Godspeed Jessica

 I have a nightlight I bought from Goodwill.  It's a turtle that casts stars around the room.  It has a hard shell and soft plush underbelly.  I turn it on every night.  It runs on a couple of double A's.  It is my comfort and strange small joy as my mind tends to race at bedtime, like a toddler fighting the inevitable.  I close my eyes and thoughts of the world and my job and sometimes my sorrows and regrets creep in.  I open my eyes to the lovely lights across the room and think of God's universe, of his love, of his provision, of his beauty.  The artist in me relaxes and my imagination goes to all things good.  

Every few months, the lights begin to dim and I realize the batteries are running low in my precious turtle nightlight.  In procrastination, I will let this go for quite a while...the same way I will print with a low ink warning until nothing appears on the paper.  I will use a makeup brush to swirl around the rim of empty powder foundation long past the appropriate amount of time, not willing to waste one small bit of product.  I will drive my car until it quits giving me miles to empty and instead says, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET GAS."

I have a friend, her name is Jessica.  I met her several years ago through a mutual friend, Michelle, who wanted to join the Peace Corp.  We worked together at Savannah Magazine.  I didn't want her to join the Peace Corp and move away, so I suggested something less drastic...and perhaps local... might serve her better.  Michelle found an organization in Savannah called Citizen's Advocacy.  It is a non-profit designed to pair people who have means and connections with people on the fringe of society.  CA introduced Michelle to Jessica and that was the beginning of a life-long friendship...for me.

Jessica has Cerebral Palsy.  She has been wheelchair bound her entire life.  She grew up in Wisconsin.  When she turned 18, she was sent to a work camp for people with disabilities.  She did not thrive there and eventually followed her mother to Savannah where she was able to find a home at Stillwell Towers on Water's Avenue, living remarkably independent with just the assistance of an aid once, sometimes twice a day.  

When I met Jessica, this life worked well for her.  She was happy, bright, optimistic and hopeful.  She was filled with infectious joy.  We became fast friends.  She joined my church, First Baptist Church of the Islands and attended frequently for a couple of years...really until Covid.  Maybe Covid broke the pattern of togetherness and activity the way it did for so many in various circumstances.  Teleride became more difficult to schedule, and Jessica began watching services online.  Her mother moved back to Wisconsin.  Our meetings together shrunk to quarterly, every four months or so.  

These last few years, each time I saw Jessica, her bright light began to dim, like her batteries were getting low.  It became a great source of distress for me.  Her chair had become infested with bed bugs and they crawled on her as we sat to eat lunch one afternoon. Her apartment was infested as well, and it became clear her "caregiver" was neglecting and abusing her.  I reached out to our church family who have all helped to care for Jessica over the years.  I asked my prayer partner, Barbara, for her help in prayer. And as if overnight, a plan beyond any of us moved into action.  Jessica received a new caseworker who was not willing to look the other way.  She had Jessica admitted to the hospital for care, addressed the apartment issues and moved her to a cleaner unit.  It turned out, in addition to the pest problem, Jessica was suffering from a horrible bedsore that had eaten completely through her backside.  It required surgery.  

Her mother and uncle came from Alabama.  They cared for her.  They advocated for her and
procured a new chair for her.  And this morning, March 31, 2026, they are taking her to Alabama to live in a full-care facility with a private room.  Her aunt lives there as well.  Jessica will finally be with family.  

God replaced the batteries when I was afraid it was too late.  I was afraid the car had finally run out of gas.  I was afraid I had waited too long, not done enough...I was afraid.  And then I opened my eyes and saw the beautiful stars around the room, felt his Presence and his love and I have nothing but joy in my heart.  Godspeed Jessica.  We love you and will miss seeing you.  But we will send care packages and stay in touch.  The Lord has done amazing things through you, and I am probably the one most blessed by your light.

Take the China Challenge with Me

From slave labor, we as a nation and as individuals have funded for decades, to a manufactured pandemic that succeeded in undermining the effectiveness of freedom based governments and crippled the global economy...to violent and widespread religious persecution of Christians and Muslims...trafficking of fentanyl into our nation...overt disbursement of spy balloons across our airspace...and finally their involvement in propping up Russia to defeat Ukraine... when is enough finally going to be ENOUGH? 

Our dependence on China didn't happen overnight and our separation from her won't either.  We have become not just reliant on China's products for necessities like medications, vital technology, tools, clothing and PPE...at the same time we've become addicted to the cheap tchotchkes we use to decorate our homes and yards, the small toys and gadgets we purchase for a few moments of happiness before they ultimately end up at second hand stores or in the landfills.  

The first step in taking the China challenge, which I've been doing personally since the spy balloon incident, is the most practical, albeit not easy. It eliminates the non-essential "Made In China" purchase.  Whenever I am shopping, when I start to choose an item that is not a necessity, it is just something I like or want, I check the label to make sure it is not made in China.  Sadly, it usually is...and it is very difficult to put back.  But I put it back.  I put it back for the slaves who made it.  I put it back for the innocent Ukraine people slaughtered by imperial forces.  I put it back for the Muslims in internment camps.  I put it back for everyone who died or has lost loved ones to Covid.  I put it back for all the lives lost to fentanyl.  I picture that spy balloon drifting across our nation and imagine that next time it's filled with poisonous gas.  I put it back because to buy it is suicide.  To buy it is slavery.  To buy it is genocide.  To buy it is to become complicit with evil.  

It's important to draw the distinction here between China and Chinese people and Americans of Chinese descent.  In the context of this message, I am only talking about China as a government, not as a person.  I have no ill will nor should anyone toward the Chinese people.  And it should go without saying that our fellow Americans whose families come from China also have nothing to do with this international crisis.  

Weening ourselves away from the necessities is going to be a more complicated process that involves more manufacturing here at home and within our ally nations along with the intentional acceptance that things will cost more.  Individual Americans can and should become a part of this process.  Pressure your local and state representatives to enact tax incentives for domestic manufacturing.  Send letters to corporate leaders from your favorite stores like Target, Wal-Mart, Tractor Supply, etc. and tell them how you feel.  Let them know you are reading labels and avoiding products made in China.  I'd like to see shame labeling similar to those on cigarette labels, alcohol labels, and everything known to the State of California to cause cancer labels. They should be highly visible on every product made in China, necessity or not, and should read something like this...this product came from a country known to use slave labor and bio warfare.

When we have finally managed to become independent from China with all of our necessary commodities, then we should impose a China tax.  This would be a tax on every item made in China that would bring it up to the cost it would be were it made somewhere else in a free market where workers are paid and protected.  This would level the playing field and dissuade our major retail chains from buying China because there would no longer be an economic advantage to it.  Every dollar from the China tax should go toward pharma manufacturing at home, PPE manufacturing at home, technological materials like batteries and computer parts...you got it...all made in America.  

It will take a while.  It won't be easy.  We can do it.  Take the China Challenge.

STOP HATE

 I'm from Snellville, Georgia a stone's throw from Stone Mountain and just outside of Atlanta.  I grew up in Gwinnett County Schools.  Before primary school, I lived in Atlanta, GA and attended Pre-K and part of kindergarten there.  Since the beginning of my formal education, in every school I've ever attended, kindness, honesty, and fairness were cornerstones of that education.  Everything, from P.E. games with parachutes and square dancing to book reports on Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr., conditioned me with those virtues in mind.  

