Days of Story Telling

Story telling is the most important tradition that one can keep (or at least it is my belief that this is so). Oral or written makes no difference. I value stories of all kinds whether it be getting lost in the fantastical world, fighting in the trenches of a hopeless battle field, solving the most complex clue to bring a murderer to justice, or following the process of making the most important decision made in life. It doesn’t matter if it is as true as light or as false as my grandma’s teeth, stories pull at my spirit and I find myself trapped inside only to be released when every page and every sentence has been devoured by my eyes, or when my ears have heard the last syllable. This weekend I began a story that bothered me when I reached the end. It was a story adapted to film. Normally I don’t watch them until after I read the book so I know what I have gotten myself in to. Not this time though. 4 disks later and I can’t sleep because it seems as though they forgot to include the last episode. Or was that really the end? I do not know because I did not read the book. If I had the book I would read the last chapter, but I do not have it. This explains why I can’t sleep. I like books that let you decide the ending. Like the Louis Lowries’ “The Giver”. This one however was completely cruel if they ended it in such a way. You cannot base the entire series on something like that only to leave the watcher thinking you forgot to finish. You have to end it in a way that allows the reader to find the ending on their own accord, but you have to leave them in a sensible place to do so. It just isn’t good writing. I shouldn’t have expected the writers to do so since they made the whole series somewhat silly, but I will be a better judge once I have read the book. I hope it isn’t a waste like these past two days have been.

Day whatever

Served on a modest plate, nothing elaborate about the design, light streams of steam rising from the top, golden crust with a gooey interior, and a smell that can be recognized from the room over. Want another piece of humble pie? No thank you. I have had my fill of it lately. Actually, the whole pie was given to me. Homemade, wrapped up, and delivered straight to me. After being unaware of what the ingredients actually were I devoured it and as you know the consequences for such an action weren't to far behind. Sick to the stomach, regretful of past actions, and not at all fond of the current situation. Then spite fills up the pit of the stomach. Never again to approach what took you to that piece of pie again.

For about two days I've been sick from this humble pie. At first I handled it OK. I realized that I am not as good as I thought I was. Not talented in the ways that I had hoped. Back tracked and realized that I let people fill my mind with false hope. Thus beginning my humbleness. Then a turn for the worse came when I had time to sit and think about things. I was mopey, miserable, unapproachable, and down right mean because things are not going to planned. Finally the real me is starting to come back through and fight of the evil antibodies.

First mistake in life was to make plans. Everything that I planned is down the disposal- chopped, unrecognizable, destroyed. Everything that I wanted is now out of reach. I have no direction. Second mistake in life has not happened but is on the verge. Settling. Settling for something that at this time I can't see as beneficial. Now before somebody decides to hit me back with a comment telling me that I am talented and not a waste of life, don't. That isn't at all what I need to hear right now. My game is weak. Without a shadow of a doubt do I know who I am. It's just where I am going that I am having a problem with, and the fact that nobody seems to want me on their team.

OK so it hasn't even been a month, I know, I know. So maybe this is all over reacting, but I feel like THAT kid. You know (maybe you don't, because maybe you've never been it) the one that always gets picked last for the team. Which happens all the time for me! No this isn't a pity party. I usually show people that that was dumb and they made the mistake of not picking me first by proving myself worthy. However, there is a hang up about me. Frankly, I don't know what it is. Maybe it is the way I look. Maybe it is the way I talk. You know what. It could be the prejudices against red heads. More than likely it is because I don't appear to have skills. Seriously though, if I was trapped on a desert island filled with tigers, bears, and snakes, I would not pick myself to help fight that battle. Thank goodness I haven't applied for those jobs yet.

Tonight I stumbled upon something very cool and tempting. Check it out for yourself. www.alife4sale.com. A guy is selling his life. Now his sounds pretty awesome and if I had money I'd totally bid on it (it starts on eBay in a day), but only because it includes a house in Australia. It does make me a little sad imagining if I was him. Go read his story.

Anyway, enough of this rant. I promise things are going to be written a little different around here next post. No more whining. I just found out news that really irritated me. So I will leave you with this thought. I often wish things worked out the way I wanted, but then I look back on it and praise God that it didn't.

