Missing Manic Monday

It's a blog revival, apparently.  I find myself missing my old schedule of posts.  I always knew what I would be posting on certain days and that's a good thing for a blogger like me.  I need that.

Mondays used to be my favorite.  There was a guy named Mo who made up a meme called Manic Monday.  For this meme, Mo would choose a random word every Monday and then everyone who played would write whatever they wanted that included that random word.

I am missing this every Monday, not only because I haven't been blogging, but because Mo stopped doing his meme.  His heart wasn't in it anymore, which I can certainly relate to.  I now have no Manic Monday to turn to.  :(

So, I've decided that I'll just pick my own random word for the Mondays that I blog.  I'll aim for getting something regular going, but this blog revival might be a slowish process, or maybe I'm just going to jump right in and blog a lot like the old days??.... who knows.

Anyway, I am using  a random word generator website, so I won't try to cheat.

And today's random word is

LAG



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I remember walking to school as a kid with my little sister.  We were often late in getting out the door so we would be in a hurry as we walked.  (ME late?  Yes, I know it's shocking to imagine, but I am late sometimes in my life)  My dear, sweet Lacy was a dilly-dallying kind of girl sometimes (a lot of times) and she just didn't seem to feel the stress I did about getting to school on time.  Lacy would often lag behind a little and drag her feet stating that she was too tired to hurry. 

Like any good big sister, if she lagged behind I simply punched her in the face.

Just kidding.

When my cute little Lacy would lag (Clancy likes alliteration), I would make up games to try to get her to hurry, because, let's face it, getting mad at her just made her mad back and that would make her move even slower.

Two games are prominent in my memory.  One, I would tell her to RUN!  She didn't like that very much so I would tell her I'd pull her for a minute and then she could pull me for a minute.  Really what we'd do is hold hands and I would pull her foward in a run and when she reached the length of our holding hands arm span she would pull me forward, running all the while.  Then I'd pull her again and she'd pull me and we'd run in that disjointed fashion and make it there faster.

The second game I really remember well was so silly.  I'm just embarrassed to even write it.  In our tardy moments, I tell Lacy to pretend that Dr. Harding, our principal, was the king of our school and Pat, the secretary, was the queen.  If we got there after the bell then we, the lowly servants, would be punished for our crime and get our heads chopped off.  She knew it was pretend, but it always made us hurry just a little faster.

And that's it for today's Missing Manic Monday post... for now... I'm literally falling asleep as I type.  Maybe I'll add more to the post later, or maybe I'll be correcting the typos I've missed while editing.  Just now, as I woke with a jerk sitting up in my computer chair, I was having a dream about laying sandstone rocks on our new patio instead of editing this post.  Pretty soon I'll be drooling.

So, forgive the mistakes.  I'll make it right later.  Or not.

Manic Monday: Pop

I have to admit, I was drawing a blank on the word Pop for Manic Monday. I thought about describing the pop of roots breaking as you yank out big junglish bushes and weeds with a Bobcat, which is what we did this weekend in our yard, but that didn't appeal to me. I thought about writing how I've sat at this computer for so long that my head might just pop but I didn't want to reveal what a lazy-bone I've been today. (actually, my morning was very busy, but this afternoon has been time-wastey) So, I went to my trusty Google search and entered "pop". I just love the internet. I find such interesting things to waste my time! And they remind me of things...

When I was in college, I had the coolest roommate on the freakin' planet. Her name is Britta and she's still the coolest. (and she's comin' into her power right now, so WATCH OUT world!!!) Back in our roommate days, Britta's little brother flew out from Pennsylvania to visit her for two-ish weeks and I got to know him in that annoying little brother way. He loved to tease and bother me with little things. Things like singing "That Thing You Do" completely off key and the wrong tune to boot. (love ya, Jazzy!) He also liked to make fun of me when I'd say, "Hey, do you want to watch a show?" Does that sound weird to anyone? No, right? Well, he seemed to think that "show" was the wrong word. He informed me each and every time I said it that it was called a MOVIE. Whatever, Jazz.

He couldn't leave it with the annoying song or the show/movie battle, he also had to inform me all the time that it was a SODA and not a POP. It's futile to argue with Jazz. I'm pretty sure he never even heard me when I tried. But, I got to the point where I'd just ignore him when he'd start. Except that freakin' song. I still hear it all wrong every time I think of that song. Silly boy.