My education regarding American history was tempered with the complicated truth about Christopher Columbus and his ruthless tactics as he and other Europeans sought to conquer this land.  I learned all about the disease that Europeans brought to North America wiping out many of the native Americans even before the wars began, all the while acknowledging the great country that grew from that conquest.  We honored the victory of our forefathers with a pledge each morning and a flag outside our buildings. 

I left high school fully aware that the Southern United States was built very much on the backs of slaves and indentured servants for which I was taught to feel both shame and gratitude.  This country would likely not have succeeded in the same capacity without them and we owe them and their contemporary relatives admiration and respect for that.  

I learned all about cultural bias on standardized tests and the many debates regarding affirmative action.  I left for the University of Georgia fully equipped to continue that conversation at a higher level.  In college, we discussed all the different ways you can look at systemic racism and ways to combat it, the challenge always being fairness to all people.  There was dignity and consideration for all.  

In my America 1978-2016, kindness, honesty and fairness were woven into the fabric.  I didn't need to wear a shirt saying, "Stop Hate."  It wasn't necessary because that principle was UNDERSTOOD.  IT WENT WITHOUT SAYING.  Disintegrationists will suggest that I'm a fool.  That I was living in a fantasy land ignoring a cancer that was slowly killing us.  And that in exchange for what?  For THIS?  For the current inability or unwillingness to debate?  For the unabashed name calling amongst adults in media and politics?  For the intolerance of differing opinions?  For overt censorship and total corporate control of the people and their voices?

In 2016, Hilary Clinton and her support lost an election they thought was a slam dunk and they have been punishing the country for it ever since.  It started with the overt undermining of the new president through the associated press, social media and government offices and then grew a life all its own as anarchists sensed their moment to grab onto the momentum.  With any thought of actual PEACE in the rearview mirror, they embarked on a campaign to re-write history and create a new order.   

I don't know what schools all of these people attended that taught them disdain for America, that suggested to them we were all on different teams.  But I will say to them that they are the ones who have been lied to.  And the current state of this nation is proof that their perspective is solving nothing and clearly making things worse.  Wearing the words, "Stop Hate," empowers it.  Dignifies it. Validates and encourages it.  It demonstrates that the messenger is ironically hating something, whether it be hate itself, or more likely people who are different from him, a way to call others out, to pass judgement at the same time elevating himself to moral piety.  There is no honor in wearing the shirt when the person wearing it is busy hating white men.  Hating Karens.  Hating republicans.  Hating Christians.  Hating Pro-lifers. Hating America.

To really stop hate, don't wear the shirt.  Live the life.  Be the person who doesn't jump at every opportunity to shame someone who doesn't want to take a vaccine or wear a mask and vice-versa.  Pass up the chance to criticize a liberal or a conservative politician and if you must, use intelligent words and respectable counter points.  Don't force someone to call you a man if you're not a man and don't exasperate a person who has gender issues.  Show each other mutual respect. Forgive.  Accept.  Love.  Tolerate. 

To wear the shirt is lazy, contrite and assumptive. To live the life takes effort, commitment, consistency.  The person who lives the life feels no need to brand himself. That's what confidence looks like. That's what conviction looks like. That's how integrity operates. So if you really want to stop hate in this world, let it begin with you not starting conflict. 

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

Live the life.

 

  

Farewell to Facebook

In case you don't remember in 2004, in a conversation with a friend at Harvard, Mark Zuckerberg had this conversation:

Zuck: Yeah so if you ever need info about anyone at Harvard

Zuck: Just ask.

Zuck: I have over 4,000 emails, pictures, addresses, SNS

(redacted friend's name): What?  How'd you manage that one?

Zuck:  People just submitted it.

Zuck: I don't know why

Zuck: they "trust me."

Zuck: Dumbf***s.

-India Today Tech 

New Delhi

March 22, 2018

While he was young then, only nineteen, it does still reveal something about his character, a callous arrogance.  When that conversation hit the news, I immediately closed my Facebook account.  To my disbelief, when I submitted "yes" to close the account the words on the screen read, "You'll be back."  Wow.  I couldn't believe the irreverence, the gall.  But you know what?  I did go back a few years later deluding myself that I needed it to promote my business.  I pushed down my personal pride and gave the website another try.  

In the past few years that I've been using Facebook, I have tried to keep to a moral code.  First, no bragging.  I asked myself before submitting each post, will this offend someone?  Will this make someone feel jealous or otherwise bad about herself?  Secondly I asked, is this meaningful?  Will it make someone smile or contemplate in a positive way?  And the third rule was to stay away from politics.  I wanted Facebook to be a safe space to share pictures with friends and family and to promote my books and artwork.  

Over the years, the political bit of my moral code became increasingly more difficult to follow as my feed became inundated with anti-Trump, anti-conservative rhetoric.  Slowly I began unfollowing friends, colleagues, family members whose posts left me feeling personally attacked, judged and criticized.  Then the pandemic hit and it was like everyone completely lost their filters.  I mean everyone.  People of Facebook, members of the media, politicians and Social Media itself all finger pointing, name calling, fact checking, and then finally censoring.  

I'll give you an example of censoring.  A few months ago when the Democrats unrolled the plan to promote mail in ballots across the country, I shared a popular quote that read something like, "If you can stand in line at Wal-Mart you can stand in line to vote."  A relative of mine replied with an article explaining how mail-in ballots were the same thing as absentee ballots and that many states use the terms interchangeably.  While this is true to some degree, it is only true that all absentee ballots can be mail-in ballots, but all mail-in ballots are not absentee ballots.  This is because for it to be an absentee ballot, a voter must request it.  This is a huge distinction because along with it come many implications.  Facebook would not allow me to post those words.  Every time I tried to send the reply, I got a notice saying something really vague about not being able to send at that time.  It allowed me to say all kinds of other things at that time, but not that.  

Whether you are a Republican, Democrat or Independent, this should give you pause.  I understand that many people have a strong visceral response to Donald Trump and I feel bad about that.  I know what it's like to have no respect for your president.  It's hard.  But I don't understand the obsession with hating him.  I see these news reporters who are supposed to be objective journalists acting like emotional basket cases.  Michelle Obama said, "Let's remember that tens of millions of people voted for the status quo, even when it meant supporting lies, hate, chaos and division." (USA today.com)  What?  Does she know what status quo means?  If anything is status quo, it's voting for a lifetime politician.  And lies?  Hate?  Whether you want to admit it or not, the same rhetoric is easily true about the other side.  

Whoopi Goldberg shouts on the view that Republicans should suck it up!  and says about the election results, "How DARE you question it?"  Well, this is still a democracy republic.  Any candidate is welcome to challenge election results or simply ask for investigations into them and any person interested in liberty and free and fair elections should embrace that about our system.  Stacy Abrams filed lawsuits in the Georgia Governor's race.  Democrats had no problem with that and have exalted her as a victim of the system and the rightful symbolic winner of that contest.  After the 2016 election, the Washington Post headline read, "'I would be your president': Clinton blames Russia, FBI Chief for 2016." And of course everyone knows the story of Al Gore and Florida.  

