Last Saturday was a glorious day! The 150 degree weather decided to tame down and I had plans to meet one of my "friend for decades," Alisa. We've been friends for, well, decades. But during the last decade most of our interaction has been through e-mail and letters. Alisa is someone who reminds me of the value of the written word...and written with pen and paper. We have seen each other face to face a couple of times in the past year, always saying "We need to get together." She lives about 2 hours from my house, outside of Lexington. Well, after our last encounter, I decided to initiate a free Saturday to spend with the person I first called friend, and now call mentor in many ways - and still after all the guidance is through, she still is called friend.
She said, "I'm taking you to the Glitz. Don't ask questions, just meet me in Lexington and I'll take you there." Now, our past life has included many a crazy adventure, and we're both older and more mature (yeah, right) , but the thought of an "Alisa Adventure" made my toes tingle. I decided to trust her and be prepared. The drive to Lexington was great and much needed after a long week. You can't beat the drive from Louisville to Lexington and passing all the horse farms. Now, that's Kentucky. I met her at a Lexington shopping center parking lot and hopped in her car, "Baby" (she always names her cars - she has an Escort named, "Shady Lady"), and took off to parts unknown.
There are certain things about old friends you never forget - or are reminded rather quickly if you do. Alisa is a madwoman on the road. I love it, and it's probably where I get my love for speed, but I chuckled when we took the sharp country curves at high speed and her darting didn't make me flinch once. We arrived at Irish Acres Gallery in the small town of Nonesuch, Kentucky. Yes, for all you city slickers, we have a town named "Nonesuch." That's what gives us Kentuckians character. This lovely gallery is housed in a former elementary school that's been refurbished to resemble nothing of a school. The Glitz is the gallery restaurant located in the basement and what once was the school cafeteria. Trust it looks nothing like a school cafeteria and the food is far, far better than any square-shaped pizza or carton of day old milk.
We started our journey through the gallery to see a bit before our lunch reservations and it was simply exquisite. Two floors of antiques, decorations, and what nots from centuries ago up until today. I resembled a child staring at the TV as I tried to take in all that I saw. Every decorated room had a theme and tons of artifacts. For an imaginative mind like mine, I could come up with a story behind every piece. Alisa was the perfect tour guide. She'd been there many times and could take me on just the right path and point out her favorite pieces. She immediately told me there was one room that was saved for last...
Lunch was delicious and started out with their "Glitz Refresher" - a mix of spiced apple cider, cranberry juice and other spices. Served in chilled champagne flutes, I felt like a queen. When we finished off our Nonesuch Kiss, the signature dessert, we resumed our gallery tour. All the while, I'm getting more excited for that final room. After a couple of hours, the time had come. Alisa and I are certifable drama queens. We claim we attract drama, but only a thespian can truly recognize drama when she sees it. So, we both had the grand build up as I turned the corner into this room...
My mouth gaped even more. The sparkle and the shine of all the decorations almost took my breath away. It was the wedding room, with sparkly wedding decorations a huge faux wedding cake and other assorted glittery things. Alisa truly knows me well. Nothing would have made that day better than the man of my dreams stepping out from behind an antique piece, dropping to one knee, and proposing. I mentioned that to Alisa in case she needs to prompt a future suitor. It was by far my favorite room.
When our day was sadly over and I drove back home to Louisville, I reflected on my day. I was so excited to finally see Alisa for more than a moment, face to face. And she escorted me around a place she knows all too well...and saving the best for last. I got excited when I thought - that's how Heaven will be. When I get there, there will be people I've longed to see, and many a story to tell. And then, I'll turn a corner, excited to see my favorite place...the throne of Christ. It will be far more glittery than the wedding room at Irish Acres, and the Man of my dreams will be there, I'll finally see Him face to face, the One who loved me long before I was born. How bright the Son will shine.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
The Sunglasses That Wouldn't Die
I'm pretty tough on sunglasses. I'm not an extreme sports player or have a physically demanding job, but for some reason, my sunglasses take a beating. But, when I find a pair I like, I want to hold on to them forever.
