Ordinary Life

One of my internet friends has been tackling the phrase ' worship experience ' lately along with probing the idea that worship is something we "feel" or an environment we can create on Sunday mornings. As a person with a more reserved personality, this topic resonates with me and while I never feel that I have the answers , I am learning to join the conversation . My churched background has afforded many opportunities to feel pressure from the platform or my gathering of friends to 'perform' worship in a way that is more visible and animated than my comfort level. I have prayed beside people offering their prayers in tongues unknown. I have been told that my faith was only genuine if I was willing to pick up a snake. (There were no snakes present in the Kroger where this conversation occurred, thankfully - but it was a real conversation) I have scoffed at fog machines and cameramen running across the stage to get the next shot. I have scoffed at three piece su...

Chapter 1: BiLo  Sometimes her list would require six, but usually, scrawled in blue Bic ink beside 'bananas' was a (7) in parentheses; a week’s supply of potassium until the next shopping day rolled around. I try to remember now who did her shopping before it became our job. Likely an array of her extended network of family and friends, for though she didn't drive, Aunt Nellie June was well-known, and well-liked. She needn't go out, we came to her. And truly, it was our pleasure to help; to just be in her orbit.  So it was, back when we were not just kinfolk but also neighbors, I would take the list she had made after consulting the weekly circular, along with her envelope of carefully counted money, to the Bi-Lo on the corner, and do her weekly shopping.  Her list was quite specific, calculated for maximum savings and minimal waste. Seventy years in one primary location had worn a groove in her routine. Amongst a rotation of seasonal produce and various household prod...

When I was in grade school, our class took a field trip to the house of another student. I don't recall everything we did there, but I do recall learning to make cinnamon applesauce. It must have been Fall. The lady allowed us each to turn the crank on her apple coring machine. I thought it was the niftiest thing. And I have wanted a machine of my own ever since. They always felt like an indulgence at $20 or even $15 apiece. But this weekend, I found one brand new, on sale at a thrift store for $3. I'm tempted to say my life is now complete, but really it is just a tad more sweet. Apple curls, anyone?

East coast girl with your sun tanned skin Salt in your hair, kissed by the wind You're wild and free to live and let be Strings let go you'll soar and sink low Follow the river away from the sea  Float the Savannah, back home to me. I once wiped the tears of a young girl's eyes  Real life is tested by whether we cry. Feel and allow it, for though there is pain  A life without contrast is one built in vain. Salt and fresh water, shadow and light  Opposing angles build houses upright I sit in my own house, thinking of you,  little kite tattered, lost in the blue I bottle my question and fling it to sea:  Were sandcastles and kite flying only for me?

Friday night and we are out to eat, two widows proper and me, widowed by the death of a girlish dream. Our waitress leads us to a four top, one empty chair for the phantoms we bring. We three share genes and a bloodline, but have different ideas about dressing a biscuit. My aunt asks for apple butter, my cousin requests honey from a bear and I opt for maple's syrup. The phantoms are silent. No one asks what they would have liked. My aunt, alone the longest and of a quiet nature,  is content to share our company. My cousin, twice widowed yet too young to retire, is - unbeknownst to our waitress - a former five star general in the order of Cracker Barrels. I feel the need to create content, to lift countenances; we are not begged by little voices to please, pretty please , play checkers. The phantoms clear their throats and I push the peg game meant for one in front of their empty chair. "I wonder if they have blueberry muffins tonight?" my cousin asks aloud "Oooh, mmm...

Girl, wash your face and count to three...(he ran to someone who wasn’t me). Girl, stop apologizing and just breathe...(this is where you see you're free). Girl, open your eyes wide and see... (fairytales are cautionary). Girl, wash your face or leave and make do...(streaked mascara as a face tattoo). Girl, stop apologizing for wrongs that aren’t yours...(salvage the damage and build a door). Girl, open your eyes and take a look...(it’s about time to write that book). ~~~*~~~ :: One year and a handful of months later, I wrote on the last page of my Morning Pages journal today. It is literally time to start a fresh chapter, and even a whole new book ::

Last night, I accompanied Fisher to volunteer as a buddy at Night To Shine- an event to serve and celebrate the special needs community. We were at the Christ Church location in Jax. Oh, what a night. If you can name an emotion, it was available somewhere on the premises. Of the many impressions the night made on me, these are the thoughts still lingering in the afternoon aftermath of the following day . *UPDATE- It has taken an extra day and a half to edit and upload this post properly.   >>Fisher<<   This past year, Fisher and I discussed that he has a soft place in his heart for the special needs community. When two of his particular heroes (Brant Hansen & Tim Tebow )  both promoted Night To Shine, it seemed providential to participate. I hope that the desire to love and serve others is a quality that continues to snowball downhill into his life.   >>Valor<< These are real men. Manly men. Valiant leaders who love and serve others...

A well endowed house save a few essentials... I woke up in Madame Blueberry 's house (in a tree and everything.) My mother-in-law is a woman who has just about everything...two and three of some things...but yesterday morning, she had no coffee pods. Lots of tea [which I love] but not a drop of the kick-in-the-pants-in-a-cup that I needed to get me up and get me thinking this particular morning. And my father-in-law Charlie runs a proud "gourmet" kitchen... he even went to a Johnson & Wales Camp once upon a time.  Imagine my surprise when I  discovered the man has no French press,  no grinder.  And that's what made the bag of whole coffee beans ironic. Or was it that they were the only coffee to be found in all the house?  Either way. I am here to tell you that I was undeterred. I am also here to tell you that determination alone does not the cup of coffee make. You need many other elements. I found the closest thing to a grinder and made. . . well, .....

We're no Tiger Tomato   but we do love pancake art.  We made one whole box  of pancake batter, added food color in small batches and funneled  into our "pancake crayons". Then we played with our food. 

Sneak Attack!

Tonight,  I saw an unanticipated result of our current administration's influence on today's youth. Chandler was describing an efficiency report for Fort Stewart that he had accidentally  "over-seen" while we were in Savannah recently. His grandfather, an engineering contractor for McLean, had some reports lying on a desk, in a closed binder in the same room the boys were bunking. Total happenstance report reading,  really. What Chan was impressed by was the efficiency of the Army as detailed in the report.He was describing how the report listed amount of wattage used per army barrack. And that's when I spotted it.  He said " Army Buh-Rocks " Bunk houses by this name would be the current President of the United States. (And I'm pretty sure he didn't serve...)  We often tease ChanMan about his creative pronunciation skills, and it is a homonym, so, I won't devote any more of this post to something that may embarrass him. However, it is an ide...

Lazaretto Creek is one of my favorite spots [ so far,  life is young yet...oh,  but not as young as she used to be ]  Whether we're headed towards the ocean or away from her,  I enjoy crossing over the scenic spot: boats of all sorts to one side,  lonesome Cockspur Light on the other. I enjoy spending time down near the docks even more. Yesterday's lunch found us creekside @ CoCo's finishing arithmetic [1 Million ÷ 25 ] o ver sandwiches featuring melted cheese ( there were other ingredients but it is only ever the cheese that matters ) and counting our fingers to the rhythm of the music from many decades and genres . That's all really.  Just a nickel for the Nice Day jar.  Thanks for listening. Bonus Nickel: I learned more about lazarettos than I previously knew when getting ready to frilly up this post with links. Double Bonus Nickels [dime?]: I learned more about Lazaretto Creek's unique history , too. And as is often the case, learning backstory...