guess you better not wait and see

we say that a lot. "wonder if we'll have a white Christmas?" guess we'll have to wait and see.

who's gonna be in the championship game? guess we'll have to wait and see.

who's gonna WIN it? 

wait and see.

what's in that big package under the tree?

wait and see.

the little tiny one?

wait. see.


waiting and seeing is actually quite fun. it's hard, but it's fun. and if what was in the big package turns out not to fit, it's not the end of the world. it's not even the end of the world, despite what half the world thinks, if the wrong team wins the championship game.

but there is one time when "guess we'll have to wait and see" could be the end of the world - of yours, anyway:


"wonder if Christ really is the only way to eternal life?"






 

 
 

the woman who loved every kind of weather or, how to fix everything

last night i had dinner with an old woman who loves every kind of weather. hot and humid? loves it. freezing cold and snowing? loves. mild and rainy? loves. cool and sunny? loves. below zero? fine. in the teens? fine. 50s? fine. 90s? fine. over a hundred? fine. "have you ever met a weather you don't like," i asked. "no," she said.



lots of people, all of them seemingly on facebook, seem to know the secret to a good life - and most of them can sum it up in a catchy meme. it might be - often is - religious in nature, it might be - often is - sarcastic in nature, or it might be - always is - thought-provoking in nature. but no one has ever summed it up like the old woman who loves every kind of weather.

i have never met a person who even likes every kind of weather, much less loves it. i have met people who like every kind of season, but that's different. to embrace humidity right along with embracing scraping your windshield in january is not just unusual, it is unheard of. 

and that's why the world is a mess. because loving weather, no matter what kind it is, is unheard of.




i asked this lady if she is flexible about everything. she thought about it for a second, shrugged her shoulders and said, "sure. why not?" are you flexible about what you eat, i asked.

"sure. why not?"

the clothes you wear?

"sure."

where you live?

"yeah."

what you do in your free time?

"of course."

you flexible about politics?

"people are politics. so, yeah. gotta be flexible about people."

religion?

"you practice yours, i'll practice mine."

what about taxes?

"sure. tell me what to pay and i'll pay it."




is there anything you're not flexible about, i asked.

"one thing," she said.

what, i said.



"being flexible."





 

accept it: you don't accept it.

i don't like it when people say "i know  for a fact." drives me crazy. just like when people, especially athletes, say, "(blah, blah, blah)......know what i mean?" drives me crazy.



M.Scott Peck, american psychiatrist and author of The Road Less Traveled, brilliantly said in the opening of that ground-breaking book published in 1978 that, "Life is difficult. Once we truly know that life is difficult — once we truly understand and accept it — then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.”

the problem is, even those of us who accept it, don't accept it. even Christians who have the difficult life example of Jesus Christ don't accept that life is difficult. we might think we accept that life is difficult, we might say we accept that life is difficult, but (practically) nobody accepts that life is difficult. on the contrary, we think that life should be, if not easy, per se, then at least pretty nice most of the time. and when it's not, look out.

people mix up expecting life to be difficult and accepting that it is. i'm not sure that there's any worse confusion in all of life than that one.

expecting problems is one thing. you look around, you see tons of them, and you figure, sooner or later, some of them are gonna come your way. you expect them. but when they actually show up, you say, "why me?" and if you don't say, "why me?" you at least say (or think), well, dammit.

why dammit? why not, "life is difficult - and because i truly understand and accept that life is difficult, my life is no longer difficult. because now that i accept that this problem makes my life difficult, this problem no longer makes my life difficult." why don't we say that? 

because we don't believe it. and we don't accept it.



and i, for one, know that for a fact.  



know what i mean? 
 

what i really want

a synthetic life, bumping into

walls on your 

cell

phone. and people,

you

don't even 

see.



eating big box at red 

lobster or fri-

day's o'charley's pan-

era or

chili's texas road-

house ruby

tuesday's.


good-bye, ruby

tuesday.



shopping big box

this Christm, i mean....

holiday.



designers. custom.

high end.

surprise me, why don't you,

with a 

pie.



from your

kitch-

en.








  

step one: have a face.