Day 17 of rejection

As strange a sight as ever was to be seen at 1:30 this morning. Black as could be our doorway was the only illumination to be seen on the street. I had just been laying on the dinning room sofa when I came back to reality. Lost in the adventures at Mansfield Park, I was brought back to life by the sound of rapid wing movement. I had been hearing it for more than ten minutes and just assumed it was a trapped June bug, until the noise got considerably louder and closer to my face. I look up and see a bat in the house! Upon further inquiry I noticed that it was not a bat at all, but the largest moth I had ever seen!! I was not going to lie around and wait for it to get stuck in my hair so I opened the door. Biology is not my strong point so I do not remember learning whether or not bugs have brains. Most of the time they just fly out the door, but this one did not. Standing in the kitchen I decided that the best way to shoo it was to throw stuff at it; an Easter egg, candy bars, utensils, dog treats. Nothing worked. It just stayed on the computer chair. I got the broom and tried to chase it out. NOTHING. I'm sure if anybody drove by this would be a sight to see. Wanting to get back to my book I shut out all the lights and ran to my room after leaving my parents a note to dispose of the blood sucking moth in the kitchen. I haven't been staying up late and I haven't been reading. This book was just sitting among my collection and I realized that I hadn't read it yet. I am a Jane Austen fan, as most literature loving girls are. It is divided up into three volumes. I was almost done with the 2ND at the time of the moth incident. So I decided to finish up that volume and save the 3rd for tomorrow. Forgetting the plan I kept reading. My brain was too caught up in their circumstances to think of my own. I was about 50 pages shy of being done with the 3rd volume when I checked to see if I had time to finish it before an indecent hour of the morning. When I was that my clock said 4:00 AM I decided that I better go to bed. I woke up and finished the book and was not disappointed whatsoever. There was more drama in this book than any of her others. Pride and Prejudice was a great book, don't get me wrong, still my favorite, but the development of the characters in this novel was worth the length. I am about the fall into my next adventure and I figured that I better write this before starting that one or this would never get published. My evening is committed to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and where ever he decides to take me. Surprisingly, I have not read him before.

Day 12

I got my first tip today. One whole dollar and it was disserved. I soled 234 parking places today and you know what I learned? People are lazy and whiners. "Three dollars? Why do I have to pay it?" "Can I park right there? But I don't want to walk!" My replies are that typical of a redhead. "Three dollars? Well it could be worse. I just graduated from college. Have no real job. No money. So you are helping me survive. That is why you pay three dollars, even though I only see about ten percent of it." Despite the sound of it, when said with a smile I usually make friends with the car load. I even had one guy try to give me money, but I smiled and told him to enjoy the game and spend it in there. Now the lady that complained about walking... I had a few more tips for her, but I decided that a black eye would not be so appealing. Especially since the men like to tell that I am pretty despite the sweat. Just one of the perks of the job I guess. That is how I got my tip tonight. At one point I had more dollar bills than an 'exotic dancer', but then I ran out of change all together. When the boss finally broke some twenty's and replenished my stash of ones I had a line full of cars waiting. My first car handed me a twenty. Lovely. So I gave them $17 in ones. The guy looks at his wife/girlfriend/lover and said "Did she really just give me $17 in ones?!" all angry like. Sometimes I can't control what I say. It's like word vomit. I stuck my head back in the car and said "Yes I really did just give you all ones. That's all I had, but if you don't like it I'll accept that tip. Have a great game!" Never give the parking attendants attitude. Next time you may have to pay a hazard fee.

I think I may buy parking lots all over the country and charge people to park there. I never realized how much money you collect doing that. Anyway, tomorrow is another day of baking on the concrete and we will see what lovely people come through my line. I really do enjoy meeting all of these people, even the jerks, because even talking to them for less than 30 seconds I learn so much about each of them. If you come to the Cat's game this summer come to my parking line. It truly is the best!

