cheryl's blog

What to get my Grandmother

2005-12-12T15:20:00.000-05:00

I have no good ideas for my grandmother's Christmas gift. So I have a new contest. Best gift idea wins....something. It's a surprise.

Tips- Grandma is 85, likes to knit, crochet, sew, and read novels that make me blush. She is originally from Germany, she has not yet figured out how to work a VCR, not sure she knows what DVDs are, and her sound system was purchased in the late 80s. She has dietary issues, so caffeine, nuts and berries are out.

So, any ideas?

Holiday fun

2005-12-05T11:07:00.000-05:00

Does anyone have any funny holiday stories? I was trying to think of some. All that came to mind were the numerous times the dog chased the cat up the Christmas tree, causing the artificial and thus already top-heavy tree to collapse, shattering about half a dozen glass ornaments every time. And yet we stubbornly decorated with glass ornaments year after year. But, alas, my precious dog has passed on, so the cat is now fat and lazy and the tree is, at long last, safe. Maybe. My nephew is walking now. Thant could be interesting. Maybe we should retire the glass ornaments for a few years...

The other funny story is really more of a tradition that a one time event type story. My crazy neighbors who have been across the street from my parent's home since I was two have this tradition of trying to convince their numerous grand children that they saw Santa every year. This started simple enough with someone dressed in black carrying a red-bulbed flashlight running across the field behing their house, or someone making noises on the roof. However, over time it excalated to where every year they try to convince a neighbor to dress like Santa and fall off the roof or get chased across the yard or something. They usually coerse my father into doing it. It's hillarious seeing my dad dress as Santa. He is the gruffest Santa ever! I have pictures of him I need to dig out. My dad does not smile for pictures. Ever. Not even when he's wearing a Santa suit. I think as a joke our family needs to make our own Christmas cards with the glowering Santa for the picture. I to this day have no idea how they get him to play Santa. I suspect blackmail, but I can't prove it.

Christmas is such a strange holiday in sooooo many ways.

What's this power stuff?

2005-11-11T11:31:00.000-05:00

So, I've had a few conversations lately, and spent some time praying with some people about this somewhat elusive thing: the power of Christ.

One friend described in a way that I've heard before, but that just has been sticking about in my head right now: "the same power that let Christ rise from the dead." That's power. It's also what rose Lazarus. But it's also the power that kept Christ from giving into temptation. It also was the power that helped him love a prostitute, a tax collector, a pharisee, a betrayer. It helped him forgive those that hurt him, and let him love them. It let him touch a leper without fear.

So this power is part of my inheritance as Christ's child. So why is it that I have to pray constantly throughout the day to plead for the strength to keep from sinning? Didn't Jesus say we would see even greater things than those he had done? I have all that I need, now, to live in the power of Christ, but somehow I am missing it. I think part of it is I just forget. I forget my life does not have have to be one lived in some just-barely-not-defeated state. It can be lived in victory! Christ's power is not just something that maybe helps us to not sin most of the time, which is what I tend to settle for. It's something that should allow us to reflect the glory of God all the time!

It's good that it's not something I work myself up in. It's not something I can learn, or grow in. It's something I already have, and something that become more realized as I depend on God, and get to know Him better. Weird that dependence can be such a freeing thing.

Baby sitters club here I come

2005-11-04T15:13:00.000-05:00

So have you ever heard of the book series, "The Babysitters Club?" As a little preteen girl I idolized those girls, Claudia, Mary Anne, Dawn, Bridget and others... I even thought, in my ridiculous pre-teen logic, that it would be cool to have diabetes because one of them had diabetes! Insane, I know. So the Babysitters Club and Frodo the hobit shaped my impressionable mind during that crucial developmental stage.

I had an opportunity last night to relive that childhood dream, the dream of being the perfect, cool, fun babysitter. It all came down to one fateful moment. When the little boy I was watching, well known for the crazy things he tries (and sometimes succeeds) to convince his babysitters to let him do, apparently tried to pull the wool over yet another victim's eyes. I was on top of it, though. I knew it was coming, and hardened my gullible little heart to face the assault. So when, in his cute four year old little voice, he blithely announced, "I sleep in underwear now!" I laughed in his face and said, "No, you don't, that's silly!" Proud of how apt I had been to his childish attempts at babysitter ambush, it took me a minute to realize the not of confusion in his protests that he really was telling the truth. Then I remembered the pre-parent-departure-bedtime-ritual-tutorial, when his mother had clearly stated that he no longer needed to put on a pull up diaper prior to going to bed.

I felt horrible! Here was this sweet little boy proudly telling me he had fully graduated out of his pull-up days, and I laughed in his face! Ever since I have had nightmare-like flashes of this 20-something fearful and insecure little man sitting in front of his conselor, tearing up as he finally confessed that it all went back to the time his babysitter laughed in his face when he shared one of the greatest accomplishments of his toddlerhood. Alas, there was a reason I never was one of those esteemed members of the illustrious babysitters club (I mean, aside from the club being fictional). I am a failure! And I can't be like Frodo, either, I passed the requisite height long ago. Alas, so much for becoming my childhood heroes.

the inadequacy of Scripture

2005-10-31T11:18:00.000-05:00

Ok, you handful of SBTS-ers who visit my blog can stop gasping in shock now, I promise this post will not be heretical. At least not intentionally.

I've always given mental and verbal assent to the adequacy of Scripture for the Christian faith and life and all that. Well, always since becoming a Christian and becoming aware of the issue. But I realized recently (Friday of last week, actually) that while my mind and tongue agreed. My heart did not. Not always. When times are tough, when my faith and hope are lacking, Scripture is not very high on the list of the places I turn to first. Or even if I turn to it, it's to try usually somewhat futilely to find the one golden verse or passage that will speak to my present troubles.

So on Friday, as I found myself again lacking in faith and hope and joy, I found my self desiring very strongly to spend time in Scripture, studying the character and nature of my savior. And I stopped, stunned, realizing this was the first time I had ever responded that way. Usually I turn to a friend, then a book, maybe then to someone who has more of a mentoring role in my life, perhaps to my journal, prayer falls in there somewhere, maybe another friend or two, oh, and then Scripture, for the elusive golden verse. And the elusiveness of that one verse or passage that speaks to my exact situation and make it all better is what keeps Scripture last in the line of places I turn to for comfort.

It's hard though, sorting through all that stuff about God and Christ to try and find something that speaks to me.

That was sarcasm. But that was, often is, my attitude. How foolish! By looking to Christ, who He is, the maker and sustainer of all things, the one for whom all things were made, and the one who died for me and rose, first born from among the dead, who lives now, victorious over death and sin, even the sins that continue to plague me today. I become so self focused, I can't see beyond myself to see that I can be free of myself. Even the self that would see my problems as too big for God's words to speak to.

