Birthday Cake and All that Jazz

Here's to Valpal and Dad:

Happy Birthday!!

Watch an old movie, have some BBQ, dance to mariachi music, go see a play, sing to the Beach Boys, play a game, laugh so hard you hit the table, view some home movies, strain some orange juice, drink a malt...

AND KNOW YOU ARE LOVED!!!

Shame.

Ginger: Sadly, I have started watching a show at the gym. "Keeping Up with the Kardashians." I have sunk to new levels.

Val: I'm about to block you from my chat list.

Ginger: "BACHELOR PAD?"

Val: Touché.

Ur...

This is it. My last night in my own place. I keep expecting to have really strong emotions - but they aren't coming. I feel tired. I took off from work both today and tomorrow so that I would have time to pack and clean prior to heading into the weekend. I'm working both Saturday and Sunday.

In an effort to process what this evening actually means - I pulled out my journal from the summer/fall of 2006. The pages covering July through September told me this:

1) I had decided it was possibly time to leave the place I had been living/working since graduating from college.

2) I applied for an awesome job in Dallas and then turned it down even before they offered it to me.

3) I started to wonder what the future could possibly hold. (If you had offered me $1,000 to guess which state I would be moving to in a matter of months I'm close to 100% sure I would not have said Arizona.)

4) I was going through Beth Moore's Patriarch study and finding myself identifying with Abram.

5) September 5th I found the job where I currently work and sent my resume. I had never, ever considered living in Arizona prior to that moment. Even then... I didn't really think I would do it.

Here's what I wrote four years ago this week:

__________

8/23/06

As I think about where my road may be leading me, I am reminded specifically of Abram. The Lord called him to leave it all and come into the desert. I examine my own comfortable suburban life and wonder if I am willing to leave. Will I really pack it up as eagerly as I make it seem? I think I am ready. Good-bye Ur, hello desert. The desert is hot and flat and I have no idea where we are going. But I'm excited because my story is not the same as Abram's. We are not going to Canaan... but God's promise to finish his work in his people applies just as much to me as it does to Abram.

P.S. Don't miss out on the journey by being so caught up on the final destination. This may be your only time on a camel - so open your eyes to the story. Allow His story to saturate your story and you will end up in the most dangerous place possible... His will.

_______

I had no idea when I wrote that how quickly I would have to live those words. I am so thankful for this time of independence... this time of dependence. My emotion tonight is landing right where I started. "I think I am ready... but hey... don't be so caught up in the destination 51 days from now that you forget to enjoy this journey!"

Tear-Streaked

You may have already seen this sweet little video, but if not-- treat yourself. It is lovely.

And maybe don't watch if you don't have a tissue nearby.

"I could write on and on about her.... She lights up my life when she says to me at night, 'Wouldn't you like a little ice cream?' or 'Would you please drink more water?' I mean, those aren't very romantic things to say, but they stir my heart. In my mind, in my heart, there has never been, there is not now, and there never will be another Annie."
-Danny

Danny & Annie from StoryCorps on Vimeo.

I got nothing.

-I left the rest of the short story (36 hours to Daybreak) across town at the house. I know the suspense is killing you.

-I found myself leaning over the sink in the bathroom at work today. I was trying to make my tears fall into the drain and not on my face. "Pull it together, Morby!" (It was a mixture of work stress, moving, and still being 7 weeks away from seeing D every day... nothing new... the usual concoction of tears.)

-I have roughly 4 days of living alone left. (I hear a grandfather clock ticking somewhere.)

-There's a family at church with three kids that I've known for the past 4 years - I've taught at least one of their sons every year since I started. This year I have the two oldest boys in Youth. Last week the oldest runs up to me and says, "Miss Ginger! My brother is passed out on the floor!"

I look over to see his younger brother (6th grader, mind you) lying on the floor and trying not to smile. The older brother looks at me with the sides of his mouth curling up and proceeds to say, "He's not breathing. I'm pretty sure you need to give him CPR."

Listen, Squinz. I wasn't born yesterday. I told them that hands-only CPR was what the Red Cross now advised... and that you break a few ribs in the process. Both boys began laughing and ran off.

The End.

No Really, I'm Totally Laughing

Now that I’m in my new office, a nice side bonus (in addition to having a door) is being in a suite with a new group of people, including a few friends of mine.

