Bet you thought I wasn't going to get a blog post in for today, being that it's rapidly approaching 11:00 pm as I write this. Well, I thought so too. But here it is. Long day, brain is tired. It was all I could do to muster up these brand-new alpha poems. Enjoy, and good night!
as luck would have it
i still have a few
coherent thoughts to share
despite the fact
that my brain is taxed
beyond the usual.
we'll see how this goes.
bite your tongue.
when the bleeding starts
spit it out
(the blood, not your tongue).
who lied and said
that words don't hurt?
chomping at the bit
to tell your dirty secret.
why would you want to rush
to your own judgment?
do a one-eighty
then do one more.
back where you started
you're getting nowhere.
everything but the kitchen sink
has been displaced
and replaced again.
and the sink's going next week.
i'll be glad when this is over.
firing on all cylinders now
my mind, like a steel trap
is racing towards a conclusion.
but jumping prematurely
is just as bad as never moving.
go back to the well
the one you tapped before
seeking new problems to solve.
finding none, you seek questions
to ask which explain the answers.
hates my guts
thinks i'm the scum of the earth
doesn't want to ever see my face
again. what did i do
to get that lucky?
if the shoe fits
and it's the right color
and the right price
and you need it
(or at least you want it)
then what are you waiting for?
(i'm not talking about shoes.)
joined at the hip
they walked in separate directions
and soon parted painfully.
should've seen that one coming.
know where you stand
if you're at the precipice
of a bottomless pit
knowing could save your life.
last ditch effort
i'm only going to ask you once.
go or stay, come or go
decide and do it
fence-sitting is for losers.
make a long story short
by suspending your belief
in happy endings.
works every time.
no brainer
i am uniquely qualified
to answer this question
defined by what i lack
(or possess, but choose
to use unwisely).
on a soapbox shouting out
my stun-gun manifesto
agree to disagree
and you could get
the shock of your life.
pencil you in for a 10 o'clock
and shrug when you don't show.
i knew i couldn't count
on your cooperation.
quick bucks come easy
but when you get caught
you'll pay through the nose.
don't blow it!
rest on your laurels
as though the past
is guaranteed to repeat
itself, like history.
it doesn't always
work that way.
sick to death
of half-hearted efforts
give it your all
or keep it to yourself.
take it to heart
or leave it alone.
take it from me
i wasn't using it anyway.
it works fine
but i don't need it.
it's all yours.
under the gun
to make something happen
i scrape the edges of my mind
and see what sticks.
small miracle if anything does.
variety is a spice
that tastes like everything
and nothing all at once.
life is what you make of it
or what was planned
in advance. more likely that.
when push comes to shove
someone will rush in
to break up the fight
and you're left standing there
shadowboxing with ghosts.
x marks the spot.
hidden treasures found
where no one even thought
to look. that's what they get
for being narrow-minded.
you had it coming
if anyone ever did.
you got exactly what
you deserved. and i
couldn't be happier.
just being honest.
zig when you should zag
it's all about looking ahead
and you can't see clearly
with sand in your eyes.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Literary Experimentation: Three "Drabbles"
So here I go again, trying something new. Not a bad thing, really. It stretches the mental muscles. What follows are my first attempts at writing "drabbles." Don't know what a "drabble" is? Well, according to Wikipedia.org it's "an extremely short work of fiction of exactly 100 words in length...The purpose of the drabble is brevity, testing the author's ability to express interesting and meaningful ideas in an extremely confined space." I found a website which gave some helpful drabble prompts – groups of three seemingly unrelated words or phrases you can use as a jumping-off point for your drabble-writing experience. The prompts I chose are in bold/italics below. I don't really know what I'm doing here, but I always like a good writing challenge, so here we go...
Let me know what you think of these. Feel free to comment with your own drabbles, if you feel up to the challenge! :)
concerned, buried fruit jar, sleeping bag
I'm starting to get concerned. I can't remember where I buried the fruit jar last winter, and it's time to bake the pie. The dog could help, but he's curled up on the sleeping bag like he doesn't have a care in the world. Which he doesn't, lucky dog. Maybe I could use fruit concentrate. But it's just not the same. There's nothing like the taste of fruit you canned yourself. Maybe I'll bake the dog in a pie instead. Never mind, it would take too long to fillet him, and I don't have much time. I'd better keep digging.
knights, hubcap, baby
Clarissa's in the driveway practicing her cheers. "Go Knights, go!" and all that jazz. All she really has to do is remember to smile. She wishes she could get her braces off sooner. She thinks her smile looks like a big hubcap with lipstick. (It doesn't – it's pretty.) Time to call it a night. Mom'll be bugging her to come change the baby any time now. Clarissa wishes she could change the baby...into a dog. But Mom won't let her have one just yet. Says it might try to bite the baby. Yeah, right! The baby'd bite the dog!
skateboard, noodles, chocolate
Well, I've gained another five pounds. I guess it's time to start hitting the old skateboard again. I know I've been eating too much chocolate lately, but I can't help it. I've been under a lot of stress at school. I still don't know how I'm going to tell Dad about the "D" I made on the science test yesterday. He said if I didn't start applying myself, there would be heck to pay. (LOL, Dad!) But when he finds out about the extra weight I've gained, he'll put me on that Ramen-noodles-only diet again. Ugh, just shoot me now!
Let me know what you think of these. Feel free to comment with your own drabbles, if you feel up to the challenge! :)
concerned, buried fruit jar, sleeping bag
I'm starting to get concerned. I can't remember where I buried the fruit jar last winter, and it's time to bake the pie. The dog could help, but he's curled up on the sleeping bag like he doesn't have a care in the world. Which he doesn't, lucky dog. Maybe I could use fruit concentrate. But it's just not the same. There's nothing like the taste of fruit you canned yourself. Maybe I'll bake the dog in a pie instead. Never mind, it would take too long to fillet him, and I don't have much time. I'd better keep digging.
knights, hubcap, baby
Clarissa's in the driveway practicing her cheers. "Go Knights, go!" and all that jazz. All she really has to do is remember to smile. She wishes she could get her braces off sooner. She thinks her smile looks like a big hubcap with lipstick. (It doesn't – it's pretty.) Time to call it a night. Mom'll be bugging her to come change the baby any time now. Clarissa wishes she could change the baby...into a dog. But Mom won't let her have one just yet. Says it might try to bite the baby. Yeah, right! The baby'd bite the dog!
skateboard, noodles, chocolate
Well, I've gained another five pounds. I guess it's time to start hitting the old skateboard again. I know I've been eating too much chocolate lately, but I can't help it. I've been under a lot of stress at school. I still don't know how I'm going to tell Dad about the "D" I made on the science test yesterday. He said if I didn't start applying myself, there would be heck to pay. (LOL, Dad!) But when he finds out about the extra weight I've gained, he'll put me on that Ramen-noodles-only diet again. Ugh, just shoot me now!
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Short Story: "Nothing To Write Home About"
This is a new story I just wrote, based on a self-imposed writing prompt. My challenge to myself was to take a well-worn cliché and use it as a title to write a story around. This (hopefully) humorous piece is what I ended up with. Hope you will enjoy reading it...
Dear Mom + Dad,
Thanks a lot for sending me to this stupid summer camp! I'm having TONS OF FUN so far!
Firstly, I'm not getting any sleep at night, which you've always said is important for a growing boy. (Do you feel guilty yet? Wait for it – you will.) The main reason why I'm not sleeping is that I am being forced to share a room with three other boys – Marshall (who smells funny), Dawson (who looks funny), and Tobie (who thinks he's funny). I talked to the camp director and told him how much I – like most kids my age – value my privacy. But the camp director just said, "Tough noogies!" and walked away. (Is it even legal to insult an innocent child like that? I think not!) Also, the bed is made of a very hard wood frame and is covered by a "mattress" that's as thin as two pancakes (not the fluffy, scrumptious kind that Grandma makes, but the flat, burnt ones that you're good at, Dad).
Secondly, contrary to what you told me before I came here, I have not met lots of nice people, nor have I made any new friends. I can sort of have a conversation with Marshall, as long as I can stand at least four feet away from him (upwind) and still hear what he's shouting. But then about five minutes into our conversation, Marshall will let one rip and they will have to evacuate the whole cabin again (this has happened six times so far in the three days I've been here). Every time I try to talk to Dawson, I accidentally take a look at his face, then I get queasy, and have to make another unplanned trip to the bathroom to ralph up my lunch. (More on that later.) Frankly, I don't enjoy barfing three times a day; therefore Dawson will not be making the cut on my "new friends" list. Whenever I try to talk to Tobie, he says, "Knock! Knock!" and I try to change the subject, but he keeps saying, "Knock! Knock!" over and over again until I say, "Who's there?", then he says something stupid like "Atch", to which I reply, "Atch who?" to which Tobie says, "Gesundheit!" Then I'll try to walk away, but he'll grab me by the shoulder and start telling me some other dumb joke. Ten minutes and twenty-plus groans or (if I'm feeling kind) fake smiles later, and I'll finally think of some excuse that'll get me out of there, like that I have contagious rabies or something.