So let's all please stop pretending that the Republican response to this election is unprecedented because it's not.  The only thing that is unprecedented is the number of mail in ballots cast, and given this is the first time we've voted this way as a nation, it's not too much to ask that we get it right.  Another thing that is completely new to our time is media bias which brings me back to Facebook.  I tried to keep my Facebook experience free of politics until Facebook made it about politics.  Now, you can't get through any feed without propaganda links explaining how Joe Biden won the presidency.  Next it will be about your social duty to wear face masks, then to get vaccinated and then...what else?  I promise more will come because it is the nature of power.  

So the conservative response to things like this is not to burn buildings, topple statues or spit in peoples' faces.  It is to break the monopoly.  There have been other social platforms waiting to get a piece of the market share for years and we've all been too comfortable and complacent to go to the trouble of giving them a try.  Well I'm no longer comfortable or complacent and I will not be complicit in allowing the flow of information to the people to become stifled by big tech and their agenda.  

Above all else, since I am leaving Facebook and may not have a chance to express this to as many people as I can in this moment, to my friends and family who are Democrats,  I love you.  I think that you are smart and kind and have integrity and I am sorry that you have disliked our president so intensely.  I ask you to please consider what is happening in the media and become a voice against it.  Our media cannot become a series of propaganda machines as we have seen what's happened on Facebook.  You can think for yourselves and don't need the entire power of every celebrity and television network behind you.  The name calling has got to stop on both sides.  It is ugly and undignified.  We are better than this.  We are all so much better than this.  

So I will say farewell to Facebook and hello to any other non-biased platforms who want to join the ranks of social media.  And to Mr. Zuckerberg, I assure you, this time I will not be back.  

Protect Me From Tyranny Not the Coronavirus

Many Americans are willing to step into the post Covid 19 world. We believe the only path to its end is through it.  The vast disconnect between us and the ones who prefer to hide from it indefinitely demonstrates one core value, self-responsibility, a value that also marks a major difference between conservative and liberal ideals.  

Conservatives believe that the people tell government what to do.  Liberals believe that the government should tell the people what to do.  Conservatives believe that the people support the government.  Liberals believe that the government should support the people.  So in the case of protection, likewise, while conservatives are scrambling to protect the constitution during this government free-for-all of mandates, the liberals are looking to the government to protect them from getting sick.    

So who's right?  Who's wrong?  I suggest in this situation that once again, self-responsibility tips the scale.  In the case of the Coronavirus, we have the luxury to constantly take in education and updates regarding its spread worldwide, nationally and locally.  We know how to protect ourselves from it and how to treat it.  If I don't want to get Coronavirus I can choose to stay home.  I can order groceries online.  I can shop at odd hours when the stores aren't busy.  I can always wear a mask when I go out.  I can even wear a mask when someone comes to the door.  I can wash my hands incessantly especially when I've been outside my home.  I can be more mindful about surfaces I touch when I leave my house.  I can avoid friends and family members who I know are going out and living their lives carefree.  It is hard to imagine, but I can even avoid them in my own home and if they're grown and they choose to put me at risk, I can insist that they find somewhere else to live.  If they aren't grown, then they live under my house by my rules, so that's pretty simple.  If they are unpredictable teens, you can bet I'm keeping my physical distance from them.  If  I'm really serious about protecting myself, I might even start exercising and eating right.  Gosh, I'll even spring for vitamin supplements.  These are just some of the many ways that I can avoid dying from Coronavirus.  

In the case of Tyranny, it's not so simple.  When the government tells me I can't leave my house, can't shop in select stores of its choosing, go to work, open my business, attend church services, have a surgery I've needed for some time, attend school, send my children to a playground, ride around in my own boat...what am I to do?  When the government tells me if I don't wear a mask covering my nose and mouth everywhere in public, I will be educated and punished, what is my reprisal?  

When the government prevents my child from attending school while promising a great enriching online experience that by the way they have failed to produce, what am I to do?  I sent letters to every single person who voted.  I answered every survey they sent.  I'm aware that over seventy percent of parents surveyed said they wanted their children to go back to school in spite of the epidemic.  My twelve year old also sent a pleading message to the Superintendent Ann Levett.  She did not reply.  The few responses we received from board members aired on the side of safety, safety in a vacuum because it completely disregards all of the detrimental truths about confining children to screens in homes alone while their parents try to earn a living to provide for their families.    

Trauma from a pandemic has opened the gate for tyranny to invade our country in the guise of protecting the people, veiled in platitudes like Safety First, Follow the Science and Kindness Matters.  Anyone who dissents is labeled heartless, cruel, selfish and unenlightened.  So where then lies the self-responsibility conservatives hold so dear?  How do we retaliate as our breath is being crushed from us, our posts deleted and constantly censored, people we don't even know weighing in on every single thing we say in various forms of social media using group think terms like, "It's obvious you..."  "what kind of idiot..."  "How stupid..."  "ridiculous..." and my new personal favorite, an emojee face laughing hysterically, these all coming from the harbingers of kindness.    

Do we wait until the next election and hope that someone better runs for county commissioner?  For mayor?  For public school superintendent?  For school board members?  That's a big hope and November is far away.  Or do we get in the mix, fight back, get outside our comfort zones and sound the alarms, because right now everything Matters but us.  

There is tyranny and there is self-responsibility.  In one paradigm, a select few win.  The few who make the most noise, point many fingers and accuse instead of seek to understand.  To the person who chooses safety over freedom, your victory will be short lived because Tyranny does not stop when the tragedy fades, when the natural disaster has long been cleaned up and life resumes.  It takes hold and grows.  It is a living thing and it will eventually attack something you hold dear and when it does, just as conservatives feel today, you will be powerless to stop it. 

In the realm of self-responsibility, we protect ourselves.  Oh we are happy to protect others as well and eager to do so, but not because we've been forced to, but because it is the right thing to do.  People are given the choice to wear a mask or not to wear a mask.  If it suits the greater good, people are highly encouraged to wear masks.  Private businesses can help by requiring masks in their buildings or at their venues as well as social distancing like making aisles bigger, seating people further apart...the possibilities are vast especially when equipping the private sector.  We are free to avoid people not wearing masks and you can even think bad thoughts about them if you want.  Just don't harass them!

We can make virtual learning available to all the students and teachers who aren't comfortable going back to school in person.  Goodness knows we're already in deep with this program "It's Learning" and I don't even want to know what it cost.  This will reduce the overall in person class sizes and allow children to have the proper education they deserve.  When people take responsibility for themselves, everyone wins.  All of these things help us to inch closer to a herd immunity that will never come if we continue to hide away.  Eventually we may even get a vaccine that helps quell numbers each season.  

This is America.  We are Americans, whether your family has been here since the first boat arrived or like most of us, your people trickled in through out her history, it wasn't easy to get here.  Every American is either a fighter or born from fighters where freedom was the prize.  Don't give it away for the comfort of wellness.  Something else will get you eventually, I promise.  That's how life works.  But freedom, this freedom did not come easy and if you preserve it, it will last long after your death for your children and grandchildren.  Just as it takes years to build a skyscraper and seconds to bring it down, freedom will disappear like a vapor in the streets. 

