I opened my eyes to another day I didn't want to face, sleep crusted in the corner of my eyes. My eyes took in the disarray. I tried not to, but I slowly took in the empty bottle of vodka, the pile of laundry the plate from last night's dinner. Evidence which spoke volumes about the slow erosion of my dignity. It was so subtle I almost didn't see it happening.
Then yesterday my friend Tommy looked at me and said he had never seen anyone fall so far so fast… what got me was he was so matter of fact about it, same tone of voice as if he had said he stopped for gas on the way to coffee, like it just is what it is. No big deal. No judgment, but no bafflement either. I think that is what got my attention the most. That he wasn't even surprised. I sure as hell was surprised, how come he wasn't?
The sad part, the utterly inescapable twisted truth, is that I really thought I was putting up a good show. I really thought I was holding it together outwardly at least. Turns out the only one I am fooling is me. Turns out I am freaking stellar at selling "everything is hunky-dory pie"…but I am the only one that's buying it. Frankly I am having a little trouble keeping it down without gagging on it.
I don't even know how to look people in the eye without wondering what they see but are too polite to say. If I can't even trust myself to be honest with me, how can I expect anyone else to?
Case in point:
Last Tuesday I had many tasks to accomplish. The primary task: pick up checks from clients. I hate asking for money. Even when I worked for it and earned, I hate asking for money. I wish they would just send it in without me asking for it. They don't. I send their ads in without being reminded, but they don't send money without being reminded. What sucks is I always feel like I have to jump through more hoops and promise them all the fantastic things I will do next to help them grow their business in order to get paid for all the fantastic things I have already done.
I feel like if I don't have some extraordinary idea for the next step I don't deserve to get paid for the last brilliant bit, which is really messed up. It isn't their fault. I set myself up this way, showing them what I can do before making them pay. That's how I got so many clients. Only now my creativity feels like a noose and that is slowly choking me. The well is drying up and it is all I can do to get out of bed in the morning and face the day.
It's all I can do to get past the resounding accusation "my fault, my fault, my fault - he left because of me" which rolls around in my brain all night and bounces off my ears and into my skull, until all I can do is drink myself into a coma to make it stop.
If it weren't for the vodka before bedtime I would not be able to function, I would not be able to sleep. If I don't sleep I can't work. If I can't work I can't get paid. If I can't get paid I can't buy more vodka. It's logical right?
Anyway. Last Tuesday.
I dressed in my suit, spent extra time on my hair and makeup, and worked hard on my polished image of a Public Relations Guru with the world all figured out. As I was running out the door I decided to brush my teeth one final time to rid myself of the coffee breath. I didn't even bother to turn the lights on in the bathroom just brushed quickly, kind of wiped my mouth with the towel and ran out the door.
That day I had meetings with two realtors, and a group of six developers. The meetings were piled on top of each other and lasted all morning. I did the best dog and pony show I could muster and walked away with checks from all of them. I was feeling pretty good around 2:00 when I walked in to see my landlord with my checkbook and a Bic pen (which I had pretty much chewed the end off of earlier in the week when I was stressing over my rent.)
John Lewis my landlord is something of a quirky bird. He looks like Ichabod Crane with a fashion dysfunction. Besides owning all the buildings connected to my loft, he owned and used personal money to restore most of the buildings in Cartersville's town square. His tenacity and bullheaded force brought new life in a downtown that Wal-Mart almost turned into a ghost town. He is a veritable one man historic revitalization committee.
Most people aren't even aware of what he has done. The ones that are aware, are split rather inequitably into two groups: those who like what he did and respect him for it, and those who like what he did but hate him for how he went about getting what he wanted. The haters tend to outnumber the respecters. I vacillate back and forth myself.
I sometimes wonder if he dresses like he does just to thumb his nose at their sense or propriety and "good taste". Either way, the man is just not right with his wardrobe. More than likely, he is color blind to boot.
Today he was wearing plaid pants and a white polo shirt with really poorly done graphics of one of his buildings on the back. I always tell him when he wants me to design a better looking shirt he should let me know. He always asks what is wrong with the one he has and I usually back peddle quickly and tell him its fine for what it is. Except its not, it is really freaking ugly and he paid way too much for it. The colors are muddy and the illustration looks dated, in a bad eighties clip art sort of way. I hate that shirt. He has given me two of them.
As I walked in the door he looks at me and says with his slow southern drawl, "well Tiffney, either you just had a little lunchtime fun with that boyfriend of yours or you have toothpaste all over your face, I think I would prefer not to know which it is."
I look in the mirror and my jaw dropped, It was toothpaste ALL over MY ENTIRE CHIN. White toothpaste. Not one person had said a word. Three meetings, Two realtors, SIX developers….
Not
One
Word!!!!
So yeah, there was the toothpaste last Tuesday, and Tommy yesterday and thus here I lie today, brand spanking new day in front of me and the last thing I want to do is get up and face it and start the whole pretend "I am fine" charade it all over again.
I am not fine.
I am scared and sad and I don't know how in the hell this happened.
