Field Trip Day

I must admit, I felt slightly apprehensive about our class field trip to the aquarium today. As we wheeled out of the parking lot on the yellow dog, my thoughts drifted to my own bus driving days....well almost. When I went to A&M I needed to get a job. I saw an ad posted for bus drivers needed to drive the campus buses. I could do that, I thought coyly. I didn't get the green light on the hiring process. Needless to say, one too many curb checks is probably not the best policy for employment. It was probably for the best. No telling how many thousands of dollars I would have racked up in repairs needed after I parked that haus at the bus barn.

The kids shocked me today with their excellent behavior. This was the only opportunity that some of those kids will get to see things like that. The aquarium is really nice. They have a wonderful dolphin show with a backdrop of the bay. The bird show presented lots of rare hawks and different animals from the African safari. The look in their eyes said it all. My soul warmed to see their faces and hear their conversations so enthralled with learning about everything. Life may be full of speed bumps called adversity and road blocks called conflict, but it's also filled with green lights of simple life-affirming moments such as this that help us realize just how lucky we are to be a part of God's kingdom. I am so thankful for my parents and their undying devotion to make our childhood as special as possible. Thankfully, and regretfully because Wade has now seen this footage, almost our entire childhood was documented by a huge RCA shoulder mount video camera. We always took fun family vacations. We could rival the Griswold's for sure! Whether it was camping at Big Bend, driving to Calsbad Caverns, or just going to the river to fish with my grandparents- we always had fun and spent wholesome family time together. That time is irreplaceable to me. So much of the rat race of today replaces that special time. I aspire to the same greatness with our own family someday.

Here's to the little everyday experiences that make our lives a little more colorful, and the memories that spun the framework of our hearts. May we cherish those memories and not forget to thank those incredible people in our lives that shaped us into who we are today.

Belly of the Whale and Mud Slick Numero Tres

Jonah experienced sitting in the belly of the whale and found himself amongst the lucky ones given a second chance. So how do you get yourself out of the belly of the whale if the whale doesn't voluntarily spit you out? I ponder this thought. While driving home today I thought, why can't I just become an ice dancer? It's just like dancing on ice, and my dancing skills aren't that bad. I bet I could just flit around out there in my sequins and spandex, then they'd give me great scores so that maybe next time I would include a sarong with my get-up. Or in light of the other Olympic games, maybe I'll just take up speed skating and whiz around on skates longer than my entire femur. Then again, probably the best stress relief would be the agile snowboarders. They all seem so carefree and happy-go-lucky. They must wake up and think, I wonder if I could go sailing off the end of this half-pipe and catapult myself into two flips while twisting wildly in the air in hopes my board hits snow before my head crashes into this pipe. I know there's a lot of training involved to achieve such greatness, but they make it look so easy. We went to see the Rockettes before Christmas, and I thought for sure I could be on the silver stage with that bunch...Michelle and I got home and joined arms, fully prepared to reenact the leg kick show. We made it about two pumps and found a heightened respect for the ladies that don the title of Rockette. Some of the Olympic sports, however, I simply can't understand. The louge and the skeleton, for example. Any sport that requires me to go sailing down an ice cave at ninety miles an hour with nothing but spandex separating me and a one way ticket to meet my maker just won't do. The ringing of my phone snapped me back into reality.

Wade phoned to let me know I needed to be ready to go mud hauling when I got home. He had a most unbelievable day. I just thought having a kid thrash around in his desk during my observation this afternoon was bad. While cruising around the ranch filling feeders, he rounded a corner and POOF! A dirty, filthy, no way to see with the naked eye sand trap engulfed the suburban and feeder. I thought deja vu only happened twice? Right on que, it began to pour rain. You must understand that he was on the back of the ranch roughly three and a half miles from the barn, wearing rubber boots and a pullover jacket. I can not even begin to fathom the rage of fury that must have pulsated through his body. He hiked it back to the barn for the tractor. The tractor almost flipped over trying to haul this beast out of its trap. Strike. Next step, get the dozer. The dozer whipped it out of there. When I got home, we had to go fetch the suburban and feed wagon and ferry it and the other vehicle back home. I felt like I was spinning around in the twilight zone of repeat events. I have always loved thunder storms, and rain makes me feel cozy and warm inside. I revel at the sound of thunder and the tinking of rain on a tin roof. At that moment, however, I wanted to literally kneel by the suburban and blow on the ground in hopes my breath would magically transform into a super powered blow dryer.