Thirdly, the brochure said that we would enjoy "delicious, piping-hot meals three times a day." They were lying to you. For breakfast, they give us donuts – and not the good kind either. The kind of donuts that taste like they were made three days ago by somebody who doesn't even know how to make donuts, and doesn't really care that their donut-making skills are sub-par. I'm pretty sure they don't even add sugar. It's disgusting! Even you wouldn't like them, Dad, and Mom always says you're a human garbage disposal because you'll eat anything. (Was I supposed to repeat that, Mom? If not, I apologize.) For lunch, we get hamburgers that we have to patty out ourselves and cook over a campfire (they say doing it ourselves builds character, or some junk like that). The clothes hangers they give us with which to hold the burgers over the fire aren't very sturdy, so more often than not our burgers drop in the fire and get ashes all over them. And then when they're finally cooked – if they even make it that far – they refuse to give us buns, because (they say) this is a carbs-free camp – which, if you think about it, is kind of stupid since they feed us donuts for breakfast. Unsweetened donuts, mind you, but donuts nonetheless. Whether or not we get supper each night depends on how well we do on the daily challenge. For instance, yesterday we were doing this ropes course (which I wasn't real excited about, since I'm scared of heights). For every obstacle or element that you conquered you earned one boiled potato (these were piping-hot, so there was maybe a tiny bit of truth to the brochure). If you got all the way through the course successfully, you earned ten potatoes. I did okay on the low course, but when it came to the high-wire stuff, I was scared so I just quit. I earned a total of four boiled potatoes, which didn't leave me hungry but certainly didn't make me full.
Fourthly, this girl Felicity won't leave me alone. I think she likes me or something. Don't get me wrong – she's real pretty and everything, but I'm 12 years old – I'm not ready to settle down yet! She was like, "Be my friend on Facebook," and I said I would once I got back home to a computer, and she was like, "I'm going to write on there that we're married, and all you have to do is confirm it on your page." And I was like, "That's just gross, Felicity. Only old people get married – you know, twenty-five-year-olds." But she didn't listen. She said some junk about how time and distance mean nothing when two people are in love, and I asked her who the other person was who was in love, and then she slapped me. I thought that'd be the end of it (this happened last night after the ropes course), but then this morning Felicity insisted on eating breakfast with me, and she showed me this list of names she'd written up and tried to get me to pick which ones I liked best for naming our future children. I know it wasn't a nice thing to do, but I did shove a few donuts in her mouth when she said that. Not a ton of them, just enough so she couldn't talk anymore. Then I ran back to my cabin and locked the screen door.
Fifthly, they're making us row a canoe across the lake tomorrow. As you well know, I have an irrational fear of lake monsters, a fact which I also mentioned it to the camp director this afternoon. But he just said, "Deal with it!" and walked away. If this is the last letter you ever receive from me, it will be because I have been eaten by a lake monster. If I am killed, please remember me fondly, and know that I will miss you both very much. Also, please don't mention to anyone we know that I was once a huge Power Rangers fan. Even in death, I would like that painful truth to stay buried.
Sixthly, it's extremely hot here. I haven't stopped sweating since I got off the bus. The cabins are not only not air-conditioned but also barely ventilated, the showers and sinks only spray out hot water, we cook our lunches over open flames, plus they make us wear these heavy fleece sweatshirts and sweatpants at all times (they call them our "fun uniforms", which is not quite the words I would use to describe them). I'm pretty sure that this would qualify as cruel and unusual punishment, though it is quite "usual" around here.
Seventhly, you owe the camp $1.50 for me having written this letter. They said that the Camp Terms & Conditions agreement you signed clearly states in tiny print that "camp fees do not include any materials used for the writing of letters to parents, friends in prison, or Congressmen while the Child is at Camp, and any materials needed or used for that purpose will be charged to the account of the Child's parent, legal guardian, or parole officer." The $1.50 is actually the price for a whole pack of paper, but the camp director said he would not have had to open the pack or "break the set" (whatever that means) if it had not been for me, so the entire cost of the pack must be charged to you. Sorry about that! If it makes you feel any better, I'm making this letter extra-long in order to get your money's worth out of it.
Eighthly, I understand that I am a good seven hours away from home and that gas is expensive, but please, please, please, please, please come pick me up! I hate this place with every fiber of my being. I'm not real happy with you two for sending me here, but I promise to forgive you immediately if you'll just come and get me! I don't like hanging out with kids who smell funny or look funny or think they're funny. I'm tired of donuts, hamburgers, and the occasional boiled potato. I don't want to get married and have babies with anyone until I'm at least thirty-five. I don't want to be eaten by a lake monster. I crave air conditioning, thick mattresses, cold water, and lightweight clothing. I promise I'll do my homework whenever I have any, I'll wash the dishes without complaining – I'll even clean my room! Just please don't make me stay here another day!
Your son,
Robbie
Dear Mom + Dad,
Thanks a lot for sending me to this stupid summer camp! I'm having TONS OF FUN so far!
Firstly, I'm not getting any sleep at night, which you've always said is important for a growing boy. (Do you feel guilty yet? Wait for it – you will.) The main reason why I'm not sleeping is that I am being forced to share a room with three other boys – Marshall (who smells funny), Dawson (who looks funny), and Tobie (who thinks he's funny). I talked to the camp director and told him how much I – like most kids my age – value my privacy. But the camp director just said, "Tough noogies!" and walked away. (Is it even legal to insult an innocent child like that? I think not!) Also, the bed is made of a very hard wood frame and is covered by a "mattress" that's as thin as two pancakes (not the fluffy, scrumptious kind that Grandma makes, but the flat, burnt ones that you're good at, Dad).
Secondly, contrary to what you told me before I came here, I have not met lots of nice people, nor have I made any new friends. I can sort of have a conversation with Marshall, as long as I can stand at least four feet away from him (upwind) and still hear what he's shouting. But then about five minutes into our conversation, Marshall will let one rip and they will have to evacuate the whole cabin again (this has happened six times so far in the three days I've been here). Every time I try to talk to Dawson, I accidentally take a look at his face, then I get queasy, and have to make another unplanned trip to the bathroom to ralph up my lunch. (More on that later.) Frankly, I don't enjoy barfing three times a day; therefore Dawson will not be making the cut on my "new friends" list. Whenever I try to talk to Tobie, he says, "Knock! Knock!" and I try to change the subject, but he keeps saying, "Knock! Knock!" over and over again until I say, "Who's there?", then he says something stupid like "Atch", to which I reply, "Atch who?" to which Tobie says, "Gesundheit!" Then I'll try to walk away, but he'll grab me by the shoulder and start telling me some other dumb joke. Ten minutes and twenty-plus groans or (if I'm feeling kind) fake smiles later, and I'll finally think of some excuse that'll get me out of there, like that I have contagious rabies or something.
Thirdly, the brochure said that we would enjoy "delicious, piping-hot meals three times a day." They were lying to you. For breakfast, they give us donuts – and not the good kind either. The kind of donuts that taste like they were made three days ago by somebody who doesn't even know how to make donuts, and doesn't really care that their donut-making skills are sub-par. I'm pretty sure they don't even add sugar. It's disgusting! Even you wouldn't like them, Dad, and Mom always says you're a human garbage disposal because you'll eat anything. (Was I supposed to repeat that, Mom? If not, I apologize.) For lunch, we get hamburgers that we have to patty out ourselves and cook over a campfire (they say doing it ourselves builds character, or some junk like that). The clothes hangers they give us with which to hold the burgers over the fire aren't very sturdy, so more often than not our burgers drop in the fire and get ashes all over them. And then when they're finally cooked – if they even make it that far – they refuse to give us buns, because (they say) this is a carbs-free camp – which, if you think about it, is kind of stupid since they feed us donuts for breakfast. Unsweetened donuts, mind you, but donuts nonetheless. Whether or not we get supper each night depends on how well we do on the daily challenge. For instance, yesterday we were doing this ropes course (which I wasn't real excited about, since I'm scared of heights). For every obstacle or element that you conquered you earned one boiled potato (these were piping-hot, so there was maybe a tiny bit of truth to the brochure). If you got all the way through the course successfully, you earned ten potatoes. I did okay on the low course, but when it came to the high-wire stuff, I was scared so I just quit. I earned a total of four boiled potatoes, which didn't leave me hungry but certainly didn't make me full.
Fourthly, this girl Felicity won't leave me alone. I think she likes me or something. Don't get me wrong – she's real pretty and everything, but I'm 12 years old – I'm not ready to settle down yet! She was like, "Be my friend on Facebook," and I said I would once I got back home to a computer, and she was like, "I'm going to write on there that we're married, and all you have to do is confirm it on your page." And I was like, "That's just gross, Felicity. Only old people get married – you know, twenty-five-year-olds." But she didn't listen. She said some junk about how time and distance mean nothing when two people are in love, and I asked her who the other person was who was in love, and then she slapped me. I thought that'd be the end of it (this happened last night after the ropes course), but then this morning Felicity insisted on eating breakfast with me, and she showed me this list of names she'd written up and tried to get me to pick which ones I liked best for naming our future children. I know it wasn't a nice thing to do, but I did shove a few donuts in her mouth when she said that. Not a ton of them, just enough so she couldn't talk anymore. Then I ran back to my cabin and locked the screen door.