Day 11

Somebody died on my trail today. Car wreck. Early this morning. I'm glad that I slept in (I'd debated on whether or not to get up early and ride or not) and avoided the whole scene. It doesn't need to be added to my list of issues this week. Actually I avoided biking altogether and ran today. Just seemed like the thing to do. I plugged in some One Tree Hill and let the drama unfold as I ran. For a silly high school drama show there is some pretty deep stuff in the writing. Every week they showcase an authors words or a famous speech in history. Can be educational if you let it be. Anyway, after that I decided it was time to pick up the novel once again. I grabbed my laptop and headed outside to the hammock. After a finishing a chapter I got distracted by looking at our ugly playhouse/shed. The first month or so of its existence it served as a playhouse. We'd use it to play school and all that stuff that young girls do. Once we grew a little bit and learned that going to school made playing school afterwards a drag it became a shed. When I moved home from college I had high hopes for this shed. However, I lack knowledge on hammer skills and have nobody to help me re-hang drywall... so it was shot to the keep dreaming corner of my brain.

Laying there in the hammock made me revisit the whole thing. I have gotten so many rejections lately with the job hunt. All I want to do is take pictures and write the rest of my life. If I could do that I would be the happiest person in the world. With all these rejections I was reminded of something that I had said back in the fall to a set of close friends. "Rejection is good for the soul." Which of course they called me a lunatic for. Then said I hadn't properly been rejected. HELLO! My life is one reject fest after the other. Especially now, and you know what? I still believe it. I think that being rejected and leveled back to your feet makes you stronger and REALISTIC. I'm a dreamer; again I have a way over active imagination. Sometimes though you have to realism or you won't succeed. Back to the hammock. I was wallowing in rejection looking at the shed when a scene from One Tree Hill came back to me. Peyton has this dream of getting a club in Tree Hill to sponsor a teen night so that they don't have to keep using their fake ID's to get in to listen to good music. She goes to Karen, Luke's mother, for some advice because she is a local cafe owner. After Peyton explains that nobody takes her seriously because of her age Karen gives her the best advice. She said, "You know Peyton all these people are saying no, but all it takes is one person to say yes." The rest is history.

So instead of trying to conquer the world and get everyone to support me I have realized that all it takes is one person to say yes. One job at a time. One customer at a time. One investor at a time (well that is if they have good money!). The rain on my parade just turned into a sprinkle. So remember that despite all the shut doors it only takes one to lead to where you need to be. Thank you One Tree Hill.

Day 10 of Unemployment

I think my poor car feels neglected. I was planning on taking her for a spin tomorrow night when we went house looking, but that has been officially been canceled. I forgot how fun house shopping is, especially when it isn't my money. Dreaming of a pool, my own bathroom, and having visitors come over pretty much the highlight of my time these days. Today nothing extraordinary happened... except for two visits with good friends. The first happened a little after lunch when I got to talk to a great friend of mine on the phone!! It was great hearing your voice even if it was only for a brief moment. I miss ya! The second was a wonderful visit from the Ms. Rebecca Parker. I only get about three hours of human interaction a day so your visit was wonderful. Of course I looked and smelled a wreck because I had just gotten off the trail, but it isn't like I get all dressed up these days.

I have decided that living here is like being a part of an unreached people group. Occasionally outsiders come in to try and bring news of the outer world, but not often. Of course I still have my cell phone which acts as my carrier pigeon since my real carrier pigeon was mistaken for a dove and shot. The Internet is still in the stone ages and is dial up. We don't use cars, sometimes grow our own food, and worship our animals. The only plus is we have Direct TV but it is broken... Yes I think I have become part of a tribe. I wonder if this makes me a minority now...

Day 9 of Unemployement

After a day filled with no direction and discovering that my first student loan payment was due, I finally had a positive turn of events tonight. I've set the date. Saturday, June 14 the trek begins. I've been training for two weeks now and I think I can ride to town and back on my bike. So I plan on getting up early on Saturday to test this theory out. It isn't that far to town, about 8 miles, but I haven't ever ridden that trail before so it may be more difficult than these monster hills I have been battling lately. Today I did 15 miles and I feel great! Exhausted, but great. The first 6 miles are always a killer, but I have finally figured out why. I'm almost positive I could do about 20 miles, weather permitting, but getting started my mind is usually totally unfocused. It's always spinning with thoughts of "I wonder if I will make it past six today" or "Am I doing to much? Should I work my way up slowly?" When the start of mile six comes my mind is relaxed and I'm sailing along. Today I took Gavin DeGraw along with me. Usually it is Jimmy LaFave, who for some reason is really good to ride your bike in the country along with. Gavin and I recently had a reunion and I figured we had some more catching up to do. What I love about Gavin is that he writes his music. He isn't pushing to get a record out a year, but spends time writing and tweaking until it is just right. His lyrics are great too. On his new album there is a song called "Medicate the Kids." What a true song for today! It's about how parents tell there kids to say no to drugs, but at the first sign of disobedience and rebellion they take there kids to the doctor and get them on Prozac or something of the sort. I'm not saying that all meds are bad, but when 50% of kids are put on them now then there is something wrong. Let the kid be! They are going to screw up and it is your jobs as parents to teach them and help them learn from the mistakes (parents, you can't prevent everything!) instead of totally changing their persona with prescription drugs. Discipline shouldn't be left up to drugs to be enforced. It's just going to screw them up in the long run and they will never know who they truly are. They'll grow up and grow out of it. The best prescription for a rambunctious kid is give them a huge backyard (I say at least 10 acres) and let them run wild. I will leave you with my favorite line of the song (mainly pirate influenced).