I don't know how my marriage fell apart without me even being aware. I don't know how one day I was loved and adored and cherished and the next day I was reaching for something solid to hold on to as my husband's words "Who the hell do you think you are, I saw I a lawyer, I want a divorce" yanked my world out from under feet, spun it around me, and left me falling into an abyss.
The only thing I have to hold on to is my work and my business and I just don't care anymore.
I don't want to draw pictures.
I don't want to write words.
I don't want to plan parties.
I only sort of want to design the cover of "The Bartow Trader". I say "sort of" because I adore Rick Richardson and he has been very good to me, but every week it is getting harder and harder to find any sort of creative juice, and I really wish I could stop.
I want to get back in my covers and sleep.
I want to dream about a place that is different than this. I want to go back to when I was blissfully unaware that my husband was dying inside. I want to go back to when I was not aware I couldn't fix it. I want to get to the place where I was sure of myself and sure of our love and sure of our faith in God. I want to go back to the place where we were untouchable and set apart. I just want to go back to where ever it was that I did not feel like I feel now.
I tell myself I am not mad at God.
I tell myself I am not mad at Ryan.
I tell myself I am not mad at me.
But I AM mad.
I am pissed as hell.
I want to scream and throw things.
I want to make a scene in public and scream at the top of my lungs that this is not fair. This is not how its supposed to end up.
But I don't. And I won't.
I won't allow myself to be that woman, that bitter ex wife.
I won't allow myself to appear at all ruffled.
I won't allow myself to feel it or it will be real.
Deep down I am positive this isn't real. This is not happening, if I can keep from feeling it I can keep it from being true. Irrational sure, but it's my irrationality and I am clinging to it as firmly as I can with one hand holding a bottle of vodka thank you very much.
Instead, I will drink myself into a stupor every night and wake up every morning and pretend. It's a patch but it is working… or it was working until Tommy and the toothpaste. Now I wonder if I am the only one who is fooled, why do I even bother? Is it even worth it?
The dog barks and across the loft I see a piece of paper slide under the door from the hallway. There are three doors to my 3875 sq. ft loft. One stairwell in the front on the Main street side which leads up to my front door, one stairwell in the back on Museum drive which leads people right into my bedroom, and one upstairs which leads to the hallway between my loft and John's office. The paper came from the hallway door. This cannot be good, it is obviously from John. I paid him last Tuesday, but I am behind on cleaning the back stairwell and planting those flowers in the planter I promised him I would.
I sigh and get myself together, make-up hair, brush my teeth, (this time I check the mirror carefully before I leave) grab my shoes and my phone and head to his office. I might as well just get it over with.
As I walk in his office I try not to grin at his ensemble -Red Corduroy pants, yellow shirt with a starched collar, green suspenders and a straw hat which makes him look like a gentleman farmer, penny loafers, no socks, no pennies. I shake my head and grin as I sit down.
"Well Tiffney Taber!" He bellows as he leans back in his seat "How's the world treating you this morning?"
"Just fine, I suppose, it's a brand new day just waiting to be filled with sunshine and joy" I quip.
"Your hands are a bit shaky, you scared or did you just drink a little too much last night?"
"I am scared of you actually John, your fashion sense terrifies me. Do you pick your ensembles solely based on the fact you can get away with it and you don't give a shit or did you actually look in the mirror and think 'I look good today!'?"
"Harummph"
I wish I could spell out what John's snickers sound like but I can't. The sound is something between a cackle and a hiccup, a snicker and a choking rooster. It is uniquely John and I never know if he is amused or irritated when he does it.
But there it is now... the snicker.
Just waiting for a response, hanging in the air between us. I have none.
I just laugh uncertainly and settle into the chair and wait to see what the wizard behind the curtain has summoned me for today.
"Well Tiffney, I noticed you were writing your check the other day with that cheap plastic pen, surprised it wrote at all with the end chewed off like that…"
I have no idea where he is going with this so I just raise my eyebrows and wait.
"You'll notice when you come in my office I always write with a nice pen, here feel this," he hands me his pen for inspection and continues...
" See feel that doesn't that just feel nice in your hand?"
I still have no idea where this is leading so I kind of bounce the pen up and down in my palm and then switch its position in my fingers as if I am going to write. The pen is Navy Blue and thick with a gold clip and a gold tip. It does in fact feel awfully good in my hand so I remark "yup this feels awfully nice John, you have great taste in pens, much better than your taste in pants actually."
"Harrumpf"
There it is again. I still don't know what to make of it, so I choose to believe he is amused.
I set the pen down and wait for him to continue because I am sure there is more to this little show and tell, and despite myself, I am curious.
John reaches into his drawer and pulls out a little blue pouch. By blue, I mean robin's egg blue, and by robin's egg blue I mean that certain shade of Tiffany & Company robin's egg blue. The particular hue of blue that makes girls get all mushy. He opens the pouch and pulls out a slender silver pen. The clip of the pen is shaped like a capital "T". The Tiffany and Company logo is engraved discreetly along the tip.