Free

2005-10-24T11:37:00.000-04:00

I had a great weekend. Not that anything special happened, really. In fact, I spent most of it at Sunergos coffee shop, reading, knitting, staring out the window, sipping coffee, talking to old friends and making new ones.

One of my favorite things about coffee shops (I mean, aside from the beverages) is that it's a great place to meet interesting people. This weekend I met a UofL grad student from Yemen. She's here studying art. She showed me some of her work. Wow. She's incredible. And she's working on a thesis project that is really interesting. But that's beside the point.

We had an interesting conversation about freedom. She has lived in Yemen, China, India, and now here, and has traveled to a number of other countries. I spend little time thinking about our freedoms in the U.S. but as she pointed out, they go so far beyond even the obvious ones of freedom of speech, expression and religion. However, it is interesting how with all the freedom we have, it's really often like a leash let out enough for us to hang ourselves on. Her first experience with American "freedom" was living in a UofL undergrad dorm. Coming from Yemen and from a Muslim family, it was quite shocking. One comment that really stuck out to me was that her mother used to call her an Arabic term that means a flower that has not yet budded. She said that no longer describes her very well after all she saw and heard there. The girls on her hall were as shocked by her as she was by them. They couldn't understand why she wouldn't take this opportunity out of the Middle East and away from her Muslim family to live freely (i.e. drink and have sex a lot). They couldn't understand that freedom also includes the freedom to choose soberness and sexual purity.

Another interesting example was from a freedom she truly appreciates. In Yemen (and from what other friends from there, most Middle Eastern countries) students are supposed to learn straight from the books and repeat exactly what it says. Thinking for one's self and expressing one's own thoughts and opinions are absolutely not permitted. But while she appreciates the freedom to express her thoughts, she has been surprised at how American students use that freedom to express disrespectful attitudes and ignorance.

It was interesting to hear her perspectives on how we use (or abuse) our freedoms, especially coming from someone who appreciates these freedoms far more than I ever could. And to see the mixture of appreciation and disgust she holds for America. I do take my freedom, both as an American and as a child of God, for granted. As Americans we are free in ways much of the rest of the world cannot imagine, and have the opportunity to use that freedom to do so much good, but instead we selfishly abuse that freedom to satisfy our laziness and our more fleshly desires. Worse, though, is what we do with our freedom in Christ, though. Hold on, I should be writing this in the first person. I have the freedom, purchased for me by Christ, to live a life better than I could have ever hoped for, but instead I so often choose fear and comfort instead. I have the freedom to become a better person than I could have dreamed of being, I have the freedom to allow Christ to transform me more into his likeness. But so often use the freedom grace has given me to become the worst version of myself.

As Americans we are set free from oppression, but have the choice to use that freedom to express what is good and worthy, or to express ourselves in ways that disgust and offend others. As Christians, we are free from slavery to sin and the law, and we can choose to operate within that freedom in such a way that we reflect the love and goodness of the one who set us free, or we can operate in such a way that others looking on will see nothing so very special or desirable in that freedom. While my Yemenese friend enjoyed some of the freedoms that she was allowed to participate in while in America, she did not hold any more respect for America than she did for Yemen, and didn't seem very sad that her time here was coming to an end. Freedom hasn't presented a very appealing face to her. How often do others look on Christians, look on me as a Christian, and find little to nothing to draw them? My freedom is so dearly purchased, it is good to be reminded not to take it for granted.

Things that go Bump in the night

2005-10-10T11:18:00.000-04:00

I had a weird morning. It all started around 1:30 am. I was sound asleep in my very comfy bed when suddenly my eyes popped open and I was wide awake. Not in the alarmed and tense due to a scary dream sense. No, I was awake with a calm certainty that someone was throwing a bouncy ball around my room. So I did the logical thing, I laid there for several minutes wondering who would be bouncing a ball around my room in the middle of the night. No names came to mind, so I finally looked around a little, didn't see anyone, noted that the clock read 1:23, and went back to sleep smiling because I still had hours before the alarm would go off.

And so I slept, dreaming I was on the island from Lost being chased by dinosaurs let loose by the Bush administration as some sort of ploy to secure their rule for many years to come. After hitting snooze multiple times because the dinosaurs told me to, I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the foot of it, and what did I find? No, not a bouncy ball. It was a bottle of lotion in the middle of the floor! I knew the lotion came from the book shelf several feet away. I stood staring at it for a while, wondering how it fell, and how it dot so much distance from that fall. Then I looked at the bookshelf. It was tilted, having fallen in the night and was propped on the books on the shelf below it. So I removed all the books, afraid the pressure would cause the next shelf to collapse if left all day. I neatly stacked all the books and went to remove the last one left on the shelf to find it was propping up the shelf above it! So that shelf collapsed on me, and trying to hold it with one arm, I gave up on my neat little stacks and started hurling books onto my bed.

So now I have a pile of books on my unmade bed, a stack of books on the floor by the bookshelf, and two very mischievous little shelves to restock when I get home. Geesh! What a way to start a monday! Oh, and I have to call the Ghostbusters because my room is clearly haunted.

Blast from the Past

2005-10-04T15:12:00.000-04:00

You know, that is such an over used phrase, really. Blast from the past, I mean. I wonder where it came from. Anyways...

A tribute to two great lyricists who so enriched my genration's collective childhood with there brilliant and unique way with words:

"The Log Song", from Ren & Stimpy

"What rolls down stairs alone or in pairs
Rolls over your neighbor's dog?
What's great for a snack and fits on your back?
It's Log, Log, Log!

It's Log, Log, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood.
It's Log, Log, it's better than bad, it's good!
Everyone wants a log! You're gonna love it, Log!
Come on and get your log! Everyone needs a Log!"

The Hangin' Song from Ren & Stimpy's "Out West"

C'mon everbody! Let's have a hoedown!

Oh, Lord loves a hangin'.
That's why He gave us necks.
It tightens up our vocal cords
And loosens up our pecs.

So if you are a horse theif
And guilty to the bone,
Go ahead and blame a friend
And you won't hang alone.

It may be hard to swaller,
But you'll be three feet taller.
It's a dandy way to entertain your friends.

You say you are a villain,
But can't abide by killin';
Go ahead a steal yourself a horse.

Oh, Lord loves a hangin'.
And so do we, by heck;
So get yerself a lasso
And decorate your neck.

Oh, we is awful ignorant
And uglier 'n sin;
So go ahead 'n cut us down
And hang us all again,

Hangin' that is. Swing a spell...

Geeks

2005-10-03T15:23:00.000-04:00

So, I think it's unfair that geeks get such a bad rap. I mean, there are a lot of good things to being a geek. Or being with a geek. I think, given the choice, I would definitely want to marry someone with some geeky qualities, if not a full fledged geek. That may sound odd, I mean, you don't see J-Lo or Meg Ryan falling head over heals for many skinny little four-eyed pocket protector wearing dudes in Hollywood's mass produced video tutorials on romantic love, now do you? But, really, geekiness is way under-rated.