Well, in my little Google search I found a website called "The Pop vs. Soda Page". I found it very amusing that someone actually conducted a study and made a statistical map of who says pop and who says soda. Oh yeah, and let's not forget the south where they call all pop "Coke". I got this map from the website... check it out! And if you visit the website, you can participate in the survey! Let your Pop/Soda voice be heard!!!


My mom's from the south and tells me how they always ask, "Hay! What kainda Coke you wawnt?" and then they proceed to list the different flavors like Sprite, Root Beer, Mt. Dew, etc. It doesn't matter how many times she tells me, laugh every time. Seems so silly to me.

And in case you failed to notice, in Idaho the proper term for a carbonated drink is a "Pop", which, in case you wanted some more Clancy-Trivia, I almost never drink.

Manic Monday: Shine

Today for our Manic Monday fun we have the word shine. Shine brings to mind my high school years. A few of which I dated the lead singer/guitarist of a freakin' awesome high school band known by the name of Clouded Vision. Me and my two best pals Beth and Erin liked to say we were roadies as we'd help haul equipment, set up the drum kit, run cords, pretend to help with sound checks, etc., but in truth we were just glorified groupies. We felt hella cool, regardless of what you called us.

Stashed in some box somewhere are several mementos from those days which, to my embarrassment, I still have. A cracked drumstick that I made the drummer, Matt Orchard, sign for me. He signed it, 'Orch the Torch'. A high school newspaper with Clouded Vision on the cover. (they won the battle of the bands and THAT was a good day to be the lead singer's girlfriend!) A broken guitar pick that my boyfriend tossed aside. Not to mention a list, written in his hand, of the lineup of songs they would be playing during one of their "gigs". One of my favorites on that list was Shine by Collective Soul.

For your listening enjoyment, I was going to embed Collective Soul's music video of Shine, compliments of YouTube, but thanks to someone's "request", embedding has been disabled and I can only give you the link. If you wish to hear this song that brings back so many memories for me, you can click here. If not, that's fine. Just know this... I was once a groupie of a high school band and I loved every minute of it.

Manic Monday: Spice

Manic Monday on my blog has, apparently, gone the way of all the earth. Just like everything else about my blog. Here's a brief little resurrection of my favorite meme... Manic Monday.

I went to bed at 9:30 last night. Can you say wow?

"WOW!"

I was up and showered at 7:00. I need another wow...

"WOW!"

As I was blow-drying my hair, I was thinking of when I dyed it red a while ago. Actually, that last statement is not true. Let me take you for a ride on my train of thought:

As I was thinking of what to write about the word "spice" I was thinking of my WOW-bedtime and WOW-risetime and trying to tie it into the word spice. Then I thought of me blow-drying my hair at 7:15am. It was warm, then, with the blow dryer forcing hot air through my locks and across my skin. It was warm, and I'm currently cold. Maybe I should go and use the blow-dryer on my arms right now?

Anyway, as I conjured the image of myself and my blowdryer, I also saw the image of my hair. The color of my hair right now is rather interesting. I've been spending a lot of time in the sun and so it is getting lighter... a few blond highlights. My natural color is a sort of honeyish hue. My late dye-job still has left some residual strawberry.

The point of this railway journey of thought is really nothing. There is no point. Just that my hair color is currently reminiscent of spice. A mixture of nutmeg, cinnamon and chile powder... With a hint of cream of tartar. I don't recommend making anything out of that combination of spices. It would be rather yucky, but, at present, I'm kinda diggin' my hair.

Manic Monday: Warm

Warm. My weekend was warm. I was profoundly intoxicated by love's heady bouquet. That's the thing about having your husband work out of town, you get a little love-drunk when you're together again. Absence making the heart grow fonder might be the very essence of cliche, yet the fact that it is, indeed, 'cliche' is indicative of the absolute truth of the statement. My heart is fonder. More fond. Heavy-laden with fondness. This is not to lessen the sweetness of the days when he is not working out of town... I would much prefer the company of those days. The days where 5:00 pm, like an anchor, keeps me from floundering, drifting lost at sea.