"Remember when the news used to be delivered by a neighborhood kid, not by your phone?"

that was the question posed this morning by a website called The Good Old Days. and it is one of the best questions ever. and yes, it has everything to do with paris.



despite what we are commanded, it is hard to love someone you don't know. it is hard to thank someone you've never seen.

it is hard to leave a Christmas tip for the paperboy who doesn't exist.



it is easy, at least easier, not to care about people without faces. not to even realize they are people at all.



it is hard to tip a non-existent paperboy at Christmas.



but, it's easy to blow him up. 



 

 





 

why my profile pic is still my profile pic

there isn't anything wrong with changing your facebook profile picture to support france. there isn't. 

but, there is.

 

i know that every single person who has changed his or her profile picture to the red, white, and blue of the french flag has done so with nothing but the sincerest, most compassionate, most grieved, most loving intentions. i do not doubt that for one split second. and i appreciate it.

but, i think it's wrong.



color has become such a big deal. too big a deal. we have ribbons in every color of the rainbow. including the one in the color of the rainbow. 

women (and men) wear pink wigs. because.......pink wigs cure breast cancer.

 

changing your colors makes you feel empowered. lulls you into feeling like you're doing something, when in fact, what you are doing is nothing more than what you should be doing every day - being loving and supportive. why broadcast that you're a loving and supportive person only in the aftermath of a tragedy? 

and if red, white, and blue is loving today, then don't ever change it back to your regular profile pic. change it to reflect the next tragedy.

on the other hand, if your kid was killed in paris last night, and if seeing your friends bathed in red, white, and blue today (and for the next 3 or 4 days) doesn't seem like it's gonna do much to prevent somebody else's kid from being blown up here in the united states tomorrow, then writing a letter to barack obama, blasting him for being a traitor to all of western civilization, might. 



(don't forget to cc: your congressman or woman.)





 





  

pumpkins as decoration. and yes, the dreaded S word - starbucks

i just drove by the entrance to an upscale subdivision and its gates and pillars were seasonally (and tastefully) decorated with pumpkins. and i thought...........wait a minute.


in many regions across the country, front yards and front porches are sporting mums and pumpkins and indian corn and cornstalks. as if we're rural people. as if we're farmers. as if we're any more connected to the fields where those products came from than the man in the moon. if we were really tuned into the earth, we wouldn't be sitting in upscale cafes drinking "pumpkin" (yeah, right....nothin' pumpkin about it) spiced lattes. we'd be on the front porch, cuz it's hot in those fields. chuggin' lemonade. with water that came from the well.

i think it is disingenuous to have it both ways - pumpkins in a subdivision and lattes at starbucks. make a choice. quit fooling yourself with romantic notions. it's phony. it's like the set for a movie or something. cozy and cute.

and phony.



the plain red cup, however, is not phony. starbucks is not a Christian company. they make no bones about that. nor should they. they are what they are.



are you?









 

hearing voices

you know that still, small voice in your head? not the crazy one......the one that's God.


i didn't grow up being taught that the voice in my head is God but rather, that it was my "conscience" or my "common sense" or some other non-divine thing. i didn't grow up being taught that if it snowed on my birthday it was because God arranged that - i grew up believing that if it snowed on my birthday it was because the atmosphere and the temperature and some condition way out in the pacific ocean caused it to snow on a day that just so happened to be my birthday. sure, God could have arranged it to snow on my birthday, but He didn't. He had bigger fish to fry.

i was taught to vaccinate children, not to not vaccinate them and if God doesn't want them to get rubella, they won't get rubella. 

my parents told me that God helps those who help themselves. (no wonder they're republicans.)

my teachers told me to study. i don't recall a single one of them ever telling me to go light on the studying and big on the praying and if i do that, i'll end up valedictorian.

one of my mom's favorite pieces of advice was "do things in the right order. finish your education, THEN get a (good) job, THEN get married (if you want), THEN have children (if you want). reverse any of that and you're in a big mess." 

she never once said, "do whatever you want whenever you want, put the cart before the horse if you feel like it, just know that God will guide you and won't let you get lost." 

my dad is smart. he's one of the smartest people i know, maybe THEE smartest person i know. he loves the Lord, and he figures the reason the Lord gave him a good brain is because the Lord wants him to use it.

and he does.

and he taught me to use mine, too.



"God helps those who help themselves." THAT'S what was for dinner at my house - not beef.



but, as an adult, i have run into more and more people who rely heavily - some even solely - on the voice that isn't their conscience but the voice that (they believe) is God's.


i don't know how to distinguish the two. or if there even are two. and regardless if there's one or there are two, i don't know whose i am hearing. everyone else seems clear about who is talking. i am not.


everyone's talkin' at me/i can't hear a word they're sayin'/only the echoes of my mind..........



