it caused him to rape these people. Poor pedophile, he was molested by a minister, so he molested kids. Poor drunk, he came from an alcoholic home, so it really wasn’t his fault he killed someone while driving. For the uneducated, poor, downtrodden person, killing someone for their vehicle rims really isn’t his fault. Society has not given him the tools to succeed, so it’s our fault he is a murderer.

Following that path, it is a wonder that we survive as a society. Maybe we should all succumb to peril that is victimhood. Apparently it grants absolution from personal accountability.

Managing Terrorism

2006-10-02T09:34:00.000-05:00

...The latest addition to the American Management Association Seminar: Managing Terrorism (Beheadings - Strategies for Living). Join us in this two-day seminar exploring all avenues of appeasement, new ways to get a head, and avoiding the explosion of terrorists...

Last week, Oliver Stone proved that his brain remains at large. Maybe he equated the praise he received from his recent movie, "World Trade Center" with a PhD in Terrorism Management. At the San Sebastian International Film Festival in Spain, he said "Terrorism is a manageable action. It can be lived with."

Let's see here, the last time I checked each incident of terrorism has exacted its toll in a loss of life. WTC, Oklahoma City, USS Cole, Khobar Towers. Please Mr. Stone, tell me how terrorism can be "lived with" when the ultimate goal of the terrorist is to inflict the highest casualty count possible?

Perhaps Mr. Stone believes we should appease the terrorists. Maybe we should submit to their indomitable will and high spirit, or better yet, convert to their way of thinking. Surely we should not raise their ire by defending ourselves, our values, and our way of life.

Should we manage by caving in? By placating? By being pacifists? How do you manage the irrational and illogical? Mr. Stone should know; he works with Hollywood actors. Apparently he thinks the terrorists are angling for a feature film. Maybe he can direct/write "Born on the Fatwa of July" or "Natural Born Terrorists".

Yes, let's manage and live with terrorism. After all, what are a few beheadings in Mr. Stone's grandiose machinations.