So, how do we get out of the belly of the whale we find ourselves in? Well, today at least I had a partner in crime. While I thought my world was going to come apart at the seams, Wade experienced his own belly writhing experience. The point is, whatever we find ourselves going through, there's someone going through something equally as challenging. Tomorrow, we must try again. Maybe tomorrow's whale will be smaller, until finally it's the size of a perch, and we have successfully learned to navigate life's crazy quandaries.

I attached a picture of this beast of a suburban- the star of this year's rainy season.

China of the South

We went to church this morning for the first time in a while. I felt a few layers of my heart slowly peeling back as I listened to the sermon, surrounded by the fellowship of love within those church walls. I succumbed to the worry and stress of late, leading down a road of uncertainty. I shut myself off from my lifeline of eternal hope. For whatever reason, some of you may already know this, I am stubborn. Sometimes the red hair and German roots collide and anger creeps its way into the crevices of my heart. As a side note, anger is one letter away from danger, which is where it leads most of the time left untreated. Wouldn't you agree? Nonetheless, the sermon this morning spoke about truth and what defines it, opening the shunt of my heart to allow the anger to dissipate. The pastor proceeded to talk about the secular truths that often present themselves, and the importance of adhering to Godly truths with faith that your life will manifest itself in His hands. Those words were much needed for me this morning. This coming week, several agenda items have me stressed to the point of blinders, which inhibited me from seeking His help. Tomorrow I have to take a certification test and pass it in order to keep my job. Sometime this week I am scheduled to have my big observation in my classroom, Wednesday we are hauling a load of kids to the aquarium in Corpus (which is enough in itself to induce heartburn), and next Wednesday is the ever endearing TAKS test. With all this coming up, I need to lean ever heavier on the Lord for guidance and grace, however, I found myself steering the boat closer and closer to a deserted island, trying to manage it all on my own. Simply stated, trust goes hand in hand with truth. We must trust and follow even in times of doubt that feel like the brink of a mental cataclysm, and His truth will set us free of the debris that cloud the judgment of our souls.

On a lighter note, after church today, we hit up the China Buffet in Falfurrias. I realize that China Buffet and Falfurrias are like rain on an oil slick, but our options aren't exactly limitless here. We eased on in to scope out the spread. Right off the bat we felt wildly transported smack down in the middle of a clandestine off-the-beaten path eatery in Chinatown. For some reason, their choice of music bordered Chinese punk/ rave. I felt that while getting my food in the buffet line, I needed to jump up and down with one hand in the air. Along with the punk flare, just a hint of disco infiltrated its way into the beat. Once we sat down, I envisioned at any moment disco balls slowly dropping from the ceiling and hidden fog machines creeping up from the floor, completing the fascinating ambiance. Once I snapped out of the need to reenact the moves I once painstakingly stayed up all night learning while watching Saturday Night Fever, Wade and I braved the buffet. I can't be certain that the employees speak clear English, but possibly have enough phonetic recognition to ascertain the difference between the words 'hunan' and 'human'. There right above the heating lamp in plain black lettering- 'human chicken'. What I hope was a mere mistake in spelling, turned out to be the only meat I liked! As I slowly surveyed dish by dish what other interesting mysteries awaited, oysters came into view. I hate oysters, but Wade on the other hand could sit on the dock of the bay and subsist on them quite certainly. Our eyes met and the look on my face said a thousand words- if you put that on your plate, you will feel an overwhelming tinge of regret in your stomach in an all too timely fashion. Luckily, he thought better of it and left them to rest in their slimy plate of ice on the increasingly less appealing buffet line. Before I turned my head to go sit in our rave booth, there above the oysters lay a tiny sign with a Chinese warning label of some kind affixed to it. It read, "This no cooked! If allergy, no eat!" There you have it folks. If ever you feel the need to hem-haw and gripe about the lack of acceptable eating establishments in the vicinity of where you call home, think again. It could always be worse...