 

 

 

weatherism. and soup.

since it's the national pastime to be offended, i'm offended. i'm offended by people who assume i like sunny, warm weather. OF.FEND.ED.


people can. not. be. lieve. it. when they learn i like winter. i like cold, i like snow, i like ice. i like driving in it. i like being stranded in it. i. like. it.

no, you don't, they say. you don't like it. you might think you like it, but you don't really like it.

i do, i say. i like it.

well, they say, you wouldn't like it if you lived in minnesota.

i would.

you would not, could not in alaska.

i would. could! on a boat! with a goat!

in a box! with a fox!



i like it.



besides. soup in hot weather is no fun.


neither are green eggs and ham.

can we talk?

we communicate often. but not well.


the digital age has brought us in regular contact with people we would have never in a million years known or had the opportunity to "talk" to. (yeah, i know......never end a sentence with a preposition. sue me.)

to be able to see what ben carson tweets? what the pope just posted? to see the inside of tom hanks' house? to listen in while reba mcentire explains what happened to her marriage? UNreal.

and yet, for all that intimacy, we know each other, i think, way less than we knew each other back in the day when we didn't know each other. you're just not gonna convince me that talking on a computer is equivalent to a front porch with some lemonade. you're just not. 



i get up every morning and within minutes of checking my phone and my laptop, i have been around the world at least 3 times. i know what tie vladimir putin is wearing today and whether or not it has a spot on it. i watch videos of tsunamis and it doesn't matter what time zone anyone lives in anymore, all you gotta do is click.

i see the pictures of your kids and you see the pictures of mine. here you are at a restaurant, laughing and looking adorable, and there i am at a restaurant, laughing, and there we are at a restaurant, and there they are at a restaurant and, well, the restaurants must be happy.

i can count the hairs on your cat's head.

i know when your blood pressure is up and when it's down. i know how much you weigh. i know if you're gluten-sensitive, doin' the PALEO thing or the Jesus Diet, how big your pecs are, and if you died overnight, shocking us all.




  but to think.......i never knew you.

no, we really DON'T need one more cute picture of you behind the wheel

selfies are...........wrong. stop taking them.


i am turning over a new leaf. (well, as much as one can turn over leaves in georgia. Lord, what i wouldn't give for an entire woods filled with color.)

but, i am turning (notice the tense of the verb......i did NOT say "turned") over a new leaf. i am going to stop being so self-centered - as much as i humanly can given the fact that God made me (and you) self-centered and then said, stop being self-centered.

i don't know why God made us self-centered and then said don't be self-centered. would an earthly parent let a kid run wild (well, actually, YES......all the TIME).......but, would an earthly parent let a kid run wild and then when he starts running wild say to the kid, stop running wild? like i said, YES.....an earthly parent would. but not a GOOD earthly parent.

now, am i saying God is not good? no. but i AM saying He has an odd way of going about things.

be that as it may, making me (and you) self-centered and then asking us not to be self-centered is how He wants it, so how He wants it is how it should be.



stop taking selfies.

food. it's what's for dinner.

i am not on the non-GMO bandwagon. i am not on the organic one.

i don't  really care, apart from economics, if it was grown locally or not.

if you're gluten-sensitive, fine. but i'm not.

i buy stuff from walmart.

i no longer think stacking food vertically on a plate is cool.

white bread still makes the best toast.

a regular burger is fine.

i would like to live in west virginia and just eat ham.

when this last bottle of balsamic vinegar is gone, i will not be replacing it.

if you want to do a juice fast, fine. but i don't.

i don't hate monsanto.

bacon and eggs will not kill me. and if they do, fine. something has to.

pizza is supposed to be bad for you.

i would like to live in kentucky and just eat ham.

the expiration dates don't get my panties in a bunch.

red eye gravy is the most under-appreciated food in the world.

cook like your grandma cooked.

white rice. thank you.

enough with the sweet potato fries thing.

eat your next tomato like an apple. at the sink.

catfish, slaw, and hush puppies.

the blue plate special is special.

meatloaf.

think huck finn, tom sawyer, and sheriff andy taylor.

