I’ve no time to talk. I’ll be back at work today, doing something decidedly unusual for me.
I’ll be cooking, a task I am rather looking forward to.
I don’t intend it to be a long term thing, but I do like the novelty for now. Just the sort of thing to shake me from the “I’ve been doing the same thing every day for a year” doldrums of early professional life.
And someday, I’ll have something to blog about again :-)
I’d been trying to get a hold of my little brother for weeks–and not just to chew him out for the birthday celebration that was (in my humble opinion) ill-advised. I was trying to get ahold of him because I hadn’t talked to him for a while and because I missed him.
So when I saw on Facebook that his relationship status had changed to “In a Relationship”, I was a bit disappointed.
And when he finally called a week later to ask if there were any boys around for him to beat up (Try as I might to make them understand, none of my brothers seem to have gotten it through their heads that at some point they might not want to be repelling all of their sisters’ potential suitors!), I chastised him for not calling me earlier.
He hemmed and hawed, talked about the distance between here and California, so on and so forth.
I told him I understood–and didn’t expect we’d stay as connected as when we were both in Lincoln. “But just keep me updated,” I requested.
In the past few days, he’s been faithful to keep me updated, little pings in my text message mailbox at all hours:
“Hey I’m eating pizza”
“At chow hall bout to go to church”
“Oh BTW I went to chow a while back”
“Just got done with field day………Prolly gonna go to sleep in like an hour…. :)”
I’ve been texting him back. Smiley faces. “Like”. The occasional personal update:
“On my way back from Grand Island. It’s really starting to feel like Fall, what with the wind blowing cold and the trees about half turned.”
It’s silly stuff, overwhelmingly mundane.
The sort of stuff I see on Facebook every day.
But these status updates aren’t the impersonal blobs on Facebook. These are opportunities to interact with and enjoy my brother.
I wouldn’t trade them for a dozen Facebooks.
It has been seven years since I could play (due to my brother being an employee).
And before seven years ago, I went to McDonalds approximately once a year (on a church sponsored youth trip).
So now, for the first time in my life, I am playing MONOPOLY.
You know, the artery-clogging, pocket-emptying exercise in futility that allows McDonalds to rake in the big bucks every fall?
Yep, that Monopoly.
See?
I told you so.
So far, I have won several orders of medium fries, a breakfast sandwich, 20 Snapfish prints, and some MyCoke Rewards points (whatever those are.)
I’m still holding out for one of the biggies.
Anybody want to share? I’m looking for–
Of course, if you were really smart and had any of the above, you’d run over to Walmart and buy $1 medium drinks until you had the rest. What I’ve got is a dime a dozen.
So why am I playing again?
Oh yes.
Because I can.
***Disclaimer: Professional dietitian on closed commute. Please do not attempt.***
Sometimes, the weekend’s just too great to resist documenting it.
Friday:
Saturday:
Sunday:
Not gonna lie. I really love my life. This weekend is a perfect example of why.
A long day in Grand Island done, I pointed my car towards home, eager to get back to Columbus.
But as soon as I turned east, I saw a gorgeous almost-full-penny moon.
Do you know what I’m talking about? A moon that glows with coppery tones, where you can almost see Abraham Lincoln’s profile in its enormous glistening glory?
My eyes twitched to the camera bag sitting beside me, my hands thrummed the steering wheel restlessly.
I wanted a picture of this–except the construction on the road between Grand Island and Central City left me with no place to turn off.
I determined to take a detour through Central City. I’d find a country road; stop and take some pictures before rejoining Highway 30 a little further along.
What I didn’t count on was the difficulty of finding country road turn-offs after dark.
I crossed the Platte River and knew I needed to turn east again soon (since I was traveling south and my destination was northeast). Finding a little highway, I turned off on it.
Unfortunately, this little highway had no shoulders for pulling over to take pictures–so I kept driving, sure I’d find a north-leading road soon.
The penny moon rose and became a dime, not anywhere near as enthralling.
I drove further, wondering at my folly–chasing the moon.
My usual route looks like this:
Instead, last evening’s trip looked more like this:
Dozens of extra miles, at least a half hour extra drive time.
No pictures to show for it.
An evening chasing the moon.
As two-year-old Ronald sat on the Sunday School bench, his attention was arrested by the girl beside him. He looked over and thought to himself, “That Carol P is mighty pretty. When I grow up, she’s gonna be my girlfriend.”