"I had this other pen at home in a drawer and after seeing you with that god awful plastic thing, I polished it. It was really black and tarnished but its pretty now, it looked like worthless junk, buts it is a nice pen. See?" He hands it to me for inspection. Again I take his pen in my palm and feel the weight before twirling it around and scribbling on a peice of paper with it.
"It's a pretty pen John, looks real nice." I say as I hand the pen back to him.
He motions my hand and the pen away from him and does not take it. "It doesn't do me any good sitting in a drawer, so I am going to give it to you. I want you to have it because you just feel better when you have a nice pen to write with. You look like you could use a nice pen right about now Tiffney."
As I sat there dumbfounded he continued "now I filled it up with fresh ink and if it runs out you come on back here and I will fill it up again, but don't expect me to fill it up for you forever! You hear me? Pretty soon you have got to fill it up for yourself. I can't be refilling your pen all the time 'cause I am very busy and I just don't have time for that, so you can come back again if you need to, but don't get in the habit of coming back to me for refills. You need to start refilling it on your own sometime soon. For now though its okay if you need a refill"
This was just one of the unaccountable things John Lewis did for me. All of them were so simple, so subtle I almost missed most of them. Only in looking back clear headed over a year and half after going to rehab and taking my life back do I see the many lessons John taught me. Only now can I appreciate the days he knocked on my door and gave me silly tasks to accomplish. Tasks which forced me out of bed, tasks which got me out in the sunshine and working with my hands, sweating in the Georgia sun, tasks which made me curse at him.
I only did them because I was behind on my rent. I didn't do them with a good attitude and I rarely did them the first time he asked.
I did them so he would leave me alone and let me get back to drinking. Every darned time I finished a task he would knock on my door with another innocuous request which I was beholden to him to complete.
I was not ever very gracious about it... I might have even cursed at him once or twice. He would curse right back and sooner or later I would feel bad and get on to completing whatever it was he "needed completing".
He was a strange and quirky bird. He dressed like a retarded clown. I disliked and adored that persnickety man with equal vehemence.
I still have that pen. I took it to rehab with me and wrote many rambling thoughts, until it ran out of ink. It has sat in a box with all my journals from that time when I got to imagine a life full of hope despite my failures.
Today I went and I refilled that pen myself, because even though I feel pretty good, you just feel better when you have a nice pen.
I think I will write John a letter and ask him what he is wearing.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Valleys and Volleys
Down in the valley, deep in the shadows of doubt.
A mother and a daughter unable to communicate past their own pain. Lashing out.
Rage is far more contagious that peace.
The lessons of the heart taught in high places easily forgotten, in the shadows of the valley.
Fear is taking over.
Futile, longing, frustration over pain not heard or understood,
hands scratch and hit as a mothers hands had done before.
Traditions handed down,
from generation to generation.
Fingers tugging and pulling hair; fists,
piercing deeper than flesh into already fragile hearts.
Girl and Mother...
ONE.
punching.
Pushing
denying fault.
Screaming for peace, as their hands burn on contact with soft flesh.
One kicks the other
and the other cries out and pushes back,
the lines blurring until it is impossible to untangle the rage
of mother,
daughter,
grandmother.
Impossible to determine who is victimizing whom?
Were does fault reside when rage is so comfortable and familiar in so many places?
"She" lashed out at her destroyer,
finding intimate familiarity in hurt,
in the twisted comfort of "there".
Peace is elusive.
The hands that caressed the child,
now slap every memory of kindness away.
Drink it in feel the burn...
Walk to the red... Dance with the devil..
Take a sip from the goblet of something different.
Be on the side that giveth and taketh away
arbitrarily and powerfully.
No longer a victim.
Powerful and righteous.
Run from the place where you feel alone
and scared
and powerless...
So much easier to give in to the rage.
When it is all over,
neither can remember the words.
Only the pain of a mother who doesn't know,
who despises
who knows above all else,
you must be a liar and a whore.
There is no defense believable.
Fear doesn't listen to truth,
fear lies sweetly,
boldly,
seductively.
"She" is not her mother,
"She" was taking her power back.
"She" is different.
This is what "She" tells herself.
This is what "She" believes
long after the uniformed men and the paramedics leave her to her thoughts.
That look in their eyes, (they know she has her power back!)
They can make up lies,
try to take her daughter with them,
(they cannot take her power!)
Their gazes shift (because she is powerful!)
They are shaking their heads
unable to meet her eyes,
looking away ('cause they are men who can't take a woman who speaks her mind!)
They are weak.
"She" sees this,
"She" believes it to be truth and so it becomes...
Her truth.
Powerful truth.
She sits up straighter in her chair,
lifts her chin a bit higher...
SHE knows truth, SHE sees what they are afraid of.
She has power.
Men are afraid of women with power and that's a fact.
She never looks up.
Never sees the hand above her reaching out to her.
She is lost in her own troubled spirit.
Lost in the black, another storm brewing.
A mother and a daughter unable to communicate past their own pain. Lashing out.