i would like to live in alabama and just eat ham.




while you're at it, teach your kids (you shouldn't even have to) how to play cowboys and indians, too.

bruno mars hates hot weather, too.

it's no secret that i am not a fan of hot/humid weather. understatement of the year.

however, i know that people don't want to hear me going on and on about how i don't like hot/humid weather. and by don't like it i mean, loathe it.

they don't want to hear it. i get that. just like i don't want to hear you griping about my beloved snow and cold. you don't wanna hear it, i don't wanna hear it. we're even.

and so, before i moved down here, i promised rudy that i would never complain about the heat/humidity. i didn't say i would never comment on it.....because i will.....but i won't gripe. there's a difference between commenting and griping: the difference is, "wow, it sure is hot today" vs. "for the love of $%*@!##$*&! this is the worst flippin' weather in the history of the world and i, for one, am gonna DIE. but not before i kill somebody first."

that's griping.

i promised rudy i wouldn't do that.

and, i won't. in spite of the fact that since moving down here, everyone is scaring me half to pieces about the heat and humidity that's to come. this is what all of them are telling me:

oh, girl, just. wait.

oh, dude, you don't know the half of it. just. wait.

oh, you poor thing! you're just gonna die! DIE! just. wait.

oh, nancy.......nancy, nancy, NANCY......just. wait.


(speaking of nancy, the latest person to warn me that death by heat/humidity is imminent was my dear old school (literally) friend, nancy (flood) staley, who now lives in north carolina - and so she knows what she's talking about -  and who only this morning warned me to "just wait until august...")



all of these warnings have left me terrified. standing here in may, on the cusp of june (and july and august after that), i am shaking like a leaf.  scared of the weather and scared of the word "just." i never wanna hear the word "just" the rest of my life.



but.


i. promised.

and. i. will. keep. my. promise.

i. will. not. complain.

i. won't.




don't believe me?


just watch.

i'm not telling you how to run your monarchy

i'm not. but if i were:

• dump the matching dress and coat that fall, ugh, just below your knees.
• dump the matching hat.
• if you need help dressing like a queen, watch my 3- and 6-year old granddaughters when they're playing dress-up.
• there is not a 3- or 6-year old female child anywhere on the planet who dresses up like a queen in sensible pumps dyed the same color as the dress. (and the coat. and the hat.)
• sit on your throne a little more often. wear your crown every day.
• when i was homecoming queen, believe you me, i wore the crown.
• stop with that itty bitty hand wave. you're the queen, for heaven's sake. you oughta either a.) do "the wave," or b.) do the happy dance. a fist bump would work, too. come on.
• could you possibly, for one flippin second, smile?
• as in, smile like you mean it.
• get a glass coach.
• they can't be that expensive.
• besides.
• just put it on england's credit card.
• get the crown jewels outa the tower of london and wear them. you're the flippin' queen of england!
• better yet......give them to charlotte.
• she really doesn't want that
• silver spoon.

ah, yeah, but first you gotta even BELIEVE in God.

i heard a story yesterday that i don't know for sure if it's true or not but the person i heard it from is pretty reliable and i trust her and besides, even if the story isn't true - it can be true. if folks would just decide to make it true.

the story is simple. it's one sentence:


a group of sisters from mother teresa's "missionaries of charity" decided never to ask for what they needed.



period.



(but, period aside, and seeing as how this is a blog and i am supposed to elaborate on stuff, here goes:)

first of all, imagine that. not to ask for what you want (they didn't do that, either) is hard enough. but never to ask for what you need?????? but.......they didn't.

if they needed food, they didn't tell anybody (on earth). they told God.

if they were thirsty and out of water, they told God.

tired and no place to lie down? God.

needed someone to rub their back? go tell it on the mountain.



they didn't even tell when they were asked. if someone came up to them and said, hey sisters, you guys need anything? like blankets or clothes or maybe a portable heater or somethin'? if somebody came up to them and said that, the sisters smiled and were silent. and they prayed. they prayed for what they needed.

as the story goes, they took their inspiration from matthew 6:26 - "look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. are you not of more value than they?"


i think the nuns were real spiritual and Christian and stuff like that but i also think that that they had it figured out that nobody really wants to hear anybody else yammering about what they need. or want. what most people want to do is to do the yammering themselves.....but not to hear anybody else doing it.

they're right, you know.


