Live-Blogging Jury Duty

Do you guys know what jury duty is good for? An amazing, hand-delivered blog entry. The heavens opened up, the sunshine camp spilling in, and lo: the good Lord hath delivered me more country folk and 35-year-old grandmas (seriously) than I ever could have imagined.

The hillbilly PO-lice man at the front of the room likens the morning to “Let’s Make a Deal” or “Judge Judy.” Then he said if we didn’t squish in on the jury pews, he would bring in “them folding chairs that give you a zap if you move around too much in ‘em.”

A lady just told us, “We do things casually around here. If you’re eatin’ a donut outside and you get called in, just bring your donut on in with you. Ya never know, the judge could be eatin’ one too!”

I fantasize about breaking into song and standing on the pews and then having everyone else join in one by one. I smile a little to myself.

It’s silent in here, save for the buzzing of fluorescent light bulbs, coughs, the rustle of newspaper pages, and the two ladies behind me occasionally laughing or complaining about the cold temperature.

Halfway through planning my delightful recap of the hilarity that is jury duty, I freeze. Is it illegal to blog about jury duty? Is that an accusation, jury blogging? Blogging while jurying? Must check on that and--

OH MY HEAVENS they just said “All rise” and called the judge that walked in “The Honorable.” This is so a movie. And there’s even a score! Holy everything I think there is music swelling while the judge talks about our duties. Where is that coming from? Oh. The street outside. It’s car horns. So, maybe not so much...with the score... Man I've been in here too long.

Hey, you know what should be illegal? Smoking smelly cigarettes before being forced to sit in close quarters with your fellow jurors. Sick. I am ready to get out of this cramped hallway and back into the courtroom.

After a group of us misses the last exemption, a man across the hall quips, “I don’t guess I should buy any lottery tickets today.” Everyone chuckles. We have a camaraderie now, I suppose. We’re all this together! Again I suppress the urge to break out into song.

Oh. Em. Gee. I’m back in the courtroom. They are asking questions about why we wouldn’t be a good choice to serve on this case. Nothing that comes up applies to me, and therefore HOLY MOSES I’ve just been selected. I am a juror now.

Umm... could they not warn a person that in the event of your being selected for jury duty, you could end up having to stick a giant JURY pin through your shiny new-ish shirt? I mean really. Talk about hardship.

I am listening to the facts of the case. I really am. But at the same time, I may also be thinking of all courtroom dramas, songs about juries, crimes, and lawyers, and certain Veronica Mars jury duty episodes. The worst thing is that even as I sit here viewing evidence and hearing testimony, the song “Crime of the Century” from Ragtime is reverberating in my head. I've never been more glad that people don't know what I'm really thinking....

We ushered to a tiny room lined with boxes and boxes labeled “Warning Tickets” and the like. Very official.

Annnnnnd it’s freezing. I want to get out of here. But I don’t want to be like Juror Number 7, here! No way, I am here to be Henry Fonda! I will stick it out. I will fight. Bring it on.

In the end? Guilty.

Don’t cross me, fool.

Drum Fill

I work with an amazing team of people. I feel very lucky to not only enjoy what I do for a living, but also actually enjoy the people in my office. After a rather long meeting yesterday we were all preparing to head to lunch together. Carey ran up on the stage and sat behind the drum set. She disclosed that as a child she had always dreamed of having her own drum set and had even presented a plan to sound proof the attic in her house. Unfortunately, that dream was never realized. Fernando joined her on stage to give her a crash course in the drums. After 10 minutes she was able to hit a drum, cymbal, and the kick drum on beat and keep a rhythm, at least for a few seconds. Once at lunch Carey asked us all if we had hidden dreams as kids or even adults that we were one day hoping to achieve. The results of the conversation were quite interesting.

Beth hopes to one day own her own business. She wants to own a specialty pet store, and even has a clever name to boot. I think she hopes to sell collars, dog clothes, and offer grooming. She definitely lit up when talking about the store, but what I love seeing is the way that Beth dreams for her son. She lights up when she talks about him and really dreams of the ways she can bring a smile to his face.