Rage is far more contagious that peace.
The lessons of the heart taught in high places easily forgotten, in the shadows of the valley.
Fear is taking over.
Futile, longing, frustration over pain not heard or understood,
hands scratch and hit as a mothers hands had done before.
Traditions handed down,
from generation to generation.
Fingers tugging and pulling hair; fists,
piercing deeper than flesh into already fragile hearts.
Girl and Mother...
ONE.
punching.
Pushing
denying fault.
Screaming for peace, as their hands burn on contact with soft flesh.
One kicks the other
and the other cries out and pushes back,
the lines blurring until it is impossible to untangle the rage
of mother,
daughter,
grandmother.
Impossible to determine who is victimizing whom?
Were does fault reside when rage is so comfortable and familiar in so many places?
"She" lashed out at her destroyer,
finding intimate familiarity in hurt,
in the twisted comfort of "there".
Peace is elusive.
The hands that caressed the child,
now slap every memory of kindness away.
Drink it in feel the burn...
Walk to the red... Dance with the devil..
Take a sip from the goblet of something different.
Be on the side that giveth and taketh away
arbitrarily and powerfully.
No longer a victim.
Powerful and righteous.
Run from the place where you feel alone
and scared
and powerless...
So much easier to give in to the rage.
When it is all over,
neither can remember the words.
Only the pain of a mother who doesn't know,
who despises
who knows above all else,
you must be a liar and a whore.
There is no defense believable.
Fear doesn't listen to truth,
fear lies sweetly,
boldly,
seductively.
"She" is not her mother,
"She" was taking her power back.
"She" is different.
This is what "She" tells herself.
This is what "She" believes
long after the uniformed men and the paramedics leave her to her thoughts.
That look in their eyes, (they know she has her power back!)
They can make up lies,
try to take her daughter with them,
(they cannot take her power!)
Their gazes shift (because she is powerful!)
They are shaking their heads
unable to meet her eyes,
looking away ('cause they are men who can't take a woman who speaks her mind!)
They are weak.
"She" sees this,
"She" believes it to be truth and so it becomes...
Her truth.
Powerful truth.
She sits up straighter in her chair,
lifts her chin a bit higher...
SHE knows truth, SHE sees what they are afraid of.
She has power.
Men are afraid of women with power and that's a fact.
She never looks up.
Never sees the hand above her reaching out to her.
She is lost in her own troubled spirit.
Lost in the black, another storm brewing.
Overheard at a sorority house
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Three of the girls arrived at the house at the same time this morning after notorious "walk of shame" from the frat house . Sometimes they have a little trouble getting their finger on the fingerprint scanner just right so it took all three making multiple attempts to get the door to open. During delay (After exclaiming about each others outfits and comparing hangovers from the party the previous night)I was treated to the following in depth exchange ....
"Oh my God , you are so pretty in the morning...
your boyfriend is soooo lucky!!!"
That's my tidbit and I am sticking to it, for what its worth.
Three of the girls arrived at the house at the same time this morning after notorious "walk of shame" from the frat house . Sometimes they have a little trouble getting their finger on the fingerprint scanner just right so it took all three making multiple attempts to get the door to open. During delay (After exclaiming about each others outfits and comparing hangovers from the party the previous night)I was treated to the following in depth exchange ....
"Oh my God , you are so pretty in the morning...
your boyfriend is soooo lucky!!!"
That's my tidbit and I am sticking to it, for what its worth.
more nocturnal adventures of a Sorority house mom.
Monday, October 22, 2007
So I guess I managed NOT to accomplish the single most important task I am commissioned to do as a House mom which is "Thou Shalt make absolutely positively sure the girls don't in ANY small way, start a fire (again)..."
I figured I had it covered as I had utilized my best upper managerial skills to post passive agressive little signs all over the house which had such perky reminders as "No Smoking ANYWHERE on the property."
"Thou had better not light those candles"
and "Any Boys found in your room after 2:00 am will be asked nicely to leave, any boys found in your room after 2:00 am with a lighter or a candle will be executed"
I really didn't notice anything unusual about the smell as half of California is on fire now... I had however, unwittingly been sucked in to the panic and sense of disaster the newscasters were frothing at the mouth to communicate the urgency of. (Witch fire 2007- terror in the hills....We're live in the center of a burning building)
I thought perhaps I was being silly, but maybe I would just check on my mom... After all, they WERE slowly evacuating all of Ramona.
I think about this time, the newscasters were frantically pushing their hair out of their eyes and desperately trying to maintain composure as they described how hot the fire was in the area where they went in order to get more sensational pictures...."There is no sign life or of firefighters (in this area where we were unequivically warned not go) and the blaze is literally melting our cameras...perhaps we'd better back out of here, back to you Bob..."
While I was busily trying to locate my mother**, the newscasters started interviewing EACH OTHER about the intensity of the blaze, as every reasonable person had followed the advice of firefighters and had evacuated the area...and there was no one left to interview. I knew I was being silly worrying about fire, mom would call eventually.... Sheesh I was even imagining the smell of smoke in the house now....Those newscasters are GOOD!