But, I like to look for silver linings... and the warmth of the weekend still lingers on my lips and in my heart.

Manic Monday: Taste

Here's a taste of my Monday morning:


Rohan sitting on my lap with a book about dinosaurs. As he turns each page he asks, "Mommy, whas dis ones named?"

I reply in turn with each dinosaurs name. After he pauses for a moment to look at the picture and absorb the given name, he then asks what it's doing. I tell him a little something for each one... this one is reaching high to eat the leaves... that one runs really fast... these two can fly up high (interjection from Rohan on just how high that one can fly, complete with spread-arm illustrations).

Then we turn one more page. "Mommy, whas dis ones named?"

"That one is a Stegosaurus."

Without any pause or hesitation, Rohan says, in his very CUTEST Rohan voice, "Ya! Dey are huge! Dey can wiggle da earth."


Monday mornings are a beautiful thing when I focus on the precious deductions of a three year old mind.

Manic Monday: Bird

There was a boy who lived down the street from me when I was growing up. His name was Ian. He was the oldest of 6 children (and he himself was only 8 or 9), only two of which had the same father. He had a hard life for one so young. My older sister and I both babysat these kids on occasion and we both have horrendous stories about our experiences.

So, Ian. Ian was a skinny, short kid with a shunt in his head from a brain tumor when he was young. (his story just seems to get worse, yeah?) He terrorized kids his age, i.e. my brother, Taylor, not to mention many of the adults on the street. I remember Taylor telling me about the time that Ian peed in a pitcher, added some water and ice to it, and brought it to my neighbor and offered it as an apology for some previous rotten behavior. He told her that he'd made some lemonade for her. I don't know if she drank it or not, but these are the kinds of things this child would do.

Ian loved to swear. He would walk around cursing his little head off and flipping the "bird". I tell this story because I have the image of Ian flipping the bird while I, and anyone else who happened to be around, stifled laughter. You see, Ian thought he had it all figured out. He loved to shock people with the naughty things he knew. But he had missed something in the lessons he took on giving the finger. He would come up to you with his face all screwed up in a sneer holding out his hand threateningly with one finger extended above the others... but it was his pointer finger rather than the tall middle finger. No one ever told him his mistake. I just remember feeling relieved that my little brother couldn't learn that particular trick from Ian.

As I sit here and type this, I wonder at the cultural significance of flipping the bird. For years Ian thought he was doing something really mean, which, in actuality, was comical to those around him. Just the difference of one measly little finger shifted the situation from offensive to laughable. I have a lot of thoughts on this, none of which I'm articulating very well, but it's given me something to think about.

I've wondered, off an on through my adult life, what happened to this family. I thought of Ian and his siblings as Devil Spawn when I was young, but I have a different perspective with passing years. I see now that they were shaped, in large, due to their rough circumstances and family dynamic. I feel compassion, where I once felt judgment and irritation. I hope those kids learn that they can overcome their past. They are not doomed to repeat it. Like everything, it comes down to choice.

Manic Monday: Waffle

I was reading a fellow Manic Monday participant's post (Travis) and he said, "I love panCAKEs. But sometimes it's tough to know how much syrup is enough syrup. Sometimes I don't get enough syrup and the panCAKE is too dry. And sometimes I get too much syrup and the panCAKE is soggy.

Now waffles...it's always easy to tell when you have just the right amount of syrup. Just fill up all the little waffle dents!"

Travis' comment box was flooded with comments about his genius waffle/syrup ratio. And, while I thought it was an excellent post, full of wafflish insight, it was a problem I have never considered.

Upon further waffle reflection, I realized that my lack of consideration on this dilemma has to do with the fact that I don't put syrup ON my pancakes/waffles but, rather, to the side and then I dunk. That way, a pancake doesn't fall apart because it's all soaked through with syrup and I have some measure of control over the waffle-pancake/syrup ratio.

I do love to fill the waffle "dents" with butter though... a guilty indulgence!

Any waffle quirks you'd like to share?

Manic Monday: Fire

I've sat here at the computer for far too long on a Monday morning. Monday's and me... we don't play nicely. We fight and bicker, slap and bite. It's not pretty.