So why would anyone want to be with a geek? well...

1. You could donate your dictionaries, thesaurus, and encyclopedia to Goodwill and free up some valuable book shelf space.

2. When suffering from insomnia, you could just strike up a good conversation about your favorite algorithms or neo-platonic philosopher. Instant cure!

3. Seriously, what girl really wants to be the smart one. I would much rather be with a man who could out think me than one I had to repeatedly explain things to to keep him up to speed.

4. There's just something endearing about geeks, especially those that aren't really aware that they are geeky, or suspect they might be and are a little self conscious about it.

5. If you have kids, all the why questions from that oh so endearing ten year phase could be redirected to good ol' geeky dad.

6. Hopefully he will be able to figure out the instructions on that assemble-yourself furniture from target! (and the electric can-opener. I never can figure those things out)

7. Live in tech support! Without the hold time and Muzak!

8. In the whole "2 become 1" way of thinking, your IQ gets a serious boost!

9. Now this is stereotyping a bit (and the rest of this isn't. Nope, not at all), but geeks usually aren't womanizers. Always a good thing.

10. Someone to balance the checkbook! Yes!

So, disclaimers: This is coming from a girl who is pretty sure she is a bit of a nerd, if not just plain geeky at times. I read history books for fun. I am a lost cause. And there are, of course, many other qualities that are as good and many better, such as godliness, manliness, integrity, wisdom, etc. But, well, where this really came from: I was doing an online jigsaw puzzle and one of the options was a cute picture of a geek with flowers labeled "geeky date." So, I started thinking, you know, geeks really are under rated. So, go geeks!

self centered

2005-10-03T11:13:00.000-04:00

I've been in this crazy funk for several weeks. No details in a public forum, but, well, I've mostly just been very down on myself and ovewhelmed by a number of issues that are always there, but sometimes more overwhelming than others.

I hate times like that. I hate feeling overwhelmed and trapped. When what has me down is me, with all my weaknesses and neuroses, then I'm stuck, since the one person I can't escape is me.

So finally I realized over the weekend that the problem is that I'm focussing on me, I'm totally self-centered! There are other problems, I'm just messed up in general, really, but what I forget is that that doesn't matter! Because that messed up person that drives me nuts has died/is dying in Christ. If I focus on my issues and trying to fix them, then of course I'm going to get down. But I can focus instead on Christ in whom my life now is, and find peace and joy. He defeated sin and death, he can handle the things that overwhelm me. When I focus on those old weaknesses of mine, they appear to be huge, I loose perspective and start to wonder if God can handle them. Silliness. When I focus on him, I not only stop doubting if he can handle them, I remember, it doesn't matter that much really whether I'm messed up or not, cause I'll leave it behind soon enough. Thank God!

Surprise Interview!

2005-09-28T18:43:00.000-04:00

Recently, out of the blue, I was contacted by the least expected individual imaginable! Not only has he never spoken with me before, he's long been reputed to not be able to speak at all! But now, after years of careful study, practice, and preparation, he has solicited my interviewing expertise to finally give him a voice!

Cheryl: Well! Welcome to my blog! This is such a pleasant surprise! I have heard about you, read stories of your daring escapades, your traumatic upbringing, and your loyal friendship to two fellow bloggers, but never have I heard you speak! Tigey, why have you stayed silent for so long?

Tigey: Well, Mademoiselle, eet ees seemply because I have been meesunderstood for so very long. You see, ma cherie, eet ees these, how does one say, these stupeed americans. Please, do not meesunderstand, I am quite, how does one say, fond of them, eespecially Monsieur Gilles, who has for so long provided me weeth lodging and food, and friendsheep, but, alas, I have come to zee end of zee rope. Il faut etre entendu. Oh, pardon, one must be heard.

Cheryl: But I don't understand. All these long years, surely Bobby must have realized you could speak?!?!?

Tigey: Mais, no, mademoiselle, zat ees zee problem, you see. I of course did try to communicate with zee american, mais, c'est impossible! Il ne comprend pas, he thinks eet ees just roaring! Seemply because I am a tiger! While I am, how does one say, fond of him, he ees quite discriminating! Seemply because zee rabit speaks thees most ridiculous form of Engleesh, he thinks, but of course, zee Rabit can speak! But seemply because zee anglophile does not speak le francais himself, il pense que, pardon, thinks that I can not speak! But of course I do! I speak zee most beautiful, zee most deestinguished... (elapses into a string of French that eludes the translators)

Cheryl: Um, Tigey?

Tigey: Ah, I digress, pardon. But of course, eet ees all because I am, how do you say, one who eats zee cow?

Cheryl: Eats zee cow?

Tigey: Oui, of course, zee cow, zee chicken, zee human...

Cheryl: Uh, carnivor?

Tigey: But of course. I am a carnivor, as you say. So theess american hears all my utterings in this, zeemost beautiful, disteenguished, perfect language, he hears zee roar!!!

Cheryl: Zee roar?

Tigey: Oui, zee roar, as tigers do, of course, (Roars loudly)

Cheryl: (short pause as she settles back into the chair she fell out of) Ah, yes, of course. Hmm. So then, you spoke only French, when did you start to learn English?

Tigey: Well, ma cherie, after all zee years, zee long years, with out a voice, I of course pick up an Engleesh phase here, a word there, but do I use them? No! Why should I, master of zee superior language, lower myself to this, this...

Cheryl: English?

Tigey: Oui! Exactement! C'est ridicule! But, finally, when at zee home of zee lovely Mademoiselle King, a lady with an apreciation for my home, her beutiful language, her grande culture! How I wished to stay! But with no way of expressing my true wishes! Rabby, as always, did zee talking, and I, I held zee tongue, and then back at zee home of zee anglophile, I broke. I couldn't take zee silence one moment longer. So I use zee anglophile's, how does one say, computer? Yes, I use this, I order such wonders as "french to engleesh in six weeks" and "in flight Engleesh." I study these for months, and now, at last, voila! Je suis ici!

Cheryl: Fabulous! And what made you choose this blog? Why not the anglo...uh, I mean Bobby? Or Rabby?

Tigey: They would not leesten! They could not understand! You at least appreciate my language, my struggle. So they will see me here, and they will know, thees the sacrifice I make to be heard, to be understood.

Cheryl: I see. So...um...where are you going?

Tigey: I am famished! There are people back there, no?

Cheryl: No! I mean yes, but no! Um, let me order you some pizza?

Tigey: Ah, yes, Pizza delivery garcon, yes, always salty, very good.

Cheryl: Um, I meant, I mean, um, ok, thanks for being on my blog today!

(follows after Tigey as he goes backstage...)

everything i ever needed to know...

2005-09-22T15:04:00.000-04:00

I learned from an 80's sitcom!

