Logging in

This morning at my desk, I logged into the computer and watched as the creative art that is my walllpaper was slowly peppered with icons. Prompts appeared and servers were connected. Now my background looks more like jumbled clusters of labels mingling with random colors. Complicated.

Is this the same thing I do every morning? I wake up with a clean slate, a fresh image of what this day means -- simple. Slowly but surely, however, I have to connect to my "wife server," then my "work server." I click on the shower prompt and the breakfast prompt. And before I know it, the icons appear: Pack-a-lunch.doc, Warm-up-car.jpg, Check-phone-mssg.xls, etc. Complicated.

But such is life. If I want to get my work done, I have to log in to my computer. If I want to be a productive human being, I have to log in to my life. It's not a matter of IF those "icons" appear, but a matter of WHICH. Perhaps if I made folders for the little details, they wouldn't take up so much space on the wallpaper of my mind.

The image for my personal desktop background would be a gorgeous Irish or Scottish landscape (green oceanside cliffs or rolling Highlands) with these words written across the top: "Go and do all that is in your heart, for the Lord is with you" (2 Sam. 7:3b). I would place those breakfast and shower icons, along with dozens of others, in a folder called "The little things." There would be another folder called "Work." The only document on my desktop itself would be called "The good stuff," and in it would be a checklist of sorts:
• Kiss husband
• Thank God
• Drink hot tea
• Bless someone
• Smile
• E-mail your friends
• Think about your nephew
• Call a family member
• Dream big
• Hug your husband
• Learn something
• Pray

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to click back into "Work."

It finally happened...

A complete stranger approached me at a department store and asked me for fashion advice. Yep! Little ol' me. I think I gave her good feedback, too. I give all the credit to whatever outfit I was wearing that day, which craftily gave off a stylish vibe. Perhaps I'm Eye Candy material afterall.

Pearls and pink socks

Last week girlfriday shared highlights from a year of blogging. I am also at a year now, but as I am not the prolific blogger she is, I don't think the same retrospective is befitting to my little "anniversary."

I do remember it was a year ago, however, because it was right around Sept. 11 and I talked about it. This year on the 5th anniversary of the attacks, I opted to read more about them than write about them.

Today I will write about a concert I recently attended. It was The Drifters, who made hits out of songs such as "This Magic Moment" and "Save The Last Dance For Me," and it was a lot of fun. There's one original remaining member, two veteran members and a couple of "kids" to help with the singing.

One thing that I remember from the evening, oddly enough, happened before the headliners took the stage. The opening act was another old-timer-type band and as they played, a number of couples took to the dance floor. One such couple had a 30-something man in a rugby shirt and blue jeans escorting his wife onto the hardwood. He held her so suavely and moved her so effortlessly. She was wearing "mom" jeans, a striped shirt that peeked in fashion around 1997, brown clogs and pink cotton socks. But the way he made her feel at that moment, she may as well have been wearing a little black dress, stiletto heals and a string of pearls.

"Romance," I thought to myself. "This guy gets it."

Another gem from the neighborhood kids

The other night I opened my front door to go on an errand. As I did, a boy of about 8 came plowing into the cove of our door, nearly running into me.

Me: "Whoa!"
Him: "I'm hiding" (girls were making their way up the complex stairs into our hallway). "I've got a box of money."

I noticed he had what appeared to be a cash box in one hand and a sword-like piece of wood in the other.

Me: "Really?"
Him: "Ya! Wanna see?"
Me: "Um ... OK" (since he was already opening said box).

Inside were black-and-white photo copies of 5- and 10-dollar bills.

Me: "Wow! Ya you do."
Him: "I took it from people."
Me: "Just like a pirate, right?"

Pause. Followed by wide eyes and a big grin.

Him: "Oh, I AM like a a pirate!"

At which point he began dueling with an imaginary sword-wielding foe. Made my night.


I saw this at T Dot's Twisted Utopia, whom I found through dcvandal, and borrowed it. Feel free to borrow it right back. It's sort of a time-warp version of those little get-to-know-you surveys...


1) What age group were you in?
THEN: High school
NOW: Mid-20s

2) Where did you work?
THEN: Babysitting for various families
NOW: At a growing newspaper

3) How was your hairstyle?
THEN: Medium-long with a few layers and a few bangs
NOW: Medium-long with more layers and a few more bangs

4) Did you wear contacts?
NOW: Sometimes.

5) Did you wear glasses?
THEN: Yes.
NOW: Usually.

6) Which of your pets were still alive?
THEN: Ariel
NOW: Ariel's baby, Bono

7) Who was your boyfriend/girlfriend?
THEN: No one
NOW: Superman is my leading man

8) Who was your celebrity crush?
THEN: Probably someone like Matthew McConnoughey
NOW: Hmmm...Johnny Depp?

9) How many piercings did you have?
THEN: One in each ear
NOW: Two in each ear, but one set has closed up

10) How many tattoos did you have?
THEN: None
NOW: None

11) What was your favorite band/singer?
THEN: Probably D.C. Talk

12) Had you smoked a cigarette?
NOW: Tried one about four-and-a-half years ago (hand-rolled, no less, from an editor at the school paper -- a burning sensation in the lungs turned out not to be my thing. Cigars are a different matter all together...)

13) Had you gotten drunk?
NOW: Yes

14) What kind of car did you drive?
THEN: 1985 Ford Escort (soon to be totaled by a 90-year-old who didn't know how to yield)
NOW: A phat Buick, baby!

15) Looking back, are you where you thought you would be in 2006?
Actually, pretty close. I always knew I'd get married right out of college, and journalism was my career of choice then. I'm happy, ambitious, no children (yet). So not that far off...

Murphy's Law alive and well

How is it that boys can make you cry on the one day out of 25 that you actually wear mascara? In the words of my brother, "uncanny."