I’m priding myself in creating a grocery list that screams ‘anal-retentive’.  
Should one be concerned for my [mental] health?

vegetables
Within my spreadsheet, there are color-coded sub-categories for each food group, which is comprised of items that I’ll use in the meal plan on Tab 2.
The next column provides an estimate of each individual item.
Upon calculating the total, I realized it’s far too much; I revised my meal plan and items more reasonably and headed off to purchase said items.

If this isn’t silly enough, I, upon awaking and brewing my coffee this morning, went to my list to see what I had scheduled to make for breakfast. I followed my meal plan.

It’s nice to have a plan, yes? I think I need therapy.


I awoke Saturday morning to find this:

Day one of falling trees

Day one of falling trees

And Sunday after church, I was greeted by this:

Day Two.

Day two of falling trees

Whether it is cockroaches taking over the house or falling limbs (not mine, thankfully) that barricade my doorway, I can rest assured that my life will never be dull.

All thanks goes to my dear friend, Alex, and my next-door neighbor who conveniently was outside with his chainsaw. We chopped up these lovely branches and threw them on the curb in five minutes flat.

This type of occurrence is no shock to me as 2009 has been the most random of years – particularly as it relates to [me +] freak accidents. See exhibit A.

Exhibit A:
January 16, 2009 – I got mugged
April 25, 2009 – I stepped off a curb and sprained my ankle
May 16, 2009 – cockroaches!
Intruders!
June 6/7, 2009 – tree limbs galore!

Welcome to the randomness of my life, where every day is an adventure and every story becomes a blog. Eventually. I think I’ll live in a padded room or duct tape myself with a roll of bubble wrap to avoid further catastrophes.


Intrusion

18May09

A Saturday night of the most peculiar sort recently occurred as an Intruder entered my bedroom with his dark covering and quick maneuvers.  Screaming, I nearly dropped the phone while conversing with a Californian friend. He scurried across the top of my ceiling and then jumped onto my bed!

How grotesque he looked as he came towards me with his little antennae and eight legs. He jumped onto my floor, while I stood on top of a chair holding a black cowboy boot and a dustpan. I made several attempts to smash him with my dustpan. Alas, he made it safely underneath my dresser without a single hit. 

Standing on top of my chair

Standing on top of my chair

I hate! Nay, I LOATHE cockroaches. Nothing makes me shudder or so quickly nauseated as these little vermin do. And this Intruder was the largest I have ever encountered [at least three inches long]!

While standing on my chair, I shook the dresser. I kicked it. I even tried to bribe the little devil with a morsel of toast [with honey]. I hoped it would come out and lay there allowing me to kill it so I may merrily go to bed shortly after changing the sheets that were violated by his mere presence.

I watched. I waited. I stood on top of this chair for more than one hour [but less than three]! I tweeted multiple times and even called my brother – hoping for someone to rescue a damsel in distress. Apparently everyone was sleeping.

There was one knight who came to attempt my freedom. Sir Gathings came with a flashlight and a flyswatter. He moved back the dresser, but found no cockroach. This was very disheartening to me as I had spent a great deal of time staring at the dresser waiting for it to come out. We even checked a number of places around the house, but to no avail.

Patrick to the rescue

Patrick to the rescue

He left and I scratched my head in confusion. Still nauseated and missing a half-night’s sleep at this point, I wondered how I would overcome the paranoia and go to bed. Since every little tickle or brush of something across my foot made me jump, sleep seemed like an impossible feat.

Two days have passed. I have not forgotten about this Intruder and have been a wee bit frustrated that we couldn’t find him.

That was… until about an hour ago when I stepped into the shower and screamed, jumping out just as quickly. Lo! I fouuuuund him! He was on his back – right in the center of my bathtub. Seeing him unable to flip over because of the water, I giggled. I had waited for this moment for two whole days! I turned the water off and on, smiling all the time. Finally I watched as he went alllll the way down the drain to meet his death. Ah, the satisfaction that came with watching him squirm and then disappear!

It was well worth the wait to see this Intruder meet his fate!


The lark is up to meet the sun,
The Bee is on the wing;
The ant its labor has be-gun,
The woods with music ring.
Shall birds, and bees, and ants, be wise,
While I my mo-ments waste?
Oh let me with the morn-ing rise,
And to my du-ty haste.

William Holmes McGuffey, McGuffey’s Eclectic Primer, newly rev., lesson 81, p. 84 (1849).


With long blonde hair, a twirling skirt and bright pink nail polish, I began performing at four years old. Standing on my stage, err, fireplace, I sang loudly to my audience of teddy bears and bunny rabbits and put on quite a show for being such a shy child!

Using the infamous brown plastic Fisher Price™ tape recorder, my brother, sister, and I often sang made-up songs and sent them to my grandparents living in Omaha, Nebraska. We frequently hid the tape recorder in a brown cupboard while cleverly recording ridiculous conversations at the dinner table. [Hello, blackmail!]

My sister, Melissa, was extremely bossy [typical of the eldest], I was the whiny middle child, and my little brother, Justin, was the cute little fart who couldn’t say his “R’s”. My parents were really into 80s rock’n roll. My dad had a long permed mullet, and so did my mom, I think. My parents were very musical, and as far back as I can remember, so were we. My brother used the same fireplace [that was my stage] to jump off with his “danna danna” which was his yellow and white guitar. He had long hair then, too; and he used to head-bang when playing along to Stryper or Mylon LeFevre & Broken Heart!

Fast forward twenty years.