How to convince your parents your too sick to go to school-Punky Brewster

What to feed and how to disguise friendly extra-terrestrial visitors-Alf

How to get out of any tough situaltion with duct tape, toothpaste and a AA battery-McGyver

How to relate cross-culturally-Perfect Stangers

How to succeed at communal living-Full House

How to let pop-culture shape my values, beliefs and vocabulary-The Simpsons

How to dress appropriately for my specific expression of teen angst- Saved by the Bell

and ever so much more. 80's TV rocked!

Pain

2005-09-13T15:14:00.000-04:00

Some short and simple ponderings, as I am pressed for time, yet strangely feel compelled to post anyways.

A quote from Anna and the King: "If love were a choice, who would choose such exquisite pain?"
(it may not be word for word,but it's close, I promise).

What is this weird paradox that what we desire most (love) is what pains us most, and it is only through pain that our ability to truly love grows and stretches and more resembles the Perfect Lover (Christ)? The more I am hurt by those I love, and find a way to forgive that hurt through seeking God's grace to be able to do so, the more I find I am able to love, and to do so with more reckless abandon and less fear of pain. Why is it that this pain is not like physical pain? If I touch fire, I pull away, nurse my wounds, and keep a healthy distance from flames in the future, if I am sane. There is no merit in returning to the fire and this time holding my hand there longer. That is foolishness edging on insanity. But love is the opposite. Unless I would choose to harden my heart, smother it's passions until it finally suffocates and dies, I must go back to the fire and be burned again, and instead of debilitating wounds, I find my fear lessens and I even in a somewhat masochistic way I welcome the pain. For on the other side of pain in reconciliation, growth and joy, or even if this does not happen, there is at least the knowledge that I loved, and loved truly, and God is sovereign over the results. And so as love again requires pain, I find myself a little less hesitant to through myself into those flames, trusting in the miracle of God's grace to bring beauty from ashes.

depressingly inadequate

2005-09-12T15:16:00.000-04:00

So, I have discovered that I am seriously depressingly inadequate in several areas today.

Area number 1:
This friggin blog! Ok, I have for some time now realized and accepted that I am not a tecnological genius. However, I thought I was at least up to the basic maintenance of a blog. Alas, I am not. If you have visited here in the last week, you have probably noticed all the funky margin issues and that the side stuff (picture, etc) that usually in the upper right was way down in the lower right, and well, all was just funky looking. It's all better now, but I had to sacrifice some article links from an earlier post. Then I wander over to Nikki's blog and see that her link within a post to my blog is just "Cheryl," no http: stuff, nothing. Not fair. I spent ages (at least ten minutes trying to get my blog to do that. I think I got the F.M.V brand blog version or something. sigh.

Area number 2:
Helping people. I have talked to so many people in such difficult circumstances today, and was completely unable to do anything to help them! All I could do was listen and care, but I could do nothing to alleviate their suffering. I couldn't even hug most of them as I was talking to them over the phone. And all of them thanked me for my time, help, concern, and such. I wanted to yell "I didn't do anything! I can't do anything!" Which of course is not true, I can pray. Why is it that asking our All-Powerful Father to intervene feels like little more than nothing sometimes? Is it a lack of faith? I have no touble turning to God in prayer and trusting Him when it is my life I am praying over, but when it's strangers miles away...

So, inadequacy. Not pleasant.

tagged?

2005-09-09T15:12:00.000-04:00

ok, so i was tagged, which i think means that i need to post 5 things i miss about child hood?

1. no bills!

2. summers at the pool.

3. that the woods behing my house sould be the crime ridden streets of some God-forsaken city that I was policing, an enchanted forest filled with dragons and trolls, another planet, the rainforest, the jungle where the mankilling tiger was lurking just out of sight, and oh so many other things.

4. crawling through creeks catching those miniture lobster things that i was appauled to find some people actually eat!

5. roller skating to 80s music!

now i tag: Lorie King, Sarah Meador (who can just post on here since she's too stubborn to get a blog), Gilles, and Nikki

Bananas

2005-09-08T11:13:00.000-04:00

While visiting with a friend this past weekend I learned something that could change the way I grocery shop forever. I learned...

(dramatic pause)

that you can separate bananas from their bunches in the grocery store! I has always assumed that the only option was to buy the bananas in the bunches they were already in. I would spend several minutes searching for the bunch with the right number of bananas (which as a single chick, that means about three, and that's stink'n' hard to find!), and several times walked away banana-less and despairing that there was not a bunch that met my needs. And now I am left with the mixed feeling of joy in the freedom this knowledge will bring to my future banana-purchasing experiences and sorrow over all the unnecessary times I purchased more bananas than needed and let one or two go to waste or just gave up and went banana-less. Sigh.

So I felt I should share with all my faithful blog-viewers (all 3 or 4 of you, that is), so that your banana shopping would not be filled with unnecessary angst as mine was for so long.

:-)

things that happen on rainy days

2005-08-16T15:16:00.000-04:00

it's rainy today.

1. things and people get wet.

2. i become insanely fond of my bed

3. somewhere, someone sings "rain, rain, go away..."

4. i become more random and drink lots of tea

5. traffic is weird

ok, i'm out of ideas.

ode to my bed:
bed, sweet bed
give rest to my head
birth dreams from things i have read
and others have said
stay soft, til we meat again, sweet bed

i've got to get out of here.

The Phantom?

2005-08-15T11:28:00.000-04:00

Ok, so, due to the issues mentioned in my last post, I now have a new car! Well, the car is 5 years old, but it's new to me.

The whole world of car shopping, financing and such is just plain overwhelming. And then there's the insurance. I love that I couldn't get the car til I had insurance but couldn't get insurance til I had a car. Crazy people. And just a tip, Safe Auto is insane. Just so you know.

So I am now the proud, if initially reluctant, owner of a 2000 Honda Civic LX in a nice dark purple color which feature the most confusing CD/AM/FM system yet invented (the redeaming quality is the remote. Because using the remote is way more convenient than reaching two more inches to the panel).

So, because it is purple, it clearly needs a name. Not all cars merit names. My last car certainly didn't. But a purple car must have a name. But I need help, being the indecisive person I am.

So, the options so far:
The Phantom (named after the comic book hero, not the Andrew Lloyd Webber show)
The Grape
Pink
Norm/Stormin Norman (the last three letters of the licence are NRM)
Merl (short for Merlot, as it is wine colored)
Marvin (after the purple-uniformed Martian)

So, please pick your fave, or suggest something else. Thanks!

cars are evil

2005-08-10T11:13:00.000-04:00

Why is it everytime I finally get to where i feel like I have my finances under control (which in my life means I am paying off debt rather than incurring it), my car breaks. No joke, it happens ever single stinkin time! This time it's the breaks. So tonight I get to leave work early to find out how many limbs i will have to pawn inorder to be able to make it back to work tomorrow. I'm tempted to move someplace with a good public transportation system so I can kill the car. Maybe New York, or Boston, or Paris... (cause those are all affordable places to live, right?)