The Globe Tree

Five years ago, I sat at this computer in a similar melancholy state to find catharsis.  SIP was going to kindergarten.  A week from tomorrow, he will be finished with fifth grade, finished with elementary school.  My introverted low-key boy eventually got the hang of school and went on to GEP and then to MN4K, the school's morning media program, and Safety Patrol.  He's a brown belt at Master Jaime's Ultimate Martial Arts Studio.  He plays tennis once a week.  He's tall and funny and occasionally wears deodorant. 

Marshpoint has done a great job preparing the kids for this transition.  In hind sight, I think I might have benefited from finding a therapist myself.  The past couple of months, the ride to and from school in the afternoons has become more cherished and less chore.  Quite unfortunately, this sacred mom time has been rudely disrupted by the sudden and brutal destruction of the forest that lived alongside the car pick up lane.  Please don't misunderstand me.  I understand that deforestation is a hard truth of our world and in many ways necessary and beneficial.  But these woods were personal to me.  And the older I get, I see more beauty and life and potential in those woods than I do in ball fields.  So, with just a month of school left to go, they began taking the trees down literally in front of us as we sat captive in the car line each afternoon.  Heavy machines fell them and slung them into piles like dead bodies as I looked away. 

The carnage drew closer and closer to the sacred tree, the Oak that SIP and I called, The Globe.  I prayed that they would not take it down.  It was along the edge of the property line, not unreasonable to think it might be spared.  And sure enough, as all the others disappeared, The Globe remained and a part of me was comforted.  It gave me a sense of civility, the idea that in the clear cutting, there was some humanity, planning and forethought, even respect for the greatness of nature that was eliminated for ball fields or parking, whatever goes there in place of the thousands of wildlife members who were suddenly killed and misplaced.  Perhaps the Globe would stand as a monument to the forest that once lived there.

For days and days after it appeared all the trees had been taken, I drove there in the morning and again in the afternoon, comforted by the sight of that beautiful unusual tree that eventually stood alone in the landscape.  We are now down to one week of school.  The teachers have all but clocked out and SIP has summer camp on his mind.  No more homework.  No more testing.  Just showing up left to do.

This morning, against the soundtrack of For King and Country's new hit, "God Only Knows," I drove SIP to school as I have each morning for five years.  Today, the Globe Tree was gone.  Just gone.  I wept.  Tears poured from my face for so many more reasons than the death of that beautiful tree.  But I think in some way, SIP knew them all.  He reached over and patted me on the back never saying a word.  What a wonderful child.  How blessed I am.  God only knows.  I wish someone had fought for that tree.  It was so lovely, I just assumed no one would take it down.  I wish I had fought for it.

2018 Snowball Effect

2018 has brought more than actual snowballs to us in Savannah.  The New Year Resolution snowball, for example, is crashing through my life in an avalanche of under performance and disappointment. Like an idiot, I accepted the culture dominated challenge to become better this year.  Better at everything, planning, exercising, eating, communicating, painting, marriaging, parenting, friending, oh gosh just  better at myselfing. 

As the Millennial cheekily says, "Let me put that in my planner," and pulls out her sleek smart phone... I, the dull one from the nineteen hundreds pull out my five pound notebook stand-in for my short term memory that was shot during the dawn of motherhood.   Yes, I use a PLANNER, an actual book with blank spaces for information.  It requires a separate writing utensil for it to work.  Don't get me started on Microsoft Outlook and Calendar, etc. as my phone has let me down on scheduling more times than my German Short Haired Pointer puppy has destroyed something I love.

So among the many things in the queue that I carry on from day to day in my PLANNER is the need to make a CALENDAR.  This also is not a metaphor or the name of an app for my phone.  It is an actual book filled with real pages that represent months in the year.  I like to have a calendar on the wall in the kitchen, and because I'm an odd bird, I really like to make the calendar myself.  But all of this 2018 getting better at being ME campaign became very time consuming.  Hence, February launches and I still have not made my calendar and there sits a glaring blank space on the wall where it should be.

My nine year old son, SIP, has become accustomed to checking the calendar each day to apprise himself of coming events.  SIP was home all week with the flu and Thursday night in an attempt to orient himself for going back to school Friday, he checked for the calendar on the blank space in the wall where the 2018 calendar should be.  Dismayed, he said, "What's tomorrow's date?"  I grabbed the nearest thing with a date on it and no, it was not my phone, but my PLANNER.  I opened it up to February and handed him the schedule that had not been revealed in its proper sense on the wall.  He perused it for a few seconds and said in shock, "I"m having SURGERY next Friday?!"

"Oh yeah, about THAT..." and another snowball hit me right between the eyes...metaphorically this time. 

If you like my blog, you'll love my book!

signed hard copy 24.95 www.ccpruitt.etsy.com

ebook at www.lulu.com

Elephant in the Room

I'm a big picture person.  Details get by me.  It's a miracle I've made it this far in life.  I have no idea how I graduated from college.  I still have dreams that I didn't pull it off, nightmares really...depicting a class I forgot about and just quit going to...the living arrangements I failed to make and ended up slumming it in some crack den...the class I simply can't find no matter how many halls I walk or streets I drive down...

When I interviewed to be a sales executive at Savannah Magazine, my future bosses asked me the fully loaded question, "What is your biggest weakness?"  Now I know I'm supposed to cleverly turn this negative into a positive with some sort of contrived answer like, I try too hard, I care too much, I just LOVE overtime... But no, I said, "I CANNOT multi-task."  Their expressions were filled with a combination of amazement and disappointment.  I think they thought I was really going to be the one.  But I was not going to pass up my only opportunity to get this elephant out of the room.  I needed the alibi of, "I told you so," when things went south in some logistical blaze of glory.  Nope, I was going to have to rely on good old fashioned honesty and humility if I hoped to make it in this fast paced, multi-faceted modern world.

Since then, I've owned an art gallery, run my own businesses, managed to stay married and raise SIP, my now nine year old wonderful kid, who unfortunately inherited my gene of utter cluelessness.   Sometimes I look at him and wonder why oh why did you not get your father's since of wherewithal?  My husband was born with TYPE A stamped across his forehead.  If he could have walked the doctor through delivery he would have and then suggested somebody turn up the thermostat because it was a little chilly in there after sitting in a muggy 98.6 degree oven for nine months.  In fact, if he could have, he would have sent instructions ahead of his arrival along with clothes to change into and an iron for the clothes.

Anyway, for some reason, I planned to get ahead of things this summer.  Preparations for this camp and that, VBS prep, VBS week, Father's day, SIP's birthday, vacations all speckled in with work where I am the only person in charge...was not going to beat me this year.  I was going to stay on TOP.  As early as March, I had registered and paid for Oatland Island Camp, Centrikid Camp, Junior University.  I looked at my pen splattered calendar, put a smug smile on my face and kicked it into cruise control.