Fifthly, they're making us row a canoe across the lake tomorrow. As you well know, I have an irrational fear of lake monsters, a fact which I also mentioned it to the camp director this afternoon. But he just said, "Deal with it!" and walked away. If this is the last letter you ever receive from me, it will be because I have been eaten by a lake monster. If I am killed, please remember me fondly, and know that I will miss you both very much. Also, please don't mention to anyone we know that I was once a huge Power Rangers fan. Even in death, I would like that painful truth to stay buried.
Sixthly, it's extremely hot here. I haven't stopped sweating since I got off the bus. The cabins are not only not air-conditioned but also barely ventilated, the showers and sinks only spray out hot water, we cook our lunches over open flames, plus they make us wear these heavy fleece sweatshirts and sweatpants at all times (they call them our "fun uniforms", which is not quite the words I would use to describe them). I'm pretty sure that this would qualify as cruel and unusual punishment, though it is quite "usual" around here.
Seventhly, you owe the camp $1.50 for me having written this letter. They said that the Camp Terms & Conditions agreement you signed clearly states in tiny print that "camp fees do not include any materials used for the writing of letters to parents, friends in prison, or Congressmen while the Child is at Camp, and any materials needed or used for that purpose will be charged to the account of the Child's parent, legal guardian, or parole officer." The $1.50 is actually the price for a whole pack of paper, but the camp director said he would not have had to open the pack or "break the set" (whatever that means) if it had not been for me, so the entire cost of the pack must be charged to you. Sorry about that! If it makes you feel any better, I'm making this letter extra-long in order to get your money's worth out of it.
Eighthly, I understand that I am a good seven hours away from home and that gas is expensive, but please, please, please, please, please come pick me up! I hate this place with every fiber of my being. I'm not real happy with you two for sending me here, but I promise to forgive you immediately if you'll just come and get me! I don't like hanging out with kids who smell funny or look funny or think they're funny. I'm tired of donuts, hamburgers, and the occasional boiled potato. I don't want to get married and have babies with anyone until I'm at least thirty-five. I don't want to be eaten by a lake monster. I crave air conditioning, thick mattresses, cold water, and lightweight clothing. I promise I'll do my homework whenever I have any, I'll wash the dishes without complaining – I'll even clean my room! Just please don't make me stay here another day!
Your son,
Robbie
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Things I Find Fascinating: When Animals Sneeze!
I've never been one to follow trends all that much, preferring to dance to beat of my own drum – a little off-rhythm and not very well-coordinated. But one trend that's hot right now, not only on the internet but on television too, is videos of sneezing animals. In particular, the sneezing baby panda video (see #1 below). Well, call me a bandwagon jumper if you want, but I find these videos not only fascinating but hilarious. If you've seen them, enjoy them again here. If you haven't seen them, prepare to laugh. And hit "Replay" a few times. I know I sure did. Enjoy!
1) Sneezing Baby Panda – You might have seen this one before, as it's been making the rounds just about everywhere. But if not, here 's the best one of them all. Pay close attention to both the baby and the mama panda in this one. The first few times I saw it, I thought that the mama panda was doing the sneezing, but it's actually the baby – which automatically makes it ten times cuter, of course! But the mama panda's reaction is priceless!
2) Sneezing Baby Elephant – This little rugrat sneezes so hard and loud he scares himself and runs to mama. What a shame since he was smiling so nicely at the camera before that happened. Oh, well!
3) Sneezing Cat – Finally, another cat besides my Mikey whose sneeze sounds like a kazoo! Get that poor kitty some amoxicillin – stat! Bless you, Poki, indeed!
7) Sneezing Bear Cub – Somebody give this little guy a Zyrtec! But you might wanna give it to him and run, cuz those little teeth of his already look pretty sharp!
8) Sneezing Parrot – When an animal sneezes, and you say "Bless you!" and it replies "Thank you!" – well, that's an animal that is okay in my book! Check out Morris the Parrot here. I hope this isn't fake; if it's not, it's quite awesome!
9) Sneezing Kangaroo – Either this is some really strange mating call, or this marsupial needs a Kleenex. This one cracks me up big-time!
10) Sneezing Zebra – One great thing about going on a safari (I've never been on one, but I'm just guessing here) is being able to get up close and personal with wildlife. This unfortunate videographer did just that in a way she probably didn't expect. Since "zebra" is the most commonly searched-for term which directs people to my blog, I figured I'd end this list with a zebra sneeze. Enjoy!
1) Sneezing Baby Panda – You might have seen this one before, as it's been making the rounds just about everywhere. But if not, here 's the best one of them all. Pay close attention to both the baby and the mama panda in this one. The first few times I saw it, I thought that the mama panda was doing the sneezing, but it's actually the baby – which automatically makes it ten times cuter, of course! But the mama panda's reaction is priceless!
2) Sneezing Baby Elephant – This little rugrat sneezes so hard and loud he scares himself and runs to mama. What a shame since he was smiling so nicely at the camera before that happened. Oh, well!
3) Sneezing Cat – Finally, another cat besides my Mikey whose sneeze sounds like a kazoo! Get that poor kitty some amoxicillin – stat! Bless you, Poki, indeed!
(just click on the link above –
the video wouldn't load properly)
4) Sneezing Dog – This must be what a dog inside of a salad spinner or perhaps a washing machine might look like. Hilarious little fuzzball, ain't he?
5) Sneezing Baby Elephant Seal: This tubby guy doesn't let a little thing like sneezing interrupt his day. He just does it where he lies, kicking up dust every which way, and making a sound much less like sneezing than flatulence. Funny stuff!
6) Sneezing Chicken – Maybe she's allergic to the corn? I dunno. But it's funny!
7) Sneezing Bear Cub – Somebody give this little guy a Zyrtec! But you might wanna give it to him and run, cuz those little teeth of his already look pretty sharp!
8) Sneezing Parrot – When an animal sneezes, and you say "Bless you!" and it replies "Thank you!" – well, that's an animal that is okay in my book! Check out Morris the Parrot here. I hope this isn't fake; if it's not, it's quite awesome!
9) Sneezing Kangaroo – Either this is some really strange mating call, or this marsupial needs a Kleenex. This one cracks me up big-time!
10) Sneezing Zebra – One great thing about going on a safari (I've never been on one, but I'm just guessing here) is being able to get up close and personal with wildlife. This unfortunate videographer did just that in a way she probably didn't expect. Since "zebra" is the most commonly searched-for term which directs people to my blog, I figured I'd end this list with a zebra sneeze. Enjoy!
Monday, April 9, 2012
Sometimes You Step In Dog Poo
Some days are great. Yesterday was one of those. After a meaningful Easter sunrise service, a time of finger-food fellowship, then morning church, and a nice brunch, we spent most of the rest of the day just relaxing. A little work around the house, but not too much. The errant nap or two. It was Easter Sunday, after all, and we enjoyed every moment of it.
Some days you step in dog poo. Today is one of those. I don't mean that I literally stepped in dog poo, mind you – though I wouldn't be at all surprised if it happened, especially now that I've mentioned it. I use this extreme example to describe the kind of day where anything that could go wrong does.
The kind of day when you're finally leaving your house to get to work in time after countless days of being horribly late, and you get halfway down the road in front of your house, wondering what's that strange thumpa-thumpa-thumpa noise, and you get out of your car to see that, oh yeah, your tire's flat.
The kind of day where you go to the ABC Store to get more empty boxes for packing (and you're sure that someone you know is going to see you walking in or out of the store and get the wrong idea) and you come out balancing eight empty boxes far more gracefully than you would normally do, only to have the wind blow them out of your hands not once, not twice, not thrice, but four separate times – so much so that the ABC Store clerk has to come out and help you load the empty boxes into the van for you because you're so pathetic.
The kind of day when the van's gas light comes on just as you're arriving home, and your wife was planning to load the van with already-packed boxes to haul away to the storage unit once you're back at work, and you realize she's going to have to stop and get gas with a loaded-down van before she can even make it to the storage unit.
The kind of day when the donut tire which AAA has thankfully come and installed on your car starts going thumpa-thumpa-thumpa about a third of the way back to work, and you're certain it's gone flat, too, only to find that it looks perfectly fine once you arrive at work (having driven 25 miles per hour for nothing), and you realize you could have stopped and gotten a bite to eat after all, if you'd only known it wasn't flat.
The kind of day that, when you finally get back to work from lunch (almost twenty minutes late), you bump your elbow on the door frame outside your boss's boss's boss's office and spill half a can of Mountain Dew on the floor right outside his door.
This is that kind of day. I'm sure you've been there. It's not fun. In fact, it's horrible. Of course, it could be worse.
A log truck could have released its cargo through your windshield on your way to work, and you'd be not only deceased but decapitated, and your car would be totaled (not like you'd ever know).
A dirty bomb could have been dropped on your city, and you could be only hours away from dying a horrible, painful death at the hands of heartless terrorists.
Or you could finally get lunch after missing out on it earlier, only to find that a small mouse has died in your hamburger.
There's always something worse. But this is bad enough. I would like to respectfully ask for a rain check for the remainder of this day, and just sail on through to tomorrow. It's gotta be better than today – doesn't it?
Some days you step in dog poo. Today is one of those. I don't mean that I literally stepped in dog poo, mind you – though I wouldn't be at all surprised if it happened, especially now that I've mentioned it. I use this extreme example to describe the kind of day where anything that could go wrong does.