Were I computer and internet savvy I would pay for the brakes (hopefully brakes, not rotors) by developing a web site where you type in what noise your car is making it, and when it makes that noise, and it would tell you what is wrong with it and how much it'll cost to fix it. I googled for a while thinking there must surely already be a site like that out in cyber land comewhere, but, alas, there is not.

Cars are evil. I want a horse. Actually, two horses. Horses are either working or dead. no imbetween stages. And if I get a boy and girl horse, than they can replace themselves! Much better idea. What was Henry Ford thinking. Punk.

Not so light thoughts in the wee hours of the morning

2005-08-06T00:44:00.000-04:00

So it is very late. Well, that's relative. I'm writing at about 1am and that feels late as I had intended to go to bed around 11pm. Time slipped by and I really can't remember what filled it.

I've been pondering lately, and am thinking on now, how thin is the line that marks the end of sanity? I have talked with several dear, respected friends recently who seem to feel they are walking just a bit too close to that line. Have you ever been there? I don't mean this in a joking way at all. Have you ever felt out of control of your thoughts and feelings?

I know it sounds a bit odd to think you may be edging on insanity. But then look at Romans chapter 7. That comforts me and scares me at the same time. When I find my self unequal to the task of taming my own thoughts, it comforts me to know that one as great and Godly as Paul experienced the same thing, but it frightens me to know that this is to be expected. Perhaps I am always only a hair away from the edge of sanity and my sanest moments are the ones where I am most aware of this.

I know that clinically diagnosed insanity is in many ways much different from the out of control feelings that we find in the battle between flesh and spirit within us. Yet I was surprised to find, not too very long ago, that when that battle was at one of it's most fierce points in me (or perhaps I was just unusually aware of it's ferocity at the time), I recognized the feelings, the lack of control, the irrationality of my thoughts and emotions, not because I had seen them in Scripture, but because I had seen them in an insane person.

I used to be friends with a lady who was paranoid schizophrenic, and met many people with similar diagnoses through her. Her name was Karen. She would slip from apparent sanity to irrational fear and panic with no more notice than a quickly drawn breath. It was frightening to be around. I wanted to know how to love her and help her, but felt helpless at times. Well, most of the time really. I felt pity for her, and sometimes I felt disgust (I am ashamed of that). But I never felt empathy.

In the not too distant past I finally found some of the empathy I had not realized I missed. So sitting in a coffee shop, confused by my own pain, I finally realized that the person I had pitied and patronized had a soul and maybe caught just a glimpse of the hell that soul must live in. I was in a journaling/poetry writing mood, I find it the easiest way to get out thoughts that bog me down. It's very rough and unrevised (my apologies), but here is some of what I wrote:

II.
Do some questions end
when happiness is
a five minute break
from an endless roar

Where does joy go
when chaos controls
in fevered nights filled
with demons and tears

Where does joy come from
days the sun shines red
and fear without reason
clouds eyes and soul

What questions remain
when reality
fades from terror
and the world that it made

III.
I find it hard to form
words that communicate
and break through the walls
of your illness
compassion lodges itself
in my throat, unable to break
a great rock of pity
and something else
is it loathing?
what is this life you lead?
how do you do it?
wearing you wounds, your sin, your pain
on your sleeve for all to see
oh for your sake that you were normal like me

The more I stay
the more I want to leave
my heart grows cold
I can't connect, can't break through
the voices you hear that muddle your thoughts
building a wall
the world stays distant
it doesn't understand
or even try
at least I try
If only you were normal like me.

So it is late, and this is long. If you've made it this far I applaud you. But the thoughts that still bother me are these: Why is it so hard to connect with those who are hurting? Why is it so important for us to appear sane, to appear to be in control? Is it not the control, or the illusion of it, that drives many mad? When I study Scripture I find a model of surrender and not control. So why is surrender less appealing that the control that drives us mad? Perhaps we view Karen as an example of what happens when control is gone. I think I did. But when I was hurting the most and unable to express it because the fear of loosing control was stronger than the desire for relief, I found my self actually envying Karen. I think what was missing in Karen's lack of control was not the control we all tried to teach or medicate into her, but rather a lack of surrender. At the end of control for a Christian is God's love, strength and grace. But I think we often mistrust that, and secretly believe that if we let go no one else will be there to hold on. I don't know what that would look like in Karen's life. Perhaps not a restoration of sanity, but perhaps peace and less fear in the version of reality she lives in? I don't know. I think I have caught glimpses of what that type of surrender would mean in my life. I wish I would learn to dwell there.

I wish I had answers for my friends who are hurting, and for Karen and those around her; how to stop feeling dangerously close to madness; how to trade the craziness for peace. But may be the madness that we fear so much is a gift. Whatever leads us to the end of ourselves, so we give up control and find peace in surrender is a gift, right? So how do you help someone surrender? Or do you just hold their hand and pray until they finally reach the edge and no other option is left?

fun at Kroger

2005-07-07T15:15:00.000-04:00

So, i was at my friendly neighborhood Kroger last night. Always fun. But I left with two questions that still plague me, nearly a whole day later. And I rarely have Kroger visits that are eventful enough to remember a day later.

First, why does Edy's produce "Collector's Edition" ice cream? Who collects ice cream? That's disgusting. The whole purpose of ice cream is eating it. If you collect it it gets that nasty freezer burn fuzz on it. I just don't get. Do any of you collect ice cream? Maybe I'm just out of the loop on this one.

Puzzling event number two: I went to check out in the express self check lane, which has six self-check registers. I got there and there was a lady standing there waiting. Normal enough. But then I notice two empty registers. I tried to inconspicuously peer around her to see if maybe these registers were out of order, but they weren't! What does a girl do in that situation? Should I have gone to one of the registers, leaving her standing there confused and possibly offended? I wouldn't technically have been cutting in line, as there was another open register. Should I have said something and sounded impatient and possibly rude? I chose the wimpy route and just stood there till someone left and she went to open register number 3. Go figure. But the guy at the register next to the one I finally ended up at was cute, so it all worked out in the end.

okay, so it's been a while

2005-06-30T11:13:00.000-04:00

I'm back! I caved into peer pressure and I am posting again. So, what to write about.

To keep up my reputation as a random person, I'm going to share three entirely unrelated stories.

