Category: Daily

A few hours back, I found myself in a dressing room at the mall. (How did THAT happen?!)

I’ve been seeing people wearing short-sleeved long sweaters in the winter and I love the look, but always questioned my ability to pull it off. (Figuratively. I have no problem pulling off my sweaters. (Pause for effect.)) ((By the way, do you sense a theme in my writing lately? Perhaps one of low confidence? Maybe as if I tend to question every single thing I do or say these days? Here is a blanket Thank You and an I’m So Sorry to my friends and family for dealing with my madness.))

I went to Macy’s (because they know how to put on a parade), followed the tiles to my favorite line (Style & Co.), and ran into a rack of short-sleeved long sweaters. (Clarification: I think I sound weird when I say things like “my favorite line.” Please know that I live in bad jeans, big underpants, and my Jackson Hole hoodie. (It’s green and has a new weird stain that’s really been breaking my heart lately. I need a new Jackson Hole hoodie.))

I took two of the short-sleeved long sweaters into the dressing room (the exact dressing room I mentioned in the first line of this entry), tried them on, and took photos to send to The Internet (the world is a fun place, isn’t it?) to see which one I should get.There was this one:

And then there was this one:

I think I was pointing to the pocket because it looks like an owl, and I tend to point at owls.

THE INTERNET SPOKE and I ended up purchasing both sweaters.
I believe I’ll wear them with jeans, but I can also smell some legging possibilities.
(The Internet also helped us choose a middle name for Harper.)
((I may rely on The Internet more than I should.))
(((I got really mad at The Internet yesterday afternoon, but I’ve since decided that everything was all my fault (as it tends to be) and now we’re friends again.))) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Have you ever stuttered and skipped back and forth through life believing that you’re mostly doing the right thing and supporting the right causes and agreeing with the right people and then you read something that makes you feel like you’re barely half-assing it?

Yesterday evening, a woman I respect with every ounce of respect I have posted this article. Please read it. Please read every word of it. It shook me and slapped me and embarrassed me in the exact way that I believe I *should* be shaken and slapped and embarrassed.

I’m linking to the article again right here just in case you didn’t click on it up there. I’ll wait for you.

When Michael Brown was killed in Ferguson last year, do you know what I did? I bought a t-shirt. It’s a Black Lives Matter shirt, and if I remember correctly, the money went to support kids in poor neighborhoods who needed (and probably still need) food and school supplies.

I bought a shirt.

Did I go to Ferguson and help? No. I went to our church where racial justice is a priority, I wore my shirt several times to the grocery store in my (mostly white) neighborhood, and I gave a big thumbs up to articles on Facebook that align with how I feel. I went to church, I went to the store, and I hit a button that says Like. Yup.

Speaking of Facebook, I recently joined a University of Missouri alumni group because I wanted to stay on top of the changes taking place at my old campus. Yesterday, one of my fellow group members accused the Mizzou student body president of lying about the racism he has experienced on campus. This group member went on to say that Jonathan Butler (the man who went on a hunger strike) comes from a wealthy family, so it’s impossible for him to know how oppression really feels.

I read what this man wrote and I was enraged, and then I turned off the computer and went back to knitting a hat.

I need to do more, because right now I believe I’m part of the problem.
I need someone to help me know what I don’t know, because sometimes I don’t even know where to look.
I need to help in a way that actually helps instead of ambling around like a peacock in a souvenir shirt. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

If someone asked me to make a list of my favorite things to do, Knitting Hats for Babies would definitely make the cut. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This morning I pulled into the Costco parking lot at 9:15. Part of me knew that the store doesn’t open until 10:00, and another part of me felt hopeful that it would open at 9:00. (Another part of me can’t be bothered to take 30 seconds to look up the store hours. Sometimes I like to pretend that life is trickier than it really is. Oh, life.)

As I sat in my car (without a book or a knitting project) waiting for the Costco doors to slide open, I noticed a piece of paper flying around in the parking lot. I decided that whatever was on that piece of paper would guide me into my next adventure. (I was hoping it was a sushi menu.) I got out of my car and ran toward the paper. (No one was watching. At least that’s what I told myself. I like to live like I’m in a Lee Ann Womack song.) It blew out of my reach at least four times before I was finally able to stomp on it and pick it up.

It was not a sushi menu.

I now hold evidence showing that a Costco member purchased two hot dog/soda combos and $57 worth of razor blades at approximately 5:12 yesterday evening. After having their receipt marked by the farewell employee with the Sharpie, they walked out to their car and either dropped or threw the record of their purchase into the night.

And now I have it, and am using it as an adventure invitation. The only adventure it suggests is the shaving of all my body hair (one blade per swipe, presumably) before I feast on chicken eyes and cow lips. This is unacceptable.

Obviously, I *could* say that the receipt adventure has been loosely manifested by the fact that my birthday is on 5/12, I shaved my legs this morning for the first time in over a month, and both of my dogs are currently napping in the sun. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

By 10:00 this morning, I had packed Harper’s lunch, waited with her for the bus, grabbed a coffee at Starbucks, purchased “official document” envelopes at Target where I had to defend my trip to Starbucks (I don’t even want to talk about it), picked up dog food and treats at Petco, grabbed two plates at Kohl’s so that everyone can eat their Thanksgiving dinner on a real plate (We need 11. I had 9 and a coupon.), visited the vet office for heartworm prevention pills and to set up Henry’s annual exam for Saturday, and ran to the pharmacy for Xanax and Reglan. (It’s the holiday season with the whoop-de-do and hickory dock and social anxiety that often leads to nausea that not even Amy Grant’s Christmas album can fix!) I then took out the recycling, threw dinner in the slow cooker, and fell asleep (unintentionally) for an hour before I had to pick Meredith up from school.