So um yeah I guess while I was a little distracted.....
the girls had in fact managed to set a very small blaze of our own, on the kitchen on the counter, with the blatent misuse of a toaster oven...
While every firefighter in three states was busy...
(And I was frantically hitting redial on my phone every two minutes trying to make my mom pick up by sheer willpower)
I didn't hear the alarm but there are a LOT of Sirens outside right now and the news was on awfully loud...and Oh Hell...I should just be fired on the spot.
One job duty... sigh
Dang! I was just thinking I was getting the hang of this after Friday night's showdown with the Frat Brats...bigger sigh.
As I walked outside, I saw a news camera man nodding in agreement with a reporter...
who was standing next to a pledge...
wearing an "A @ O girls are hot" t-shirt...
who's make-up was running down her face in a blackened trail...
which caused her frat boyfriend to look quickly around for a means of escape... (as they have been conditioned to do at the sight of tears),
which made the reporter bellow to the cameras...
"As you can see this has been a traumatic night for A @ O girls as this blaze brought back horrifying memories of the 2005 blaze which consumed the upper floors of their home, Word of advice, Sorority girls, pizza and dirty toaster ovens are a dangerous combination. While it appears the tip of the pizza bent down onto the heating elements and that is what caught fire. the crumbs in the bottom of the toaster oven WILL actually burn eventually, A veritable deathtrap waiting to blaze, which their housemother (whom had obviously shirked in her duties and failed to clean the crumbs on an hourly basis) had overlooked. All they wanted was pizza, what they got was a frightening first hand look into the eyes of the fire... a terrifying reminder of the blaze which engulfed their home in 2005. Back to you in the studio Jim, Tell us how you felt about us as we reported this fire..."
Okay so there weren't really any reporters, but that was because they all were trapped in the middle of a canyon after parachuting into the epicenter of the brush fire to interview each other about the intensity of the blaze.... But there WAS a small fire.
Fortunately, the girls must have been paying attention during our last fire drill, as they were actually able to put out the fire quickly with one of the extinguishers (Convienantly placed every two feet around the perimeter of the house since the last fire.)
Its a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Let's hope its a good day for job hunting.
Epilogue:
My mother's cell phone is still turned off and she has not been located.
The girls went to class empty handed as they were unable to toast bagels this morning.
Two news crews perished when they collided in the driveway of a movie stars burning home in an effort to to be the first on scene to interview each other.
***( What is up with the irritating stubbornness of elderly parents who decide cell phones are for "emergencies"? By emergencies, they mean if THEY need to call but keep the phone turned off the rest of the time? God forbid the emergency might entail someone needing to call them!)
So I guess I managed NOT to accomplish the single most important task I am commissioned to do as a House mom which is "Thou Shalt make absolutely positively sure the girls don't in ANY small way, start a fire (again)..."
I figured I had it covered as I had utilized my best upper managerial skills to post passive agressive little signs all over the house which had such perky reminders as "No Smoking ANYWHERE on the property."
"Thou had better not light those candles"
and "Any Boys found in your room after 2:00 am will be asked nicely to leave, any boys found in your room after 2:00 am with a lighter or a candle will be executed"
I really didn't notice anything unusual about the smell as half of California is on fire now... I had however, unwittingly been sucked in to the panic and sense of disaster the newscasters were frothing at the mouth to communicate the urgency of. (Witch fire 2007- terror in the hills....We're live in the center of a burning building)
I thought perhaps I was being silly, but maybe I would just check on my mom... After all, they WERE slowly evacuating all of Ramona.
I think about this time, the newscasters were frantically pushing their hair out of their eyes and desperately trying to maintain composure as they described how hot the fire was in the area where they went in order to get more sensational pictures...."There is no sign life or of firefighters (in this area where we were unequivically warned not go) and the blaze is literally melting our cameras...perhaps we'd better back out of here, back to you Bob..."
While I was busily trying to locate my mother**, the newscasters started interviewing EACH OTHER about the intensity of the blaze, as every reasonable person had followed the advice of firefighters and had evacuated the area...and there was no one left to interview. I knew I was being silly worrying about fire, mom would call eventually.... Sheesh I was even imagining the smell of smoke in the house now....Those newscasters are GOOD!
So um yeah I guess while I was a little distracted.....
the girls had in fact managed to set a very small blaze of our own, on the kitchen on the counter, with the blatent misuse of a toaster oven...
While every firefighter in three states was busy...
(And I was frantically hitting redial on my phone every two minutes trying to make my mom pick up by sheer willpower)
I didn't hear the alarm but there are a LOT of Sirens outside right now and the news was on awfully loud...and Oh Hell...I should just be fired on the spot.
One job duty... sigh
Dang! I was just thinking I was getting the hang of this after Friday night's showdown with the Frat Brats...bigger sigh.