but more than that, the nuns had it figured out that what Christ said in matthew 6:26 was, um, true. that God would supply their needs. and once they figured it out, they decided to run with it.

and, per the story, it worked. they never once went hungry, even when they had gone to bed the night before with the cupboards emptied.

they never didn't have a place to sleep. maybe not the hilton, but a decent place to sleep.

sure, they got thirsty. and when they did, they found water.

according to the story (and i believe it), none of the sisters who died did so because their needs weren't met. (on the contrary......on the day they died, i think God was probably meeting their needs in spades.)



i'm not saying i plan to keep my mouth shut - (sorry, rudy). i'm not saying i'll never again tell anyone what i need, much less what i want. i'm not saying i'm just gonna go through life praying every time something comes up.

but i am saying the world would be a better place if i did.

if we all did. the world would be better if we lived as though we believed the Gospel.

baltimore sure would look different. baltimore would look better.

because baltimore would have its needs met.



but the world isn't anything like those sisters. the world is the opposite. the world says it is not only right, it is glorious to demand what you need. the world thinks it's glorious to demand what you want, too. i am a member of a profession whose cornerstone has become the longings of the self. and whose job is to teach others how to demand that others give it to 'em.


but the birds don't do that.



and look at them.

grown up s'mores

walking today and it

smelled like

camp. it smelled like

pine.


it smelled like 4-H

and girl scout

and church

and private girls'

camp.


(though private girls'

camp

also smells like

chanel

number

five.)


the sun was

out. you almost expected the

dinner bell

to

ring.


the water

shone.

in your mind

you saw tom,

the canoe teacher,

and the diary you

wrote about him

in.


you saw your

cabin

and the lumpy

mattress. the

wooden floor that

you tripped over

five

times. the graffiti

(hearts and

flowers) on the

walls. who loves

whom and arrows

punctuating

it.


you hear camp

songs. kumbaya before

kumbaya was a

joke.


before the dreams you thought

you wanted

turned into

the life

you know

you

do.

refrigerators are not always cold

my daughter long a-

go

gave me words for my

fridge.


the words are mag-

netic

and you scramble them a-

round to make

poems.


poems that don't rhyme but

neither does

a

heart.


poems that didn't get

writ-

ten

for 5

years.

they hung there,

empty on the

fridge,

without a happy poet to

compose.


the words thought about not moving to

georgia.

they thought about going to the

dumpster, along with

so many

other

bro-

ken

dreams.


but the words hopped in

my

car.

barrelled down the

high-

way. flew in

the

house. landed on

a

southern

fridge.


it's like they got

CPR or

somethin.

like i married a man who

may have been emerson in

a-

nother

life.


it's like the words wrote

them-

selves in his

heart,

onto

mine,


and the fridge is finally warm


a-

gain.

how many days does it take the IRS to change a light bulb?

i owed the IRS $49.82 last year and so rather than debiting my checking account in the amount of $49.82, which would have been the intelligent and careful thing to do, the IRS tried to debit it in the amount of $49,820. and it was declined. because i didn't have $49,820 in my checking account. and so the IRS sent me a letter - very fast -  saying i was in default and now, in addition to the $49,820 that i owe them, i owe them penalty fees, too.

so, i appealed.

after 45 days, i got a letter from the IRS saying they need another 45 days to continue their investigation of this.

so, i waited.

after 45 days, i got another letter from the IRS saying they need another 45 days to continue their investigation of this.

so, i waited.

45 days/another letter.

waited.

45/letter.



meanwhile, michelle obama wants the USDA to weigh children in daycare to see if they're fat and if they are, by golly, they're gonna fix it. right now.



my government, which is not my government at. all. is horrifyingly screwed up.