"If you don't walk the line you can walk the plank."

Day 8

“In the words of the great Kayne West…” Hold up. Did I really just hear that statement come out of the mouth of a salutatorian of a class of more than 500? Yes, I did. I don’t know everything about Mr. West, nor am I judging him as a person or his character. However, this statement has led me to investigate today’s top music. Why do we like it? Why does some of it even make it to the air waves? Do you even listen to the words? Most of you don’t, and I admit I used to not. Words are powerful. Some artists have a way of writing things that can change someone’s life, help them express something that they cannot on their own, or move a nation to change the world. There is one song on the radio right now that I like that has an actual meaning. That is Flobots - Handlebars. Check it out. I have compiled a list of the dumbest songs on the radio. They are ranked, but seriously most of them tie for the number 2 spot. Number 1 out ranks all of them by a lot.

1. Katy Perry’s I Kissed A Girl outranks them all. I don’t think I even have to explain why. However, I do have one thing to say to all of you who share in my distaste for this song. A lot of you complain about it, yet when it comes on you sing it, every word of it. If you dislike it, say it, don’t sing it, and turn it off when it comes on. If you like it, it’s your opinion and you are free to have it. Sing your little heart out. Don’t be half hearted. If you’re going to do something you better own it.
2. Ray J / Yung Berg - Sexy Can I- All I’m saying is I don’t know whose world is like this, but I doubt that 90% of the people who enjoy this song live a life similar to this song.
3. Lil' Wayne - Lollipop- A good friend asked me what this meant. Seriously? Just listen. Then ask your parents. Once you hear how dumb it is, you won’t call in and request it.
4. Mariah Carey - Touch My Body- Mariah I think it is time for you to retire or become a stay at home mom, I mean wife. Seriously I don’t want to know that you like being thrown on the floor. TMI.
5. Rihanna - Take A Bow- You look stupid just standing there listening to this song let alone standing outside waiting for Rihanna to take you back. The first time I heard this song the lyrics were not hard to figure out and I don’t think I had had that good of a laugh in a long time.
6. Danity Kane - Damaged- “Do you have a first aid kit handy?” Lame? Yes. Danity Kane just seems a little cheap to me.
7. Usher / Young Jeezy - Love In This Club- So I don’t totally hate this song. I love the sound of it. I must also admit that I don’t change the station either, but only because this song reminds me of a good friend who I am currently missing. The lyrics however are ridiculously stupid.
8. Metro Station - Shake It- Just leave the singing up to your little sister and father. Apparently Miley didn’t share any of the singing genes with her older brother.

These songs are far from good music and writing. Once you people actually start to listen you will understand how dumbed down we are becoming. The music industry apparently doesn’t find us as intelligent beings and it’s because we let them! If somebody can write a song about kissing someone of the same sex and make it on the top of the charts for several weeks then I think that I am more than capable of writing for the music industry. I feel a song coming on in one of the next blogs….

Day 7 of Unemployment

To my readers:
Please accept my dearest apologies on not keeping you informed of the life of an unemployed American. This week I will be posting everyday and if I don't... just assume that I didn't want to waste your time with a meaningless post. Many things have happened since my last entry. Like the unemployment rate soaring the highest within a months time span since May of 1986. I thought that this was more than a coincidence seeing as May was when I began my search for that dream job and 1986 just happened to be the year I was born. This post however will not dwell on the search, or lack of, for that job that will push me into that next realm of creativity that will impact the world for its betterment. It will be focused on the love relationship between America and summer.