As I walked outside, I saw a news camera man nodding in agreement with a reporter...
who was standing next to a pledge...
wearing an "A @ O girls are hot" t-shirt...
who's make-up was running down her face in a blackened trail...
which caused her frat boyfriend to look quickly around for a means of escape... (as they have been conditioned to do at the sight of tears),
which made the reporter bellow to the cameras...
"As you can see this has been a traumatic night for A @ O girls as this blaze brought back horrifying memories of the 2005 blaze which consumed the upper floors of their home, Word of advice, Sorority girls, pizza and dirty toaster ovens are a dangerous combination. While it appears the tip of the pizza bent down onto the heating elements and that is what caught fire. the crumbs in the bottom of the toaster oven WILL actually burn eventually, A veritable deathtrap waiting to blaze, which their housemother (whom had obviously shirked in her duties and failed to clean the crumbs on an hourly basis) had overlooked. All they wanted was pizza, what they got was a frightening first hand look into the eyes of the fire... a terrifying reminder of the blaze which engulfed their home in 2005. Back to you in the studio Jim, Tell us how you felt about us as we reported this fire..."
Okay so there weren't really any reporters, but that was because they all were trapped in the middle of a canyon after parachuting into the epicenter of the brush fire to interview each other about the intensity of the blaze.... But there WAS a small fire.
Fortunately, the girls must have been paying attention during our last fire drill, as they were actually able to put out the fire quickly with one of the extinguishers (Convienantly placed every two feet around the perimeter of the house since the last fire.)
Its a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Let's hope its a good day for job hunting.
Epilogue:
My mother's cell phone is still turned off and she has not been located.
The girls went to class empty handed as they were unable to toast bagels this morning.
Two news crews perished when they collided in the driveway of a movie stars burning home in an effort to to be the first on scene to interview each other.
***( What is up with the irritating stubbornness of elderly parents who decide cell phones are for "emergencies"? By emergencies, they mean if THEY need to call but keep the phone turned off the rest of the time? God forbid the emergency might entail someone needing to call them!)
Nocturnal Adventures of a Sorority house Mom
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Soooo....
I was sleeping soundly when I hear the sounds of shushing outside my window...(drunken shushing actually isn't as quiet as the shushees think it is, I don't know why they bother)
As it is well past the hours that any boys are allowed inside the sorority house at all I went to explain their options....which shouldn't take long as they only had one...get the heck outta da AXO!
When I said "Boys..." they all went running for the stairs and tripping all over themselves....like I wouldn't notice? Like they could possibly find somewhere to Hide? The drunken brain never ceases to amaze me with its quick logic and seemingly fool proof planning... come on!
If it hadn't irritated me so much it would have been comical watching them trip all over themselves. I guess they figured it out though when I said " Oh come on, are you kidding me? Give me a freakin break!"
Sheepishly one by one they came back down stairs and pretended they had NO idea they weren't supposed to be here, sorority Suzie* (whom they were visiting) made this innocent little girls face that probably works reaaaaalllly well with her daddy, and tried to convince me they didn't know...
As they filed quietly out the front door, it seemed to me that it was almost TOOO quick and easy when they left.
This particular girls room has a very accessible balcony from the front. It occured to me that in light of their running, they were the types to push the envelope and think it was a game...
I was determined to make sure it was a game they weren't going to win, (even though I could really care less, I am in fact paid to uphold these silly rules which ban the boys from the house for like four hours of the day...pointless!).
I made like I was returning to my room, and then I went up the stairs from the back side and was waiting for them when they climbed the balcony...Hello! was that ever too funny!
Almost didn't irritate me at all as their facial expressions of surprised horror were so classic. Damn if I don't crack myself up sometimes! I didn't really even have to say a word the boys bolted...To sorority Suzie* I just turned calmly and remarked that it probably wouldn't be a good idea to try that stunt again as it just makes everyone uncomfortable when I have to kick people out. I managed not to chuckle until I got back to my room. Poor sorority Suzie* will probably go through a lot of trouble to avoid me for the next couple days.
Final Score:
Tiff 2 for 2
Drunken frat brats*: 0
So yeah, but I am wide awake now...sigh
* Names changed to protect the drunken from remembering the details of their own actions.
Soooo....
I was sleeping soundly when I hear the sounds of shushing outside my window...(drunken shushing actually isn't as quiet as the shushees think it is, I don't know why they bother)
As it is well past the hours that any boys are allowed inside the sorority house at all I went to explain their options....which shouldn't take long as they only had one...get the heck outta da AXO!
When I said "Boys..." they all went running for the stairs and tripping all over themselves....like I wouldn't notice? Like they could possibly find somewhere to Hide? The drunken brain never ceases to amaze me with its quick logic and seemingly fool proof planning... come on!
If it hadn't irritated me so much it would have been comical watching them trip all over themselves. I guess they figured it out though when I said " Oh come on, are you kidding me? Give me a freakin break!"
Sheepishly one by one they came back down stairs and pretended they had NO idea they weren't supposed to be here, sorority Suzie* (whom they were visiting) made this innocent little girls face that probably works reaaaaalllly well with her daddy, and tried to convince me they didn't know...
