Candide

I'm ovulating (on the left side), and it hurts like a motha.

Today was operating under Murphy's Law.

(Like WHOA.)

I wanted to string up some middle school girls by their toes today. 

Amy Lea is an angel.

I think I always miss Richard the same amount everyday, but some days I feel it more than others.
I felt it rather acutely today.


I am beyond blessed to have the "woes" that I do, and I am unworthy of the blessings that I have.


Praise.  God.

Conversations with my Best Friend

R: "Beauty is a relative term. It falls somewhere between fun and love."

K: "In other words, we'll agree to disagree?"

R: "Indeed."



You should know that my heart grows 3 sizes every time I get to be in your presence, in life or on Facebook.
(In life is my favorite, though.)

Limbo

Today feels like I'm floating in a sea of life-directional ambiguity.

See this Hyperbole & a Half post from last year for disambiguation of my personal ambiguity.

I've gotten things accomplished to be sure (booked flights, had a voice lesson, submitted my FAFSA, rented the movie for drama club today), but I'm having one of those days when looking into the future beyond, oh, two minutes from now, seems like a chore.  And having to make decisions that impact the outcome of that two-minutes-from-now future is absolutely daunting.

For example, it took me much more time and driving around than I anticipated to figure out what I wanted for lunch.

All I knew was I wanted pineapple.

(Thank God I at least knew that!)

Where could I find someplace in T-Town that would satiate my need for fruity deliciousness without breaking my currently teeny-tiny bank before I had to forfeit a noontime meal which would then surely lead to my death from scurvy?  (I can only assume such a strong hankering for pineapple stems from an acute Vitamin C deficiency.)  Someplace where I don't resort to a drive-thru, some form of deep fried chicken and a side of fries.  Even better, someplace I don't normally go.  I was honestly daydreaming a little bit about a quesadilla I had in NOLA a while back (see where my brain still is?) that had shrimp and this yummy pineapple salsa, but I knew that was not a possibility in central West Alabama. 

Miles later with dollar signs flashing across my gas gauge, my brain finally decided on something resembling pineapple pizza.  Be it a calzone from Mellow Mushroom or a sub from Hungry Howie's, I was going to get my pineapple fix that way.  I was driving through the Strip, intending to go to Howie for my relatively inexpensive blend of mozzarella, tomato sauce and canned pineapple wrapped in buttery baked dough, when I remembered Little Italy.

Ah, yes.  Little Italy...


$3.92 later, I'm enjoying a ginormous slice of pineapple pizza and a lemonade. 

Forget GiGi's Cupcakes!

People should be waiting 45 minutes for a slice of this pie.
(But that's another reason why I love Little Italy--you don't have to.)

One decision at a time, I'll become an adult.  Maybe even a successful one (my satisfied tummy seems to think so right now!).

Till then, I'll dance in Limbo.

Oh, for the love...

Weekend Update

Bad News first.

• Carpal Tunnel is the Devil.
• Lactic acid is the Devil.
• Parking decks are the Devil.
• I'm not a college dorm domestic goddess.
  
• I'm still annoyingly indecisive because of my need to be a people-pleaser.
• Paul's Pastry Shop is closed on Sundays.
• I'm a Stumbler.
  

Good News!

• I'm learning to be ambidextrous on the MacBook.
• The MacBook is fixed!
• My quads only scream bloody murder when I stand on my toes now!
  
• I spent the better part of the weekend with Richard.
• I spent the latter part of the weekend with MolPage & Amy Lea.
• I think my audition went really well. I presented myself with professionalism, feel good about my singing, and ended with a rather endearing almost trip in my 3,000" heels upon my exit.
  Charming.
• Picnic in the park with lovely people Saturday afternoon.
• Solo walk on Magazine Street.
• Delectable California Rolls and Tofu scrumptiousness for dinner with delightful people.
  
• King Cake for the first time in... 7-8 years. And a pretty tasty take on Cannoli. (Food is quite apparently a very important part of my life, and I'm okay with that.)

I think that's all for the headlines.