The kind of day when you're finally leaving your house to get to work in time after countless days of being horribly late, and you get halfway down the road in front of your house, wondering what's that strange thumpa-thumpa-thumpa noise, and you get out of your car to see that, oh yeah, your tire's flat.
The kind of day where you go to the ABC Store to get more empty boxes for packing (and you're sure that someone you know is going to see you walking in or out of the store and get the wrong idea) and you come out balancing eight empty boxes far more gracefully than you would normally do, only to have the wind blow them out of your hands not once, not twice, not thrice, but four separate times – so much so that the ABC Store clerk has to come out and help you load the empty boxes into the van for you because you're so pathetic.
The kind of day when the van's gas light comes on just as you're arriving home, and your wife was planning to load the van with already-packed boxes to haul away to the storage unit once you're back at work, and you realize she's going to have to stop and get gas with a loaded-down van before she can even make it to the storage unit.
The kind of day when the donut tire which AAA has thankfully come and installed on your car starts going thumpa-thumpa-thumpa about a third of the way back to work, and you're certain it's gone flat, too, only to find that it looks perfectly fine once you arrive at work (having driven 25 miles per hour for nothing), and you realize you could have stopped and gotten a bite to eat after all, if you'd only known it wasn't flat.
The kind of day that, when you finally get back to work from lunch (almost twenty minutes late), you bump your elbow on the door frame outside your boss's boss's boss's office and spill half a can of Mountain Dew on the floor right outside his door.
This is that kind of day. I'm sure you've been there. It's not fun. In fact, it's horrible. Of course, it could be worse.
A log truck could have released its cargo through your windshield on your way to work, and you'd be not only deceased but decapitated, and your car would be totaled (not like you'd ever know).
A dirty bomb could have been dropped on your city, and you could be only hours away from dying a horrible, painful death at the hands of heartless terrorists.
Or you could finally get lunch after missing out on it earlier, only to find that a small mouse has died in your hamburger.
There's always something worse. But this is bad enough. I would like to respectfully ask for a rain check for the remainder of this day, and just sail on through to tomorrow. It's gotta be better than today – doesn't it?
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Per Your Suggestion #5: "Zacchaeus Reloaded"
Today's blog post/story was suggested by my friend David Edwards. His writing prompt was simply "Whatever happened to Zacchaeus?" Today being Easter Sunday, I decided to incorporate Zacchaeus' story into the last week of Christ's life, as well as his eventual death, burial, and resurrection. The story's a little rough around the edges, I know, and likely needs some rewriting. But I hope you'll enjoy this early version of it at least. Happy Easter, everybody!
March 30th, A.D. 33
Wow, what a day! I'm still trying to process everything that's happened, so forgive me if my words come out a bit jumbled. It all started around mid-morning. I had just opened for business, but customers were few and far between.
Nobody wants to have to pay taxes, so I'm not the most popular guy. Up till today, I've not really cared much for my clients, either. Sure, I'd take their money -- and then some -- but I couldn't care less about them personally. You wouldn't believe how many sob stories I hear in a typical day -- "I can't afford to pay my taxes because I can't find any work." "I have so many kids, they have to eat -- I must choose between starving my children and paying my bills." "I refuse to pay taxes to a government that cares nothing about me." Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! After a while, it all sounds the same. Which is why I've never felt that guilty about overcharging those poor saps. I've got the power to do it, and I've always figured why not. Who's going to stop me? Besides, I've got a wife and kids of my own, and they've got to eat too, you know.
Anyway, I'm getting off-topic. So I had just opened the tax office, and all of a sudden, I hear a hubbub of activity outside. I peek out the front door, and the street is literally wall-to-wall packed with people. I try to see what's going on, what all the fuss is about, but it seems like everyone who passes by me is at least a head taller than I am, and I can't see a thing.
I've always preferred to think of myself as more grounded than everyone else, but the truth is I'm just plain short. My father, an average-height man himself, always told me when I was growing up that I was just one growth spurt away from catching up to all my friends. I kept waiting, but it never happened. By the time I'd reached twenty-five years of age, I knew it never would happen. Fortunately, I found a nice woman who didn't mind my being short, and we fell in love -- a good thing, too, because we were betrothed to be married by our parents anyway, no matter how we felt -- and we soon started our lives together.
Anyway, back to our story. I told you I might ramble. So, I was standing there at the front door to my office, unable to see a thing. I tried to glean any snippets of information from the passersby, but all I could make out was a name: Jesus. I didn't know any Jesus, personally, but I had heard talk of a popular teacher who was headed through Jericho. Seemed to have quite a following. Must be this Jesus fellow everyone was talking about. I thought I'd better check him out, to see if he was worth listening to.
I closed the door to my office, and crawled out my back window. The alleyway behind the office led to the edge of town, where there were more trees than structures. Maybe if I could climb a tree -- something I always loved to do when I was a boy -- and get a better vantage point so maybe I could see and hear what was going on. A sizable sycamore tree just at the edge of the woods looked like the perfect spot and I quickly scaled the tree -- just like old times! -- and waited for the crowd to approach. I didn't have long to wait.
As they approached my position, the man at the center of the crowd -- who I could only assume was this Jesus fellow -- stopped at the opposite side of the road where Old Man Marcus, the blind beggar, sat calling out for help (like he always does). I assumed this Jesus was going to drop a coin or two in Old Man Marcus's lap, a kind gesture from a charismatic teacher. Plus, how great would that make him look to his many followers? They'd lap that stuff up like it was gravy!
But I was shocked and amazed by what this Jesus actually did. He put his hand on the old man's forehead, bowed his head, and appeared to be praying. Then he leaned down and spoke to Marcus quietly and the old man looked up at him, smiling. To everyone's astonishment, Old Man Marcus stood up and started shouting, "I can see! I can see! My eyes! I can see!" If I didn't know the old man personally as a life-long resident of Jericho, I'd have sworn he'd been planted there and the whole thing was a big act. But it wasn't! Old Man Marcus could see! The crowd only got louder in their adulation of the man at that point. I could definitely see the appeal. He was either the real deal, or he was a very good actor. Either way, I could appreciate what he was doing.
A minute later, Jesus and his entourage were passing just below me. I got a good look at him now. He wasn't a particularly handsome fellow, but he wasn't too ugly, either. He was just your average guy, by the looks of him. But there was something about him that stood out -- something you can't easily put in words. His followers felt it, and I have to admit -- I felt it too. I was still staring curiously when Jesus surprised me by glancing up at my tree and looking me square in the eye!
"Hello, Zacchaeus," Jesus said matter-of-factly.
"How do you know my name?" I was floored.
"Never mind that," he continued. "Why don't you come down from that tree now?"
"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" For some reason, I felt guilty, even though I don't think his comment was intended to shame me in any way.
"Of course you weren't, Zacchaeus. You simply wanted to get a better look. Come down from the tree now. We're going to your house for supper."
"My house?" This guy was crazy! First of all, I didn't know him from Adam. Second of all, if he was such a great person like all these folks thought he was, he wouldn't want to associate with the likes of me (a dreaded tax collector) in any way, much less share a meal with me and my family. Thirdly, my wife will kill me if I bring home some strange man and his close friends for a meal with out warning her in advance. But all my objections seemed not to matter in that moment.
"Certainly. Now come on down from that tree." Jesus spoke with quiet authority, not scolding, but persistent nonetheless. I could only obey his wishes and follow him. What was that all about?
I could tell that some of the people outside of Jesus' close circle of friends were also in disbelief at this strange remark. I could hear the whispers. "What is Jesus thinking, taking a meal with an old sinner like Zacchaeus?" "Serves him right! That fool Zacchaeus is finally going to get what's coming to him!" Who was I to argue with that? As strangely exciting as the thought of entertaining this stranger was, I was also exceedingly nervous and unsure what to expect from him. I climbed down from the tree, in wonder.
Two hours later, as we -- me, my family, Jesus, and his disciples -- were finishing our meal, I realized what it was about this man that made him so different. He was completely unselfish, completely unconcerned with who I was or what I did for a living. He cared about me -- Zacchaeus -- and he knew I needed what he had to offer. What I needed, what he provided was forgiveness. Without judging me, without telling me the wrongs I'd done (though he undoubtedly knew, and I can't tell you why I think that, I just do) -- he forgave me. He said, "Your sins are forgiven."
Now I'm not stupid. I know no man has the power to forgive sin. Only God has that power. But as I looked at this man, and listened to the words he spoke, and was fully convinced that what he had said was true, I knew. This was no ordinary man. This was God in the flesh. This was my Messiah, the one I -- and all of our people -- had been waiting for, for so long. And I believed.
"Jesus," I said, as he finished his last bite of bread. "I am a very rich man, as you may well see from my home and my belongings. But I have not gained this wealth through honest means. I have cheated and defrauded others to fill my own pockets. But no more! I will repay all that I owe four times over. I will give half of my belongings and wealth to the poor. I will make right what I have made so very, very wrong."
Jesus didn't say a word in response. He just smiled, put a hand on my shoulder, and rose. His disciples followed suit, and gathered their things and headed toward the door.