I was trying to think of what to write for our lovely Manic Monday word and just kept wishing that someone would light my fire... my motivation fire, that is. *sigh* My house, that has been quite clean for over a week, needs some attention to keep it so and I just don't feel like it. My blog needs a Monday post and I just don't feel like it. My body needs to get out of these pajamas and into the shower and I just don't feel like it. My son needs me to build Legos with him and I just don't feel like it.

And then, it suddenly hit me. If I want my fire lit, I've got to freakin' do it myself! So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to grab my strike-anywhere matches and search for dry kindling....

Manic Monday: Candy

I'd like to take you on a journey. A journey of remodeling. A journey of chaos and dust. A journey of hope and pain (Dustin smashed his cute little finger REALLY hard one time). A journey of Clancy's favorite candy which is called Finished Bedrooms. Ahhhhh.


This is the joy of living in remodeling. This is the view of the "bedroom" from the outside. See the framing? My computer is on the back of the partially framed wall that is the NOW existing and wonderfully amazing closet!


This is me being a dork... in my pajamas in the newly Sheetrocked and soon to be incredible and to-die-for closet!


This is my dad and I when we finished spraying paint. Dustin and I still had to roll the walls, but Dad and I sprayed all the woodwork and the ceilings, which are the hardest parts. I've said it before and I'll say it again... my dad rules. Love you, Daddio!


This is not a very good picture, but this is just after the carpet got finished. Isn't it lovely!?




And here are the wonderful and amazing closets. In your prayers tonight, you might want to thank God for closets. They are the best!!!! (I made a sneaky haze over the rest of the basement that could be viewed from this room. It's still yucky and crazy. Better than it was, but if I showed it I might have to delete my blog.)



And this is the best candy of all! My kids were veritably bouncing off the walls with excitement about their new, carpeted rooms. They were totally hyper and crazy-insane. I actually did cry in gratitude as they said prayers and I sang them songs in their new rooms. (only a little, but my heart was bursting with relief and thanks) Then, the next morning after asking the kids how they liked sleeping in their pretty rooms, Mac said, "I woke up and thought I was a guest at someone else's house because it was so nice!" That made me want to cry, but I refrained. I am so grateful I could dance... or sing... or cry... or smile... or all of the above!

Thank you for coming on this delicious journey of Clancy's favorite candy. (I realize it's a stretch... I just wanted to show you my new rooms!)

Manic Monday: Wear

Dustin,

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my patience was wearing thin today. I can't explain why I was so snappy and short. There's something deeper at the root, but I don't think I can look at it today. Often, the simple awareness that there is something deeper allows the real problem to reveal itself. When it does, I will talk to you about it, like I always do. It is likely that I will cry, and it is guaranteed that you will hold me.

You are infinitely good to me. I love you.

-Clancy

Manic Monday: Cloud

Cloud Idioms found on Dictionary.com:

in the clouds, in a condition of absent-mindedness; lost in reverie.
This is me in the shower. The shower is a place where my mind goes somewhere else. I think. I pray. I am lost to my surroundings. I go through shampoo and conditioner at an alarming rate because I get so "lost in reverie" and "absent-minded" that I forget whether I've put either one in my hair. I can't even guess at the number of days that I've shampooed and/or conditioned my hair twice, possibly three times, but, such is the price for having my mind "in the clouds", my thinking place.

on a cloud, exceedingly happy; in high spirits.
This is me after a great writing moment, painting several rooms at my duplex, cleaning and making things look all shiny, sewing something pretty for myself or my kids, working really hard in my yard, or playing with my children. This is me in accomplishment instead of lethargy. The mere act of ACTING puts me on a cloud. I, therefore, make a "New Day's Resolution" to ACT this day. To experience my perch on a cloud.

under a cloud, in disgrace; under suspicion:
This is how I felt about blogging after asking a friend if she blogs. Eyes darting to her husband, she said something to the effect of, "No. I don't blog. I don't do Facebook or MySpace or any of those things. My brother warned me to NEVER, NEVER put so much information about me on the internet. People can use it against you and steal your identity and [blah blah blah]. So, I don't do it."

Then MY husband looked at me and said, "YEAH!"