One week later, he again found himself preoccupied with the girl on the bench beside him. This time, though, his thoughts took a different turn: “That Carol P is mighty pretty. When I grow up, she’s gonna be my wife.”
Sixty years ago yesterday, Ronald made Carol his wife.
When they were married, an older member of the congregation* gave them advice patterned after his initials: “Increase and Multiply.”
It took a few years for them to begin, but after Ronald came back from Korea, the increasing began in earnest.
Today, Ronald and Carol boast twelve sons and daughters, ten sons-and-daughters-in-law, 43 grandchildren, seven grandchildren-in-law, and a beginning spattering of great-grandchildren.
Increase and multiply, he told them. And multiply they did.
“You know what the best thing I ever did for you was?” Grandpa asks his grandchildren now.
We know the answer and respond on cue, “You married Grandma.”
Grandpa smiles contentedly. Yes, that’s the best thing he ever did for us.
This grandchild could add a bit more: He stayed married to Grandma.
It’s a romance that began eighty years ago, was sealed in marriage sixty years ago, and that continues on to this day.
It’s a romance that has blessed multitudes, not the least the 70+ progeny of Ronald and Carol Cook.
*My memory is a bit fuzzy about the details of the “Increase and Multiply” story. I trust my aunts will set the record straight when I err :-)
My sister’s a jewelry lady (she sells it with Premier Designs), and we were sitting around the lunch table one day when she mentioned that the other jewelry ladies say she should never leave the house without five or six pieces of jewelry on.
My knee-jerk-reaction (which, of course, I said out loud–will I ever gain control of my tongue?) was to say that I don’t like people who wear that much jewelry. I really can’t be friends with people who have so little style.
Not surprisingly, my dinner companions were aghast at my statement.
Really? I judge people that harshly?
One friend made a crack about her own lack of style, diffused the situation.
But the incident remained in my head, kept me asking myself why I reacted in that way.
The truth is, I sometimes (often?) have abominable style. How is it that I might hold others to a higher style-standard than I hold myself? Or do I really?
It took much rumination to get to the bottom of my reaction…but I think I finally figured it out.
My perception of people who wear tons of jewelry is that they’re trying really hard to be fashionable. I don’t try very hard to be fashionable. In fact, I regularly flaunt fashion and wear downright ridiculous apparel (particularly when I wear my pajamas to Bible study–a pink polo dress, white leggings underneath, a huge white sweater over top and fuzzy brown moccasins?)
When I see people that I perceive to be trying really hard, I presume that they would be embarrassed by me–so I never even give them a chance.
Sure, I’ll greet them when we’re introduced. I’ll say a nice hello. But I won’t really try to be their friend. If I see them in the hall, unless they approach me or somehow acknowledge me, I’m not going to acknowledge them.
I assume that I’d only mess up the image they’re trying so hard (and, in my opinion, failing) to project.
But is that really a fair assumption?
No. It isn’t.
That’s letting my flesh take preference over brotherly love. It’s petty prejudice and it’s ugly.
So, with my eyes now open to my own petty prejudices, I’m out to love the world–even the world who’s wearing five or more pieces of jewelry.
I’m thrilled to be teaching the 2nd and 3rd grade Sunday School (about a dozen kids, mostly boys!) at my church.
We’re going through the books of the Bible with a curriculum called “Route 66” for the 66 books of the Bible.
In order to facilitate our quick trip (only 36 weeks) through the Bible, I’ve decorated our room with a road–with corresponding road signs.
In my head, the idea was good–but I was pretty apprehensive about how it would work. By the grace of God, it turned out even better than I expected!
The DOT is working on the highway between here and Grand Island–the highway I use for my bi-weekly commute.
Four times a week, I see the signs set up on either side of the worked-on stretch of highway:
No
Passing Zones
Not Marked
Every time I pass the bright orange signs, I wonder whose bright idea it was to not include punctuation.
As it is, I have no clue what the sign is trying to say.
Is it telling me not to pass because the zones are unmarked?
In that case, it should read:
No
Passing. Zones
Not Marked.
Or perhaps it is just an FYI, to let me know that the no passing zones are not marked so I’ll have to use discretion when passing.
May I suggest:
No-Passing
Zones Not
Marked
Or better yet:
No-Passing
Zones Are
Not Marked
As it is, sans punctuation marks, this sign means nothing.
I do whatever I please.