Crazy Town

The secret is out. I now know how innocent people admit to committing heinous crimes. They cram them in a room with slate gray institutional walls with nothing but their own thoughts to entertain them. Hours pass until they find themselves crazy enough to admit to anything. I experienced this today at the doctor's office. A rash managed to engulf my face, neck, chest, and back. It itches like fire, so I finally broke down and carted myself to the clinic. The clock read 4:40 when I entered said establishment. Three hours dwindled by as I waited. I could almost feel the earth slowly rotating on its axis. Recently I have found that my patience level with certain things carries an extremely low tolerance. While sitting in this dull gray room with minimal surroundings, questions crested to the top of my brain. Why am I deathly afraid of pool drains? Am I agile enough to do a running back flip off this wall? Would anyone notice if the tongue depressor jar resting on the tainted sanitarium style cart were moved? Should I try out for American Idol? Why does no one else in my family need glasses, but I can't see two inches in front of me? Seriously, these and more cracked questions infiltrated my mind. By the time the doctor finally came in, had he been the popo, I would have admitted to whatever it was they said I did just so I could get out of that room for a change of scenery! Luckily, it only took about five minutes to get my medications and be on my merry way...

This evening was in no way indicative of what I thought it would be based on the morning. The sunrise this morning absolutely penetrated the sky with hues of violet, terra cota orange, and soft yellow murals of sheer beauty. I found myself realizing the subtle miracles of God's creation and how easy it is to forget his grace, even for a moment. As I drove home tonight, my mind drifted to thoughts of this morning. With all the happenings of the day, I almost forgot about the beautiful beginning. In the everyday race we call life, may we remember what eternally matters at the end.

The Fuzz

We had a great weekend in San Angelo. We left yesterday shortly after lunch to head back south. I could not help but think of the movies when they show someone traveling a long distance. The map shows up on the screen, and the little dotted line slowly inches its way across the map to the designated location. That's how I felt yesterday. That drive feels as though you are in slow motion traipsing across the hemisphere to a new planet. Nonetheless, we made it.

Today cranked off like a siren- literally. This little gem of an incident happened once earlier in the year, however, I expected that to be the only run in with the fuzz. What's the incident? Watching the flashing, stroke-inducing, blinded by the rotating orb light bar on the Border Patrol vehicle as they pull you over. They pulled me over for the first time on Halloween. I need to say that I dressed up a bit for the occasion. I wore a bright purple glow in the dark shirt with pumpkins, witches, and haunted houses illuminating the dark with its glow. To complement, I donned a fuzzy headband with wire bats flying back and forth like bat bobble heads. I had the seat laid down because Boud likes to have a prime 'getting the cars' platform when she rolls with me in my car. Apparently that's a no-no as they take that to mean that I am harboring fugitives stacked on top of each other...Here's how it went down today- I blew out of the house this morning thinking of all the things I needed to accomplish before school. While sailing past a Border Patrol car, I noticed that it crept out of its hiding spot and gassed it right up to my bumper. This little game ensued for miles. I proceeded to eat my toast and wait for the finkish flashers to flare. After about ten minutes, I secretly wished I had a switch in my car to change the license plate to the abbreviation of "Cartel Queen". Finally, I just eased on to the shoulder and slowed down almost to a stopping point. The car wheeled in behind me, then made a u-turn, burned rubber, and blasted down the road in the opposite direction. This whole scenario just has me in stitches. Here I am borderline albino and have been pegged twice for a smuggler/trafficker. What a special thought.

The moral of the story: Life unexplained leads to much laughter.

Throwback to the Hollywood

This day started as every morning does: the dirty little alarm clock dinging the chipper songs of morning. However, this morning came even earlier with Boudreaux's sudden need to haul off and start barking bloody murder at 3 am. Seriously? Boud- unless there's an illegal bustin' through our front door, keep the wake up calls to a minimum (insert bless her heart here). Nonetheless, I rolled out of the house right on schedule at 6:15. I know there are good days and bad. We all can attest to them. I wouldn't go so far as to say that today was a total waste of make-up, but some desperate times arose that I simply must share. I tried all the tactics up my sleeve with these children sent straight from above. I tried the kind, sweet teacher who lovingly redirects. I'd say I made it through half the morning with that mode. I then escalated to the more stern version of this teacher, while maintaining the kind undertone. I hate raising my voice, you see. By 1 o'clock, I had a serious Fried Green Tomatoes flashback.

