Sunday afternoon

Sunday afternoon at Grammy’s house.

Daddy and Mommy went to Virginia to see Daddy’s cousin, Matt, and his wife, Angela. I get to stay with Grandpa and Grammy. I took a (very) little rest with Grandpa on his chair.

He was snoring, so I pretended to snore, too, and woke him upcheap furniture stores.
I decided to get down.

Grammy napped on her chair, too, while I watched Caillouiphone leather case,
but then I convinced Grammy that it was time to do something more interesting.

So we mixed up some cupcakes and I helped a lot with that, and then I washed the dishes with lots of soap and water and splashing about.

And then, Grammy gave me Grandpa’s big honey bear that is out of honey.
She filled it with water for me and I watered the flowers.
They were really dry, though Grammy isn’t sure if at least one of them won’t need water for a week or more:

my soul on this thing

I was often reading when I should have been helping. Or pretending that I was some athlete, performing for adoring crowds, or writing letters to interesting penpals that seemed to always eventually disappoint me. There were a hundred ways that I could have helped to carry the burdens if I had only been observant. Or thinking. But who is thinking or even observant, when you are in the throes of adolescence and self centeredmodular cubes store?

I remember as if it was yesterday, one Easter morning coming downstairs to find my Sweet Mama, working on the Easter meal that we would have after church. I don’t think it was elaborate and I don’t know that there was company coming, but in those days, if you had six children and you went to church on Sunday morning, you always prepared– always made food for when the long sermons were over and people were hungrycovers for samsung galaxy.

She was standing between the kitchen sink and the kitchen table, I was standing at the opening between the dining room and kitchen, by the little telephone stand under the tall, narrow mirror. And I was feeling put upon and grumpy.

“Mama,” I said, standing there in my housecoat. (In our family, you never appeared outside your bedroom unless you were clothed (if you were a boy) or at least in a housecoat (if you were a girl). “What dress am I supposed to wear today?” I knew there were no new ones for me or my two little sistersfashion men clothing wholesale.

She looked up from what she was doing, standing there in the morning light from the window. “I don’t know, Mary Ann,” she said, and I remember that she looked tired. “Maybe you can wear your blue one.” (I’m not sure of the color, here, but let’s just use “blue.”)

“But, Mama,” I protested. “I’m not sure that one is clean.” In those days, you hung up your dresses after wearing them until they looked like they needed washing.

“It’s not dirty,” she said. “I’m sure it will be okay.”

And this is what I will regret as long as I have memory. I got angry. “Mama,” I said, burst out spitefully, “you would think that if I couldn’t have a new dress for Easter, I could at least have a clean one!”

My Sweet Mama’s face!!! I was sorry the minute the words were out of my mouth. Hurt, sorrow, sadness washed over her pretty face as I stood there, miserable and ashamed.

“Oh, Mary Ann,” she finally said and her voice was quiet. “You have it all wrong. It isn’t about dresses. It’s about what Jesus did for us on the cross and Him getting alive again . . .” She may have said a whole lot more, but I don’t remember.

What I do know is that something changed in my heart at that very instant. I honestly would never again think that I needed a new dress for Easter. The whole thing of getting new clothes just never held the fascination for me again. And while there have been times when I will get a new dress on sale in the spring and decide to hold it for Easter, it hasn’t been often, and it has never been important.

And while I may use it as an excuse to buy clothes or gifts for needy kids that I love, it is never about the new clothes or the Easter Baskets or Cadbury eggs.

I DID have it all wrong.

It isn’t about dresses.

It’s all about what Jesus did for us on the cross and Him getting alive again.

And I have staked all that matters and my very soul on this one thing:

just getting dressed

The Friday morning sunshine streams in the picture window that faces the southeast. I’ve been trying to take some time to sit in the sun on sunny mornings. I’ve heard tell that it is good for a person. Especially in these months. I don’t think it’s doing much besides making me lazy. I feel almost addicted to this morning siesta. Almost grumpy if I don’t have time or there is no sunshine. I’ve been trying to talk Our Girl Audrey into try it.

She sniffs in the way that is characteristic of her when she doesn’t believe a single thing I’m saying and has no intentions of changing her views. Sometimes I get her to come out and sit in the one chair and she looks the whole time like I’ve asked her to eat brussel sprouts. Shifts around, acts put upon, and finally will say, “S’alrigh’ f’I go fee’ a birze?” (Is it alright if I go feed the birds?”) or “S’alrigh’ f’I go my roo’?” (Is it alright if I go to my room?) or some other such thing that will release her from sitting quietly in the sunshine.