⚜

But the scent of onions and singing the Killers with my favorites seems to help

Back in T-Town. With my lovelies. Top weekend. Update tomorrow.

♥

Brought to you by the letter B

Backstreet Boys. Barry White. Better Than Ezra. (Thank you, Shuffle, for keeping it consistent.)

Fellas, if I'm lacking the motivation to feel attractive, lean, and sexy for myself, you help me to soldier on through Resistance 8 on the elliptical because I wanna feel sexy for you.

Just got home from my workout before grad school audition shenanigans ensue. I'm thanking God for another day of driving with my windows down.

Update on the Mac (for those concerned *coughcoughAuntcoughLoricough*): Took it to the Core yesterday (our local Apple store. Clever, innit?) where an old friend happens to work and he told me the issues we're having (trackpad and keyboard not working, cracking along the frame) are part of a recall and we don't have to pay a dime. Just had to surrender it for a couple of days to get all those replaced.

[turns big, puppy-dog eyes toward the sky--sheepishly]


Thank you, Computer Gods, and I'm sorry I wailed and gnashed my teeth yesterday.


Now, I must shower and pack my toiletries and go warm up and practice and HIT THE ROAD!

Since I will be sans computer, I may or may not update over the weekend, but you can expect a full report Monday when I come back to reality.

Signing off,

A Redheaded Adventuress

AAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKK!!!

*Ahem*

So, the keyboard on my laptop doesn't work and the trackpad on Momma's Macbook doesn't work.
The only computer I have at home I can rely on is the Dinosaur.

[much wailing and gnashing of teeth]

WHYOHWHYDOTHECOMPUTERGODSHATEMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?!?!?!

*Ahem*

We are intrepid. We carry on. And we hope Google offers an inexpensive solution to the problem.

Until then, we're going to try the spare mouse we had in the computer room (Thankfully, garage = junkyard) with the Mac.

[crosses fingers & turns head full of curlers to the sky]

Oh, my stars

Sunshine. 61ºF. Windows down. 70 mph. LOTR: The Musical blaring.

I've just had a glimpse of heaven.

(The only thing that was missing was you.)

I contemplate God's love for me as evidenced by the "little" things in my life and marvel at His attention to detail. I think back through the history of our redemption, and can't help but be in awe at how His hand is always in everything and that He asks us, expects of us, to be co-creators with Him.

This is something Madeleine L'Engle writes (and I assume speaks) about authoritatively and beautifully. I've begun reading more of her grown-up novels, and just started re-reading Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art (in addition to Peter & the Starcatchers. Peter Pan Syndrome, argh, avast, an' all that).

Most often I have a difficult time identifying myself as a creator, or an artist. I participate in creation, in art, but I don't know that I'm actually a creator or artist. I think I can more easily see myself as a re-creator (re-artist? Hmmm...) being a singer/actor, but I don't much do any actual, original creating.

But I don't think I mind. I think that might just be who I'm intended to be. While I don't create the art, I do love it. I love the story. And even though I didn't think of it first, I love to tell it.

We briefly discussed the willing suspension of disbelief in Bible study on Sunday, and our leader said something that I thought was poignant and lovely, and it will stick with me till the day I die.

"Therefore, I live in the story."

Prior to this, she'd mentioned a study some theologians did on the life of Jesus that examined what happened if you took out all of His miracles, all of the evidence that pointed to the Divine.
What would you have left?

We all agreed that we would still have these life-changing teachings on how we are to live on this planet and the example of a remarkable human being that is still worth attempting to emulate.

This is not to say that I don't believe the miracles or that Jesus was/is in fact human AND divine.

I do.

But if one struggles with some of this ("this" being growing up, Christianity, life, etc. Take your pick...), it doesn't change the fact that Jesus did something that for some reason the world just can't shake.

As one who did, does, and will struggle with some of this, it doesn't change the fact that I trust that my fate is in His more than capable hands.

And if my fate is that of a participant in art, I accept it graciously. I will sit in the audience; I will sing someone else's lyrics and speak someone else's words; whatever the task, I will live in the story.