All of this probably would have worked out ok if I hadn't put the wrong dates down for VBS.  See, they changed it this year from ALL THE OTHER YEARS IN THE PAST, to the week prior.  And all the other things I scheduled for the summer were based on this one tiny error.  Then it was time for Junior University, SIP's first year at the one week long summer school at Savannah Arts.  That Monday at drop off, his teacher was so nice.  She introduced herself and said, "SIP will come here every day for the two weeks of camp."  Hold up, TWO weeks?!  How did I miss that?  How on earth did I miss that?  Now, I have double paid for camps as SIP is scheduled to go to Oatland Island the following week!!!!

I have failed failed failed in so many ways this summer.  I have missed important meetings, been late on birthday gifts, showed up for karate when there was no karate that night.  I say all this to say, I've never stopped trying.  I write things down, granted in places I forget on paper I can't find, but I try.  I put clues in my phone that I discover weeks after the events have passed.  I still have not written thank you notes for SIP's birthday gifts.  

SIP had a friend over today and they decided to make a fort in the studio.  As I was working elsewhere in the house, SIP came to me and asked if I would help him pull the couch out into a bed. So I went in there and rearranged the room because the room is filled to the ceiling with my work accoutrement (I used a fancy French word here to distract from the fact that my studio looks like a set from Hoarders) so that I could pull the large mattress out from the belly of the giant couch.  When I finally uncovered the layers of blankets and pillows and dog toys and furniture, I looked down at the couch and laughed.  I laughed harder than I have ever laughed in my life.  Then SIP laughed and his friend Olivia began to laugh even though she didn't know why we were laughing hysterically.  I had sold the fold-out couch over a year ago.  This was a different couch.

I Voted for Trump...Seriously

Personally, I like him.  I like that he says what he thinks without fear of retaliation or debate.  I believe he is fair in his perspectives, giving credit where it's due and criticism when warranted.  He has the ability to disagree fundamentally with a person without hating him.  He has a sense of humor.  He slips up when he speaks, as though he hasn't practiced every word that comes from his mouth earlier that morning.  He has the courage to say it again when no one can believe he said it the first time and the humility to correct himself when he's wrong.  His eyes smile.  This says a lot about a person.

Publicly, he has passed the integrity test for decades without any real necessary reason to do so.  We as the American people know him.  We've known him for a long time.  He has led a transparent life to the point of putting himself in a reality television program to highlight various forms of business from the value of street smarts to the virtues of higher education.  People laughed in the beginning and said, Trump on TV?  Seriously?  But then they started watching and listening and learning while at the same time smiling, remarking and marveling that the apprentice show was quite interesting and entertaining. 

Professionally, he is more accomplished than not only any politician in Washington, but than most people in the world.  At the end of the day, we're looking for a CEO, not a lawyer.  The problems of this world and in our country cannot be solved or even addressed with rhetoric and litigation.  Maybe I'm just a dreamer and if that is so, then write me off as one of those artist types and take no offense to my endorsement.  But I want a guy who builds skyscrapers for president.  I want a guy who successfully manages thousands of people on a daily basis all around the world and still finds time to show up at fund raisers and meaningful events (by the way long before ever entering the political arena.)  I want a guy who stars in his own reality television show and isn't afraid to say the words, "You're Fired." 

I'm tired of hearing the condescending statement, "Trump? Seriously?"  I've suffered through eight years of politics I didn't agree with and had the decency and respect for my friends and family and neighbors who supported that administration to keep my mouth shut.  Well, that era is coming to a close and it's time to find a new Commander and Chief.  I'm going with the guy whose buildings still stand, whose show wasn't cancelled like the 65% that get cut in their first season, and who didn't go to school to learn how not to lose.  I voted for Trump...seriously.    

If you like my writing, you'll love my novel.

purchase now

My Crazy Aunt

My Crazy Aunt

Taught me to laugh at myself because
She was going to laugh at me regardless of whether or not I approved.

Paid me to wrap her Christmas presents and said they looked great even though I was only six...and they didn't.

Rescued my hair from the hot iron curling brush...several times. 

Never scolded me when I got into her makeup drawer and applied the lipstick with extreme force.

Told me secrets about my mom when I thought I could never measure up.

Could go through a box of Ritz crackers in five minutes.

Loved children, Craved company, Cooked like a maniac, And seemed lost without something to paint.

Showed no tolerance for fun outside her presence and punished those who didn't comply.

Stayed up later and got up earlier than anyone I've ever known.

Could drink you under the table and then wallpaper a room while you slept.

Almost died while delivering her children and then lived longer for them than was humanly possible.

Packed a full life into a half life and never seemed to age.

Left for Heaven and has been reunited with my Crazy Grandmother. 

Well, they've probably been separated by now.

In Honor of

Paige Porter Hyatt

1965-2016

 

The Truth About Santa...and the Elf, and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy too?

Wow, what a year it has been.  I don't even know how long it's been since I posted about me and my little boy SIP.  Since launching my novel in January, work life has kept me busier than ever which is a great thing, but does tend to distract me from my guilty pleasures...like blogging.  It's November, the holidays are once again upon us.  Every year it seems SIP, who is now seven, chooses one very large present wish, sometimes so big that only Santa and his Christmas magic can pull it off.  It all started with the gigantic Cactus fountain now prominently perched by our swimming pool.  Then it was a Wii.  Last year it was an Xbox...because the Wii wasn't enough. 

Well, SIP is a thinker and he usually makes his big wish known in the springtime so that Santa will have plenty of time to prepare.  This past spring, SIP announced that this year for Christmas he would like to have a -....... (dramatic pause here)..........- LAB.  Not a Labrador but a laboratory.  And he didn't mean a kit that comes in a box with a beaker and Alka-Seltzers.  He meant the real deal, Jimmy Neutron and Johnny Test style, a full-on lab equipped with real plutonium and a sidekick robot.   

Sooooo, this could mean only one thing - it was time for SIP to know the truth about Santa.  In October, one night at the dinner table as we sat surrounded by spooky decorations, I gazed at the red Jello brain centerpiece and felt the imminent weight of the holidays on my shoulders.  It was the night for the talk I had been dreading ever since I got myself into this big web of holiday hero lies when SIP was a toddler.  I wished I had never succumbed to the social pressure, never created this horrible precedent that I knew would ultimately break the sacred bond of trust between me and my child.  But it was done, and I had to see it through to the heart breaking end. 

I gave my husband the "eye" and reading my mind, he nodded his head in solemn approval.  I went on to explain to SIP that St. Nick was a real person, a great man and that he is real.  All of that was true.  But he didn't live in the North Pole with elves, instead he lives in Heaven with God and Jesus and the angels.  We associate him with toys because he is most known for his generosity to orphans and widows.  In effect, Santa did not come to our house and houses all over the world with toys on Christmas Eve.  Moms and dads and loved ones do those things for one another in honor of St. Nick's charity and in celebration of the birth of Jesus who received gifts from the wise men. 

I talked and watched my beautiful boy's face as he took in this new truth that would force him to grow up that night.  I will never forget watching the little light in his eyes go dim. He accepted the information like a champ and seemed a bit relieved to know the truth.  He even thanked us for the very special gifts that he believed Santa had brought, an unexpected and sweet thing.  Over the next few days as holiday catalogues came in the mail and signs went up all over town, the gravity of the situation fell on him.  He was most disappointed about the Elf on the Shelf, but not too surprised about the Easter Bunny, "That," he said, "always seemed ridiculous." 