Virginia has always wanted to play the drums or the guitar, but what she really wants to do is continue her passion for ice skating. She skated all the time as a kid and would one day love to get back to it. Virginia reminds me of a kid sometimes. She’s a loving friend, and one of her greatest gifts has been the way she plays with her daughters. I’ve loved watching her use her own imagination to instill a sense of wonder and play in her girls.

Erin has found that she loves sewing and would love to sell some of her own creations. She’s started out small, but with her new sewing machine in tow, I’m pretty sure she’s going to start having more orders than she can handle. She crafts memory books for each of her kids and saves anything that might come in handy to them one day. You can find some of her creations already for sale here .

Fernando couldn’t quite vocalize his dream. He felt really lucky to have a job so young that allows him creative freedom in art, music, and organization. He’s had the chance to do short-term missions and travel. The thing about Fernando is that his dreams don’t stay dreams for long. He writes songs for his son and turns home videos into music videos as soon as he captures them. He lives every day doing exactly what he wants to do and doesn't wait for the time later down the road.

Carey, my boss who started this whole conversation, is constantly encouraging us to really do what we love. She loves to write and create, to dream and design. She has a baby on the way in May. That child is in for an adventure.

Dreams are fascinating. Some of us are born with dreams that we wait our whole lives to take hold of, while others find that the dreams take hold of us and shape the way that we live every day. I think there was a time in my life when I worried that my dreams would somehow conflict with my calling as a believer. Although my preference on timing may not line up, I’m convinced that the dreams within me have been placed for a reason and will one day come to fruition. I have this huge list of dreams, a bucket list if you will. But if I don’t get to them all it will really be ok. I just want my life to be about accumulating experiences and not possessions. I may not climb Mount Kilimanjaro before I die but that doesn’t mean I have to miss out on all the mountains around me right now. Who knows if I will learn to play a drum set (apparently everyone shares this) or write a manuscript – but dreaming is way better than just shuffling along. So dream on my friends, dream on.

I couldn't believe my own ears. Tinker Toys?

Just a warning...I've been sick for 2 days and I think my creativity and sense of humor have died a very tragic death because of the pressure in my head. Regardless, I will buck up and deliver. No telling what is to follow.

I'm sitting on the floor typing on the old laptop as it sits on the coffee table that I inherited from my parents. My little Charlie Brown tree is in the corner and my suitcase sits half packed on the chairs I inherited from my grandparents. Oh wait, "Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas" just came on the radio. You can't script this stuff. Any minute the opening credits will start rolling for this rather charming new movie about a young woman who just wants to get home for the holidays. I think it's on Lifetime, television for women.

Sadly, the young woman has a terrible cold which has caused her co-workers to mock her lack of pronunciation and diction throughout the day. As she gets up from the small table she makes her way to the coffee pot counting out just enough for two small cups of coffee. She walks to the room and sets the alarm for the awful time of 5:45 and says to herself, "Shall I go to the gym tomorrow? No, I think not." After making her lunch of turkey and mustard she washes her face, pausing long enough to let one tear fall. "Oh Santa, all I want for Christmas is an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle."

Ok - so I got a little off track there. You know, I very rarely have much direction from the beginning. I love that quote - love that movie. My family is not a "National Lampoon's Christmas" family. We are of "A Christmas Story" stock. I'm not sure why. That's just the way it is. I mentioned the movie this week and someone in the office said, "what movie is that?" Apparently they've been living under a rock, or at a house where there parents didn't let them watch t.v. on the weeknights (no one does that, right?). But then again, I hadn't seen the Chevy Chase movie until about 2 years ago...true story. And then, I decided to rent it because I thought my family would get a laugh out of it, and it did get a few gracious chuckles, but nothing like the classic with Ralphie. That's a good memory. Almost as good as watching my cousins getting chewed out for "snooping in the attic" for their Christmas presents - something which they continue to deny into their late 20's. And maybe it's just as good as watching my sister and I open the same gift. We were always big fans of that. Throw in that a memory of all the cousins sleeping in the back bedrooms at the grandparent's house and then running down the brick hallway at 6:00am and you have yourself one very Merry Little Christmas made for t.v. movie.