Fireflies, sunscreen, fireworks, and baseball fill the sizzling Texas air in the months of summer. Baseball is America's sport. Yes, I know many of you are avid basketball and hockey fans, but there is something about a baseball game that unifies fans across the nation for three or more hours. I began a temporary job today. It's a good paying gig, but also requires lots of sun block and concrete. The minor league team called the Ft. Worth Cats needed a parking attendant, and whom may I ask is more qualified than I? Baseball is a love of mine and not many of you know that. Every summer growing up we'd go to at least 2 or 3 Ranger's games (don't hate). I'd play little league. Most of all though, I will always remember the closet. My dad had a closet filled with baseball cards and on Saturday nights he'd pull them out and we'd go through them. Never, ever, under any circumstances, were we to pull out the cards without his presence. Still to this day I have never touched them. When we moved we lost the closet, but the cards are still around here somewhere.

My job was a blast! I sold $3 parking places. Yes they gave me the cheapo lot, but I did a great job if I say so myself. My partner sold 23 places and I so 73. I was told I had the better smile. Anyway, after the lots closed I moved on to my next adventure. A Ranger's game! My sister and I have a boat load of tickets to use this summer so we are trying to go as often as possible. They were playing the Rays, not really a sell-out game if you know what I mean. They'd already lost the series, but it was a Sunday afternoon and being submersed in the loving baseball fan atmosphere is a great way to spend a day.

After going to so many games you figure out where the best places to sit are. We always sit in the bullpen. Not only because you can watch the warm up... well mainly so you can watch them. Pitchers are a unique breed. Most of them never see field time and are required just to sit out there. We've been there enough to learn the oddities of each pitcher. Take CJ Wilson for example. He warms up the same every time. Stretches in the same place, walks around the same way, ignores crazy love struck hormone driven wannabe fans, and high fives the guys every time he enters the pen. No I am not a stalker, but a really good people watcher. My second example and the one that really inspired this blog is Ranger's pitcher, Joaquin Benoit. Every game he brings his special snack. After all the pitchers down their first Red Bull, Benoit pulls out the pumpkin seeds. Does he eat them? No. Who would? He flicks them onto the field to see how many birds he can entice out there. Then he flicks them at his teammates and coach. After that get boring he flicks them over his shoulder and into the crowd. I usually get hit at least once. I've come to expect it. Today however, the guys didn't sit at the wall overlooking the field, but sat up against the back wall right below my feet (front row sits). One of the other pitchers was snack boy and went and got him 5 bags. Plenty of ammunition. I got hit 3 times, but I'm not complaining. Every time I got hit, he got hit. I just leaned over and popped him in the head. Surprisingly I didn't get in trouble either.

The point of this is that even though the atmosphere at baseball games is my favorite of any place, there is always one set of fans to disrupt the continuum of peace. Today there were two. One couple behind me and the other across the aisle and behind. The first couple I could tell were diehard fans. They kept books. The wife, her name is Georgia, decided to give a play by play on everything... everything but the game. She could have been an announcer the way she called plays at Benoit's pumpkin pitches. "Frasier, that was a homerun! Good hit!! You sailed that pumpkin seed into the front row!" or "Frasier, keep swinging! You almost had that one!" I soon learned she was a season ticket holder. She didn't even have to say it, which she did about 20 times, before I figured it out. Another couple walked down the aisle and she about lost it when she saw them. They clearly weren't as excited to see her. When Georgia saw something that the other lady was eating she would yell across the fans, "That is my favorite thing to eat here too!" and when the lady chose to ignore her, she said it louder.

Now the second group. They brought there kids. That is the whole point of baseball I think. Bring your family, have a great time, and let the game inspire them. Anyone raised on the fundamentals of American baseball in the summers grows up to be good people in my book (at least 80% of the time). The mom or aunt (she had me confused) drove me up the wall. She bragged about everything her son did and also tried to predict every move that the pitchers in the bullpen would make. "Honey, he's going to come out and throw sunflower seeds. See! There he goes! How fun is that?" Clearly she doesn't know that it is impossible for a sunflower to produce a seed of that size.