It has been a bitter sweet time for me as a mother, mostly just because he's growing up and I love him so much that I miss him even when he's sitting next to me.  I miss each second as it passes.  A couple of days ago we headed to the Economy Feed store on Carolyn Street past Bay Street in Savannah to get some food for our chickens.  The charming and quaint feed store is located in an impoverished neighborhood more commonly know as the "ghetto."  Just ahead of the store, we came upon two young men, around fourteen years of age, in an all-out brawl. I had never seen such a terrible fight in-person in my life.  There was a third boy videoing the altercation with his phone.  I pulled over, rolled down my window and yelled, "Cut it Out!"  So if you see the fight on YouTube, I'm the crazy white lady shouting from her green Subaru Forester.  I'm pretty sure I also said, "I don't want to have to call the police!"  The boy with the phone then tried to break it up, but it was no use.  They threw one punch after another and ended up in a tangled mess on the ground.  Neighbors started coming out of their houses and walking over and finally a man in his thirties was able to get them under control. 

I gave the good Samaritan a friendly wave and went on to Economy.  I wasn't sure what to say to SIP about the whole thing, but he had it covered.  "Mom," he said, "I bet I know why those boys were fighting."  He spoke in his all-knowing tone he gets when he lectures and I readied myself for a seven-year-old's perspective on race relations, the impact of poverty and other social issues.  "Oh?" I said, "Why do you think they were fighting?"  "It's obvious," he said, "They want to be wrestlers when they grow up." 

It was as though the Lord held me in his arms and kissed my forehead.  My boy was still a child and what a gift I had been given that day.  "Maybe so," I replied and went to work thinking about how I was going to turn the outside shed into a proper lab before Christmas.   

 

If you like my blog, you'll love my novel!

Purchase now at www.ccpruitt.etsy.com

 



Job Misunderstood

I recently heard a wise college professor pose the question, "What about Job?" in response to a theological paper entitled "Why Does God Allow Sin?  Theodicies and the Problem of Evil."  It's something I've always wondered and for many years, the philosophical notion stretched across the road of my Christian walk as a stumbling block, an enormous fallen tree.  What was the deal with Job? 

The wise professor said, "The story doesn't seem to go with the rest of the Bible.  Why would God allow a man, and not just any man, but his most loyal and faithful servant, to suffer so greatly in the context of a wager with the devil?  Why would God even bet with the Devil to begin with?  Wouldn't that suggest some level of insecurity on his part?"  It's a good question.  And considering it came on the heals of my weekend long trip to attend the funeral of my dear sister-friend's three day old baby, it was a good time to ask it. 

Most of us know the story.  As I understood it since childhood, it was about a man named Job who loved and trusted in God and God loved him in return.  Job was wealthy and extremely blessed in all the ways a person could be during those days.  One day, the devil went to God and said, "The only reason Job loves you is because you've blessed him greatly.  It is a selfish love."  God disagreed and said, "To prove I'm right, you can take everything away from him except for his life and at the end of all that, I assure you, he will not sin against me." 

In the context of our modern culture, this seems ridiculous, harsh, unfair, cruel and offensive.  But during my walk with God I've been able to gingerly step over that big tree in the woods.  This morning I woke with the question on my mind, a debate in my heart and an assignment from the Spirit to put work aside and read the entire book of Job from beginning to end. 

Before today, I was under the impression that Job remained strong throughout the many tests he was given.  "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised." -Job 1:21  I worried and feared that I would never be able to stand up to such rigorous tribulation.  My faith would undoubtedly waiver in such circumstances.  But after reading the story for myself, I discovered Job wasn't as rock solid as I had been led to believe.  By the end of his trials, after losing his children, countless servants, livestock and riches, the Lord allowed Satan to afflict Job with painful sores "from the soles of his feet to the top of his head." -Job 2:7 

Three of Job's friends heard of his troubles and went to see him to sympathize with him and comfort him.  They sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights without saying a word because they saw how great his suffering was. -Job 2:11-13 Such was the beginning of his faltering.  He went into length expressing his feelings of forsakenness and his desire to die.  Though Job remained faithful to God to the end, it was difficult and many times he questioned his ability and will to go on and he also questioned God's dealing with him.  Job asked, "Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb?...For now I would be lying down in peace." -Job 3:11-13   

The initial meeting between Satan and God and the course of Job's trials actually occurred in the very beginning of the book, the first two chapters.  The following forty chapters depict dialogue between Job and his three friends and a guy named Elihu.  The body of the book actually lays out a philosophical debate about God, faith, evil and suffering where in the end, the Lord himself, puts the conversation to rest, "Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge?" -Job 38:1  The book ends with this, "The Lord blessed the latter part of Job's life more than the first...Nowhere in all the land were there found women as beautiful as Job's daughters, and their father granted them an inheritance along with their brothers...After this, Job lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation.  And so he died old and full of years." -Job 42:12-17 

So there was never really a wager, that would imply God would gain something by winning.  He knew he would win.  So why agree to allow Satan to torture Job?  Because it was inevitable.  Maybe it's not a historical account, but an allegory where you and I are Job and we will never be able to avoid suffering and grief in this world.  But we've been given this beautiful gift of life where joy is present and love abundant and hope pervasive.  Satan believed Job loved God only because of his many blessings.  It wasn't a bet, it was a promise...that if we just believe in Him, the second half will be better than the first. 

Messing with SIP...

Many people have mentioned that they haven't heard from me in a while.  It's true, the end of the school year came plowing through our lives like a runaway Camry.  Since my last blog in March, spring break hit, then Easter, several field trips, countless evening programs at school and church, gift shopping for teachers, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Vacation Bible School preparation and execution for Imagination Station and SIP's birthday.  Even Hope, my bunny, almost had a heart attack after her third public engagement in April.  Somewhere in there, I've tried to launch a new novel and keep my wonderful retail accounts stocked with artwork.   

Now in the midst of summer, our earlier sprint has become a lazy jog and I can finally take a moment to check in.  After a few late night episodes of Disney's "Lab Rats" followed by mornings sleeping in, I took a look at my now seven year old and couldn't believe how much he had grown.  How did I miss that?  Somewhere it happened in between cool crisp spring mornings and balmy summer nights. He grew into a real boy.  I'm sorry to report that the precious sayings have become fewer and further between.  His wise comments have been replaced with feigned indifference, because right now, boredom is cool.  So in my deep parental dismay and depression at the loss of my light hearted innocent baby, I'm left with only one choice... to shamelessly mess with him.  Such is my new maternal charge.

Cale called me the other day after dropping SIP off at Oatland Island's day camp.  He said several campers, including them, were late because a truck was delivering a large water tank during camp drop off.  He said to SIP, "Hey, look at that huge tank!" For a glimmering moment SIP seemed excited and looked for the tank.  "Where?" He said.  "Right there!" replied Cale, "on that truck."  SIP slunk back down in his booster seat and said, "I thought you meant an army tank.  That's 
not a tank.  That's just a water container." 