I’m not sure why she resists it so much. I’m of the opinion that it isn’t so much that she doesn’t like to sit still as she thinks that it isn’t right for me to sit still. She thinks I ought to be doing something productive.

She’s a little like my Daddy on that score. He liked nothing better than to see his wife or his children working really, really hard. “Hard work never killed anybody,” he would say with conviction and his characteristic grin. Well, he wasn’t right on that score, but he really did believe it until the day he died. And though I am forever grateful for the things I was taught, I believe that some of the things that were instilled in me as a child makes it difficult to feel worthy when I’m unproductive. Not all of that is bad, though. Our society could surely use a few more people who believe in the therapeutic value of hard work. (She says as she sits on her chair in the sun!)

I wonder if part of my current lethargy isn’t that there is so much to do that I don’t feel like starting. Some people say they don’t know where to start. I know where to start, for sure, but I just don’t feel like starting. Taxes to organize and divide into columns and write down, computer room to clean, (AGAIN!) book work for the casemanager, red Christmas bows to take off the upper deck railing . . . I should probably start by just getting dressed. I’m getting company at eleven.

it would be easier

You would think it would be easier. After all, there have been lots of opportunity to practice saying good-bye to Youngest Daughter over the last few years. She went off to Europe, then to Thailand, then to Guatemala, then to Uganda, and in between all of those escapades, there have been trips and trips and trips — to college and to visit friends and to see brothers and to go to conferences and weddings and such.

She came home last Sunday afternoon. For some reason, she seemed inordinately glad to be home, and she meandered in and out of the house, washing dishes, loading and unloading the dishwasher, cleaning up the messes that were usually left for “later” and organizing what she didn’t know what to do with in little stacks of orderliness. She spent a day helping me with preparing for the upcoming tax filing, and filled the days with studying, coffee runs to Dolce’s, being Auntie to Charis, and just filling our lives with presence.

But Saturday morning, she packed up her bags and headed out. Overnight with Lem and Jess and then back to Ohio.

And this time it was harder again. I have never liked to say goodbye to any of my children, but with all this experience it would seem like it should get easier.

Oddly enough, it still feels hard. And today I feel sad and empty. I’d like to just sleep. But it’s a beautiful day, and a great day for washing sheets from the beds, catching up on laundry and doing all sorts of busy work while my thoughts tumble over each other in a strange, odd mix of ponderings.

new ways to make money

“How would you feel about filling up the family jug with a nice Merlot at the local convenience store instead of having to feel guilty about tossing out those lovely bottles? Unfortunately, I don’t drink much wine, but my next idea is even better.

“The Beer and Ice Cream Truck – Beer bottles accumulate at an alarming rate compared to wine bottles in some households. My suggestion is to load up a few kegs of good lager in the back of the neighborhood ice cream truck and sell ice cream treats and draft beer by the glass.

“You could get an ice cream sandwich and fill up a big mug with some cold beer. It’s kind of like the beer cart at golf tournaments. When the truck rolls down the street blasting those obnoxious sing-song tunes and you hear the kids yell ‘Ice Cream truck,’ you could leap out of the easy chair and scream ‘BEER TRUCK,’ and everybody could race out to the street for a treat.

“This would save on beer cans and bottles, give the ice cream vendor something to do in the fall during football season, get Dad much needed exercise, and neighbors would have an excuse to get out of the house and meet each other.

“OK, these are just ideas. It would require a bit of effort to make them a reality. But if we satisfy the WIIFM (what’s in it for me) need and make it fun, then it could become a reality, anywhere and especially here in Amarillo. Let’s get the Beer Truck thing going soon. Just in time for Super Bowl Sunday.

“P.S. Please feel free to use these incredible ideas and even expand them. You can help make your town a cleaner, if less sober, place.

Fireworks

Like a true patriotic participant of life, the loverly Miss Freckles, and I chose to watch the Fireworks and Fourth Of July festivities at Amarillo ‘s own John B Stiff park, yes that is the name of the park in Southwest Amarillo and as often times the case, the name has a significance to this story. Freckles, as you may recall lived upstairs from me before moving to Austin to attend school. She is back for the summer and being the charitable person she is, dropped by to encourage me to attend the aforementioned festival with her.

Miss Freckles has been an important character to me, in more ways than her youthful spirit could ever know. Hell maybe I was even important to her. We were important because we were important to each other. We were all we had. Two star crossed characters in this journey of a journal in the book of life.