As they filed quietly out the front door, it seemed to me that it was almost TOOO quick and easy when they left.
This particular girls room has a very accessible balcony from the front. It occured to me that in light of their running, they were the types to push the envelope and think it was a game...
I was determined to make sure it was a game they weren't going to win, (even though I could really care less, I am in fact paid to uphold these silly rules which ban the boys from the house for like four hours of the day...pointless!).
I made like I was returning to my room, and then I went up the stairs from the back side and was waiting for them when they climbed the balcony...Hello! was that ever too funny!
Almost didn't irritate me at all as their facial expressions of surprised horror were so classic. Damn if I don't crack myself up sometimes! I didn't really even have to say a word the boys bolted...To sorority Suzie* I just turned calmly and remarked that it probably wouldn't be a good idea to try that stunt again as it just makes everyone uncomfortable when I have to kick people out. I managed not to chuckle until I got back to my room. Poor sorority Suzie* will probably go through a lot of trouble to avoid me for the next couple days.
Final Score:
Tiff 2 for 2
Drunken frat brats*: 0
So yeah, but I am wide awake now...sigh
* Names changed to protect the drunken from remembering the details of their own actions.
A Three legged Dog and a very patient Healer
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Gracie came as we all did, broken, frightened, uncertain who to trust, with big wounds. Similar to my own first week, she tried to remain in hiding for days until she was coaxed to come out. As much as she had tried to be invisible, eventually hunger won out...and she took her first tentative steps out of the darkness into the daylight.
Long after Gracie healed, she became a picture of contradiction. She limped when she walked, almost painfully it seemed to me...but she could also run and jump like she had had only three legs her whole life.
At first Gracie's limp saddened me... but after I while I realized it didn't pain her at all. Sure she limped when she walked, but a tossed tennis ball would send her flying!
When she was focused on that ball, she could run gracefully. Beautifully. Unaccountably. When she was focused on the ball she was unstoppable. You couldn't trick her by introducing a different one than she wanted! She would run past the other balls and zero in on the one she wanted.
(Yeah I tried to trick he once or twice...Didn't you?)
I wanted to run that way. I wanted that kind of healing. Perhaps like Gracie, I couldn't get the "leg" back that I had lost, but I wanted so much to believe I could run the race again.
So many times at the Home of Grace, I was amazed at what the Lord was uncovering in me and my sisters day by day. It was like he was peeling off layers of cobwebs and hurt and uncovering something so unique we often never suspected we had in in ourselves!
It seemed to me that the more someone had to offer, the harder Satan hit them with lies. That it was too late, they had hurt to many, they were worthless, the natural abilities and inclinations the Lord gave them were silly.
The girls who scared me the most at first (Yeah I will admit it..some of ya'll scared me!!) ended up being the ones who transformed into someone unexpected. I remember once walking in the dining room to hear someone singing with the voice of an angel. I teared up as I thought "look what Satan tried to hide from us all. Look at what he has been doing to us with his lies." It made me angry, I was determined NOT to let him do that to me anymore, I declared war that day.
Jesus gently washed our dirty feet with his tears, and bandaged our wounds with his grace, and set us free one after another...to fly...to sing...to mother our children or love our families. Like Gracie we all have the ability to run gracefully if we focus, but we have to have the determination to CHOOSE DAILY to do so.
Gracie's wounds are visible. She has three legs, the first question people want to know when they see her is "What Happened?"
I think we leave Home of Grace to a certain extent thinking we will slowly acclimate ourselves, and because of this we limp painfully at times...we are very aware of our handicap, sometimes embarrassed even to expose it. Unlike Gracie, we can still hide our scars if we choose, and avoid the questions about "What happened?.
After the Home of Grace, for the first time I was not worried about what I could do to draw others to Christ with my witness, I was nervous I would be a distraction from who He was. I got paralyzed with fear again. I KNEW I would tarnish his glory...
Unlike Gracie, my "Handicap" isn't immediately visible. which makes it easier to hide. I had moved across country and got a "fresh" start. There didn't seem to be much reason to bring it all up with new friends...The problem is, by hiding my experience I cut others off from the opportunity to share in my healing, and more importantly, to point them to the Author of my healing. I had fallen for another of
Satan's lies. I also opened myself up to falling again.
Stress, worry, panic, FEAR all take away from our ability to be truly free, I had walked away healed but worry was causing me to limp spiritually, the more I "limped" the more I tried to hide. I imprisoned myself with worry. I was afraid if I messed up post H.O.G. people would think what he did for me there was in my head...that it wasn't real. I am laughing as I write this at the pomposity of my self grandeur...as if I could in any way make Christ less than GOD
Its not funny though, because in the moments when I actually believe this I feel unable to move forward. What the Home of Grace taught me was to keep walking anyway. Do the little things even when I don't understand the big picture, let the Lord lead. What Gracie taught me was to KNOW which ball is the right one and don't be distracted by anything else thrown at me.
Approximately every other day I still have to remember Doc Shrop and resign (AGAIN) as the Chairman of the Universe.