After a couple minutes arguing semantics while the water "container" held up traffic, Cale finally sent SIP on his way into the historic building where he might catch a glimpse of the world's beauty outside of Minecraft and Infinity.  Then he called me to vent about our son's apathetic attitude regarding a rather impressive feat of moving a cylindrical ton of steel. 

The next morning, I had the great privilege of driving SIP to camp and I looked forward to commenting on the water TANK...

 

The False Dilemma In Big Hero 6

Last weekend I relented to SIP's constant nagging request to rent Big Hero 6 from Red Box.  ALL of his friends had already seen it, that is if Morgan and Sean were his only friends.  Anyhow, the riveting movie reviews have spread through the first grade like wildfire and SIP could not wait to see it for himself.

STOP:  WARNING!!!
If you have not seen Big Hero 6 and plan to watch it free and clear of plot spoilage or criticism...this blog is not for you...right now.  Come back to me after you've seen the movie. 

It's not a bad movie.  I love the robot, BayMax, the fluffy ultra conscientious personal health care provider to Hiro, the main character.  BayMax is so dedicated to his position, that the only way to release him from work is to say, "I am satisfied with my care."  BayMax, through calm and sweet demeanor finds innovative solutions to all sorts of problems throughout the movie.  In fact, one of the story's main themes is "discovering another angle."  When you find yourself in writer's block, geek stump, pitcher's slump, etc., shake things up, look at the problem in another way and there you will find the solution. 

We've almost made it to the end, deeply immersed in the climactic conflict, and we discover that BayMax, much like the Terminator, has to make the decision to sacrifice himself for his human counterpart.  The only way he can do this though, is for Hiro to say the words, "I am satisfied with my care."  Once this happens, BayMax will release his detachable rocket hand in an explosive burst, sending Hiro home and himself deeper into essentially, a black hole.  Hiro says the dreaded words and our hearts sink as his best friend separates from him.  It's quiet in the living room as we all try to digest this tragic turn of events and SIP says, "Why didn't BayMax just hold onto him with his other hand?"  Yes, ponder that for a minute.  The removable rocket hand could have propelled both of them home if BayMax had just held onto Hiro with his other hand.  Ironic oversight in a movie where the main point is solving problems through ingenuity. 

As always, I marveled at the wisdom of my small child, who sees things more clearly than I ever could; and I wondered, what am I missing?  What false dilemmas, excuses, speed bumps, are holding me back in my life catapulting me deeper into space and away from true LIFE?  I hope as you read this, you ask yourself the same question and I challenge you each day, as I do myself, to look at your problems from a different perspective if they are weighing you down.  Sometimes the answer is as simple as just holding on with the other hand. 

That night, after SIP brushed his teeth, he came to hug me.  I said, "I love you."  He replied, "I am satisfied with my care."  My heart swelled and I envisioned a piece of me exploding and floating into darkness...as I held on with my other hand. 

If you like my blog, you'll love my novel, Emerson's Place.

Purchase Emerson's Place

 



Innocence Lost...Nevermind, False Alarm

Over Christmas break, on a chilly drizzly Savannah evening, we drove across the Talmadge Bridge to the Westin for their amazing gingerbread house display.  SIP chattered from the back seat, mostly about Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, as we had watched it every day since school let out.  When the conversation turned from ill-mannered children getting what they deserved in the creative forms of candy abuse, to...bad language, the protective glaze of maternal indifference left my eyes and I sat straight up on alert.

"And Mom," SIP said, "you know that 'stupid' is a bad word, right?"  "Yes, it is a bad word," I concurred.  "But," he continued, "did you know there is an even worse word than that?" 

My back stiffened and I looked over at Cale in the driver's seat.  "There is?"  I played dumb and pretended not to be very interested.  "Yup," said SIP confidently, "it starts with S-H-  Sebastian says it at school."

My heart sank as I realized the reign of innocence had ended.    We made it six and a half years without hearing one truly foul word come from SIP's mouth, and it was all going to end amidst holiday lights and Christmas music with Delilah on "The River."  "I'm not going to say it," he went on, "I'll just spell it for you..."

"No!" Cale and I both yelled in unison, not wanting to hear even the letters that made up the "sh" word.  But it was too late.  SIP was on a roll and feeling strong, "S-H-U...

Wait a minute, "S-H-U?"  Not only has SIP learned a bad word, but now I have to be concerned that he can't even spell it properly!

He continued slowly, working it out in his mind, "T." I cringed at the imbecilic horror.  But, he wasn't finished.

"U-P." 

The windshield fogged over from the gigantic sighs of relief Cale and I emitted.  "Yes, that is a very, very bad word."  I said sternly hoping he couldn't hear the smile in my voice in the glowing night, "so bad I don't want you even to spell it." 

 

If you like my blog, you'll love my book!

 

purchase Emerson's Place

Merry Christmas and Happy Never-ending Year!

A few nights ago, SIP and I sat on the couch and he read Lego Star Wars, The Yoda Chronicles, to me.  SIP read the line from ever cynical C-3PO, "And just how do you plan on getting halfway across the galaxy in a bus?"  SIP, confusing the word "galaxy" with "universe," replied, "What?!  That's impossible!"  I asked, "What's impossible?"  He said, "The universe goes on forever...so there is no such thing as a half-way point." 

After my head stopped reeling from the savant-like comment more sophisticated than most grown-ups could ponder, I said, "How true."

Since then, I've gone over the words in my mind and savored them like fine wine.  They remind me of a time when a friend of mine turned fifty.  I wished her a happy birthday and gave her a big hug but she didn't seem at all to share in my excitement for her.  "What's wrong?"  I asked.  "I'm depressed," she replied.  "Oh," I said knowingly, "Feeling like just another year has passed?"  "Not just another year," she said, "THE year.  The point I know for sure that half my life has passed and if I'm lucky, I only have half of it left, but most likely, not even that long.  Considering how quickly this fifty years went by, it scares me how little time I have left here."

It was a somber truth, and at the time, I had little to say to comfort her; that is, until my six year old said the most profound thing I'd ever heard while reading a comic book.  There is no half-way point.  For those of us who live in Christ, there is NO half-way point.  In just a couple of days, we'll celebrate the inception of that truth, the birth of Jesus, who came to broaden our galaxy into a universe so large and vast that we will never know the end of it.   

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him, will not perish, but have everlasting life.  -John 3:16

Merry Christmas and Happy Never-ending Year! 

 

 

 

If you like my blog, you'll love my novel!

Purchase Emerson's Place

A Life's Work, All in a Day's Time

I did it.  I wrote the great American novel.  For years, this story seeped out of me like toxins from my pores. In two, ten, and thirty page increments, an honest, daring and poignant adventure emerged.  It's a story we all share, the family saga just crazy enough to be true, the romance that never could be, but then it happened, and the hill that couldn't be taken, finally fell just after the fighting ceased.  This is a story about our collective journey alongside our individual battles, and how they intersect at the crossroads called, Emerson's Place.