Other than the elaborate fireworks display, the highlight of the evening happened when Freckles, either accidentally or deliberately, spilled half a pint of draft beer directly into my lap, immediatly grabbed a few napkins, and began a series of rather elaborate, incredibly zealous, but certainly not unappreciated attempts at mopping up the situation. By this time of the evening both of us were drunk enough to go duck hunting with a rake. But all that notwithstanding, it was one of those delicious, indelible moments that I have often alluded to, one of those little moments that will live forever.

If you have never had a young beautiful lady attempt with all of her heart to devotedly, dedicatedly mop up beer that she has spilled in your lap, you, my friend, have not lived.

means losing everything

There are two reasons why people don’t talk about something:
either it doesn’t mean anything or it means everything garage storage

I wish I can tell you I love you but I can’t. The 3 words just don’t mean anything anymore. I want to compose a new word which means exactly more than how anyone can say love online marketing.

Some people don’t know how to be satisfied,without knowing that sometimes wanting more means losing everything luxury brand

Don’t forget blogging!

I crashed hard. I was failing at all of my tasks: not reading any textbooks, stagnant LSAT score, missing Senate meetings, not talking to my husband.  But, out of the wreckage I found Laila.  Or I guess Javaid found Laila.
We had a talk about what’s really going on and we talked about what Laila really wants and we found that: Laila loves Allah, loves Javaid, wants to help Muslims, wants to spread literacy in the world, wants to jog for the sake of jogging, read fiction, and don’t forget blogging! I want to blog again!! I love learning and thinking and being around thinkers; what better feeling is there? So I inquired about getting the remnants of the wreckage driving again–at minimal speed.  I found graduate Justice studies MS and PhD programs at my school.  And they like my thesis: persecution of Muslim women in America.  Oh yea, and they happen to be in the “School of Social Transformation.”  It would be the perfect union of my dreams and my reality.  And I don’t think Allah would allow us to have dreams if they could never become realities. He is after all al’Adl company formation offshore (the Just).

To answer my questions in the beginning:  My dreams are to change the world.  Sadness over the status of women in Islam and Muslims in the world inspired me.  And I’m going to realize these dreams by researching Muslim women in America, and Muslim women in the world, and eventually start a company to spread literacy in the world (Muslim literacy about the world, as well as nonMuslim literacy about Muslims Claire Hsu).
Inshallah sharing my brief story inspires anyone who is going through the motions, or allowing “the tail wag the dog,” to wake up and reassess what they want to gain from this life and how their actions are encouraging or discouraging their dreams.  I pray that all your dreams are being realized or in the process of being realized otterbox 防摔手機殼
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I hope everything just goes well

can you tell i didn’t do well on my test today? lol I kinda foreshadowed that on my own…i have to make sure i don’t repeat history tomorrow- I HAVE to do well on that test…anything else is not an option!!!

as if i didnt have enough going…add work into the mix. and what is going on at work today? INVENTORY! great as if its not shitty enough being there- lets make sure I stay there til 1 am so i SURELY bomb my test tomorrow lol…whatever i’m gonna clock my ass out 9:30 on the dot…if they try and make me stay I will quit on the spot…School is waaay more important than some BS job.  yeah so when i came home I had my mom barking at me telling me to make goody bags…Why make such a big deal- when the max number of kids that actually come to our house is like 5???  Seriously…

I hope everything just goes well…I can’t afford for it not to at this point in the game.

relax

i think i need to do that more rather than hang out to spend my time.

i could really use a good massage.  too bad i cant give myself one. lol cuz im pretty darn good.  at least thats what i’ve been told..

i think im gonna check out aromatherapy…they have 30 min relaxation sessions…im gonna head over to huntington village rite now and check it out.  lets see how that goes

i have a mile long migraine..especially hearing people talk shit about me like i spoke about in my last entry…thats just the tip of the iceberg..apparantly i dont go to work either according to this person…Oh really?  Why is it that Im becoming a manager soon?  Because i never go there?  And because i always leave early?  I stay there till 11 sometimes yes helping out and busting my ass..Thats just me..
I dont leave things unfinished…But people can never leave others alone for some strange reason….But that person needs to watch their back for sure…Should they talk to me I WILL spit in their face which is probably the most disrespectful thing to do.  And of this Im fully aware.  That’s the point.  I wish he were a carpet so i could step all over his face.