nice

1. they're nice here in georgia. at least this part of georgia.
2. the lady at the DMV (they call it the DDS here. wonder what they call dentists.....)........the lady at the DDS was nice as pie. nice as whatever your particular favorite kind of pie happens to be. that nice.
3. the man who worked at the first grocery store i went to down here was nice. he insisted on carrying my groceries to the car. insisted. i suppose that would get some feminists all up in arms but instead of getting mad (or even), i let him do it. and as we walked to my car, i learned that he was originally from ohio, too. he was born and raised in tiffin. i said to him, tiffin? that's where heidelberg college is, isn't it? and he said, "i don't think anyone since i have lived here has ever asked me that question. how nice. and yes, it's where heidelberg college is. except it's heidelberg university now. i kinda liked it better when it was heidelberg college." i told him that i graduated from wittenberg university which used to be wittenberg college before it was wittenberg university and that i kinda like wittenberg college better, too. he said, as he put my groceries in the trunk, "it's been so nice talkin' to a buckeye."
4. the woman who cut my hair today was nice. the minute i saw her, i liked her. and she told me as i was leaving that the minute she saw me, she liked me, too. and i could tell she wasn't lying.
5. the lady at the car wash was nice. she dried my car off, without me even asking. i know that she was no doubt hoping for a tip - and i gave her one - but i look at it like this: she dried my car off.
6. the 19-year old kid who was at the hair salon at the same time i was, getting his hair cut, said, "you're 60??????? you look 40!" true, people in ohio have said similar things to me before. but not with such a nice southern accent.
7. rudy's next door neighbors sat down with rudy and me and just started talking like we had known each other a long time. maybe not like we had known each other forever - but for a long time.
8. the guy at toast, a wine store here in town (great name for a wine store, by the way), upon showing him my ohio driver's license, said, "ohio? wow. that's a long way to come for wine," and i said, well, i sort of moved here, and he said, "when?" and i said, a coupla weeks ago, and he said, "welcome. i hope we georgians always treat you right."
9. two of rudy's friends have invited me to have lunch with them. and one of them offered to help me find a job. and they haven't even met me yet.
10. you just about can't get to any place down here without driving on washington road. which is nice. because george washington was nice. or, maybe he wasn't. but i like to think he was. so, for all intents and purposes, he was.
11. but the nicest thing of all about georgia is that rudy is nicer than all of these things put together.

is this why nancy drew wrote "the secret in the old attic?"

attics are usually small, hot,and full of stuff like family Bibles, vinyl records, old photographs, and newspaper clippings about woodstock or the day jfk died. if you're lucky, there's a mannequin or two up there or maybe one of those headless human-like things that seamstresses and tailors use to hang the clothes they're sewing onto. or, if you're really lucky, like kevin from "home alone," there's a life-sized michael jordan up there. just in case you ever need to make it look from the street like that there's somebody in your living room. so don't try breakin' in.

attics also are places that hold all the things that when you ask somebody like your mom or your dad or your grandma or grandpa, "whatever happened to (fill-in-the-blank)," they'll say, "i dunno, it's prob'ly in the attic." and when you go up there to see, sure enough, there it is. even if you do have to dig around awhile to find it.

attics are usually nothing but a bunch of unfinished boards and wires and pipes and pink insulation and their unfinished, raw selves represent everything that's right with the world and how, in spite of our materialistic american selves, we can still sometimes manage to get our priorities right:

attics are humble not proud, simple not fancy. it's the rare attic that has felt the need to upgrade to marble countertops.

attics preserve precious memories, most of them family-related. if you go back downstairs after a visit to the attic, nine times out of ten, the family's not there. because they're out playing golf or over at the mall.

attics don't care what kind of faucets the rest of the house has or how hip and cool the color scheme is. all an attic cares about is whether or not it kept your sentimental things intact and the dust to a relative minimum.

they spend countless days and nights unvisited (and in many cases, unremembered), guarding precious mementos and the family "jewels." they don't get much attention or consideration and when someone does go up there, it's not so much to say hi to the attic as it is to go up as fast as you can, find what you came up here for, and get the heck back downstairs as fast as you can. because it's hot up there and who wants to be hot.

but the attic doesn't get angry. the attic says, thanks for dropping by and, see you next time.

attics are faithful. they are faithful servants - if not of God then at least of us. and we ought to give them a little more respect.
 


yesterday, rudy and i went up to the attic in his - our - house and although his - our - attic isn't small (it's actually huge) and although it isn't hot (it's actually quite cool and comfortable), it's still an attic. and it's still the watchman for years and years of a life - soon to be two lives - well-lived, worth remembering, and worth preserving.



the supremes told us to "go up the ladder to the roof" and the drifters before them sang about the glories of being "up on the roof." i think both of them were right - the roof is a great and open-sky place to be. but don't bypass the attic on your way to the roof. the roof may have a spectacular view of heaven,

but the attic holds generations of reasons why being on earth can be pretty heavenly, too.