When I could finally wear sunglasses, after switching to contacts, I couldn't wait to buy a pair of Ray Bans. I saved up my money and went to the old Service Merchandise store to pick out my pair. I had priced them everywhere and chose the least expensive retail option. I loved those sunglasses. They gave me a coolness factor that I'd never had before. But, I was highly protective of them, always worried they would disappear or get damaged. I think I finally quit wearing them when the fad faded.
Sunglasses are like purses for me. I can wear any of them, but when I find one that fits like a glove, I never want another pair (or pocketbook.) I had a pair I loved that came, from all places, Avon. Those precious sunglasses were the victim of destruction from my series of unfortunate events last Fall. Due to my sensitive eyes, I needed a pair of sunglasses and quick. Thankfully, God was watching out for me and the next pair of sunglasses I found at Walgreen's were the perfect cousin of the pair that had a sad demise.
These lovely Foster Grants were perfect. Until a few short weeks later when I put them on my face and the right lens popped out. What?!? Are you kidding me? This can't be happening. Unfortunately, a Walgreen's purchase of sunglasses doesn't come with a warranty. So, I carefully popped the lens back in and eased them over my ears and, voila, it stayed in place. What relief. Until a few days later when it happened again. I thought about getting another pair, but these, even with the hopping lens, were still a great pair of shades.
Over the coming weeks I managed to drop my sunglasses a few times followed by a shriek of horror expecting the hopping lens to pop out or break. Neither would happen, but oddly, the left lens chipped...twice....on two different drops to the ground. Although these shades were a great follower of the pair that got smushed in my fall at the post office, they weren't as durable. Those sunglasses had all but been stepped on when they finally got caught under the crush of my head as it hit the concrete. I was disappointed that a couple of tosses on a tile floor were too tough for these Fosters.
I began to get the sense that Mr. Foster Grant wanted to die, but I wasn't going to let him. At least once a week my hopping lens would fall out, but I'd retrieve it...off the ground...out of the pocket in my purse...wherever it landed. I'd simply pop it back in and away I'd go. I had contemplated getting a new pair of shades, but really loved Mr. Grant and hated to go shopping again. Then it happened. Foster ditched me.
Monday was a holiday for me and although it wasn't a holiday for the rest of the world, that made it easy for me to run errands and get lots accomplished. I went to Staples to pick up a few office supplies and, as I always do, stuck Mr. Foster in my purse pocket when I entered the building. After making my purchases and heading out the door, I reached for the Grants, and they were gone! I thought maybe I had put them inside my purse and decided to get to my car and begin the hunt. Foster Grant was gone. Maybe he jumped out at Staples in hopes to just die quietly among the printer cartridges and PDAs. Wherever he left, I'm sure he's at peace now that I'm not sloshing him around and dropping him every other day.
I left Staples and headed directly to Walgreen's to procure a new pair of shades. A nice cobalt blue polarized pair of Panama Jack's now cover my eyes from the sunlight. Hopefully Jack will be kinder to me than Foster.
When I could finally wear sunglasses, after switching to contacts, I couldn't wait to buy a pair of Ray Bans. I saved up my money and went to the old Service Merchandise store to pick out my pair. I had priced them everywhere and chose the least expensive retail option. I loved those sunglasses. They gave me a coolness factor that I'd never had before. But, I was highly protective of them, always worried they would disappear or get damaged. I think I finally quit wearing them when the fad faded.
Sunglasses are like purses for me. I can wear any of them, but when I find one that fits like a glove, I never want another pair (or pocketbook.) I had a pair I loved that came, from all places, Avon. Those precious sunglasses were the victim of destruction from my series of unfortunate events last Fall. Due to my sensitive eyes, I needed a pair of sunglasses and quick. Thankfully, God was watching out for me and the next pair of sunglasses I found at Walgreen's were the perfect cousin of the pair that had a sad demise.
These lovely Foster Grants were perfect. Until a few short weeks later when I put them on my face and the right lens popped out. What?!? Are you kidding me? This can't be happening. Unfortunately, a Walgreen's purchase of sunglasses doesn't come with a warranty. So, I carefully popped the lens back in and eased them over my ears and, voila, it stayed in place. What relief. Until a few days later when it happened again. I thought about getting another pair, but these, even with the hopping lens, were still a great pair of shades.