I look at my family today and the musical dreams stirring; I can’t help but be proud. My mom and dad both play and sing regularly and perform at local Opries in the Dallas area. Melissa has recorded on several albums in English and Spanish and co-leads worship in one of the fastest growing churches in the country. Justin deserves a paragraph all for himself: Playing in nearly a dozen countries just since the beginning of 2009, his talent increases just as his opportunities for national and international exposure increase. I’ve never seen someone have the chance to do what he does at age 22.

And I am just beginning to really figure myself out musically. With so much change and rebirth in the last year, it’s like a discovery each day as my voice heals and is stronger [and my heart as well]. With a new sound and a new story, I use music more now as a means to communicate myself than I ever thought possible before. I ache if I cannot sing. I wake up some mornings having written songs in my sleep… it’s so surreal sometimes. Now, when I listen to the songs that I wrote as a child, I am certain that half of them, by their last stanzas, had the melody from “Hark, the Herald! Angels Sing.” I suppose I really liked that song. That being said, I think I’ve come a long way!!

Sometimes I still feel like the little girl who twirls and sings on the fireplace. I know those dreams will take me somewhere. In the heart of a young woman now, there lies a dream that has stood the test of time; it’s surpassed every desire and has been branded upon my heart – defining who I am and who I am meant to be.


Here I am again, my new favorite hideaway. It’s my mid-day moment of solitude on the park bench beneath the trees utilizing my lunch hour for a time of reflection and daydreaming.

And, oh, do I dream!
I recall that much of what i dreamed of as a little girl remains the same in my heart today:

I dream of having little girls with soft blonde curls, through big blue eyes they hope for the world.
Over and over, I dream of falling in love and it feels so far away – so unattainable. It’s as if it were someone else’s dream.
Still, I dream of someone loving me for who I am. [I wish I knew what that were like.]
I dream of being a wife, a mother, a friend who is loyal and unwavering in her faith.
I dream of opening my mouth to sing, and touching the heart of someone listening. Making an impact that brings healing to the heart and change to one’s life.

I have high hopes and expectations. Although they fail me regularly, as I close my eyes and lay my head down to sleep, I continue to dream big.

And I have no intention of changing that.


I am sitting on a bench in the middle of NorthPark mall whilst the rain outside nearly drowns (no pun intended) out the music one hears from the stores. Side note: typing on an iPhone is really challenging for my blog-writing.

With a latte in hand and a hat on my head, I embrace this dreary day with open arms! Days like this always make me want to write. Days like this, I feel inspiration to create. Days like this, I come alive.

Well, this update is merely a glimpse into my world… many of my posts these days are old writings from last year as I now feel ballsy enough to post them. Thunder crashes outside and I feel a little sunny today. Check back soon for a series of new/old posts to make their way onto the site.

Love love love,

Boose


Gambling Heart

28Apr09

Looks like I’ve lost. Again.
Love is a gamble, and I’ve got another bad hand.

Tossing in my cards, throwing in the towel.

Here I go again, mile after mile.

On the trail, on this journey, feels like circles,

Much larger circles.

Those take longer for me to realize…

 

That I’m right back where I started.


Raw

28Apr09

Can’t shake

This sick feeling

Can’t.let.go

Of this aching, gnawing

At my heart.


It seems like every time I turn around there is another cause or benefit that is grabbing for my attention. While I don’t knock the cause itself (most of them, anyway), I have begun to question the continual influx of similar events—particularly showcasing a myriad of talented musicians, under the guise of “supporting the greater good of mankind.” Each cause is, of course, asking for one’s investment, both of time and monetary value. In conversation with several friends about this very topic, I have concluded that I am not alone in my stance on this issue. A delicate issue, it is, but one that nonetheless ought to be dissected.

 

- I feel bad for not caring about all of these causes, but there are too many!

 

- It’s a fad that’s saturating the music scene right now. Everything’s a benefit. It’s never about going to a show or concert anymore simply to enjoy music. There has to be an excuse to come pay money to listen to music, and its usually not benefiting the artist, which is difficult when playing is their livelihood. The artist in turn feels bad for wanting compensation or for not accepting the opportunity when it’s for a cause!

 

- I have been burned by those who think that I owe it to their cause to donate large amounts of time and resources. My generosity has been abused.


- I’ve been burnt out by investing so much time into causes that are not my sole passion. I feel that since I’m doing a good thing for someone, it’s worth it; but in the end, if it’s not directly something that I feel passionate about, I’ve wasted that time. Everyone cares about something. I don’t feel bad anymore because it’s not my responsibility to care about everything.

 

These various opinions on the issue come from those who have been involved to some degree or by those who have simply attended such events. In a nutshell, the last comment sums it up to me:

 

 I don’t feel bad anymore because it’s not my responsibility to care about everything.

 

When one’s compassion gets stretched so thin, it’s hard to sincerely care in great degree for any one cause. I don’t think it’s the intent of any particular cause to demand all of one’s efforts and concern; however, the overabundance of causes made known to the world (thank you, Facebook) bombards and overwhelms the average folk. I feel guilty when I “ignore” the plethora of causes sent to me online. I feel worse when I do accept, and then delete the emails sent because it’s really just not that important to me.

 

My conclusion: whatever makes one “tick,” whatever stirs their spirits, whatever injustice lights a fire in their hearts… whatever their passion is… there lays the place where they ought to devote their energies. That’s not to say one cannot support other causes and participate; it simply means they ought not feel bad for placing their sole interest and investment in the area in which they have the most heartfelt concern.