[insert "Ode" by William O'Shaughnessy]

I know this is all probably very muddled and doesn't make sense to you readers, but I do believe this is very much the beginning of a "something" for me, and hey, it's my blog.

Something for me is really all that matters.



"Therefore, I live in the story."

Perhaps it's just me, but don't you find that uplifting?

The perils of taking a shower...

...when you're blind as a bat.


#1: Picking up what you think is a clump of your hair (attractive, I know) only to find it's a half-drowned spider that just so happens to be the same color as your hair.


My index finger and thumb on my right hand are still tingling from phantom (hehe) spidey senses.


Since there's a number one, there should really be at least one more peril I should post, but that's all I've got. Sorry to disappoint. Maybe the fates will provide me another perilous shower experience tomorrow.

Until then, #2 is...

Happy Valentine's Day!

Today has the propensity to be as perilous as being partially-blind in the shower, but I say let it go. Whether you're single, attached, or complicated, love with everything you've got and don't forget:

And you deserve a whole, whole lot.

Yep.

Okay, in order for this to make sense, I need you to fast forward to 03:11 and watch for at least 4 seconds (although I highly recommend watching this delightful, yet under-appreciated, Disney flick in its entirety).





If you were to ask how my weekend was, my response would be something like that.

But in the BEST. WAY. POSSIBLE. I know what happened, but it was so great, I can't articulate it. If you ask me what happened prior to Thursday, you'll get a similar response, but that's simply because I just can't remember. Short-term (Long-term? Medium-length-term?) memory loss due to an epically good time is okay by me.

"Just jibberish--jibberish of an insane person."

Yep.

Let me try it like this:

Adele tickets. Richard. L.Jeffries. Black Swan. Richard. Greene County. Shenanigans. Popeye's (yummm). Momma B hug. MolPage. Cocoa Puff Pound Cake. Trespassing (with none other than! Richard). Photography. Cheeseburgers & fries & smoke alarms. Theatre Tuscaloosa. Tears. Happy. Sleep. Heidi Bug & Brooklyn. Chancel Choir. WOW. Nap. Disciple. Serendipity. Papaw. Pancakes & scrambled eggs.

Up next: More MolPage & Ugly Betty.

Yep.

Everything's so terribly thrilling and beautiful

Two lake steamers were moving slowly on the water in opposite directions, two small bands of gold lights approaching each other and crossing. In a straight line down the mountain ran the funicular, and, winding around, ran the small train. They were the only lights on the mountainside, and they seemed like something magic. Leaning there with her nose against the windowpane, Katherine suddenly felt a sense of peace and strength. "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help," she whispered, then withdrew from the window, turned on the unprotected ceiling light that glared down at her, sat down at the dreadful piano with the squeaking pedals and practiced until time for dinner. She went into dinner with a consciousness of her strength, of great indifference to the things that had been making her so miserable--a consciousness that was too conscious to be real. But she sat through dinner thinking of her music lesson, thinking of Justin Michel Vigneras, thinking of Julie.
Throughout the dining room the liquid clinking of spoons against glass dishes made a clear sound like myriads of little bells. She listened to them ringing softly, trying to shut out all distinct words, so that the sound of conversation was like a chorus of voices echoing a pagan prayer in a faraway temple. Sucking her cherries slowly, she arranged the eight pips in a pattern around her saucer. It would be beautiful in a temple with bells and everybody praying. She remembered going to church with her Nanny, remembered the sound of the huge organ, the light filtering in golden dusty shafts across the nave, the jangling of bells, intonings of prayers, clear, high voices of choir boys that seemed to shine like the light from the candles burning everywhere, the intense clicking of rosaries--and excitement slid up her spine like a crack up a pane of glass.
Exultantly she thought--I'm alone, I'm alone, and I don't care because everything's so terribly thrilling and beautiful.--

I have a friend who is currently dedicating his blog to a discussion on whether or not instruments belong in the worship service. I don't think he reads my blog, so this isn't any kind of direct response to it, really. Just my own ignorant thoughts on the matter. I preface them with the fact that I have not seriously investigated scripture on the matter and these are just my (dangerous, nay, even bad word) opinion.