What got me the most though was when her section won the free tacos from Taco Bueno. "Well I hope ya'll like crunchy tacos because that is all you get for lunch tomorrow." I'm going to pretend that that was a joke and not for real. I've recently become more aware of the obesity epidemic that our country is facing and attitudes like that are exactly why we are. Since being at home my priorities have changed immensely. I used to not care about food choices. Coming home and riding my bike and feeling the change that it has made makes me more aware of our society. I love baseball, and I love our country, but the choices that baseball games gives it's fans in food options is not a positive direction. No I am not saying change the menu at games. Never would I suggest getting rid of hot dogs and popcorn, but I think that baseball as America's sport can help influence the up and coming generation to become healthy. Baseball keeps you active. Even going to a game can help influence positive behaviors. However, parents that buy their kids junk at the end of every inning and then motivate them to want Taco Bueno crispy, fat fried, greasy tacos for lunch the next day need to be more careful.

This summer looks like it is going to be filled with baseball, and no complaints there. Seeing kids light up when a pitcher tosses them a ball, aromas of hotdogs and popcorn filling the air, "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" in the seventh inning stretch, and sitting on the edge of my chair to see if the Ranger's can squeeze out another win, make putting up with obnoxious fans worth it. I only have 8 more games to get Cameron Loe to notice me, but I am trying really hard. :-) Tomorrow's post, if nothing crazy happens between now and then, should be a must read on the music industry and my critiques. Look forward to it!

Day 3

I didn't go anywhere today.  I'm trying to conserve my gas and I have this huge to-do list that I have been putting off.  Can't hurt to go green right?  Some of these items include a design project I am doing for a friend, unpacking my college memorabilia, and the daily job search.  This design project I am working on for some reason is really hard for me to do (more on that later), so I put it at the bottom of the pile.  For those of you who truly know me, if I am choosing to clean my room before designing something, you know there is a creative block.  My day consisted of organizing my room, which is taking considerably longer than usual, and watching Iron Chef.  I swore that I wasn't going to turn on the TV, mainly because I LOATHE TV.  Lunch came around at 3 PM and I wanted some background noise and the TV was perfect for that.  I got sucked in.

When Mom got home I had all this built up energy.  In my case if that energy is not disposed of either I become a pest or I start feeling sorry for myself.  To keep a happy home I grabbed the bike and headed out.  The other day I did 6 mile.  3 in the morning and 3 more that evening.  I'm about to digress for a moment to brag.  I guess I had a lot of energy.  12 miles later and I am feeling great!  Ok, so 12 miles may seem like nothing for you seasoned riders out there, and to tell you the truth when I had a gym to go to 12 miles was a breeze on the stationary bike.  Let me tell you, County Road 206 is no stationary bike.  The gym does not prepare you for hills galore, fierce dogs, crazy drivers, the Texas heat, and the unrelenting wind.  6 miles with the wind and 6 miles cursing it. 

A nice bike ride through the country sure does let you see a lot of things.  I saw an abandoned TV, huge caterpillar, former druggie classmate, and somebody's lost lunch.  I feel sorry for the guy who lost his sandwich on the way to work, or maybe more for his wife who doesn't realize that she doesn't know how to make a decent sandwich causing her husband to discard it on the side of the road.  The TV... well it is really old and when something is really old people "take it to the country".  If you live there you know exactly what that phrase means.  Riding my bike without a helmet probably isn't the wisest.  Especially with former druggie classmates living down the road who swerve.  Either he was trying to see who I was or he recognized me and it was his form of hello.  Being hit by a car isn't my biggest fear when riding a bike, or me hitting a car which almost happened today.  If you see me riding and you wave don't expect me to wave back.  My equilibrium is not that well calibrated.  I swerve everywhere.  Can't ride no handle bar style.  My biggest fear is bob cats.  They are rampant.  Now on the the importance of the caterpillar.  Who cares about a bug?  Normally not me, but this one was HUGE.  It was squashed in the middle of the road which caused me to make a strange noise.  Now time for me to admit something to this blog.  I make noises.  Strange noises a lot of the time.  When you are bored growing up you find something to do to pass the time.  I have perfected the mouth trumpet, stumbled across a few accents, and have perfected the womanly grunt (just watch me play tennis).  Feeling that it was safe to do so I let out a noise that could only express my emotions of shock, disgust, and amazement.  Nobody around to hear right?  Wrong.  Somebody is always watching and listening.  To my surprise my neighbors grandson, who probably thinks I am an idiot now, just happened to be watching me cycle by.  Had  I been paying attention earlier I would have noticed and saved myself some embarrassment.