What's a blogging girl to do when information like that is thrown in her face? It hurt me. I was thinking about this very conversation in the shower this morning as I was duly thinking about the word cloud, trying to figure out what I would write on it. Last night I had found these idioms and I liked them, but that's all that came to mind was how much I liked them. I still didn't know what to write.

As I was thinking these multiple things in the shower, I squirted conditioner on my hand and, as I looked at it, I wondered if I had even put shampoo in yet. So, I washed the conditioner off my hand, got shampoo and washed my hair, for perhaps the second time. I then grabbed conditioner, squirted it on my hand, rubbed it in my hair while saying out loud, "I am now putting conditioner on my hand- and now in my hair- and now I've done conditioner." (That's often the remedy to my problem, speaking out loud.) I chuckled to myself at my forgetfulness and then I remember the idiom and realized I was "in the clouds" at that moment!

I also realized that the conversation with my friend had put blogging "under a cloud" in my mind. Her words crumpled something in me and I didn't even realize it until this morning in the shower. As I sat and thought about it, I got angry. Yes, it's true, there are risks with blogging. Should I stop blogging because of it?

I've got news for my friend who unintentionally and unknowingly made me spittin' mad... there are risks in this life. There are risks with driving. You might wreck, break down, get a flat tire, get hit by someone else... or even DIE! People get killed all the time in car accidents! There are risks with investing your money. The economy could go south and the stock market could tank... oh WAIT... it already did! You could invest in rental properties and be a really nice person who would actually listen to certain people's excuses and then they might walk all over you causing you to lose enough money to buy your own car all over again! There are risks with buying things online. There are risks walking down the sidewalk. There are risks with falling in love. There are risks with bearing and raising children. There are risks with simply being alive on this earth.

But you know what? With the risk come the reward. With driving comes convenience and efficiency. With investing comes hard-earned education and prosperity. With online shopping comes convenience and a broadening of options. With walking, an appreciation of the beauty of the trees, of a fellow walker's smile and the joy of moving joints and muscles. Falling in love brings a sharing of a life, making joys a little sweeter and pain a little easier to bear. Children bring love and learning to an extent that's hard for me to fathom right now as I can't see the forest for the trees. And being alive on this earth brings the melding of physical, emotional and spiritual in a symphony of growth and change, heartache and jubilation.

I am not going to let the risks hold me back. I LOVE blogging. I love the freedom it allows to say what I want to say and to express myself and grow through my favorite outlet, writing! I will take the risks and let go of the fear. Fear calls to you what you are afraid of and what we focus on, we bring more of into our lives. I choose to focus on the joy. I choose to tuck the fear in and kiss it goodnight, and when it wakes up again, because it always does, I will repeat the process. It can have it's place in someone else's heart if they choose, but my heart lives in faith and love today, or in essence, on a cloud.

Manic Monday: Office

As if in a dream, she floated along, pretending like she was doing all the things she was supposed to be doing. Sleep-deprived by her own volition, her brain felt like it was in a bubble, floating away with the slightest breeze, or worse, threatening to pop with the slightest touch. Where was her husband? At his travel-sized office, bored out of his mind, playing solitaire and occasionally actually having something to do. She wanted him home all day every day, but the bills have to be paid. 'Life doesn't always give us what we want, thank goodness.' She heard that thought drift through her mind and watched it like it was far away, not her mind at all.

Sometimes it seemed like the only thing that kept her one with her body was the ache in her neck. The pain was her lifeline. The pain that shifted from a small seed, easily ignored, to a gigantic, impossible weed that could only be uprooted with great force, kept her here in her body, or so it felt. She knew that she should look at what that pain was, at what her body was telling her by planting that seed, but she didn't want to. She had looked before. Dug with her trowel, turned the dirt, cried at her pain, forgiven, loved, healed and thought she pulled the weed out. But the weed had dropped seeds. Seeds that waited patiently to grow with her own neglect of her garden. Of herself.

She wondered idly if other people realize that their pain is a signal? If they know that their body is trying to tell them about an emotional hurt? Do they realize that they can let it go with some digging and some love?

She decided she didn't really care right now. The rest of the world can live without her people-pleasing heart for a time. She knew she'd care again, but at that moment she and her apathy were having an intense reunion as she bathed herself in distraction and wondered, again, why such times come to call.