Over the coming weeks I managed to drop my sunglasses a few times followed by a shriek of horror expecting the hopping lens to pop out or break. Neither would happen, but oddly, the left lens chipped...twice....on two different drops to the ground. Although these shades were a great follower of the pair that got smushed in my fall at the post office, they weren't as durable. Those sunglasses had all but been stepped on when they finally got caught under the crush of my head as it hit the concrete. I was disappointed that a couple of tosses on a tile floor were too tough for these Fosters.
I began to get the sense that Mr. Foster Grant wanted to die, but I wasn't going to let him. At least once a week my hopping lens would fall out, but I'd retrieve it...off the ground...out of the pocket in my purse...wherever it landed. I'd simply pop it back in and away I'd go. I had contemplated getting a new pair of shades, but really loved Mr. Grant and hated to go shopping again. Then it happened. Foster ditched me.
Monday was a holiday for me and although it wasn't a holiday for the rest of the world, that made it easy for me to run errands and get lots accomplished. I went to Staples to pick up a few office supplies and, as I always do, stuck Mr. Foster in my purse pocket when I entered the building. After making my purchases and heading out the door, I reached for the Grants, and they were gone! I thought maybe I had put them inside my purse and decided to get to my car and begin the hunt. Foster Grant was gone. Maybe he jumped out at Staples in hopes to just die quietly among the printer cartridges and PDAs. Wherever he left, I'm sure he's at peace now that I'm not sloshing him around and dropping him every other day.
I left Staples and headed directly to Walgreen's to procure a new pair of shades. A nice cobalt blue polarized pair of Panama Jack's now cover my eyes from the sunlight. Hopefully Jack will be kinder to me than Foster.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Top Five Insignificant Things That are Significantly Annoying
5. When walking into an elevator, there is no universal location for elevator buttons. Every time I walk into an elevator, if I turn the left, they are located on the right and vice versa - all while the elevator door is closing on me.
4. No bathroom paper towel holder dispenses just one paper towel. Either a small corner is ripped off, requiring you to pull another complete towel, or multiple towels come out at the same time.
3. Whether you retrieve ice from the freezer or the door of your fridge, inevitably one cube will fall to the floor. To avoid this as much as possible, I keep my door ice on the "crush" setting at all times - then only small pieces hit the floor.
2. Radio traffic reports. Who was the genius that decided that traffic reports on the radio start without any intro other than a conglomeration of screeching sirens and honking horns? Even a short, "And now for the traffic report..." to forewarn me would be helpful. It catches me off guard every time and I hit my brakes or jump expecting to be hit by another vehicle. And, to top it off, the reports are always wrong - I have been at the exact location of a reported traffic jam and it's smooth sailing, yet been in the midst of standstill traffic that I never heard about on the radio.
1. People who can't breathe without the cell phone to their ear. People walk, drive, and carry on with life all while holding a cell phone to their ear and chatting with someone. If I had a criminal mind, I'd hit all these well-distracted folks who obviously have little concern with their surroundings. And, to make the streets more dangerous, they migrate to their cars, continuing on the phone. If you are that popular, let me introduce you to BlueTooth Technology.
4. No bathroom paper towel holder dispenses just one paper towel. Either a small corner is ripped off, requiring you to pull another complete towel, or multiple towels come out at the same time.
3. Whether you retrieve ice from the freezer or the door of your fridge, inevitably one cube will fall to the floor. To avoid this as much as possible, I keep my door ice on the "crush" setting at all times - then only small pieces hit the floor.
2. Radio traffic reports. Who was the genius that decided that traffic reports on the radio start without any intro other than a conglomeration of screeching sirens and honking horns? Even a short, "And now for the traffic report..." to forewarn me would be helpful. It catches me off guard every time and I hit my brakes or jump expecting to be hit by another vehicle. And, to top it off, the reports are always wrong - I have been at the exact location of a reported traffic jam and it's smooth sailing, yet been in the midst of standstill traffic that I never heard about on the radio.