The first is telephone related. Don't you just hate dialing the wrong number? Especially when the person on the other end is irate, or else very elderly and a touch hearing impaired? I have wrong number incidents regularly since I have to make a lot of phone calls where I work. In spite of this, the most entertaining wrong-number experience of my still comparatively short life is from my high school years. My now sister-in-law was in immediate need of a good paper mache recipe ( I hate paper mache emergencies. They're the worst.) So, in recognition of my vastly superior internet surfing skills (and due to a lack of internet access on her part), she phoned me and pleaded for assistance. As this was in the days of dial-up access, I hung up with her and proceeded with my mission. In a fairly short amount of time I found a good recipe, printed it out on our good old dot-matrix printer (you know, the ones that used the paper with those lovely perforated edges?), and called back my friend in need. I got the answering machine and left a message with the recipe and quick version of the instructions and told her to call back if she had questions. Then I went back to the homework I had been working on and continued about my business for a while when something clicked in my head. My friend didn't have an answering machine! It still makes me laugh imagining the confusion of the person who pressed the "play" button on his answering machine and heard "ok, first you need a half cup of flour, add water till it forms a smooth, thick paste..."

Unrelated story #2. I had the funniest, craziest dream a few nights ago. It all started with the laundry. I had washed a load and pulled the brown shirt I had wanted to wear out of the dryer and found three large-ish bleach spots on it. So, as fate would have it I had to go with the hot pink shirt. I put it on and, suddenly, I transformed! I was a super-hero! And I knew instinctively that the other three people in the hall with me were evil bad guys, so I chased them down, til I got trapped in a room several stories up a tall building. I had no choice. I had to leap from the window and discovered I could fly! So I flew to New York (which is where all super heros are magnetically drawn. Even Batman. Everyone knows Metropolis was really just New York by another name). I used my super bad-guy detecting vision to target the bad guy headquarters and landed stealthy in the back (camouflaged in my hot pink attire). To sneak about without being detected I had to slip on a pair of fluffy puppy slippers. But the moment I slipped my feet in they came to life! They were evil trick slippers and my feet were caught in their clutches. The evil master mind slipped out from his hiding place, laughing his sinister laugh, and led me unwillingly to where he was about to unveil his dastardly plan to take over the world when...I woke up, in a very "to be continued" sudden kind of way.

Ok, so the third unrelated story was all about the concert I went to last night, but I'll do that later cause my break is over now. Sorry to leave you in suspense, but well,

TO BE CONTINUED.....

lessons learned

2005-05-20T11:27:00.000-04:00

in honor of the upcoming season finale for Alias, I thought I would post the important life lessons I've learned from the daring Sydney Bristow and friends:

1. Patronizing clubs supports organized crime.

2. when in need of a bad guy, go to a club.

3. Anything is possible with a good wig artist.

4. it is possible to do marshal arts in styletto healed boots

5. All evil masterminds deserve a second chance. and a third. and a fourth. and a fifth....

6. when discovering long-lost relatives, run a back ground check before getting too friendly.

7. Sporks, more useful than their appearance would suggest.

that's all for now.

refuting false and slanderous rumors

2005-05-16T15:42:00.000-04:00

i was sitting with a dear friend over coffee at Sunergos (http://www.sunergoscoffee.com/) the yesterday, when said friend passed on what has turned out to be a false and slanderous rumor! i was shocked, but realized that the friend had been deceived. i tried to clear the situation up, but felt the need to present evidence in defence of the inocent victim of the rumor.

http://www.adagio.com/info/caffeine.html

here is the evidence. green tea does infact have less caffeine than black tea. half the amount, actually. and so, Sarah, you may go back to your green tea drinking ways in peace. and shame on all those who spread such lies and so disrupted my dear friend's beverage life. shame, shame, shame.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BONO!

2005-05-10T11:16:00.000-04:00

Today's Bono's 45th Birthday!!!

Bono is one of my heros. He is a brilliant vocalist and song writer, which is how he gained fame, and while I do appreciate those talents ( I love U2's music), the way he has used that fame is what I truly find admirable. That, and how he has lived out his faith.

Early in his carreer, Bono and the other members of U2 decided to take an active role in campaigning for social justicw and peace in their own country (Ireland, which was in the middle of a viloent struggle between the British and the IRA and the Protestants and the Catholics), and the world. They played an active part in bringing peace to Northern Ireland and in seeking to relive third world debt. While they were busy about these honorable activities, obeying Christ by being peacemakers and caring for the widows, orphans, and such, much the Evangelical Church sat back and pondered whether men who make that kind of music, dress like they do, occasionally drink, smoke and cuss, and, worst of all, refuse to cater to the CCM world, could possibly be Christians. Praise God for believers like Bono.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday, from the War album, is one of their first and most well known social-activist type songs. It is a play on two Sundays, one in January of 1972 when British troops opened fire on a Catholic protest march that the British deemed illegal, killing 13 unarmed protestors, 6 of whom were 17 years old, and the Sunday that Christ rose from the grave.

I can't believe the news today,
I can't close my eyes an make it go away.
How long, how long must we sing this song?
How long? Tonight we can be as one.
Broken bottles under children's feet,
Body's strewn across a dead end street,
But I won't heed the battle call,
It puts my back up, puts my back up against the wall.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.

And the battle's just begun,
There's many lost, but tell me who has won?
The trenches dug within aur hearts,
And mother's children, brothers, sisters torn apart.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.
How long, how long must we sing this song?
How long? Tonight we can be as one.
Tonight, tonight.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday.

And it's true we are immune,
When fact is fiction and T.V. is reality,
And today the million cry,
We eat and drink while tomorrow they die.
The real battle just begun.
To claim the victory Jesus won,
On a Sunday, Bloody Sunday,
Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Happy Birthday, Bono!

weird sayings and their origins

2005-04-22T15:21:00.000-04:00

as my fellow workers and i casually pelted each other with paper wads to pass the time, i began to think of funny sayings. such as "wait with bated breath," or "throw the baby out with the bath water," or water under the bridge," and others. where do they come from? who first coined these sometimes odd phrases that we use and then wonder, "what does that really mean anyways?" do you all have weird phrases that you wonder about? (maybe this could become a contest: weirdest commonly-used phrase and best explanation for it's origin)

p.s. i'm not running spell check. i'm not in the mood for it. so have fun mocking my typos.

wild dreams

2005-04-18T13:29:00.000-04:00

i have a bit of a history of having rather crazy dreams. however, these are normally few and far between (and the weirdest ones were while i was on pain killers post-car accident). but lately i've been having a crazy dream every night. several of them almost qualify as nightmares. there aren't really any reocurring themes. i'm in all of them. oh, and the reappearing giant grey dog is there, too. last night i got mugged, then they found my home and it became quite the ordeal. in another one i was married to a homicidal psychopath, and there were a lot of poisonous snakes. i was trying to save a grey hound from the snakes. in yet another dream i was attacked by a giant Irish Wolfhound. so, are there any dream interpreters out there? or people who know the secret to dreamless sleep? i'm starting to get a bit weirded out by it all.

or if you would just like to share your own weird dreams, go for it.