I then read 3,492 articles about the resignation of the University of Missouri president.

A half hour ago, I made biscuits from scratch, but not really because I used Bisquick. (In my world, if you don’t have to beat a can on the edge of the counter while anticipating a jack-in-the-box-like explosion, you’re baking from scratch. Nice work, Baker.)

When Jeff gets home (in approximately 17 minutes) we’ll eat dinner and then read until the holiday-themed edition of Cake Wars airs at 8:00.

When Jeff and I lived in Nashville, we would sometimes visit the Loveless Cafe for biscuits and peach preserves. We would also see Jill Sobule every time she came to town.

I miss those days like crazy, but I also love days like this one. I’ll be back tomorrow. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

When I started this website back in 2001, I never had any intention of keeping it going through 2015. BUT, I’m glad I did and I won’t be letting it die out anytime soon. (I know I had a few moody episodes (One with a death threat! Oh, 2006…) during which I sat back for a few months, but honestly, even when I left I (sort of) knew I would be back.) I love documenting the stuff and nonsense in which our family seems to roll. I love having a voice and using my voice and hearing your voices.

This morning at church, our pastor spoke of privilege. As a pastor, he is allowed to attend certain events and enter certain places that your average non-pastors aren’t allowed to attend and see. He realizes that these special opportunities are part of his privilege. He also spoke of the scribes “…who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets” and how “They will receive the greater condemnation” (Mark 12:38-40).

I grabbed my notebook as soon as he said, “I know that with privilege comes responsibility.”

Having a voice is a privilege, and with privilege comes responsibility. Using your voice to complain about drinking your latte from a plain red cup is like, well, using your voice to complain about drinking your latte from a plain red cup. Using your voice to speak up and out when someone is feeling oppressed or afraid or hungry or lonely is something else entirely.

Jonathan Butler is a graduate student at the University of Missouri in Columbia. He is currently on Day 7 of a hunger strike and will continue to strike until the university’s president steps down. The president is being blamed for not addressing the escalation of racism on campus and for admitting that he was ‘not completely aware’ of systemic racism, sexism, and patriarchy on campus, despite being provided with countless examples. It is time for a new president at the University of Missouri in Columbia—one who does not simply sit back on his leather chair (in his long robe while seated in places of honor at banquets, etc.) hoping that racism goes away. A few days ago, I had never heard of Jonathan Butler, and today he is all I can think about. Jonathan Butler is stirring up change, and it makes me sad to know that his life could end. The world needs Jonathan Butler’s voice. (I want nothing more than to deliver a warm meal to Jonathan Butler right now. The only thing holding me back is the fact that I fully support him.)

My notes from this morning’s service will be on my mind for the next week and beyond.

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After sleeping for five amazing hours with no interruptions last night, I got up at 6:30 and read another chapter in the John Irving book. (So far? Loving it.) I then showered (because it’s important), ate a baked sweet potato (because it’s delicious), and crated the pups so the four of us could join my mom for her annual Christmas ornament expedition. (Also, I needed a balsam & cedar scented candle. I needed it. Like air, self-actualization, love, Beethoven sonatas that become Billy Joel songs, food, et cetera, Maslow.) We eventually ended up at an outlet mall shopping for Twenty One Pilots shirts and Goofy pillows and tea that doesn’t exist at that particular outlet mall. (I get confused when the number of outlet malls is greater than one.)

Back to the house for more reading and sitting around and then dinner came and went and at 7:30 this evening we decided to head to the new grocery store for lemongrass soap and hippie soda and bananas and bubble bath.

On the way home, we noticed specks of fire in the sky. We followed the trail and pulled over just in time to watch over 100 burning lanterns floating above our heads. It was perfect, and I’m now sitting at the computer drinking chamomile tea sweetened with honey from my cousins’ back yard hives, and the perfect just keeps getting perfecter.

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One of my goals for the month is to NOT talk about the sleep that I’m not getting.

Instead, I’ll show you the place I visited with a friend yesterday morning. While there, we carried on a conversation about writing and kids and social issues while drinking a snickerdoodle latte (me) and a pumpkin spice chai (her).

The evening before found me eating a veggie bowl with Tempe before journeying across the road to a coffee place for knitting and a discussion about current events and poverty and race and government-orchestrated segregation.

This morning I visited a friend who has an amazing outlook on life and a recording studio in her van. (Honestly, I’m friends with some of the very best people. Remind me to tell you about my wind chimes.) As I sat in her passenger seat, I voiced a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird followed by three of my favorite Bible verses. Afterwards, we drank coffee and talked about life and I could have stayed there for days.

When I got home, I grilled mushrooms and squash with coconut aminos and then Scout and I crashed on the couch for two hours.

I’m so lucky to have good friends and warm dogs and coconut aminos.

This evening Jeff is out with a friend and the girls are getting ready to crash so I can kick back with flannel pajamas and hot tea and John Irving. I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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Listening to someone go on and on about the dream they had the night before can get old quickly. However, eating dinner a few nights back as Harper explained her Land of Nod visit to a barber shop that doubled as a bar was very entertaining, mainly because she has never been in a barber shop or a bar.

Last night I had a dream during which I visited IKEA, but I was told that my dress was inappropriate. A wispy woman who may have been a ghost provided me with the proper shopping uniform, which consisted of khaki pants and suspenders with no shirt. I stepped out of the dressing room feeling extremely uncomfortable. I quickly mentioned my need for some sort of tank top. Apparently, people who DON’T ask for shirts get them, and those of us who did had to spend the next several hours holding their suspender straps in place to cover their otherwise bare chests.

I didn’t purchase any furniture, but I did see a few throw pillows that jazzed me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>