1. People who can't breathe without the cell phone to their ear. People walk, drive, and carry on with life all while holding a cell phone to their ear and chatting with someone. If I had a criminal mind, I'd hit all these well-distracted folks who obviously have little concern with their surroundings. And, to make the streets more dangerous, they migrate to their cars, continuing on the phone. If you are that popular, let me introduce you to BlueTooth Technology.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
How to Kill a Bug
I remind people often that I didn't vote for women's liberation. All that nonsense occured before I was of voting age. My common response is "I am not, 'I am women hear me roar' but I'm 'I am woman, get my door.'" Thank you Ms. Feminist for removing my rights as Queen. After all the poor men were brainwashed that we women didn't need them, I became of age to date and they were too scared to commit.
I joke that I am not as independent of a woman as I seem - I just play one on TV. Desperate times call for desperate actions. And, when one of those "boy jobs" appear, I have to put my man pants on and do it.
Surely, I'm not alone. I know many single women who are surviving in the world alone - not by choice, but by God's Design - and need some support and assistance with those less than appealing tasks, such as killing bugs.
I don't like bugs. I may not like their creepy crawliness ways, but I'm also not so weak that I scream bloody murder the moment I see one. I've lived long enough to know, I'm bigger than him and as my Dad always told me, "Hey, they don't eat much." But, since I'm not the "hunter" but the "nurturer" I don't prefer murdering bugs. Not because I'm Tom Cruise and think it's my reincarnated great great great Grandfather, John Wilkes Booth coming back to assasinate Bin Laden, but because it's frankly icky. The killing part is kind of fun. Taking a whack at a bug does release some pent up anger. But then you have to clean up the bug guts - ewww. And some of those critters are hard to whack because their 100 legs make them move pretty doggone fast.
So, for all of you out there who would like a step by step in killing bugs, keep reading.
1. When you see a bug, don't scream, run through the house or stand on a chair. The sound of the scream or running through the house could cause him to scurry. And, standing on a chair makes it a bit difficult to dispose of the small animal.
2. Calmly walk to your bathroom and grab a can of hairspray. Ladies, we all should have at least one can of that stuff in our house.
3. Take the can, aim at the bug and shoot. He'll either freeze from suffocation from the fumes or be so sticky he can't move from the spot. Either way, you now have the upper hand.
4. Once he's immobilized, you can whack at him, put him out of his misery and enclose him in the nearest paper towel.
5. Take the mummified bug and dispose of him in your toilet. One good flush and there is no worry of him resurrecting out of your trash can and terrorizing you in the middle of the night.
6. Wash off the crime scene. Hairspray is sticky and you want to remove all evidence that you had to slay that bug with assistance from Pantene.
I had a teacher in 3rd grade who helped me off with my jacket one time when the zipper got stuck. She yanked it over my head and said, "There's more than one way to skin a cat." And, ladies, there's more than one way to kill a bug.
I joke that I am not as independent of a woman as I seem - I just play one on TV. Desperate times call for desperate actions. And, when one of those "boy jobs" appear, I have to put my man pants on and do it.
Surely, I'm not alone. I know many single women who are surviving in the world alone - not by choice, but by God's Design - and need some support and assistance with those less than appealing tasks, such as killing bugs.
I don't like bugs. I may not like their creepy crawliness ways, but I'm also not so weak that I scream bloody murder the moment I see one. I've lived long enough to know, I'm bigger than him and as my Dad always told me, "Hey, they don't eat much." But, since I'm not the "hunter" but the "nurturer" I don't prefer murdering bugs. Not because I'm Tom Cruise and think it's my reincarnated great great great Grandfather, John Wilkes Booth coming back to assasinate Bin Laden, but because it's frankly icky. The killing part is kind of fun. Taking a whack at a bug does release some pent up anger. But then you have to clean up the bug guts - ewww. And some of those critters are hard to whack because their 100 legs make them move pretty doggone fast.
So, for all of you out there who would like a step by step in killing bugs, keep reading.
1. When you see a bug, don't scream, run through the house or stand on a chair. The sound of the scream or running through the house could cause him to scurry. And, standing on a chair makes it a bit difficult to dispose of the small animal.