Benito Juarez revisited

2005-04-15T13:30:00.000-04:00

so...remember that contest that was on hear about a month ago? yeah, so i'm finally announcing the winners. while Bobby's entry was by far the most creative, he forfeits for threatening violence (all threats of bodily or psychological harm are banned from this blog, at least for today). so Lorie, with her factual and informative entry wins (drum role) ..........a drink at Java (where, conveniently enough, we will both be hanging out tonight).

(applause)

random funny thing: spell check thinks that Lorie's name is Loire and Bobby's name is bobbies.

lost?

2005-04-11T13:03:00.000-04:00

i have a bit of a tendency to get lost. i like to blame my A.D.D./dyslexia issues. i'm told that some people just develop these mental maps of places. i don't get the tangible maps, so i have no hope of ever developing any kind of mental map. sounds suspicious to me, anyways. a little too e.s.p.-ish.

i am fairly at peace with my directionally challenged status. or at least i was. until Bobby came along (yes, Bobby, this post is about you). i believe Bobby has e.s.p. or something. it's scary at times (example: i don't remember ever mentioning to him that i love garden gnomes, but he knew, somehow. weird). so while i was away in Paris, Bobby, the owner of a blog entitled "Jive to the Monkey," posted his version of my trip, which involved me getting lost in the streets of Paris and loosing my shoes. i had never told the boy that i get lost often, and until this very moment, never let him know that i am a chronic shoe-looser as well. very, very weird. so, while i didn't get lost in Paris, i was still a little disturbed by the post. and when i finally asked him how he knew about my direction problems, he said he just assumed it as it went with my character!?!?!?! hmph. i don't think that was a compliment.

so on Saturday, our friend, Nikki Tatom, the brilliantly talented singer/songwriter/guitarist/blogger/nanny girl, had a show at Java in Prospect. I had never been to Java in Prospect and was a little concerned about finding my way there. so i Yahoo-ed up some directions, printed them out, left them by my desk in my room, and took off. fortunately the directions were simple, so i found my way there on the first try even though i forgot to bring my print-outs along. i was feeling quite relieved an rather proud of myself when i pulled into my parking spot with a few minutes to spare, and was looking forward to rubbing it in to Mr. lostness-is-part-of-your-character. however, as i toured the building and patio, i was saddened to discover Bobby was not there. so the show started, and i was relaxing to a Patty Griffin cover, sipping my Mango Tea when who should call but a lost Mr. Gilles (spanish accent, a.k.a Bobby). and why did he call? to get directions! from me! he was lost!

now in his defense, his map quest directions were a little off. however, it still doesn't explain the turn around at Mall St. Matthews or how he ended up at the Summit. i am smiling gleefully as i write this. poor Bobby. he had quite the adventure. i think he subconsciously just really wanted to go shopping, however, is there the slightest little possibility, that, (dare i say it?) lostness is part of his character?

the birds of Paris

2005-03-28T22:30:00.000-05:00

not to be confused with birds of paradise, which are not birds, but flowers.

these photos are dedicated to the goose who attacked me this morning.

2005-03-28T22:27:00.001-05:00

2005-03-28T22:27:00.000-05:00

2005-03-28T22:23:00.001-05:00

2005-03-28T22:23:00.000-05:00

2005-03-28T22:22:00.000-05:00

2005-03-28T22:18:00.000-05:00

the psychotic, giant-grape-nut-spitting tree

2005-03-24T13:15:00.000-05:00

i live in a condominium complex. in such places, landscaping is not left to the whims of the residents. no, it is forced upon them. sometimes this is a good thing (like the bulb-type plants recently planted in front of my condo. i await with eager anticipation their blooming. it'll be a nice surprise to see what they are). other times it is a terrible, tragic thing. such is the case when it comes to the psychotic, giant-grape-nut-spitting tree. i have no idea what kind of tree it really is, though i think it is a lose relative of the Womping Willow of Harry Potter fame, so, in the absence of a title which i can curse, i named it myself. and it is a very fitting name, if i do say so myself (and i do!). you see, this crazy, leaf-covered, rather comic specimen of overgrown vegetation likes to spit things, particularly on our front steps and whichever poor car is left parked beneath for any length of time exceeding ten minutes.

in the summer it spits brownish-yellow chunks of something. if left on the car or step's surface for more than a few seconds, these nameless globs stain said surface for an indefinite length of time. the stains' color strongly resembles the contents of a number of diapers i've had the joy of changing. it also spits sticks. not just an occasional little stick. no, it spits out a continuous flow of sticks and branches large enough to arise a very real concern for the safety of my windshield and head. odd as this is, the shape and condition of the sticks/branches is even more disconcerting. i've found several branch chunks that clearly came from the middle of a branch. now where did the rest of the branch go to? it had to go somewhere!

in the fall it spits leaves. this is normal. but the volume of leaves that it spits out and length of time in which it does this is simply unreal! there is a constant flow of leaves from mid september to early december! oh, and it spits sticks.

in the winter it spits sticks.

these were the only three season's i'd spent with this tree. until this week. in honor of the first week of spring (how the tree knew it was the first week of spring is a mystery. i think it eave-drops on me as it is right outside my bedroom window), the tree found yet another thing to spit on my car!!!! it started yesterday. i stepped out the door, headed for my car on my way to work, and stopped dead in my tracks, mouth hanging wide open in shock. and then i started laughing. loudly. my neighbors must have thought i was a bit nuts. but i wasn't. my car was. that is, it was covered in grape nuts! ok, i'm sure they are not really grape nuts. but they look just like grape nuts, only larger. my car was plastered with them! so what could i do, but laugh, and drive to work, feeling very conspicuous as i left a giant trail of grapenuts behind me (very Hansel and Gretle-esque, don't you think?

oh, and it still spits sticks.

songs and poetry

2005-03-22T11:21:00.000-05:00

so i've always enjoyed writing, especially short fiction and poetry. i went through a five year dry spell that i blame on college and the four hundred jobs i worked to get through it, but i am rediscovering the joy of writing for fun and not a grade. i am contemplating sharing stuff on here, so there may be a poem that might be a song later today. i've never tried turning my poems into songs before, but i was feeling inspired by my disgustingly talented friends a few days ago. but, for now, no poem, just a question. do any of you ever struggle to share what you wrote with people? i initially get scared. what if i'm deceived, and it really is complete rubbish, and now everyone knows that i write rubbish? or maybe it will reveal too much about me, and people will get a little peak at my soul and walk away, shaking their heads and muttering, "she's weird." and why is it that i can write all of this without fear, but something i invested time and myself into, that's scary? maybe my question answered itself.

so stay tuned for a moment of courage or stupidity and perhaps a poem/song, too.

