THE PERFECT FRIDAY NIGHT DATE
It was one of those Friday nights that Lance and I had planned to go out to "a dinner and a movie", but that's not quite what happened. After teaching my class, I got comfy in my standard yoga pants and some insipid shirt. When Lance came home, he asked if I wanted to go out on the deck first. It was one of those nights where we kept asking each other, "Where do you want to eat?" He would suggest someplace and I said,"No, I had that for lunch." I would say, "How about bar-b-que?" and he said that he wasn't in the mood. This exchange went on for several rounds. Usually when that happens, it means that neither of us are all that hungry.
We both ended up at the railing of our deck and, for no apparent reason, I leaned over the deck and spit. Lance was taken back and said, "In our 26 years of marriage, I have never seen you spit."
So what ensued next was something so juvenile, so infantile, so ridiculous...We had a spitting contest!
I spit again and then Lance spit. I spit; he spit. Then Lance began rating the spew. He deemed me the "shotgun" because I got it everywhere. Lance then became known as the "sharp shooter" because he had a direct target and hit it.
Then it happened, he accused my spitting as inferior. I came back with that I should not be judged by his expectations. I pointed out that people are created differently, how we "shotgun spitters" need love too. Everyone needs to be tolerant. The world is not made up of just "sharp shooters". The world is big enough for both kinds of spitters and that God loves us all.
After I chastised him for his lack of political correctness in including all spitters as one family, we got in the car to find a place to eat. Since I didn't want to change from my junk clothes, I thought we'd go through a drive-through, but "Mr. Sharp Shooter" talked me into going into Teresa's. "Come on," he said, "It's Friday night, we won't see anyone there."
As we entered the door, I immediately saw half of TrueNorth in there. No one said anything about my tacky yoga pants; I think they were looking at my still-wet spit on the front of my shirt.
You may be thinking that maybe I need a hobby, but you see, one of my hobbies is having a blast with Lance on Friday nights. And other than the SPIT HAPPENS JUDGMENT, it was a perfect date.
Until next post,
Mama Chick
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
REFLECTIONS FROM MAMA CHICK
Yesterday was an interesting day, in history and in my life. It was the 5th year anniversary of Sept. 11. Lance and I were talking about why it is that a 5th, 10th or 20th...anniversary seems poignant. It just seemed to us that we reacted with more indepth thought than say the 2nd, 3rd or 4th year anniversary of 9/11. We watched news clips, T.V. shows and read magazine articles like the attacks had just happened.
I delved into the survivor's "how life goes on" stories. I wanted to know how everyone was doing. Part of the raw emotion was gone, but there were "forever" tears in their eyes as they talked of how to live as a survivor of the unthinkable.
To me, the question of this generation is, "Where were you on Sept. 11, 2001?" This reminded me of an earlier question of "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" or just as stopping as the discussion of the Depression that my grandparents talked about. These are telling statements of deep emotions that people must face.
I call these "earthquake moments" where the ground shakes beneath us and we don't even know if we are going to survive. Many of us have had personal ground upheavals with a death of a loved one, a divorce, a betrayal or a diagnosis.
My personal pivot that stopped my world always struts its stuff this time of year. Twelve years ago in September, I was minding my own business when I went to the doctor for a routine blood test and within a day, my world had changed. I found out that I had leukemia. After trying to take such news in, and telling my children and family, I went through many gyrations such as totally falling apart to forming a plan to have hope to nightmares to delving into my faith, I began a new starting point on which to measure life. I have many stories about how I faced cancer; those might be other blogs later. It's just that September is when I was diagnosed and September is when the terrorist attacks happened and so they seem to be a combined reflection.
Deep emotional reflection is what I saw on the faces of the survivors of 9/11. Yes, they had continued with their lives and they had questioned why and had raised
their children and had even learned to laugh again, but their moist eyes told a story that would never be forgotten. By their deep sighs, I knew that this incident would only be a gulp away from tears.
I am teary as I write this. Is it because of cancer or terrorist attack? What I think is that I'm teary over how God envelopes us at our lowest and gives us hope and hope and hope again.
Hope is my favorite word. If anyone reading this ever finds themselves needing hope, I'd like to be the friend that walks you to the place of having our Father hold you and sway you and keep you in a blanket of hope until you are comforted.
Until next time,
Mama Chick
Yesterday was an interesting day, in history and in my life. It was the 5th year anniversary of Sept. 11. Lance and I were talking about why it is that a 5th, 10th or 20th...anniversary seems poignant. It just seemed to us that we reacted with more indepth thought than say the 2nd, 3rd or 4th year anniversary of 9/11. We watched news clips, T.V. shows and read magazine articles like the attacks had just happened.