the lady on the side of the road with the 2 upside down chairs

there's an older lady who sits out beside a road here in evans, georgia almost every afternoon. all afternoon. 

the road she sits by is a pretty busy one; too busy to really slow down and get a good look at her. which maybe you would want to do so you could try and figure out what she's sitting out there for. like it's any of your business.

she sits on a folding lawn chair and she has another folding lawn chair next to her. she sets a bunch of stuff on that one. i don't know what it all is. when she's not out there sitting, she turns the chairs upside down. and they sit there, waiting for her to come back and turn them like they're supposed to be.

behind her is a long, narrow red dirt road, surrounded by woods on both sides and leading, presumably, to her house. waaaaaaaaaaay back in there somewhere.

or maybe she lives in a tent.



i told rudy that i would like to stop and talk to her sometime. that maybe she's lonely or maybe she's depressed and maybe she sits out there so she can have a little company, watching the cars go by. rudy said he thought that sounded like a good idea - me stopping and talking to her sometime, that is.


sometime came today.


me (walking towards her with my hands up): excuse me, ma'm, i'm safe. i'm not here to hurt you.
lady: (doesn't say anything. which includes not saying "get out." so i didn't.)
me: i know this probably seems strange to you - it seems a little strange to me, too, to tell you the truth - but, well.......well, first of all, hi. my name is nancy.
lady: (doesn't say anything. still doesn't say "get out," though.)
me: well, um, so, yeah. my name is nancy. and i just moved here not quite 2 weeks ago. from ohio. and, well. well, i've driven up and down this road a lot since i got here and, well, i see you out here a lot.
lady: (doesn't say anything.)
me (feeling ridiculous): well. anyway. i just sorta wondered, you know, if maybe you were, i don't know, lonely or something. and maybe that's why you sit out here. to watch the cars go by and stuff. and maybe have a little company. i don't know. i just wondered that. and, well, maybe this is awful forward of me but, well, i don't know. i thought maybe i'd stop and see if you wanted someone to talk to.
lady: name's margaret (not her real name).
me: well, hi. hi, margaret. i'm happy to meet you.
margaret: (nods her head. not much, but it was a nod.)
me: so. well. ah. yeah. anyway............i just wanted to stop and say hi.
margaret: ok.
me: so, well. ok. nice meeting you. (i start to turn to walk back to my car.....)
margaret: i sit out here waiting for the mail.
me: oh! oh! well! i hadn't thought of that. (but i didn't believe that story. at least not entirely. sit out all afternoon everyday, waiting for the mail?)
me: well.
margaret (doesn't say anything).
me: well, ok. good. good. i'm glad you're not out here because you're lonely. good.
margaret (doesn't say anything).
me: well. it was nice meeting you. i guess i'll get out of your way now. nice meeting you, ma'm.
margaret: you don't have to go.
me: oh. well. okay.
margaret (doesn't say anything).
me (trying to remember my social work skills and how to engage people who are difficult to engage): so (pointing down the long red road), do you live back there?
margaret: yep.
me: looks like it'd be nice. back there in the woods.
margaret: till everybody gets to fussin' and carryin' on.
me: ah. yes. until then.
margaret: gits to me sometimes. y'know?
me: i think i do. i'm a social worker. i've seen all kinds of fussin' and carryin' on.
margaret: you work around here?
me: no. not yet. i haven't been down here very long. but i hope to get a job soon.
margaret: you'll get one.
me: i sure hope you're right.
margaret (almost smiling): i'm right.
me: well. thank you. 
margaret: no trouble.
(a few awkward seconds pass)
me: well. so. i guess i better get going. it sure was nice to meet you, margaret.
margaret: nice to meet you, too. nancy.
me: see you around?
margaret: i'll be here.
me: k. well, bye.
margaret: bye.

i walk back to my car and open the door to get in. i turn to wave to margaret.



and she's already waving to me. 