Just before he left, Jesus turned to me and my family and spoke these words: "Today salvation has come to this house. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost. You were lost, Zacchaeus, but now you are found in me."
"Thank you." I couldn't think of anything more profound to say. But I don't think anything more was necessary. I was grateful. For his forgiveness, for his love, for his presence in my life, unexpected though it was. I know that my life is forever changed. The Messiah has come!
April 6th, A.D. 33
I still can't believe this is happening. It all happened so fast. Too fast! This is not the way this story was supposed to end. I'm sorry, I'm rambling again. I can't help it.
They've killed him. They've killed my Jesus! A mockery of a trial, a plea to Pilate, and just like that, Jesus is on a cross, dying for crimes he didn't commit, and too soon it's over. He's dead!
But this doesn't make sense. He was the Messiah! God in human form! He can't be dead! Who can kill God?
Unless...unless I was fooled too. Unless he was just a man like Caiaphas and his lot were saying. A man who spoke blasphemy, claiming to be God's Son. Maybe that makes more sense than this. I don't know. Nothing makes sense anymore. All is lost.
April 8th, A.D. 33
This is unbelievable! I've spent the last three days moping around because Jesus was killed, and for good reason. My Messiah was murdered in cold blood, and for what? For me, that's what! Or who, rather. But now!
But now, the news has come from his disciples. Jesus is not dead -- not anymore at least -- he is alive! He's risen from the dead! I don't even know how that's possible, but apparently it's more than just rumors. Many have seen him, not just the disciples, but hundreds of others too.
I have to wrap this up quickly, because my wife is packing our things right now, and we're heading to Jerusalem to see him for ourselves. I'm ashamed that I ever doubted him, because now I know the truth. He is the Messiah! Who else could raise themselves from the dead but God? Jesus IS alive!
March 30th, A.D. 33
Wow, what a day! I'm still trying to process everything that's happened, so forgive me if my words come out a bit jumbled. It all started around mid-morning. I had just opened for business, but customers were few and far between.
Nobody wants to have to pay taxes, so I'm not the most popular guy. Up till today, I've not really cared much for my clients, either. Sure, I'd take their money -- and then some -- but I couldn't care less about them personally. You wouldn't believe how many sob stories I hear in a typical day -- "I can't afford to pay my taxes because I can't find any work." "I have so many kids, they have to eat -- I must choose between starving my children and paying my bills." "I refuse to pay taxes to a government that cares nothing about me." Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! After a while, it all sounds the same. Which is why I've never felt that guilty about overcharging those poor saps. I've got the power to do it, and I've always figured why not. Who's going to stop me? Besides, I've got a wife and kids of my own, and they've got to eat too, you know.
Anyway, I'm getting off-topic. So I had just opened the tax office, and all of a sudden, I hear a hubbub of activity outside. I peek out the front door, and the street is literally wall-to-wall packed with people. I try to see what's going on, what all the fuss is about, but it seems like everyone who passes by me is at least a head taller than I am, and I can't see a thing.
I've always preferred to think of myself as more grounded than everyone else, but the truth is I'm just plain short. My father, an average-height man himself, always told me when I was growing up that I was just one growth spurt away from catching up to all my friends. I kept waiting, but it never happened. By the time I'd reached twenty-five years of age, I knew it never would happen. Fortunately, I found a nice woman who didn't mind my being short, and we fell in love -- a good thing, too, because we were betrothed to be married by our parents anyway, no matter how we felt -- and we soon started our lives together.
Anyway, back to our story. I told you I might ramble. So, I was standing there at the front door to my office, unable to see a thing. I tried to glean any snippets of information from the passersby, but all I could make out was a name: Jesus. I didn't know any Jesus, personally, but I had heard talk of a popular teacher who was headed through Jericho. Seemed to have quite a following. Must be this Jesus fellow everyone was talking about. I thought I'd better check him out, to see if he was worth listening to.
I closed the door to my office, and crawled out my back window. The alleyway behind the office led to the edge of town, where there were more trees than structures. Maybe if I could climb a tree -- something I always loved to do when I was a boy -- and get a better vantage point so maybe I could see and hear what was going on. A sizable sycamore tree just at the edge of the woods looked like the perfect spot and I quickly scaled the tree -- just like old times! -- and waited for the crowd to approach. I didn't have long to wait.
As they approached my position, the man at the center of the crowd -- who I could only assume was this Jesus fellow -- stopped at the opposite side of the road where Old Man Marcus, the blind beggar, sat calling out for help (like he always does). I assumed this Jesus was going to drop a coin or two in Old Man Marcus's lap, a kind gesture from a charismatic teacher. Plus, how great would that make him look to his many followers? They'd lap that stuff up like it was gravy!
But I was shocked and amazed by what this Jesus actually did. He put his hand on the old man's forehead, bowed his head, and appeared to be praying. Then he leaned down and spoke to Marcus quietly and the old man looked up at him, smiling. To everyone's astonishment, Old Man Marcus stood up and started shouting, "I can see! I can see! My eyes! I can see!" If I didn't know the old man personally as a life-long resident of Jericho, I'd have sworn he'd been planted there and the whole thing was a big act. But it wasn't! Old Man Marcus could see! The crowd only got louder in their adulation of the man at that point. I could definitely see the appeal. He was either the real deal, or he was a very good actor. Either way, I could appreciate what he was doing.
A minute later, Jesus and his entourage were passing just below me. I got a good look at him now. He wasn't a particularly handsome fellow, but he wasn't too ugly, either. He was just your average guy, by the looks of him. But there was something about him that stood out -- something you can't easily put in words. His followers felt it, and I have to admit -- I felt it too. I was still staring curiously when Jesus surprised me by glancing up at my tree and looking me square in the eye!
"Hello, Zacchaeus," Jesus said matter-of-factly.
"How do you know my name?" I was floored.
"Never mind that," he continued. "Why don't you come down from that tree now?"
"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" For some reason, I felt guilty, even though I don't think his comment was intended to shame me in any way.
"Of course you weren't, Zacchaeus. You simply wanted to get a better look. Come down from the tree now. We're going to your house for supper."
"My house?" This guy was crazy! First of all, I didn't know him from Adam. Second of all, if he was such a great person like all these folks thought he was, he wouldn't want to associate with the likes of me (a dreaded tax collector) in any way, much less share a meal with me and my family. Thirdly, my wife will kill me if I bring home some strange man and his close friends for a meal with out warning her in advance. But all my objections seemed not to matter in that moment.
"Certainly. Now come on down from that tree." Jesus spoke with quiet authority, not scolding, but persistent nonetheless. I could only obey his wishes and follow him. What was that all about?
I could tell that some of the people outside of Jesus' close circle of friends were also in disbelief at this strange remark. I could hear the whispers. "What is Jesus thinking, taking a meal with an old sinner like Zacchaeus?" "Serves him right! That fool Zacchaeus is finally going to get what's coming to him!" Who was I to argue with that? As strangely exciting as the thought of entertaining this stranger was, I was also exceedingly nervous and unsure what to expect from him. I climbed down from the tree, in wonder.
Two hours later, as we -- me, my family, Jesus, and his disciples -- were finishing our meal, I realized what it was about this man that made him so different. He was completely unselfish, completely unconcerned with who I was or what I did for a living. He cared about me -- Zacchaeus -- and he knew I needed what he had to offer. What I needed, what he provided was forgiveness. Without judging me, without telling me the wrongs I'd done (though he undoubtedly knew, and I can't tell you why I think that, I just do) -- he forgave me. He said, "Your sins are forgiven."
Now I'm not stupid. I know no man has the power to forgive sin. Only God has that power. But as I looked at this man, and listened to the words he spoke, and was fully convinced that what he had said was true, I knew. This was no ordinary man. This was God in the flesh. This was my Messiah, the one I -- and all of our people -- had been waiting for, for so long. And I believed.
"Jesus," I said, as he finished his last bite of bread. "I am a very rich man, as you may well see from my home and my belongings. But I have not gained this wealth through honest means. I have cheated and defrauded others to fill my own pockets. But no more! I will repay all that I owe four times over. I will give half of my belongings and wealth to the poor. I will make right what I have made so very, very wrong."
Jesus didn't say a word in response. He just smiled, put a hand on my shoulder, and rose. His disciples followed suit, and gathered their things and headed toward the door.
Just before he left, Jesus turned to me and my family and spoke these words: "Today salvation has come to this house. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost. You were lost, Zacchaeus, but now you are found in me."
"Thank you." I couldn't think of anything more profound to say. But I don't think anything more was necessary. I was grateful. For his forgiveness, for his love, for his presence in my life, unexpected though it was. I know that my life is forever changed. The Messiah has come!
April 6th, A.D. 33
I still can't believe this is happening. It all happened so fast. Too fast! This is not the way this story was supposed to end. I'm sorry, I'm rambling again. I can't help it.
They've killed him. They've killed my Jesus! A mockery of a trial, a plea to Pilate, and just like that, Jesus is on a cross, dying for crimes he didn't commit, and too soon it's over. He's dead!
But this doesn't make sense. He was the Messiah! God in human form! He can't be dead! Who can kill God?
Unless...unless I was fooled too. Unless he was just a man like Caiaphas and his lot were saying. A man who spoke blasphemy, claiming to be God's Son. Maybe that makes more sense than this. I don't know. Nothing makes sense anymore. All is lost.
