How to See the Sun Rise

It's almost comical how unreliable I am. Or perhaps it's gone way past that and on to the completely  other side, I have become reliably unreliable. Either way, my apologies. But it is still fall and I'm gonna do this dammit! So here are the next six: 4. BOOT SOCKS! I channeled fall through fashion today - a cream colored sweater, navy leggings, and brown boots (AND BOOT SOCKS!).   5. Fall cleaning! Definitely not one of my favorite things in the moment, but there's no better way to usher in a new season than by ushering out all the crap you've accumulated since the beginning of the last one. This was, of course, followed by a brower with a fall seasonal (because you have to get clean after you clean, and beer makes any shower better). 6. On Saturday, Mindy and I drove down to Fisher. It was hard not to notice fall, as it's hanging out all along Highway 57 South. Also, I bought Count Chocula and a black cat walked in front of us on our way home...

Listen up. I'm about to make another public blog commitment that will most likely meet the same fate as fiction fridays. Drum roll please.   I've decided to be intentional about experiencing fall. I love fall. It always seems to move faster than the other seasons, and I usually end up missing it. For someone who's spent 21 of the last 28 falls going back to school, it has become a season of excitement and beginnings and backpacks. And pumpkins. And scary movies. And seasonal beers. And blankets, and football games, and soups and crunchy leaves and boot socks (for at least one more season). And so begins my commitment. Every day of October, and there's 31 of them, I will engage in an intentional celebration and acknowledgment of fall. I'm already three days behind. Which technically could be fall-ish, because that's kind of school-ish, which I've already stated is fall-ish. But that's lame. Here are the first three days. 1. Fall is football sea...

(Disclaimer: This happened on Tuesday. If I were writing an entry on how to have a bad week then I would fill you in on why I'm just now getting to this...) Step 1: Tell a room full of wannabe preachers that there's a difference between prophesy and what they'll be doing for the rest of their lives. Now. I'm not saying there are no modern day prophets. But I am saying that the 20 people sitting in that classroom are in for a surprise if they think that's what they're going to school for. I really struggle with this. A lot. So much so that I said this out loud, in class, with other people in the room. And while 9 people immediately shot their hands up in the air to offer their own indignant defense, I filled 2 pages of my legal pad with frustrated stream of consciousness. Here's the deal. I grew up in the church. And I preach now (more like, give a speech every Sunday morning - since that's what it is). And I've seen what a church can do to a pasto...

I decided in fourth grade that I would be a cello player.  It happened during one of my sister's orchestra concerts I was undoubtedly forced to attend; during an upbeat and peppy number, with lots of minor and mediocre choreography so as not to confuse the grade school children, the sixth graders spun their cellos.  Right then and there I decided I, too, would play the cello. And I guess my parents thought so too, because soon after I was the sole possessor of a beautiful, half size, Engelhardt cello.  A month or so in, however, I realized it took a lot of work to actually play the cello.  A waste of time, it seemed, to a precocious nine year old who had TV to watch and barbies to play with.  Plus, I could already spin it fine - I had that down after, like, 2 practice days. Bet he had to practice to do that. I don't remember how long I kept up the ruse of playing an instrument.  I'd go in my room to practice, hit a few strings (I ...

It's 6 p.m., a busy time at the grocery.  Everyone's getting off work, picking up last minute ingredients for dinner, prolonging those last, precious few minutes before they have to go home and suffer the company of their families.  It's the best time to do what I do.  If you watch closely people reveal their secrets at the grocery store.  Take the guy in the frozen foods aisle - his wife just left him.  They were perimeter shoppers - fresh, unprocessed foods only - until last month.  He started coming in alone and heading straight for the TV dinners.  Or the elderly couple in aisle 3 - their basket full of canned soup and bargain bin pasta means they've been cleaned out by their oldest son again.  He's a real piece of work; comes in with old woman from time to time, always selling her on his latest 'big break'.  Asshole.  And then there's the olive chick in the cereal aisle, the one who's having the affair, another regular....

Pitch black.  As if it wasn't hard enough to find the exact olives he likes with the grocery fully lit.  She could hear the grumbling of the other customers, most of whom seemed caught off-guard by the impromptu darkness of the store.  Why they were surprised she didn't know.  The storm outside was a menacing one, threatening the power lines for the better part of the day.  Had she taken the extra ten minutes to go to the big grocery across town she would probably be basking in the borrowed light of backup generators.  Not here though.  But no matter, she didn't mind.  Kind of liked it actually.  It was like an adventure, and a welcome one at that.  Her list was an odd one, the product of haste and intertwining lives.  Toilet paper - already in the basket.  Hot sauce, vegetable oil, dog biscuits, cheddar cheese - New York Sharp, beer, canned pears, and bread.  Standing in the cereal aisle (for no apparent reason) she w...

I am scared of writing Fiction.  Terrified.  I confess this to you because I feel it may be a minor hiccup in writing my novel (see previous, previous post).  I liken it to singing in front of large groups of people and crossing non-suspension, medium height bridges.  for the love of God, child, run faster! Blogging is only sort of scary.  Sure, I am putting myself out there, but it's just me.  It's how I talk if I took an hour and a half to say three paragraphs and I got to edit each word.  It's pretty much just like hanging out if I was the only one who ever got to talk and my thoughts were the only ones that mattered.  Fun for all.  But Fiction.  Fiction is different.  Fiction is investing in the part of you that dares to dream and opening it up for all to judge.  Yipes.  Over the last several years I've scaled back on giving my dreams a voice.  It's tough times for hopes and wishes ...

So it's Lent.  Big excitement.  I made fasnachts yesterday after work.  I love them, and the tradition in my family of making them.  I look forward to it every year.  Until it gets here and I actually have to do it.  Perhaps its because the last several years when I've made them I've done so alone.  Baking is always more fun with someone else.  As tradition dictates (i.e. what my dad did), I have to start the dough the Monday night before Fat Tuesday.  I'm pretty sure tradition also dictates that I don't start the process until, like, 11 pm.  So, I obliged.  By midnight I'd produced a giant bowl of potato dough, a mess in the kitchen, and a stomachache from eating said potato dough.  Tradition then dictates that you wake up way too early (6ish) to roll out all the dough, let it rise again, cut it into doughnut shapes, poke holes in it, fry it (all 60 some doughnuts), and sugar bomb them.  I set my alarm.  I did....

I've been wasting time on Pinterest again.  For those of you not in the know, it's a sort of online bulletin board/magazine.  Mostly where I go to fantasize over things I'll never be able to afford, places I've never been, recipes I might actually make, and...Ryan Gosling.  http://pinterest.com/pin/70791025362492462/  (thank me later) It has me thinking though.  I'm 27.  I'm not where I thought I'd be.  I just finished up an application for grad school, again.  This time for a Master's in Social Work.  I don't particularly feel good about my application.  Which sucks, because for the first time in awhile I actually got to a place where I could articulate (definitely in my own head, getting close on paper) what I want to do with my grown up life.  I procrastinated. (what?  you're surprised?)  I could have done a better job. But I digress.  Here's what I've decided to be when I grow up.  Stay with me. ...