Manic Monday: Cell

Back when I was pregnant with my oldest son, Mac, I worked on computers all day in a small shop that printed T-shirts. I signed up for a weekly email that gave me an update on what was going on with the little one who was growing in my belly. Each week that email came and told me wonderful things... week 6, your baby's heart is now beating and blood circulation is evident....week 8, your baby is the size of a cherry and the cells that will become either testes or ovaries arrive... week 10, your baby will have verifiable fingers and toes... week 14, your baby even has fingerprints... week 19, permanent teeth buds are forming... and at week 23, his or her fingernails are now completely formed.

Week after week these emails came and I read, awestruck, in front of my computer. So many things could potentially go wrong, yet such a small percentage of all pregnancies do. What a wonder we, as women, are capable of. What a miracle!

As I sat there reading about which cell was dividing at which time and what organ began working properly at what week and how the tiny human-being inside me could now see the difference between light and dark with it's freshly opened eyes I couldn't help but wonder how anyone who had ever been pregnant could possibly not believe in a grand design. In short, how could one not believe in God and participate in that, the miracle of life?

Manic Monday: Sale

The word sale brings many random thoughts...

Random thought#1
I do love a good sale. I don't go shopping much, but it seems that whenever Old Navy has their clearance items at an additional 50% off the clearance price, I just happen to walk through their too-loud-and-obnoxious-music doors. I can't tell you how many good deals I've gotten during those sales. $3 shorts, $4 pants, $2 shirts... I always stock up for my kids for the next season (summer clothes on sale in fall or winter...etc.). I love spending $40 and getting ten or fifteen items of clothing!

Random thought #2
I'm looking forward to the purchase I just made at Mag's Etsy shop. She's got her goods for sale and I bought myself a very merry un-birthday present!!!

Random thought #3
I hate it when adorable foreign college students come knocking at my door in the summertime and give me their sales-pitch and try to get me to buy really "awesome" educational books for my kids... just $40 for one book or $400 for the whole sh'bang!!! Ugh. I hate saying no, but I sure do... every time. The last girl was from Estonia and I thought she was adorable. She was pretty and I thought I should hook her up with my little brother. She sold herself a whole lot better than she sold the books!

End of random sale thoughts. Whatever other random thoughts I had are now gone. That's all I've got for today and I keep not posting thinking something insightful or witty will come to me, but I'm letting that go. This is my post for this day.

The end.

Manic Monday: Tree

The tree boughs were sagging with the weight of the white blanket that the sky gently laid down. They looked tired. I stared at them for a long time wanting to go and give them a good shake to relieve them of their burden. I smiled because that's just how I felt- relieved of my burden. The funny thing was, I didn't even know I carried the load until I woke up dreaming bad dreams about today.

I dreamed that the program was starting. I was in charge and I was at the back of the chapel. I thought that I was supposed to be there, but then I realized that I was in the wrong place and I needed to be up front. Strangely, as I realized this, the chapel was suddenly about two miles long and I knew I'd never make it up there in time because it had already started and the pianist was waiting for me to cue them to start.

I panicked, so Dustin and I ran outside and he drove me to the front of the chapel (which had become an ultra long trek). When I ran in the door, the Primary Chorister had brought all the Primary kids up to the stand early since I wasn't there to coordinate it. The pianist (Maria, for real) was playing the intro of Joy To The World over and over waiting for me. As I got up to where I would lead, the Primary kids were in the way and the pianist and the organist couldn't see me. I moved them several times, but they just kept drifting back in my way and I hit them with my arm as I led the song. I woke up in a panic and everytime I'd fall asleep again, I 'd dream something else bad. Finally I gave up and got out of bed at 7:30 on a Sunday morning... unheard of for me!

Needless to say, I was nervous and felt the weight of coordinating and carrying out my church Christmas program. Had I thought of everything? Had I miscalculated the time? Would the speakers go on too long and make us get out late? Would I remember to stand the choir up before they sing? Would someone bump my music stand in the shuffle of singers and send my music flying with a loud crash? Would I forget the cut-offs?