April 8th, A.D. 33
This is unbelievable! I've spent the last three days moping around because Jesus was killed, and for good reason. My Messiah was murdered in cold blood, and for what? For me, that's what! Or who, rather. But now!
But now, the news has come from his disciples. Jesus is not dead -- not anymore at least -- he is alive! He's risen from the dead! I don't even know how that's possible, but apparently it's more than just rumors. Many have seen him, not just the disciples, but hundreds of others too.
I have to wrap this up quickly, because my wife is packing our things right now, and we're heading to Jerusalem to see him for ourselves. I'm ashamed that I ever doubted him, because now I know the truth. He is the Messiah! Who else could raise themselves from the dead but God? Jesus IS alive!
Saturday, April 7, 2012
A Touch Of Primer, A Ton Of Boxes, And A Taste Of Mexico
We're getting our house back into better shape, one step at a time. Fortunately, we don't have to do most of the work ourselves. I say fortunately, not because we're lazy, but because we're none too handy when it comes to do-it-yourself projects. So we found a guy who can do practically anything we need him to do, and he's been doing it all week -- exceptionally well, I might add.
First, he fixed a couple of places in our ceiling where we had some water damage from a previous roof leak. Looks good as new now, almost as though we'd never had a problem. Then he stripped the hideous wallpaper from our bathrooms and shower area, and primed them to be painted next week. He then installed new bi-fold doors for two of our bathroom closets that had no doors at all. Next week, he's painting the bathrooms upstairs, stripping the kitchen and downstairs bathroom of their hideous wallpapers and painting both, and putting in new laminate floors for the kitchen and downstairs bathroom. As for us, we're painting the downstairs, up the stairwell, and the upstairs hallway.
Today, while he was doing his thing on the second floor, we were up on the third floor with one major, overwhelming task as our focus: decluttering, decluttering, decluttering!!! In preparation for that, I went to two different ABC stores and two strip malls this morning, collecting empty boxes to pack our keepable junk and haul it off to the storage unit. Trash bags would handle all the stuff that didn't make the cut for the keep pile. Several hours later, we'd filled up most of the boxes I brought home, and now you can actually see more floor than junk. We're probably two-thirds of the way to being done -- and that was the worst area in the house for accumulated stuff!
It was a long day, but a very productive one. Maybe that's because it started off with a bang. Our super-handy contractor/repair guy told us yesterday that his wife makes and sells authentic Mexican tamales to a store near their house. Having made four separate missions trips to Mexico ourselves, and loving every minute of it (especially the food!), we practically begged him to bring us some tamales the next time she made a batch (no matter what they cost!). As it turns out, that next batch was this morning. He brought us six (still hot!) tamales -- two with chicken, two with chicken and red sauce, and two with peppers, onions, and cheese! They were UH-MAZING! It was just like being back in Mexico again. It made us miss Mexico so much! We tried to pay him for them, but he refused to accept any payment. He just said that if we liked them, maybe we'd order them again sometime. We told him that it was not a matter of "if" we'd order more, but when. Tamale party, anyone? She also makes something called a torta loca, which is like two different meats, beans, cheese, and what not all baked into one huge pie -- think a Mexican version of a pot pie, or something like it. Yeah, we'd eat that, too!
So now that I've made you hungry, I'll call it a night. Oh yeah, and to anyone out there who wants to buy our house, it'll be on the market at the end of the month. Good as new!
First, he fixed a couple of places in our ceiling where we had some water damage from a previous roof leak. Looks good as new now, almost as though we'd never had a problem. Then he stripped the hideous wallpaper from our bathrooms and shower area, and primed them to be painted next week. He then installed new bi-fold doors for two of our bathroom closets that had no doors at all. Next week, he's painting the bathrooms upstairs, stripping the kitchen and downstairs bathroom of their hideous wallpapers and painting both, and putting in new laminate floors for the kitchen and downstairs bathroom. As for us, we're painting the downstairs, up the stairwell, and the upstairs hallway.
Today, while he was doing his thing on the second floor, we were up on the third floor with one major, overwhelming task as our focus: decluttering, decluttering, decluttering!!! In preparation for that, I went to two different ABC stores and two strip malls this morning, collecting empty boxes to pack our keepable junk and haul it off to the storage unit. Trash bags would handle all the stuff that didn't make the cut for the keep pile. Several hours later, we'd filled up most of the boxes I brought home, and now you can actually see more floor than junk. We're probably two-thirds of the way to being done -- and that was the worst area in the house for accumulated stuff!
It was a long day, but a very productive one. Maybe that's because it started off with a bang. Our super-handy contractor/repair guy told us yesterday that his wife makes and sells authentic Mexican tamales to a store near their house. Having made four separate missions trips to Mexico ourselves, and loving every minute of it (especially the food!), we practically begged him to bring us some tamales the next time she made a batch (no matter what they cost!). As it turns out, that next batch was this morning. He brought us six (still hot!) tamales -- two with chicken, two with chicken and red sauce, and two with peppers, onions, and cheese! They were UH-MAZING! It was just like being back in Mexico again. It made us miss Mexico so much! We tried to pay him for them, but he refused to accept any payment. He just said that if we liked them, maybe we'd order them again sometime. We told him that it was not a matter of "if" we'd order more, but when. Tamale party, anyone? She also makes something called a torta loca, which is like two different meats, beans, cheese, and what not all baked into one huge pie -- think a Mexican version of a pot pie, or something like it. Yeah, we'd eat that, too!
So now that I've made you hungry, I'll call it a night. Oh yeah, and to anyone out there who wants to buy our house, it'll be on the market at the end of the month. Good as new!
Friday, April 6, 2012
Words I Wish I Wrote: 21 Quotes About Easter
I've often thought that Good Friday is a misnomer for the "holiday" we observe this time every year. Because what happened to Christ on the cross of Calvary was anything but good. It was horrific, it was gory, it was excruciating, and ultimately it was fatal. But then came Sunday! I think we should call Easter "Good Sunday", what do you think?
Christ's death on the cross wasn't the end of the story. His resurrection from the dead three days later was, however, just the beginning. Everything changed that day, and all for the better.
He is risen!
(And you say: "He is risen indeed!")
I hope you'll enjoy these quotes by people much smarter than myself in regards to the truth about why we celebrate Easter...Feel free to use any of them for your Tweets or Facebook statuses this weekend. I'm probably going to do so myself.
1) "The great gift of Easter is hope – Christian hope which makes us have that confidence in God, in His ultimate triumph, and in His goodness and love, which nothing can shake." ~ Basil Hume
2) "To a Christian, Easter Sunday means everything, when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ." ~ Bernhard Langer
3) "I believe that His [Christ's] death and resurrection transformed humanity's relationship with God." ~ Timothy Radcliffe
4) "If one does away with the fact of the Resurrection, one also does away with the Cross, for both stand and fall together, and one would then have to find a new center for the whole message of the Gospel." ~ Hans Urs von Balthasar
5) "Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime." ~ Martin Luther
6) "Questioning the Resurrection undermines the very heart of Christian belief." ~ Dan Brown
7) "The foundation of our religion is a basis of fact – the fact of the birth, ministry, miracles, death, resurrection by the Evangelists as having actually occurred, within their own personal knowledge." ~ Simon Greenleaf
8) "Easter says you can put truth in a grave, but it won't stay there." ~ Clarence W. Hall
9) "Tomb, thou shalt not hold Him longer; Death is strong, but Life is stronger; Stronger than the dark, the light; Stronger than the wrong, the right..." ~ Phillips Brooks
10) "We live and die; Christ died and lived!" ~ John Stott
11) "Once more to new creation Awake, and death gainsay, For death is swallowed up of life, And Christ is risen today!" ~ George Newell Lovejoy
12) "There is not room for Death, Nor atom that His might could render void; Thou – Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed." ~ Emily Bronte
13) "Live in the awareness that Christ lives and that He lives in His people." ~ Julien B. Weil
14) "The tomb of Christ is famous because of what it DOES NOT CONTAIN." ~ Sam Miller
15) "The point is not that the resurrection is the price paid for our sins. The point is that the resurrection proves the death of Jesus is an all-sufficient price. If Jesus did not rise from the dead, then His death was a failure, God did not vindicate His sin-bearing achievement, and we are still in our sins." ~ John Piper
16) "Christianity begins where religion ends...with the resurrection." ~ Herbert Booth Smith
17) "Men point to the sad incidents of human life on earth, and they ask, 'Where is the love of God?' God points to that Cross as the unreserved manifestation of love so inconceivably infinite as to answer every challenge and silence all doubt forever. And that Cross is not merely the public proof of what God has accomplished; it is the earnest of all that He has promised." ~ Sir Robert Anderson
18) "The resurrection proclamation could not have maintained in Jerusalem for a single day, for a single hour, if the emptiness of the tomb had not been established as a fact." ~ Paul Althus
19) "The stone was rolled away from the door, not to permit Christ to come out, but to enable the disciples to go in." ~ Peter Marshall
20) "For I delivered to you first of all that which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures...And if Christ is not risen, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins! Then also those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men the most pitiable." ~ Apostle Paul – I Corinthians 15: 3 - 4, 17 - 19 (NKJV)
And last but definitely not least...