Before I say more, you must know that I have taken to wearing my boots. For some strange reason they make me feel like I have hidden super powers and whatever the kids do/say/throw at me- the boots will set me free. They make me feel closer to the northwest from here roots I at times will myself to click my heels three times and levitate to. I have worn them to the point of slickness on the bottom. By 1 o'clock, I wanted to yank open the door to my room, get a running start, and slide in to the center of the room. It gets better. I then (in this fabulous mind scenario) lunged myself on the top of one of the desks with my meter stick for a wand in my hand and screamed "TWANDA"! Since I couldn't rightfully do that without being put in a straight jacket, I rolled with it and did the best I could. At the end of the day, I couldn't help but remember Clark from Christmas Vacation after he ranted a blue streak about his boss not giving him his bonus. "Hallelujah! Holy Shit! Where's the Tylenol?!" I hate to use profanity here, but this phrase was just streaming through my mind, and it actually helped catapult me to a better place. Thanks Chevy. I really appreciate that addition to my vocabulary.

This evening, I had a banquet to go to for the mentee I have in my classroom. By this time of day, I was wicked tired and ready to eat, hear the awards, and go. Much to my hilarity, the presenter got on the podium and began to speak. Oh my holy lands. This man could not have been more of the epitome of Milton from Office Space if he tried. I had to feign a coughing fit so I could turn my face and get a hold of myself. I mean right down to the slight pauses and lisp. I realize that this comparison may be slightly crass, however, I don't think I have ever wished for a hidden tape recorder so badly in my life. It really made it worth the wait.

I guess we can thank Hollywood for providing us with these tiny little threads of humor that keep us from loosing our mind on a daily basis. Tomorrow, we head back to San Angelo for the weekend. It'll be a nice change of scenery. I'm looking forward to seeing family and friends I haven't seen in a long while. Funny how the very things you once took for granted are the things you most look forward to when taken away. Something to think about.

May your Friday be filled with flowers, chocolates, and showers of beauty in the precursor to the holiday of love. How's that for some sap? Have a fine Friday.

Sinner and Stress

Forgive me readers for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last confession...At this moment, I feel as though someone turned me upside down and gave me a swirlie. My mind feels like jello rambling around within the confines of my brain. What, you might wonder, caused this swirliesque feeling? A combination of several things. One acronym slowly creeps into my mind, resting itself as the bane of my existence. TAKS. The writing test is upon me in three short weeks. I find myself stressed to the point of nightmares. This being my first year to teach public school, much of this year consists of just figuring out what to do in order to stay afloat. That said, I ambled home today on auto pilot. When I got to the cutoff to turn on 281 and roll home, a pleasant surprise awaited me. Nothing other than the jerky wagon. Yep, one might not expect to see such a contraption, but this here wagon sells every kind of jerky under the sun. What's your pleasure? Maybe a little elk meat, gator, deer, turkey? Or maybe your taste leans toward the exotic...he carries quite the assortment. If you can shoot it, I am fairly certain he's made it into jerky swinging in the wind from the janky jalopy he calls a trailer. Hand-painted cardboard signs start popping up about a mile out. He wheels that sucker under the overpass, lifts the sides up, and business begins. The funny thing is I bet he makes a killing. If nothing else, it never fails to crack me up every time I go by. If I hadn't been wasted tired this afternoon I'd have stopped and bought some just to say I have.

As the week goes on, I must continue to remind myself to take it one day at a time. Stress can easily come upon me like a freight train, leaving me feeling like I stuck my finger in a light socket just for kicks. I allow life's situations to overpower what counts. What really matters? The fact that I can come home tonight and watch Boud "get her baby" until the stuffing comes out, leaving shards of white cotton around her mouth reminiscent of rabies. Wade and I can watch the boob tube for a few minutes of mindless release. Tomorrow is a new day, fresh with new challenges, accomplishments, and the never ending love of family to pummel you through tough times. So, there's only one thing left to do for the day- sleep, recharge, and face the music.

Here's to slaying your inner dragons and appreciating each day to its fullest.