My head hurts. I'm going to bed. Merry Christmas everyone.

Drastic Measures

"We have to be braver than we think we can be, because God is constantly calling us to be more than we are, to see through plastic sham to living, breathing reality, and to break down our defenses of self-protection in order to be free to receive and give love." Madeleine L'Engle

I am by nature, a creature of habit. I put my keys in the same place. I keep my socks in the right drawer. That is why I must resort to drastic measures when it comes to food selections. When shopping for cereal I make it my goal to never purchase the same product twice in a row. I could go 8 months in between boxes of Cheerios, one of my favorites. If I don't live on the edge in the morning, I probably won't during the rest of my day. I used to be so predictable that you could tell me what I was about to order at any given restaurant. In recent years I have made it my goal to live life on the edge when dining, to incur some sort of a risk. If I don't like lunch, I can always eat dinner, right? (Sometimes it's the small victories that make your day.)

I recently read the definition of COURAGE as "The belief that I am indestructible until my work on earth is done." It's one of those definitions that cause you to raise your fist in the air and yell “charge” with complete enthusiasm. The only problem is that I do not think courage is one of my defining characteristics. I line my bookshelves with inspiration, purchase maps of the world, and make life mission statements that would rival the greatest explorer. I take notes on anything that has to do with adventure.

I would like to consider this definition when discussing courage: "taking action despite fear for a purpose." I recognize that there isn't a great moral or philosophical purpose in choosing Special K. I don't expect to wake up tomorrow ready to take on the world - but I am taking steps daily towards reckless abandonment in every aspect of my life. I am asking that the Lord would show me where a fear of failure rips the courage out from under me. My fear isn't heights, speaking in front of a crowd, or even being alone. My fear is missing out on the adventurous life God has for me because of my own self-doubts. Thankfully He is and will always be there to push and guide every step of the way.

“How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow on those who take refuge in you.” Psalm 31:19

Salty

I know that it's possible to imagine bits of one's past through rose colored glasses. I'm sure my own memories are swayed by photographs and images that take over the actual reality. But what I don't understand is why I would make up or imagine something that has very little significance.

I tend to get canker sores, you know, the horrible little things that make eating and sometimes speaking detestable? Mine tend to surface in groups of three to six at a time. I know, lovely topic of conversation. Every couple of months I am attacked by them, whether from stress or acidic food, I'm not sure, but they come and threaten my very livelihood.

The last time this happened when I was visiting my parents, I walked into the kitchen to prepare the remedy I had been taught as a child. I selected a small glass from the cabinet, poured in a teaspoon or so of salt, and then ran the faucet with as hot of water as possible. Once the steam was rising I placed my glass of salt underneath the water and filled it 3/4 of the way full. I then took a mouthful of the salt-water and swished it around in my mouth. I repeated this until I had used all of the water from the glass. I'm not sure if my mom walked in while I was doing this, or if I told her that I had "medicated" the sores.

Mom: "Why did you do that?"

Ginger: "Because that's what we've always done for canker sores."

Mom: "Why?"

Ginger: "That's what you told us to do when we were growing up!"

Mom: "WHAT? NO!!"

Ginger: "Are you kidding me? We've done this our whole lives. Maybe 10 times a year."

Mom: "NO! Why would I tell you to do that?"

Ginger: "WHY WOULD I MAKE THAT UP?"

And so, I pose the question to you, reader: Why would I make something like that up? The memory is vivid. I think I can even see my mother making up the glass of salt-water for me. I know I can. The amazing thing about my mysterious memory...my sister remembers it too. Sorry Kerry. It happened. You taught it to us. And now, you are reading this on saltwatercoke...