21) "It's Friday...but Sunday's coming!" ~ A black minister from Mount Carmel Baptist Church in Philadelphia, PA (Tony Campolo is responsible for making his own minister's sermon the well-known piece that it is today, though the minister's actual name [to my knowledge, at least] has never been publicized.)
A text version of this amazing sermon does not do it justice. You just have to watch (and listen to) the video!
Christ's death on the cross wasn't the end of the story. His resurrection from the dead three days later was, however, just the beginning. Everything changed that day, and all for the better.
He is risen!
(And you say: "He is risen indeed!")
I hope you'll enjoy these quotes by people much smarter than myself in regards to the truth about why we celebrate Easter...Feel free to use any of them for your Tweets or Facebook statuses this weekend. I'm probably going to do so myself.
1) "The great gift of Easter is hope – Christian hope which makes us have that confidence in God, in His ultimate triumph, and in His goodness and love, which nothing can shake." ~ Basil Hume
2) "To a Christian, Easter Sunday means everything, when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ." ~ Bernhard Langer
3) "I believe that His [Christ's] death and resurrection transformed humanity's relationship with God." ~ Timothy Radcliffe
4) "If one does away with the fact of the Resurrection, one also does away with the Cross, for both stand and fall together, and one would then have to find a new center for the whole message of the Gospel." ~ Hans Urs von Balthasar
5) "Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime." ~ Martin Luther
6) "Questioning the Resurrection undermines the very heart of Christian belief." ~ Dan Brown
7) "The foundation of our religion is a basis of fact – the fact of the birth, ministry, miracles, death, resurrection by the Evangelists as having actually occurred, within their own personal knowledge." ~ Simon Greenleaf
8) "Easter says you can put truth in a grave, but it won't stay there." ~ Clarence W. Hall
9) "Tomb, thou shalt not hold Him longer; Death is strong, but Life is stronger; Stronger than the dark, the light; Stronger than the wrong, the right..." ~ Phillips Brooks
10) "We live and die; Christ died and lived!" ~ John Stott
11) "Once more to new creation Awake, and death gainsay, For death is swallowed up of life, And Christ is risen today!" ~ George Newell Lovejoy
12) "There is not room for Death, Nor atom that His might could render void; Thou – Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed." ~ Emily Bronte
13) "Live in the awareness that Christ lives and that He lives in His people." ~ Julien B. Weil
14) "The tomb of Christ is famous because of what it DOES NOT CONTAIN." ~ Sam Miller
15) "The point is not that the resurrection is the price paid for our sins. The point is that the resurrection proves the death of Jesus is an all-sufficient price. If Jesus did not rise from the dead, then His death was a failure, God did not vindicate His sin-bearing achievement, and we are still in our sins." ~ John Piper
16) "Christianity begins where religion ends...with the resurrection." ~ Herbert Booth Smith
17) "Men point to the sad incidents of human life on earth, and they ask, 'Where is the love of God?' God points to that Cross as the unreserved manifestation of love so inconceivably infinite as to answer every challenge and silence all doubt forever. And that Cross is not merely the public proof of what God has accomplished; it is the earnest of all that He has promised." ~ Sir Robert Anderson
18) "The resurrection proclamation could not have maintained in Jerusalem for a single day, for a single hour, if the emptiness of the tomb had not been established as a fact." ~ Paul Althus
19) "The stone was rolled away from the door, not to permit Christ to come out, but to enable the disciples to go in." ~ Peter Marshall
20) "For I delivered to you first of all that which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures...And if Christ is not risen, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins! Then also those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men the most pitiable." ~ Apostle Paul – I Corinthians 15: 3 - 4, 17 - 19 (NKJV)
And last but definitely not least...
21) "It's Friday...but Sunday's coming!" ~ A black minister from Mount Carmel Baptist Church in Philadelphia, PA (Tony Campolo is responsible for making his own minister's sermon the well-known piece that it is today, though the minister's actual name [to my knowledge, at least] has never been publicized.)
A text version of this amazing sermon does not do it justice. You just have to watch (and listen to) the video!
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Poems For Your Perusal: Still More Alpha Poetry
No introduction required. You know the drill by this point. I wrote these a few days ago, and was saving them for a busy day when I didn't think I'd otherwise be able to get a blog post in. That would be today. Enjoy!
Almost I call attention to myself.
The redness in my face and ears
Gives me away. I am nervous
But no one else can know.
They must believe I am confident
In their abilities, in serendipity
In happily ever afters.
If they didn't believe, then
My worry would be contagious.
Basking in the glow
Of a job well done
We examine our motives
And find them to be pure.
Humbly bowing before
An appreciative crowd
We fend off accolades
And give credit
Where credit's due.
Common knowledge
That I am blessed
To know people like these
Who give of themselves
Who sacrifice free time
To do something great
That helps others
Enriches their own lives
And makes a difference.
Doing what's right
Is never easy
And rarely popular.
But it's one of the
Non-negotiables.
Every time I hear those words
I will be reminded
Of you and how it felt
To finally know the truth.
You felt it too.
Flash forward ten years
Am I still here? Are you?
Are we still moving
In the same direction?
Are we still looking
Toward the same future?
Or are we there already?
Two can only hope.
Good thing you checked!
I had fallen asleep
And wasn't ready
To face the world
Or even a handful
Of eager faces.
I was dreaming
About escaping.
Hit the brakes
Unlock the doors
And let me out.
I can't handle
All the potholes.
At least not
On an empty stomach.
I knew it all along.
This was a joke.
But I'm not laughing.
Not anymore at least.
Just the way you planned
You saw the outcome
Long before it happened.
How do you do that?
Kindhearted stranger
You have no boundaries
When it comes to helping.
I wish I was like that too.
Listen closely
You'll hear it if you want to.
The sound of a life
Lived without regrets.
Mine to keep
I'll never let you go
Unless you want me to.
And even then
I'll fight for you
Until breath fails me.
Not what I'm used to
But not altogether
Unpleasant. I was
Hoping for something
Familiar. But change
Can be a good thing.
On the fence
About returning.
Not sure I can
Excel. But then
What's so wrong
With being average?
Answer: Nothing.
Passing for the real thing
Because it looks so lifelike.
You have to know, that's
Really creepy. Have your own
Or someone else's. Collecting
Lives that never lived
Is somehow less than human.
Quite the contrary
You were my first choice.
I just didn't know it
Until I'd taken one too many
First steps backward.
Right up your alley
And just around the bend.
Of all the places in the world
Who'd have guessed that
Danger lurked so close.
Sitting ducks, treading water
Getting nowhere rather fast
Do they know, or don't they bother
Watching life whizzing past.
Tumbling down like a ton of bricks
Suspended from a high place
Your carefully constructed world
Is quickly left in shambles.
Now you know how it feels, too.
Um, not really!
What makes you
Think that?
Did I say something
To steer you wrong?
Viewfinder shows you smiling, waving.
From here, you seem so far away.
Just know, you're always welcome back.
What difference does it make?
You're just going to do
Whatever you want
Whenever you want
However you want.
It doesn't matter
What I think
Or what I say
You're going to do
What you're going to do
No matter what.
So why do I still care so much?
X's and O's
It all boils down to strategy
Who are you going to cover
And who's covering you?
If you think you can just
Go out there and run roughshod
You have another think coming.
They'll clobber you first
And ask questions later.
Your first question was a good one
But you answered it yourself
With your second inquiry.
Listen to the words you just said
Therein lies the answer.
You always knew the truth
But you couldn't admit it to yourself.
Zap the pesky sucker
Before it sips your blood!
Swat the buzzing beastie
And nip it in the bud!
Life is full of problems
A bug should not be one.
No use feeling guilty
What's done is done.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Per Your Suggestion #4: "The Mannequin Memoirs"
Today's blog post, like two previous ones in this series, was suggested by my friend Bryce Kime. The writing prompt was simply "Mannequin Memoirs." I had no idea where it would go when I started it, and I was actually quite surprised at where it ended up. This is bizarro fiction at its most...well, bizarre. It's even weird for me, and that's saying something. I hope you enjoy it. I enjoyed writing it (as twisted as that is to admit). Ready! Set! Go!...
"THE MANNEQUIN MEMOIRS"
The first time I saw Quin, my heart – much like the rest of me – stood still. She was tall and leggy, even for a mannequin, with sky-blue painted-on eyes you could get lost in. Her blond wig fell in ringlets just past her shoulders, and she'd been dressed in a sharp-looking royal blue blouse with khaki slacks and pointed-toe flats. Her delicately crafted, molded plastic hands bore painted-pink nails, the very essence of femininity. Needless to say, it was love at first sight – for me at least.
Though she was positioned only a few feet away from me – facing me, in fact – at the entrance to Macy's – we could not properly introduce ourselves just yet. I wondered if she was staring at me, or if that was just the way her head had been angled. It was difficult to tell in her current state, but I would find out shortly. The mall was closing soon, and when the workers left we would all be able to animate ourselves, as we did every night.
At that moment, Judith, the night manager, made her way to the front of the store, and began tugging at the gate which secured the interior mall entrance.
"This stupid thing sticks every time!" Judith complained, and muttered an unsavory oath. I smiled inwardly. Judith was a good person, but she was too grumpy for my tastes. And too human.