After countless nights and early mornings typing away in the studio, one day in late November, the final proof arrived in the mail.  Eager to show SIP, my six year old son, what I had accomplished, I sliced the box open with a dull pair of scissors and pulled the book out.  I held it up to him and flipped through the many pages.  "You see," I said, "This is what I've been working so hard on all this time."  SIP's eyes opened wide in appreciation and he said, "Wow Mom!  That must have taken you like, ten hours to make!"

If you like my blog, you will love my book.   Purchase Emerson's Place

Future Leader of America

It was a big night for me.  I love Night Rider, Magnum P.I., Star Trek and Judge Judy.  When people ask me if I watch one of the thousand NCI don't give a damns... I just shiver and remember a time when a show could scare me to death without blood, guts and strippers.  Among my many loves of fiction, romance, and great story telling is Doctor Who, the classic Sci-Fi drama that has stood the test of time for decades; a story about a great cosmic alien being who saves the universe time and again from complete destruction, struggles with the human weakness of love, devotion and commitment, the temptation to judge and act on revenge combined with the curse of knowing the future outcome of every decision he makes...the butterfly effect on steroids magnified a billion times...yeah, try to accomplish that nighttime drama hacks...

Anyway, thanks to SIP'S awesome buddy on Tybee Island who had a birthday party tonight with the Doctor Who theme, SIP was open to watching the show.  So, after the party, we caught our favorite booth at Jalapenos for some cheese dip and good ole' neighborhood fun, went home, turned on the electric fire (a story for another blog) and queued up season one, 2005 on Netflix.  For those of you following me, this was Rose's debut...I know, she is fabulous.  This was the episode with the mannequins who attack London.  The plastic evil. 

SIP was immediately captivated, reassuring me that he is actually my child.  When he realized the "plastic" was a malicious alien being set to destroy earth, he said, "If that plastic came after me, I would shoot it, stab it, cut its head off and kick it in the FACE!  Then, do some research to find out what went wrong." 

Worse than throwing up...

I was especially excited to pick SIP up today from school.  His first grade class took a field trip to the Savannah Children's Theater, and being a thespian myself, I hoped my extremely introverted only child might have found some kind of "ham" down in his gut once introduced to the stage.  So, I embarked on the daily adventure of "pick-up" at Marshpoint Elementary, arrived fifteen minutes before last bell, threw the Subaru in park, played a round of Candy Crush before the tail lights in front of me glowed with activity and we were underway! I pulled up to the curb, the daily intense and distraught looking woman shoved him into the backseat, and before he could get his seat belt on, I asked, "How was your day?"  

His reply, "Curtis threw up in the cafeteria."

Not at all what I expected to hear on such a monumental day, but we've all been there.  If it was you, I'm sorry.  If it wasn't, then it was some other kid who turned white and sometimes green before emitting that guttural noise followed by acidic fluids.  Your teacher pressed the "panic" button on the wall and the voice of Oz came from the office, "Is everything okay?"   If your teacher was cool, she said, "yes, we just need a janitor." If she wasn't cool, then she ran out of the room gagging and your class Vice President said, "we need a janitor."  Either way, a less than enthusiastic forty something year old man appeared with a bag full of kitty litter and poured it all over the vomit that had already eaten through the enamel on the government contracted linoleum floors.  You don't forget that smell, bile and limestone mixed with vaporous humiliation...Forget nuclear warfare, if we could bottle that stuff and spray it on our enemies, then we'd have something...

So SIP didn't have much to say about his rare trip on a bus with no seat belts to a theater where all children become stars.  Instead, he only mentioned his good buddy who blew chunks in the cafeteria.  I can't blame him, that sort of thing makes an impression on a person.  "Oooooh," I exclaimed, "there is nothing worse than getting sick at school!"  SIP considered my comment and replied, "Except a house falling on you."

Once again, I was humbled by the perspective of a six year old.  A house falling on me would be worse, much worse than getting sick at school.  Curtis, stick close to this guy, he'll keep you smiling all the way back from Mexico after that wild senior trip...

 

Instant Results

We live in an instant gratification world.  The only places we have to even wait anymore are the doctor’s office and the line at the ladies restroom and even then we fill that void toying with our phones, sending and receiving text messages, checking email or losing yet another life in Candy Crush.  If you were born before 1990, you have the fortunate luxury of knowing a little bit about patience.  You ran to the restroom as fast as you could during the commercial break of Beverly Hills 90210 so you didn’t miss the latest spat between Dillan and Brenda.  There was no pause button for live TV.  We video-taped anything of importance and took our cameras to the store and LEFT them there for days before getting our pictures back! 

After SIP was born, I discovered my once perfect mattress had become a giant mushy sponge with a broken spring.  I guess the extra thirty pounds I put on and all those hours of napping really did it in.  So Cale and I set out to buy a new one.  Three and a half years ago, we bought a mid-grade, yet still very expensive mattress, the Restonic …something…very firm.  Never heard of it?  Like idiots, we ignored all of the negative and spot-on reviews about the mattress.  After all, people who leave negative reviews are mostly negative people who are seldom satisfied, right?  OR they are well-meaning citizens trying to spare people like me the mistake of losing sleep for three and half years…

This past Saturday at the end of our rope in sleep deprivation, feeling like Navy Seals in training camp, we decided we could not wait the appropriate eight years to give this brick on box springs the boot.  Desperate as we were, we dragged our six year old to Sears to look for a new mattress unbeknownst to us that we had chosen to go to the mall on Georgia’s tax free Saturday.  SIP was less than great as he promptly dropped his sandals on the floor and began crawling and bouncing on all of the mattresses and making forts out of the large variety of display pillows.  Can you blame him?  Have you seen all of those beds?  It’s a wonderland!  And I could not be bothered with disciplining him as I was there on a mission and this time I was not going to make the wrong choice.  After security called down to the sales associate and asked her to tell the parents of the kid to make him stop jumping on the beds, I sent SIP and Cale away so that I could purchase the Serta European Luxury….something… bed of my dreams. 

Originally $6,000.00, Sears was having a sixty percent off sale (an on-going sale by the way), plus I got an extra ten percent off just for being me, and I didn’t hesitate to open that credit card for an additional five percent off.  We came in under a cool three grand for what I am sure will be the best purchase of my life.  Giddy with excitement I asked when the mattress would be delivered.  The associate looked at her computer screen a few seconds and said, “Monday, August 11.”  Somewhere over the intercom a needle screeched across a record.  “What?!”  I have to wait over a week for my new amazing mattress?!  That can’t be, no one waits anymore!   But those were the facts, and I swallowed my disappointment at having to wait and we went home.

That night an epic storm blew in with the loudest thunder and brightest lightning I had seen in a long time.  About two in the morning, our door opened and SIP jumped in the bed with us and said he was scared of the storm.  That was only the third time in his life he had come down to our room, so we let it slide.  Especially considering we thought putting a tin roof on the house would make the rain sound charming and it does, unless you’re six, and your bedroom is up in the bonus room…then it sounds like heavy artillery and live fire.  So we embarked on yet another sleepless night whereby the horrible mattress was still worse than the tiny kid snoring and flailing around taking up the entire king set. 

The next morning over pancakes and a marathon episode of Spongebob Squarepants, SIP said, “Dad, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your new bed feels just like the old one.”