Everyone in our building that needs to talk to someone and doesn't necessarily want to, you know, walk, uses the office’s communication tool of choice: the blessed gchat. I had just gotten off the phone when Stephen told me that it was kind of creeping him out that he could hear my voice from his office. (Sidenote: I don’t think a girl can hear enough that she sounds creepy.) Later on I absentmindedly typed “lol” in the chat box to something that he said, but didn’t actually laugh in my office. He noted that he liked being able to tell whether I was actually “lol-ing” or not, which naturally made me genuinely laugh out loud. Then I heard the laughter coming from his office, and naturally then REALLY got the giggles.

It’s true, though. I am definitely guilty of overusing “lol” (which, for the uninitiated, means “laugh out loud.”). You’d think I’d be stingier with my useage of the phrase, but truthfully I just use it mostly to acknowledge that I find what the other person is saying is funny. Then I just try to alternate its use with that of the very eloquent “hahaha.”

Very occasionally I really am laughing out loud, in which case I attempt to tell the other person this fact, usually by typing out “I really am laughing out loud right now!”

It certainly would be nice to know when people are truly laughing.

They should really invent an acronym for that.

Treasure Trove

I promised to share the treasure trove of childhood ramblings and I'm finally finding a spare hour to be able to get to it. As far as I can tell - this short story was crafted by my 6th, 7th or 8th grade self. (That's a guess based on handwriting.) I am going to keep all the original spelling and will probably have to break this up into several installments.

Warnings:

-Even though I came in second in the all-school spelling bee in 8th grade... I'm atrocious at spelling.

-During this period of my life I was reading a lot of Mary Higgins Clark. Scratch that. I read every book that woman wrote one summer. If you've read any of her work you will find some similarities here.

-I haven't read this story all the way through before posting it. I'm just going for it.

"36 Hours till DAYBREAK"

Houston, TX. Wednesday, January 12 at 2:45pm

"Hobby Airport please, and quick"

The tall, imposing, brunet barked out the order as she closed the door of the taxi she had called for over 30 minutes ago. Her flight left at 3:30, if she didn't make it her whole evening would be ruined. Blair Stevens was not late for anything. Blair pulled out her compact and brushed through her hair. She tried to smoothe out the wrinkles of her black skirt. Her outfit was one large oven. The bright red button down sweater and black sweater skirt combo had become suicide on the warm winter Houston day. It was already 67 outside and now there was traffic on I45. How there could be a traffic at 2:45 she didn't know. Blair pulled out her cell phone to call her boss.

"Hi Janet, this is Blair Stevens, could you put me through to Kurt?"

The reply came stiffly over the breaking connection.

"Mr. Phillips is not to be bothered, but if you would like I will give him a message."

"Oh sure, tell him the last leg of my story is being finished tonight and that I will be flying home tomorrow."

"It sure will be nice to have you back Mrs. Stevens."

"Thank you Janet. Goodbye."

"Bye."

The dial tone rang in her ear as she looked out at the buildings. Of course they couldn't compare to New York City, but after telecommuting and traveling to Houston every two weeks for two years she sure would miss it. Blair was a television journalist working for ABC about two years ago. She had been given a story that was going to rock America at its heart. Now, tonight she would be interviewing her last source. Without him she had no story.

"Mam."

Blair opened her eyes to find she was at Hobby airport. She quickly grabbed her purse and handbag as the taxi driver gave her luggage to the porter. She paid the taxi and rushed to the gate. When she got there, the last of the passengers were just getting on. As she boarded a sense of relief came over her. As she fell into a deep sleep hearing the vague sounds of the captain welcoming everyone on their non-stop flight to Dallas. It was now 3:42pm.

Dallas, TX Wednesday, January 12 at 3:45pm

"What do you think chief?"

"Well - it looks to me like we got ourselves one heck of a hit-man, Miller. Some heavy dough was put into this one. The son of a... well... the poor dead guy has a wife and a little girl. He was only 35. He didn't even know what was coming. This guy was shot through his car window as he was pulling out to go to work, or it looks that way. His wife was bringing the kids home from school and they find this."

"Do we know where the guy who shot him was when he did this?"

"It looks like he drove past in his car and shot, but there's nothing to prove it."

The tall, balding police chief left to go inside to speak to the wife.

"This has to be getting to him," thought Sergeant Miller. The Sgt turned to spot the medical examiner.

"Hey Frank, boy have I got a story about this dead guy."

. . . . .

I know. You're just as excited as I am to find out what's going to "rock the heart of America" and if this heck of a hit man has anything to do with it. Deep breaths. I may not have even finished the story. Who knows? Perhaps the chief or Sergeant Miller. My guess is that only Mrs. Blair Stevens -telecommuting journalist for ABC who pays porters to lift her bags - really knows.

(P.S. I think I would like to read a running commentary on this story by Valerie. Anyone else with me?)