As she passed by me again, Judith stopped and stared curiously, apparently seeing a smudge of something on my face. She licked her thumb and rubbed at a spot near my mouth. Satisfied that the stain was gone, she continued on her way back to the center of the store.
I was hoping no last-minute shoppers would linger tonight, because I was literally itching to make my move on the lovely new mannequin who'd captured my lifeless heart. Twenty-five agonizing minutes later, the lights dimmed and the employees' door was shut and locked, and I was finally free.
I stepped down from my pedestal, stretched my arms and legs wildly to loosen up my joints, and sauntered over to the other side of the aisle where she stood. She hadn't yet moved.
"So, what's your name, beautiful?" I said, in the most charming of tones.
She craned her neck toward me and raised a painted eyebrow. "Does that line usually work for you?"
"What line? I just want to know what to call you in my dreams, baby!" I said, smirking smugly at my slyness.
"The only time you'll ever call me is in your dreams!" she sneered. "The name's Quin. Who are you, and why are you bothering me?"
"I'm Manny. And I'm not bothering you. I'm making your dreams come true!"
Quin descended from her pedestal, looked at me skeptically, rolled her eyes, and turned her back on me. This wasn't going well. Perhaps I was coming on a bit strong.
"I'm sorry if I was rude," I offered. "I'm no good at meeting new people. Can we try this again?"
"You can," Quin replied. "I can't promise you the result will be any different, though."
"Okay," I said, frowning. This was one tough cookie! "Hi, my name is Manny. It's nice to meet you. And you are?"
"I already told you, I'm Quin," she hissed, and grudgingly turned to face me, plastering on an even faker smile than the one already painted on her face.
"So where are you from, Quin? That's a lovely name, by the way." I beamed at her, very little fakery required, smitten as I was.
"HQ. And thanks," she said, curtly.
"HQ? Is that near Albuquerque?" I asked, thinking the letters were shorthand for some unpronounceable Native American town out West somewhere.
"No, dummy! HQ as in Headquarters. You know, New York City?" Quin stared blankly, almost as though it were daytime again.
"Oh, yes, of course," I said, and almost let her epithet go unchecked. "You don't have to be cruel, you know. I'm just making conversation."
"Who's being cruel?" Quin retorted. "You are a dummy, aren't you? So am I, for that matter."
"I understand that," I answered. "But I'm kind of sensitive about that word. I prefer 'mannequin' – don't you?"
"I prefer to be left alone," she said. "But you aren't going to do that, are you, Manny?"
"I will, if you want me to," I murmured. I tried a different tack. "I'm from Cleveland, and thank you for asking."
"I didn't, but okay." Quin rolled her eyes in my direction again, and I sighed.
I hadn't bombed like this since they brought in that transvestite mannequin last winter – and even then, I didn't bomb so much as make a complete fool of myself. How was I supposed to know that she was a he?
"Yeah, Cleveland is where they make most of us these days. They got a big factory in the suburbs, somewhere near Akron, I think." I was losing Quin's interest more with every word I spoke, if that were even possible. "So, uh, you really are quite beautiful, Quin."
"I don't know," she replied, "I think they could've made me a little thinner. Look at these hips they saddled me with!"
"Oh, I am!" I answered too quickly. "I mean...I see 'em. They're quite...I mean, I don't see any problems with them. Not at all."
"You wouldn't. You're a man," Quin shot back. "Lard City is what they are! Is there a box cutter around here somewhere?" She craned her neck to and fro, and started heading toward the stockroom.
"What do you need a box cutter for?" Puzzled, I followed her, but not too closely. Quin's hands may have looked delicate, but I was sure they packed quite a punch.
"I've got to do something about these hips," she complained. "I look like Jennifer-Flippin'-Lopez!"
I watched her for a moment as she walked ahead of me. "Yeah, you kinda do." I giggled mischievously. Probably shouldn't have done that.
Quin stopped in her tracks, and turned to face me again. The look in her eyes was no longer sexy; slightly frightening, but definitely not sexy. I waited for her to speak. She didn't; but her point was made.
"Cutting yourself is not the answer," I remarked, helpfully.
"Then what is, Manny?" Quin cocked her head sideways, boring into me with those bright blue eyes.
"Accepting yourself. There's nothing wrong with you, Quin. Matter of fact, you're hot!" She reared back a fist, threateningly. "I didn't mean that! I mean, I did – but not in those words. In nicer, less-misogynistic words." I smiled thinly, to further delay her wrath.
"You don't even know me!" Quin shouted.
"No, I don't," I said. "But I'm working on that right now."
"Well, take a break, you're getting on my nerves," Quin replied, a little calmer this time. She walked a few steps further and disappeared into the stockroom. Seconds later, she screamed loudly and exited, shuffling past me quickly.
I didn't have to ask, but I figured I might as well, to keep the conversation going. "See something disgusting in there?"
"Oh my word! What was that thing, and what was it doing?" Quin turned toward me, scowling and grimacing at the same time. Neat trick, that.
"That thing was Steve. And he was probably eating his supper," I replied cryptically.
"Steve's a mannequin? Like us?" she asked. "And he eats –?"
"Himself. Yep, that's Steve, all right." I shook my head, mocking disapproval but laughing inwardly.
"You mean to tell me that we're sharing a store with a mannequin who eats himself?" She scowled/grimaced even more now. "That's sick!"
"Well, he only eats his legs and feet!" I said. "It's not like he's eating anything important! And besides, he'd never eat one of us. He says that would just be weird." I chuckled.
"I can't believe this, Manny!" Quin shouted. "How can you just stand there and act like this is okay? People don't eat their own legs. That's just crazy!"
"Maybe people don't," I said, "But Steve does. And he's not a person – he's a mannequin."
"But it's gruesome!"
"Yes."
"And disgusting!"
"Uh-huh."
"And inhuman!"
"Precisely."
"Manny, why didn't you tell me before I went in there?" Quin still looked horrified.
"I should have," I started. "But –"
"Darn right, you should have!" Quin started to cry, and didn't complain when I pulled her toward me and embraced her.
"It's okay, Quin," I said, patting her gently on the back. "Just keep your distance with Steve, and everything will be fine. He won't hurt you, I promise."
"Manny?" Quin suddenly stopped crying, and looked up at me quizzically. "Who did I replace in the front window?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, innocently.
"Well, they wouldn't have ordered me from HQ if they hadn't needed to replace another mannequin, right? Who was up there?"
I released her from my embrace, and looked away nervously. "Her name was Jeri. I didn't know her that well. I never got a chance to."
"Why? What happened to her?" Quin glanced suspiciously at me.
"I don't know. I think she had an accident of some kind." I had to change the subject; this was getting too dicey. "I'm glad they sent you, Quin. You're way prettier than she was."
"What kind of accident, Manny?" She took a step back, subtle, but I noticed.
"Well, her head...it sort of, fell off."
"How did her head fall off? That doesn't make any sense." Quin was clearly worried now. "Did you–?"
"Did I what?" I said, and took a step toward Quin. She took another step back.
"Did you do something to her, Manny?"
"Okay, you got me," I said, in mock defeat. "I lied to you. Truth is...you look just like Jeri. Spitting image of her. She was gorgeous, just like you are, Quin."
"You're scaring me, Manny," said Quin, taking another step back.
"And technically, her head didn't fall off, per se. I sort of, well, tore it off myself."
"You killed her?"
"Technically, I didn't. Because she wasn't alive to begin with." I snickered at my own joke. "I guess you could say I discontinued her."
"But why, Manny?" Quin was shaking her head continuously, confusion clearly overwhelming her at this point. "Why would you want to hurt her?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "It's just something I feel like doing every now and then. But only with the pretty ones. The beautiful ones. Like you, Quin."
Quin turned to run, but I was quicker than she was. I grabbed her by the leg, causing her to fall on the carpet-covered concrete floor.
It was over in seconds.
###
The next morning, I stood in my usual spot as Loria, the opening manager, rolled up the gate to the interior mall entrance, opening the store for business.
She turned to find Gracie, her lead window-dresser, standing right in front of her.
"We lost another one last night," said Gracie, sighing sadly as though it mattered.
"You mean the one with the missing leg that we just replaced yesterday?" Loria didn't see the point of this stupid game that Judith and the night crew were playing on her, but she'd had enough and planned to address it with the store manager this time. No more covering for the foolishness of others.
"No, not that one. Although his right leg is gone again – surprise, surprise!" Gracie continued. "No, I mean the new one that just came in from HQ. That tall blond one we outfitted with the blue and khaki getup yesterday morning."
"She's missing?" asked Loria. "Shoot, that was a good one, too! Looked a lot like that one we had and lost last month."
"But she isn't missing. She's back in the Kids' Department, over in that back corner. Head's torn clean off. Just like all the other ones."
"You gotta be kidding me!" spat Loria. "Not again! That's the sixth one this year, and it's not even June!"
"Tell me about it!" Gracie exclaimed.
"You best believe I'm gonna tell somebody about it!" Loria replied, and the two ladies made their way toward the Kids' Department where I had left Quin.
As soon as I was sure they were out of sight and no shoppers were approaching, I glanced across the aisle at Quin's empty display pedestal – and I smiled.
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