After 12 mies I decided it was time to bite the bullet and push myself out of the creative closet that I have been hiding in all day, or more like all week.  This shouldn't be so hard.  I've created countless publications.  Why is this brochure for a coast house driving me crazy?  Then it hit me.  It's because I don't know where to start.  With everything that I have created it has been a part of my life in some way.  Vacations however have not been.  As kids our parents would take us to Tyler for a weekend to go fishing and stay in a cabin, but that wasn't going on a vacation.  I've never flown anywhere in my life.  Once junior high hit mission trips were my form of a vacation.  I'm not complaining, so don't get me wrong.  When my parents took off of work there was always something to do around the house.  Painting, laying wood floors, putting up fences, you know the typical home repairs.  Not to mention you can't just pick up and leave the animals.  Who is going to  feed?  I had to figure out a way to bust through this incomprehensible concept known as the vacation.  After my bike ride I decided to go to Mexico.  Cancun to be exact.  I've seen pictures so I got the idea of it in my head.  I headed out back and plopped down on the hammock, closed my eyes, and listened to the wind.  The cool salty breeze washed over me as the waves crashed into the beach.  After a while the seagulls became pests and the dinner bell rang me back to reality.  It was a wonderful vacation and actually bust me through the wall of hindered creativity.

Shortly I will be finishing the brochure and I will let you know how it all goes.  Who knew that I needed was a bike ride to Cancun.

Day Two of Unemployment

Typically you start on Day 1, but as most of you know I am not your typical, protocol following person. That and Day 1 only consisted of a 6 mile bike ride, where I wasn't even chased by dogs, and unpacking procrastination. Day 2, today, has been a little more on the unusual side.

Forced out of bed before noon, my mother took off today hence the early rising, I pull some clothes out of the pile from school that has not been properly organized yet (odds of that happening anyway... slim to none), get dressed, and jump in the car. My attitude these days are semi-comparable to that of our dogs. A trip to town! What?! A chance to see the outside world and hopefully human contact. Guess what. I got to drive too. Yeah all the way to Dallas. :-)

This trip meant a chance to get out of the house and a full tank of gas, but it wasn't fun and games. We drive to South Oak Cliff and pick up Granny. She's already waiting due to my extra five minutes of stretch time this morning. Dressed in a blue floral pant suit she sits in her chair finalizing some checks and making a plan for the errands that need to be run. Today was the day. One year, 365 days, whichever way you want to look at it, she lost the man she had been married to 3 months shy of 60 years. Not a trip destined for joy, but that of remembrance, sorrow, and loneliness.

It's been almost 365 days since I played my trumpet. Taps at his funeral was the last thing that I could make come out of that horn. Maybe soon I can pick it up again. I hadn't been to the grave since they'd laid the grass. The DFW National Cemetery is impeccable. If you've never been, you should. Flowers after flowers, flags everywhere, tombstones lined up perfectly. For the wives of dead soldiers they take it on as their new duty to keep the headstones nicely decorated and patriotic. My Granny makes sure that almost every week Papa has something on his grave. She goes out there, washes it, lays out her newest collection of ornaments, and has a visit. Today she didn't stay long. Just enough time to arrange the balloons we got at some ghetto dollar store and have a little chat with Papa. She said he didn't say anything today, but why would he. He stopped talking years before his death. Despite what she is feeling, she still manages to put in comic relief and make fun of his stubborn character.

We left the cemetery, not talking much, but remembering. Then in the oncoming traffic a funeral procession starts its long route down to the cemetery. I pulled over quickly and put my flashers on like one car before me. For some reason though, the cars behind me just passed us, flying down the road. No respect whatsoever for the one who died and served our country. Of course I knew nothing about the person who lay dead in the hearse across the road, whether or not he was a good person, but he still deserved respect, young or old, mean or nice. I remember a year ago when people did the same thing. They didn't think outside of themselves, just passed as fast as they could trying not to look.

We are living in a day more concerned with our own personal agenda and the constant going, than that of respecting and honoring those who have done something greater with their lives. We've forgotten to stop for funerals.