I was so busy worrying that I couldn't even enjoy it or tell if it was going smoothly or not. It felt choppy and disjointed. Don't get me wrong, there were tender moments... hearing the speaker talk of a Christmas in her childhood when she got a single stuffed bear for Christmas and her joy was full... hearing my brother sing with tender strength about Joseph guarding the baby Jesus... seeing my little Ella and her friends Emma and Angie sing "Away In A Manger" with their sweet, little, child-voices... hearing Maria's piano solo and letting the beauty of that performance make me feel buoyant and light... but those tender moments were constantly buried by the bigger worry about the clock, the time signatures and the cut-offs. Was anybody feeling the spirit and the message or were they picking up on my freaky-worried vibes? Was that a blank, bored face I just saw, or was he just absent from his body as the music carried him to a place only he could see and experience? I was neurotic. I was a roller coaster.

Then... the final cutoff came. I listened as the prayer blew threw my wind tunnel ears... I couldn't hear it, but it didn't matter. It was over and I was relieved. Relief was something I expected. What I didn't expect was fulfillment. There was a need in me that had somehow eluded my awareness and was now making itself known.

As person after person came to me with tears in their eyes expressing the beauty of the last hour, tears began to fill mine. My own aunt hugged me, crying, and told me that I had "saved her Christmas". Someone else told me that was the best church Christmas music program she had ever experienced. Another person held my face in her hands as she thanked me over and over. And yet another held my hands and told me how perfectly wonderful it was and how it was just what she needed. There were more... my mom, my dad, the Bishop, the Bishop's wife, a few choir members... they just kept coming and I was totally overwhelmed.

I really didn't do that much... except shoulder some responsibility, execute a plan that I had a lot of help with (thank you), and listen to other people make beautiful music.

It was the spirit of the music, the people and the Savior, Jesus Christ, that did all the work. It was touching to so many people and, even though I was too busy worrying to notice, I was bombarded with feelings joy and gratitude and service when it was all over because people shared how it touched them. I couldn't believe that I missed their joy and that I actually wondered if people were bored and thinking "Enough music, already!".

And then, as I went home, I was overcome with gratitude to my Heavenly Father for giving me the gift of arranging all of this, participating in it, and working with the many people who helped pull it off. I was overcome with the Spirit and I felt joy and love pulsing from me like a heartbeat and I thanked Him for my joy and my experience.

I feel humbled and gratified in a way that was so very unexpected. The world will never know, but for this little bit of my blog, the gladness of my heart and the magic of song, season and service.

Manic Monday: Candle

Look what I learned whilst trying to come up with something interesting to say regarding candles. Wikipedia is always such a brainiac showoff...

A candle manufacturer is traditionally known as a chandler

Didn't know that before today. And...



The burning of the [wax] takes place in several distinct regions (as evidenced by the various colors that can be seen within the candle's flame). Within the bluer regions, hydrogen is being separated from the fuel and burned to form water vapor. The brighter, yellower part of the flame is the remaining carbon being oxidized to form carbon dioxide.

Didn't know that either. That whole water vapor, hydrogen and carbon dioxide with the corresponding colors of the flame... I thought it was rather interesting. Technical, but interesting nonetheless.

Yes, it's true. I'm desperate for a candle topic. I've been drawing blanks all day. So, for fun, and for an aggressive and intentional deviation from the word candle, let's see what other random facts we can learn on Wikipedia!

Did you know that there are over three hundred distinct breeds of goats? Ya. Me neither.

Did you know that, in Australia, there is a group called:
The Corps of Royal Australian Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (RAEME; pronounced Raymee). Saint Eligius is recognized as the spiritual guide and mentor of RAEME personnel. Saint Eligius is universally known as a protector of tradesmen and craftsmen.

Huh. Didn't know that either. Seems like a pretty non-engineerish sentiment to me, but what do I know!? (not as much as Wikipedia, to be sure!)

And how about this for getting rid of a wart?
Duct Tape Occlusion Therapy (DTOT) involves placing a piece of duct tape over [a] wart for six days, followed by soaking the area in water and scraping it with a pumice stone or emery board. There is conflicting evidence as to whether or not DTOT is an effective wart therapy.

And speaking of Duct tape...
With a standard width of 1⁷⁄₈ inches (48 mm), duct tape was originally developed during World War II in 1942 as a water resistant sealing tape for ammunition.