I delved into the survivor's "how life goes on" stories. I wanted to know how everyone was doing. Part of the raw emotion was gone, but there were "forever" tears in their eyes as they talked of how to live as a survivor of the unthinkable.
To me, the question of this generation is, "Where were you on Sept. 11, 2001?" This reminded me of an earlier question of "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" or just as stopping as the discussion of the Depression that my grandparents talked about. These are telling statements of deep emotions that people must face.
I call these "earthquake moments" where the ground shakes beneath us and we don't even know if we are going to survive. Many of us have had personal ground upheavals with a death of a loved one, a divorce, a betrayal or a diagnosis.
My personal pivot that stopped my world always struts its stuff this time of year. Twelve years ago in September, I was minding my own business when I went to the doctor for a routine blood test and within a day, my world had changed. I found out that I had leukemia. After trying to take such news in, and telling my children and family, I went through many gyrations such as totally falling apart to forming a plan to have hope to nightmares to delving into my faith, I began a new starting point on which to measure life. I have many stories about how I faced cancer; those might be other blogs later. It's just that September is when I was diagnosed and September is when the terrorist attacks happened and so they seem to be a combined reflection.
Deep emotional reflection is what I saw on the faces of the survivors of 9/11. Yes, they had continued with their lives and they had questioned why and had raised
their children and had even learned to laugh again, but their moist eyes told a story that would never be forgotten. By their deep sighs, I knew that this incident would only be a gulp away from tears.
I am teary as I write this. Is it because of cancer or terrorist attack? What I think is that I'm teary over how God envelopes us at our lowest and gives us hope and hope and hope again.
Hope is my favorite word. If anyone reading this ever finds themselves needing hope, I'd like to be the friend that walks you to the place of having our Father hold you and sway you and keep you in a blanket of hope until you are comforted.
Until next time,
Mama Chick
Sunday, September 03, 2006
BLOG BITE
Now that I have a blog, I tend to look and edit everything I do to see if I could use it for a blog bite to write about. So for awhile, I'm afraid that my blogs could be boring because contemplating isn't that visual. Since I'm reevaluating my life, I don't even remember what it is that I do anymore. I used to like to sing folk songs and change the words of The House of the Rising Sun to the words of Amazing Grace, but no one has done that since the 70's and I doubt that TNC will restart that one up. I continue to dart around and do too many things a little too fast, but I think that Kiefer Sutherland has that wrapped up in the series 24. So, I guess that idle chatter will have to suffice.
This week I am dog-sitting a black terrier-type dog named Maddie. Don't get that confused with Mattie, my black terrier-type dog. Earlier this week, I convinced Lance to help clean out the garage. He sold his apartment business over two years ago and all his tools ended up in the garage. Since our back door (by the garage) is the only one we use, I just thought that we should make a path. I don't think our journey team has ever seen us with a clean garage. It's usually like "hi"...(kick a rake)...and "how are you"...(fall over a wheelbarrow) or "you look so good"...(knock head on sports equipment) or "let me help you with that" (as I slide into home base on the painting drip cloth.)
So, I guess that's it this week in blogworld--contemplation, dogsitting, and garage cleaning. Or maybe I could talk lance into painting my toenails for me.
Until next time,
mamachick
Now that I have a blog, I tend to look and edit everything I do to see if I could use it for a blog bite to write about. So for awhile, I'm afraid that my blogs could be boring because contemplating isn't that visual. Since I'm reevaluating my life, I don't even remember what it is that I do anymore. I used to like to sing folk songs and change the words of The House of the Rising Sun to the words of Amazing Grace, but no one has done that since the 70's and I doubt that TNC will restart that one up. I continue to dart around and do too many things a little too fast, but I think that Kiefer Sutherland has that wrapped up in the series 24. So, I guess that idle chatter will have to suffice.
This week I am dog-sitting a black terrier-type dog named Maddie. Don't get that confused with Mattie, my black terrier-type dog. Earlier this week, I convinced Lance to help clean out the garage. He sold his apartment business over two years ago and all his tools ended up in the garage. Since our back door (by the garage) is the only one we use, I just thought that we should make a path. I don't think our journey team has ever seen us with a clean garage. It's usually like "hi"...(kick a rake)...and "how are you"...(fall over a wheelbarrow) or "you look so good"...(knock head on sports equipment) or "let me help you with that" (as I slide into home base on the painting drip cloth.)
So, I guess that's it this week in blogworld--contemplation, dogsitting, and garage cleaning. Or maybe I could talk lance into painting my toenails for me.
Until next time,
mamachick
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