My opinion is not very strong or loud, but it appears that many people have both very strong and very loud opinions on the matter. My friend has gathered a large collection of quotes from the likes of John Wesley, Martin Luther, and others against the use of instruments in worship, who believe(d) that because instruments were not used in instances of worship recorded in the New Testament, they do not belong there.

Personally, I think... well, I don't want this to come across as offensive to centuries of theologians and entire denominations who think this is a subject of great import because I really am just a stupid sheep, but I think it's silly. This is probably one situation in which the subdivision of the Church into denominations is a positive thing-- let each sect of the Body worship the way it sees fit just as long as they are worshiping. As long as we are united in our adoration of the Holy Trinity, we are still family. There are countless other things that contemporary Christians do in this country that are not accounted for in the New Testament, and I feel like concentrating too much energy on a topic like this is a distraction from what we need to be doing more of: loving service to others.

This world is filled with people who desperately need our attention on the fact that they have no food, no clean water, no shelter. If we want people to consider joining us in our worship of Christ, no matter the methods, we must first quiet their fearful hearts and end their thirst, their hunger pangs.

This country is filled with people who can't hear over their own cacophonous thoughts (stemming from similarly fearful hearts) to give others the attention they need.

If instruments in worship help to elicit responses like that of Katherine's in the excerpt above--if they help to quiet the din enough for one to be able to listen to others and to see how terribly thrilling and beautiful it ALL really is--I say bring them on.

John Wesley also said "If my heart is as your heart, take my hand." I think he'd still take my hand, even if we may have disagreed on this matter. Or maybe he wouldn't have. We'll never know.

I could go on and on with this post (expanding the content as well as editing it with a fine-tooth comb for objectivity), but it's already too long, you probably don't care that much about it anyway, and may not have even read all of it. If you did, thanks for sticking it out. Know I count you as a dear friend because you most likely stick out all of my rantings and ramblings, whether they're on my blog or in person.


And the benedryl is kicking in...

Time to go nigh-nigh.

{End 9:48 pm}

The Small Rain

by Madeleine L'Engle.

Western wind, when wilt thou blow,
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!

As Katherine started down the path, she saw a light go on at the far side of the building, and she turned and went toward it. Music poured out toward her as she walked slowly, quietly, up to the window. Crouching against the wall, she listened. He was playing (for she knew without looking that it was the stranger she had run into), playing a Bach Toccata and Fugue that had been one of Julie's favorite's. Her cheek pressed against the rough gray stone of the building, she listened until she heard the bell that meant she would have to run back to school if she was not to be late--and to be late on top of everything that had happened would be sheer stupidity. She ran. And in her mind ran the grievance that had been there since her first day in the place. Manya had chosen this school because Miss Valentine drew her piano teachers from the Montreux Conservatory, but not one music lesson had Katherine had, because the teacher to whom she was assigned was off on a tour and would be late getting back to town. And half an hour a day was she was allowed to practice. She made up her mind she would speak to Miss Valentine about it the next day. She must have a music teacher, any music teacher, if she was to stay sane in this place. Because her misery was making her neglect her music. During her practice period she sat looking blankly at the keys, aching all over with loneliness for her mother, longing for Julie to lash her into work, to scold her, to swear at her. She would think--I must practice, I must. Mother'd be so furious with me.--But she couldn't work.

Me and my quotes. I'm not so good with the words though, and I am willing and glad to admit when others say it better than I do. Which is most of the time.

Madeleine L'Engle and C.S. Lewis always say it better.

Another quote with commentary tomorrow from this the lovely book I'm currently reading.

I ♥ IMDB

Meet Joe Black is one of the most fabulous movies of all time. I just feel like it needed to be praised.

And quoted.