The Fink's

Last week felt like a whirlwind. I took two sick days to get over the mother of a cold I finally seem to have given the boot. Michelle had an overnight in Corpus on Friday. I looked forward to a relaxing evening of fine dining and relaxation with my sis. I arrived at the hotel to find she scored a stellar bayview suite with a swell panorama of the marina. We cracked open our first cocktails and toasted on the balcony with all the beginnings of a grand eve. After my whiskey and her bloody mary made their way south, we thought it best to ease on out for some fine seafood. Over our fabulous cuisine, Michelle had a restaurant epiphany. As we finished the last bite we could possibly have before needing to seek retribution, she shared this: what happens to those people who roll up into there, order appetizers, drinks, fine meals, and desserts, then say they can't pay. What if they didn't even carry any means of payment with them knowing flat out they had nothing to pay with? We managed to crack ourselves up mulling this over...Feeling content with a full stomach and a warm feeling in our souls, we sauntered back over to the hotel for some girl time. Just as we had settled in, disaster struck. You must wait with bated breath while I preface this disaster...

Saturdays remain the ultimate grandeur. The freedom to lazily doze in and out of sleep, waking to hear the birds chirping (or coyotes yipping- whatever is relevant). The freedom to watch Pebbles and Bam Bam in the morning should you feel so inclined. It's the day you can say, take this job and shove it and mean it because you don't have to go back to the j-o-b for a blissful 48 hours. Dreamy. Simply Divine. You know what makes a Saturday morning even more savory? A dreamy sleep the night before. In order to achieve this dreamy sleep for me, I must have my Mack's. Mack's earplugs that is. My love affair with these tiny bright orange gems began a few years ago when we got married, and the snoring drove me to the brink of insanity (disclaimer: this has since gotten a lot better). I feel such a strong loyalty to the product that I would love to roll up in the factory, stand on a podium, hike up my pants, and give a hefty salute to the men and women who've been saving sleepless marriages since ninteen-whenever they started making these fascinating pieces of wax. You need to know this because the one thing I forgot to pack on my venture to Corpus- my Mack's. I feel confident you now have the background information for the 'rest of the the story'.

As we fluffed our pillows, favorite trash mags in hand, a scream that could have rivaled any Halloween scream you have ever heard sliced through the air. We looked at each other in utter awe after we figured out it was a child's scream and not the scream of someone who had just been hacked up in the room next door. No big deal. Just a fluke occurrence. Probably some kid got a little charged up. I mean we've all experienced the grocery store, restaurant, or mall run in with an out of control child. Honestly, I've been told that I was a bit of a fit thrower as a child, so I can't really get too riled up about these things. We flip the page and continue reading up on the sagas that befit the rich and famous. Here it came again! This time with vigor. This kid had the pipes of an opera singer with no sense of how to use it. Before we had time to process, adult screams came blasting through followed by doors slamming over and over again. We consider ourselves to be relatively patient people, but push it to the limit and sugar becomes spice not necessarily nice. She has a trick she uses on her many hotel stays- bypass the front desk, peek out the door to get their room number, and call yourself. We did and no change. The last straw arrived right about midnight when security came to shut them down. Unbelievable. I pined for my Mack's. I'm not ashamed to say it. Here comes the silver lining. Obviously neither of us could go to sleep, so we brainstormed the horrible revenge tactics we could implement. I know I deserve a slap on the hand for being vindictive, but we came up with some doozies! We schemed to lay on the floor and beat the walls with our feet while blasting the alarm clock and playing rap music on Pandora as loud as the speakers would go. In the end, we just got up early to go have breakfast and left the alarm against the wall blaring in our wake. I know, Twisted Sisters. It sure felt good sauntering down the hall to the elevator hearing it dwindle as we got further away. Ah, the simple pleasures in life. The real laugh came when Michelle had the pleasure of meeting the Fink family before she left. They were banging around in the hallway, bless their hearts, and she gave them a curt lesson in courtesy including how to properly close the hotel door without waking the dead. Truly hilarious!

I suppose the moral here is: a)double check your bag for must-haves before you leave lest you end up in a similar situation b)never underestimate the assembly- liners who make some of our most prized possessions available c)sometimes we have to get through the clouds to find the silver linings d) it's fun to stick it to the Fink's every now and again!