And for some Christmas cheer...
Mistletoe is a poisonous plant that causes acute gastrointestinal problems including stomach pain, and diarrhea along with low pulse.

So, for the love of cheese whiz, kiss under the mistletoe, but please refrain from eating it!

You know, that one got me curious. If you haven't already clicked on the link above...
According to a custom of Christmas cheer, any two people who meet under a hanging of mistletoe are obliged to kiss. The custom is Scandinavian in origin. It was the plant of peace in Scandinavian antiquity. If enemies met by chance beneath it in a forest, they laid down their arms and maintained a truce until the next day. This ancient Scandinavian custom led to the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe.

Wikipedia is just like one big train of thought for me.... here's my last one:
Kissing is a complex behavior that requires significant muscular coordination. A total of thirty-four facial muscles and 112 postural muscles are used during a kiss.

How about that? If you've ever kissed someone, let me be the first to say, "Congratulations on your significant muscular coordination!" ;)

Manic Monday: Light

This is what we did tonight.... it's always *my job to put the lights on. That's just because I'm a picky sunuva and I can't have the wires strung all over the place or the tree looks like a spiderweb.

*self-appointed position because Dustin likes to think he's a spider


Isn't it lovely? Seven strands of rainbow wonderfulness. And notice the tree-skirt that I made last year? Yes, I'm asking for praise and recognition. Shameless...



In my quest for light subject matter, I came across the following quote. It doesn't say light in it, but it feels like light to me. I like to think of myself as trying to live my life like this, for the most part:

Wherever you go, no matter what the weather, always bring your own sunshine.
~Anthony J. D'Angelo


And this has nothing, whatsoever, to do with light, but here it is anyway. My first apple pie. My vent holes got a little... ok... a lot retarded because I forgot the butter and had to shove it into the pie after it had already been baking for five or ten minutes. :)

Say 'yes' to randomness!

Be sure to visit Mo for more Manic Monday fun!

Manic Monday: Shopping

Excuse me, would you care for some Black Friday? Yes, thank you!

I love shopping on this crazy day. I had never done it until a couple of years ago when I wanted to go see what all the fuss was about. Was it really as crazy as people said? Yes, yes it was. And yes, yes I loved it!

I laughed so hard the first time I went out. I pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot at 4:30am and laughed my head off! The usually-full parking lot was COMPLETELY full and I couldn't stop the laughter. It was hilarious to me.

Unfortunately, not everyone feels the same as I- that it's just funny and entertaining and if they happen to get a good deal it's an extra added bonus. I just heard yesterday about a temporary Wal-Mart employee who was trampled to death in their "doorbuster" sale. This tragedy makes me sick. As I've thought about it since yesterday, I have felt a range of emotions including guilt that I went out and participated in this purchase-fest. But I have let go of that because I realize that there is a safe and courteous way to participate in Black Friday, and I am grateful to live in a place where people are friendly in their maniacal-shopping-at-4am insanity. Almost everyone I came across on this shopping-frenzy was friendly as we grinned at each other sheepishly with sleep-deprived, bleary-eyed, left-over makeup smiles. We're idiots and we knew it. And we were friends, comrades in idiocy.

So, yes, I participate in Black Friday shopping. I have fun doing it. It's pure entertainment for me. I don't care that much about the "deals". What I enjoy is the pursuit of those deals and spending time with my mom, who goes out with me into the madness.

Manic Monday: Harvest

Being that Thanksgiving is THIS WEEK (are you kidding me!?) I'm pretty sure I should be nostalgic and wistful as I think about the word harvest, but I'm not feeling that so much today. On Friday last, I peeked at the Manic Monday word and I must say that the only thing that kept coming back to me was this:

It disturbs me, being an organ donor as I am, that should I die and all circumstances be right with my dead body, they would take my organs and use them to heal others. I am not disturbed that they take them or that other people would have them and be helped. That's why I'm a donor. What disturbs is that they use the word harvest to describe the process.

I am dead, and someone is standing over my body with a scalpel. They might say, "Let us reap this harvest of Clancy's kidneys and liver, heart and corneas..." Do you think they'd say a prayer over me thanking God for this bountiful harvest of Clancy and her healthy body?