William Parrish: Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I'm not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived.
☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙
Joe Black: I don't care Bill. I love her.
William Parrish: How perfect for you - to take whatever you want because it pleases you. That's not love.
Joe Black: Then what is it?
William Parrish: Some aimless infatuation which, for the moment, you feel like indulging - it's missing everything that matters.
Joe Black: Which is what?
William Parrish: Trust, responsibility, taking the weight for your choices and feelings, and spending the rest of your life living up to them. And above all, not hurting the object of your love.
Joe Black: So that's what love is according to William Parrish?
William Parrish: Multiply it by infinity, and take it to the depth of forever, and you will still have barely a glimpse of what I'm talking about.
Joe Black: Those were my words.
William Parrish: They're mine now.
☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙
William Parrish: I loved Susan from the moment she was born, and I love her now and every minute in between. And what I dream of is a man who will discover her, and that she will discover a man who will love her, who is worthy of her, who is of this world, this time and has the grace, compassion, and fortitude to walk beside her as she makes her way through this beautiful thing called life.
☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙
William Parrish: I want you to know how much I love you, that you've given a meaning to my life that I had no right to expect, that no one can ever take from me.
Susan Parrish: Dad...
William Parrish: No! I love you so much. And I want you to promise me something. I don't want you to ever worry about me. And if anything should happen, I'm gonna be okay. And everything's gonna be all right. And I have no regrets. And I want you to feel the same way.
Susan Parrish: I love you, Daddy.
William Parrish: That's why it's okay.
☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙
Jamaican Woman: It nice it happen to you. Like you come to the island and had a holiday. Sun didn't burn you red-red, just brown. You sleep and no mosquito eat you. But the truth is, it bound to happen if you stay long enough. So take that nice picture you got in your head home with you, but don't be fooled. We lonely here mostly too. If we lucky, maybe, we got some nice pictures to take with us.
☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙
William Parrish: I want you to sing with rapture and dance like a dervish.
☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙☙



Sometimes I like to pretend that Bill Parrish is my father.

It's that time of year again

And I can think of other ways to show my love.

Thanks though, fb!

Luke 14:26-27

"Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers, and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.

Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple."

These verses have given me some pause in my journey as a Christian. Not so much verse 27 ("...carry the cross and follow me..."), but the prerequisite of hating family.

"Hate." On the surface, it's just not a comfortable word. It's not nearly as bad as something like "indifference," but, as the saying goes, it's a strong word.

From Vine's Expository Dictionary of New Testament Words

A-1

Verb

Strong's Number: g3404

Greek: miseo

Hate, Hateful, Hater, Hatred:

"to hate," is used especially

(c) of relative preference for one thing over another, by way of expressing either aversion from, or disregard for, the claims of one person or thing relatively to those of another, Mat 6:24; and Luk 16:13, as to the impossibility of serving two masters; Luk 14:26, as to the claims of parents relatively to those of Christ; Jhn 12:25, of disregard for one's life relatively to the claims of Christ; Eph 5:29, negatively, of one's flesh, i.e. of one's own, and therefore a man's wife as one with him.

I once heard a pastor preach on how the word "hate" there could also be understood as complete separation or detachment. That definitely helps to ease my issues with the word hate (I'm such a hippie...). But that doesn't help with the fact that detachment--complete separation--carries with it a connotation of disinterest; a complete lack of concern for those left behind.

For a long time, I hadn't pieced together how exactly one does that without also acquiring a seriously guilty conscience (even though one is doing this for the cause of Christ, yes, yes, I know... There are obviously parts of my life I have not surrendered... Bear with me, work in progress, all that...).

That is until today.

Here's my revelation.

To love Christ more than family is to trust not only that God is going to take care of you as you follow Him, but also that God is going to take care of those you leave behind.

This, of course, is all dependent on where God is leading you. Following Christ and caring for family are not mutually exclusive. The problem lies within preferring to tend to your family's needs over what Christ is calling you to do. The source of my problem with this is not trusting my family or God enough to take care of things without me. One of my problems is I'm a control freak. I micromanage, and I didn't want to see that because I dislike that trait in others.

Shame. On. Me.

Thank you, Jesus, for taking on my shame.

Praise God for seeing through the shame and seeing me.