Part 2

(look, Lorie, i capitalized something!)

i decided to share this. i have some other stuff that i may share later, but needs some more revision, and requires a story to explain it, or else i sound insane or depressed. so, the poem (might become a song) that follows, well, it's really unusual for me. i usually don't write about me, but lately i've found myself using my writing to think through what's going on in my head/soul. that's where this came from. it was a prayer that took the form of a poem as i wrote it.

mustard seed prayer
when my faith's too small
to aspire to be a mustard seed
rescue me from my unbelief

overpower this wrestling soul
plunge it in your suffering
hold it down til my desires
drown and wash away
and raise me up to new life in you

when my faith's too small
to aspire to be a mustard seed
rescue me from my unbelief

take the bricks i use
to build these walls i hide behind
when i run, Lord shackle me
to the cross where you died
help me die and find my life in you

help to find joy
in the sharing of your pain
teach me how to trust
when you lead me through the valley again
take my hand when i can't see
the path that you lead me on
and when i'm weak, teach me how
to know that you are strong

when my faith's too small
to aspire to be a mustard seed
rescue me from my unbelief

the mustard seed image strikes me as being a little over used. but i saw one in a necklace the other day, and it's been in my mind for a while, and just sort of came out.

happy Benito Juarez day!

2005-03-21T11:25:00.000-05:00

so today is Benito Juarez' birthday. who is Benito Juarez, you ask? exactly. that's the subject of the first-ever contest on cheryl's blog. (and the crowd cheers). Benito Juarez has been lurking just below my key-board's left control key for twenty one days now, haunting my thoughts, tempting my curiosity. so now, on the day of his birth, i challenge you to, 1. find out who he is, 2. explain why his birthday is a cause of celebration, and 3. present a convincingly appropriate method for celebrating said day. the winner (adequate explaination of who he is, why he is celebrated, and most appropriate celebration suggestion) will receive...drum role....something. it's a surprise (even to me at this point). but the winner will be announced on here tomorrow some time, and the prize awarded at Sojourn, in the back, no press, but i might take your picture if i'm in a picture taking mood (sorry, if you are outside Louisville, you get my admiration and public recognition, but that's it. i don't snail mail.)

so go. i eagerly await your contest entries.

the increasingly violent geese invasion

2005-03-18T11:20:00.000-05:00

over the last eight months or so at my current place of employment, i've observed a few odd little idiosyncrasies. one is that climate control is way out of wack. who runs the air conditioning in january? (excluding Australians and other southern hemisphere dwellers). one day it was so cold that i was convinced i could see my breath. i frequently shiver, and am waiting for the day that my fingers become so frozen that one or more of them snap off. i will inform you the moment it happens, as i will not be in pain, due to cold-induced numbness, though there may be some typos.

there have been some odd occurrences of microwave theft, gold-gilded coffee pots, and mandatory cookie-exchanges. all a little unusual, but nothing to write home (or on one's blog) about. oh, but just wait, it gets worse. i have not yet mentioned the geese.

geese, you may wonder, what do geese have to do with a padded-cubicalized-office environment? (ever wonder about the purpose of the padding on those things?) normally, nothing, unless said environment was devorated in the early eighties and has goose-speckled wall paper in the rest room. but no, ladies and gents. i refer to real, live in the feather, geese. about thirty of them. which is random, amusing, cute, only occasionally annoying when they stand in the road where i need to drive. you see, these geese patrol the grounds in the coorporate plaza out here in good old Lyndon. and they are no longer cute, and have gone far beyond annoying. they are nesting. which sounds like a nice, homey, docile thing to do. and for the girl geese, it is. but the male geese turn evil. perhaps it's understandable to an extent. i've met a few harried husbands of pregnant women before. there are hormones and physical issues to account for. but the husband geese are currently in attack mode. one patrols the front door of our building, waiting for some fool employee to try to escape, or get in on time. others roam the parking lots, waiting for an unsuspecting soul to get out of his/her car. then they take chase, hissing and honking like mad men (geese).

the best tactic is to approach in groups, hanging out til two or three others are approaching the goose-zone, then subtly join in the conversation, working your way to the back center of the group. it's the ones in front or the sides that get it first. and while the geese are preoccupied chasing your unsuspecting decoys, make a run for it. if there are no likely groups at hand, it works to wait until another fellow employee crosses the goose zone first. this can be done by pretending to have issue with a purse clasp, shoe lace, or jacket zipper/button. then, wait til you see the goose' attention engaged, then make a run for it, shouting back your sympathies at you ambushed coworker once you have successfully reached the edge of the goose-zone.

at least we know we're safe from burglars.

reflections on stir sticks

2005-03-17T11:22:00.000-05:00

have you ever wondered who invented the stir stick? you know, those tiny plastic sticks that look like someone washed a straw at the wrong temperature then tumble-dried it, felt the need to find a use for the pathetic shrunken thing, and called it a stir stick? what inspired that person? had they spent too much time stirring the thick mass left at the bottom of an almost-gone milk shake with their straw and thought, "hey, what's good for a milk shake is good for coffee!" whatever that thought was that popped into their head right before they jumped up, invented and patented the stir stick, i disagree whole-heartedly with it. perhaps it is not necessary to use a spoon every time one stirs a drink, but at least we could learn from the spoon, the stirring utensil of choice for several centuries now, and realize that a useful quality in any stirring utensil is flatness, and also a little bit of width. i won't go into the technical reasons of why this is useful, it will be too tedious to write out. use your imagination, visualize the difference it would make to have a tiny round stirring utensil rather than a flat utensil with a reasonable width. it makes quite a difference, really.

it saddens me, as i sit at my desk, with growing frustration, attempting to adequately stir my creamer in to my coffee with a silly little round straw, knowing that somewhere, surely on an exotic beach sipping a fruity drink, sits the man (or woman) who invented and patented that stick, profiting from my suffering. the world is a cruel, cruel place.

wow! that was easy!

2005-03-16T15:11:00.000-05:00

hey there! welcome to my blog! i have been procrastinating starting this thing for a while now. i was convinced that, like all things technological, this would be tedious and painful and take at least three tries before it actually succeeded. however, this was surprisingly easy, and i am now the proud owner of a blog (excuse me while my eyes fog up with those tears of joy and pride).

ok, i'm alright now. so, i'm sure you are all wondering, "where did that creative genius come up with her blog title?" (that was sarcasm). i felt intimidated by my friends' blog titles and chose to go the simple route. however, hopefully the rest of my bolg will not be quite as mundane as it's title.

so, what will cheryl's blog be like? well, first of all, you will find that cheryl rarely capitalizes anything, much to the chagrin of certain friends. also, cheryl is random. so it is unlikely that there will much of a regular format. and cheryl likes feedback, so many of her posts will most likely be questions eliciting response. eventually there will be pictures, stories, random polls, and possibly even games and contests. i hope you will visit often and participate!

p.s. random thought for this post: did you know that the blog spellchecker picks up "blog" as mis-spelled and suggests "bloc" as a replacement? it's sad that even the blog does not recognize "blog" as a real word.