2. Calmly walk to your bathroom and grab a can of hairspray. Ladies, we all should have at least one can of that stuff in our house.
3. Take the can, aim at the bug and shoot. He'll either freeze from suffocation from the fumes or be so sticky he can't move from the spot. Either way, you now have the upper hand.
4. Once he's immobilized, you can whack at him, put him out of his misery and enclose him in the nearest paper towel.
5. Take the mummified bug and dispose of him in your toilet. One good flush and there is no worry of him resurrecting out of your trash can and terrorizing you in the middle of the night.
6. Wash off the crime scene. Hairspray is sticky and you want to remove all evidence that you had to slay that bug with assistance from Pantene.
I had a teacher in 3rd grade who helped me off with my jacket one time when the zipper got stuck. She yanked it over my head and said, "There's more than one way to skin a cat." And, ladies, there's more than one way to kill a bug.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
It's Easier to Be Struck by Lightning...
There is a statistic that was recently debated as false that it is easier to be hit by lightning or attacked by a terrorist than to get married over the age of 40. I first remember hearing that stat in the movie "Sleepless in Seattle" but it was apparently based on an actual study. In recent weeks, after revisiting those that compiled the study, it was revealed that those numbers are false.
Although I've not been personally touched by a terrorist, it's evident that we've all felt the pain of 9/11. And, most of us could go six degrees through our connections and touch someone who was directly affected by that horrible day. So, maybe that event alone has swayed the study statistics. I have great friends from high school that were directly connected to 9/11 - one of them being a 9/11 survivor from the Pentagon and his wife, who to this day shudders at the recollection of that frightful day.
So, on to the next statistic....being struck by lightning. This is not a very common occurance, and so, I can understand the correlation between lightning strikes and marriage after 40. Sadly, since I am over 40, it's not an encouraging thing to think about. Well, I've now proven that statistic as truth.
About a month or so ago, the Spring thunderstorm season started around these parts. We've seen our share of tornadoes and strong storms, and I've been very blessed to have been passed over. But, earlier in May, I wasn't. Oddly, my house was struck - but a random act of striking. One of my cable boxes was hit, my DSL modem, and my caller ID box. Thankfully my TV and DVD player hooked to that cable box were fine. And, even more importantly, the computer was unharmed. The harshest hit, the one that somewhat freaked me out, was the hit in my enclosed patio room. My Dad actually found this one when window cleaners came to my house. As they moved the blinds, they noticed a melted spot, and then a black mark on the carpet in the corner. Even an innocent folding chair got in the bolt's crossfire and now has a tatoo on it's backside. Thankfully no fires occured and everything is fixable or replaceable.
Leave it to me to be able to be struck by lightning rather than get married.
Although I've not been personally touched by a terrorist, it's evident that we've all felt the pain of 9/11. And, most of us could go six degrees through our connections and touch someone who was directly affected by that horrible day. So, maybe that event alone has swayed the study statistics. I have great friends from high school that were directly connected to 9/11 - one of them being a 9/11 survivor from the Pentagon and his wife, who to this day shudders at the recollection of that frightful day.
So, on to the next statistic....being struck by lightning. This is not a very common occurance, and so, I can understand the correlation between lightning strikes and marriage after 40. Sadly, since I am over 40, it's not an encouraging thing to think about. Well, I've now proven that statistic as truth.
About a month or so ago, the Spring thunderstorm season started around these parts. We've seen our share of tornadoes and strong storms, and I've been very blessed to have been passed over. But, earlier in May, I wasn't. Oddly, my house was struck - but a random act of striking. One of my cable boxes was hit, my DSL modem, and my caller ID box. Thankfully my TV and DVD player hooked to that cable box were fine. And, even more importantly, the computer was unharmed. The harshest hit, the one that somewhat freaked me out, was the hit in my enclosed patio room. My Dad actually found this one when window cleaners came to my house. As they moved the blinds, they noticed a melted spot, and then a black mark on the carpet in the corner. Even an innocent folding chair got in the bolt's crossfire and now has a tatoo on it's backside. Thankfully no fires occured and everything is fixable or replaceable.
Leave it to me to be able to be struck by lightning rather than get married.
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