 

life in georgia so far

it's hard to get a driver's license here.

i had to show them my divorce decrees, my marriage certificate, my social security card with my former name, my social security card with my current name, my passport, and my current ohio license. i showed them all that and then they said, we need proof that you live here in georgia. i said, other than standing here looking at you, i don't have proof. they said, bring us your lease. i said, i don't have a lease. they said, bring us your mortgage. i said, my husband has the mortgage....i just married him....and he lives in georgia, which is why i'm standing here in georgia looking at you....and the mortgage is in his name. they said, that's not good enough. i said, i figured.

they said, bring us something that came in the mail to you here in georgia. i said two things, one, i haven't gotten much mail here in georgia and two, what i've gotten i've thrown the envelopes to away. (ok, so, bad grammar, but this is the DMV in georgia. how good does the grammar need to be?)

they said, don't you have anything? like a lease agreement or something? i said, we've already covered the lease thing. they said, a utility bill? i said, those are in my husband's name. they said, anything? i said, nope.

they said, well, you need to get some mail. i said, well, the next time something comes for me to my husband's and my post office box, i'll save it and bring it in to you. they said, post office box?????? a post office box isn't proof that you live here. i said, well, it's as much proof as me standing here is. they said, we can't accept stuff from a post office box. i said, well, practically nothing is going to come to my home address. because my husband prefers to use a post office box for regular mail and the home address just for stuff like packages and stuff. and it's a long time till Christmas.

they said, get somebody to send you something to your home address. i said, assuming they meant somebody official, that everyone official has been instructed to use the post office box and they said, who said anything about somebody official? and i said, well, i just assumed.....and they said, don't assume anything, it makes an (me joining in) "ass out of you and me."

and they said, get a friend or someone in your family or somebody like that to send you something. it can be anything. a card or something. and i said, are you kidding me? a friend or a family member sending me a hallmark card is considered proof to you folks that i live here in georgia and they said, sure, why not? and i said, well, what if i'm just visiting here in georgia and my friend or family member is sending me a hallmark card saying, hope you're having fun on your vacation in georgia? and they said, we don't read people's personal mail, ma'm. we need official stuff for some things and not official stuff for other things. and i said,



this is all starting to remind me of hillary clinton.

the real secret to rudy

rudy made a book for me in honor of my 60th birthday last november. it's a book of 60 things he loves about me.

he brought me a goodie bag one time when he came to columbus for the weekend. in it was one of those remote cell phone charger things, my new blue cross insurance card (thanks to him and his employer), a leather-bound book of 52 scripture verses (one for each week of the year), some chocolates, and some things i can't - or at least, won't -  mention.  :)

he drove all day on thanksgiving day, from augusta to columbus - had a chicken patty for his thanksgiving "dinner" at some fast food place along the way - just to be with me.

he proposed to me on the big screen at the planetarium, with my name and his written among the stars in the sky, and on his knee.

he opens the door for me. insists on it. pulls out my chair. insists on that. (i often forget that he wants to do these things and i start to do them myself. i have never had a man do these things for me. our feminist culture has taught me that i shouldn't want a man to do these things for me. but, i do. turns out, being treated nicely isn't so oppressive after all.)

when we're walking on the sidewalk, he makes sure he's the one closer to the traffic. turns out, being treated with chivalry isn't so oppressive after all. unless you consider being alive when your husband could possibly be dead to be oppressive.

he bought me the coolest cosmetic bag i have ever had. surprised me. no occasion. cosmetic bag. cool. for you, nancy. here you go.

i don't even know of any other man who would even recognize a cosmetic bag if it hit him in the face.

the first time i flew to augusta, he was at the airport with flowers.

he sent flowers to mark our first week anniversary.

he did all the wedding planning. all of it.

on our first night as honeymooners at the biltmore inn, he had pre-arranged for us to have the best table in the dining room. and it was killer good.

he scattered pictures of my family throughout his (our) house so that i would see them first thing when i moved here this past sunday. and would feel more at home.

since september, he has bought me about 12 thoughtful, personal gifts, not including Christmas. i can't count them all. just because i can't count them all doesn't mean you need to stop buying them, rudy.  :)

he asked the saxophonist last night at the restaurant to serenade me at our table. and he didn't just ask him - he pre-arranged it. it was all set up ahead of time. the only thing rudy needed to do was to give the guy the signal that yes, now is the time - get over here and play, dude.




rudy compliments me in a thousand ways every day. he tells me things that women want to hear - at least the women i know want to hear - and he means it. he dances on air for me. and he says he can't help it - it just happens.



but it doesn't "just happen." none of this does. here's what "just happens": rudy loves Christ.

and he puts Him first. ahead of me. way ahead of me. way ahead of everything.



with two men like that,


how in the world can i lose?