Some Lies, Satan took years making us believe; and while it is hard not to be discouraged when it takes years to shake those feelings.The truth is, everyone faces discouragement.
How would it be if we could remember Gracie from day one, and focus - not on our personal wounds, or the wounds we have caused others, but on the Healer? The giver of the life we fought so hard to give away. What if we had the same focus on Christ, as Gracie had on her ball?
How would it feel to be running forward without distraction? Would the "Gracie" in our stride cause people to be envious? Would our ability to run with joy point them to the reason for our healing?
I know it sounds simplistic...but what if it is that simple?
Focus. Without distraction. On one ball.
With a Gracie style of focus on The Lord, can we find freedom not just for our selves, but be a picture of healing to those around us? Would people's focus shift from our "Missing leg" to how high we can jump? Can our ability to run gracefully point them to the One who gave us healing and freedom when it seemed impossible?
If you saw that, would your life be different? Would your relationships change? I saw Gracie's focus and it changed me.
Gracie taught me another lesson, that in her healing she learned to trust again and to reach out. She has an uncanny ability to know who needs special attention on any given day.
My last day at Home of Grace, Gracie just stayed by my side and watched me...her gaze steady as my mind raced over what would happen now. Somehow her calm gaze steadied me.
We are healed to point others to healing. We are healed to run and jump and dance, not limp spiritually. If anything, we should run more easily, jump more gracefully and rise joyfully at the sound of our Father's voice.
Most of us saw various versions of hell before we came to the Home of Grace, we know intimately how abundantly His grace is poured out despite our mistakes...How can we help but shout from the rooftops? How can we help but run"Gracie"fully?
We KNOW we are LOVED by a personal Father, HEALED and made whole by the sacrifice of Christ, and accepted by the blood of the lamb, WITHOUT QUESTION. We had only to ask and believe.
Don't forget to run for the ball like Gracie.... Don't forget that Jesus took the time to take YOU aside for three months, to tell YOU that you are worth every nail, every tear...don't get lost believing its up to you now to show the world alone... it never was! Know which ball you are running for!
Just let the life Jesus breathed back into you have room to run....and get out of the way while Jesus does aback flip or two...
Gracie came as we all did, broken, frightened, uncertain who to trust, with big wounds. Similar to my own first week, she tried to remain in hiding for days until she was coaxed to come out. As much as she had tried to be invisible, eventually hunger won out...and she took her first tentative steps out of the darkness into the daylight.
Long after Gracie healed, she became a picture of contradiction. She limped when she walked, almost painfully it seemed to me...but she could also run and jump like she had had only three legs her whole life.
At first Gracie's limp saddened me... but after I while I realized it didn't pain her at all. Sure she limped when she walked, but a tossed tennis ball would send her flying!
When she was focused on that ball, she could run gracefully. Beautifully. Unaccountably. When she was focused on the ball she was unstoppable. You couldn't trick her by introducing a different one than she wanted! She would run past the other balls and zero in on the one she wanted.
(Yeah I tried to trick he once or twice...Didn't you?)
I wanted to run that way. I wanted that kind of healing. Perhaps like Gracie, I couldn't get the "leg" back that I had lost, but I wanted so much to believe I could run the race again.
So many times at the Home of Grace, I was amazed at what the Lord was uncovering in me and my sisters day by day. It was like he was peeling off layers of cobwebs and hurt and uncovering something so unique we often never suspected we had in in ourselves!
It seemed to me that the more someone had to offer, the harder Satan hit them with lies. That it was too late, they had hurt to many, they were worthless, the natural abilities and inclinations the Lord gave them were silly.
The girls who scared me the most at first (Yeah I will admit it..some of ya'll scared me!!) ended up being the ones who transformed into someone unexpected. I remember once walking in the dining room to hear someone singing with the voice of an angel. I teared up as I thought "look what Satan tried to hide from us all. Look at what he has been doing to us with his lies." It made me angry, I was determined NOT to let him do that to me anymore, I declared war that day.
Jesus gently washed our dirty feet with his tears, and bandaged our wounds with his grace, and set us free one after another...to fly...to sing...to mother our children or love our families. Like Gracie we all have the ability to run gracefully if we focus, but we have to have the determination to CHOOSE DAILY to do so.
Gracie's wounds are visible. She has three legs, the first question people want to know when they see her is "What Happened?"
I think we leave Home of Grace to a certain extent thinking we will slowly acclimate ourselves, and because of this we limp painfully at times...we are very aware of our handicap, sometimes embarrassed even to expose it. Unlike Gracie, we can still hide our scars if we choose, and avoid the questions about "What happened?.
After the Home of Grace, for the first time I was not worried about what I could do to draw others to Christ with my witness, I was nervous I would be a distraction from who He was. I got paralyzed with fear again. I KNEW I would tarnish his glory...
Unlike Gracie, my "Handicap" isn't immediately visible. which makes it easier to hide. I had moved across country and got a "fresh" start. There didn't seem to be much reason to bring it all up with new friends...The problem is, by hiding my experience I cut others off from the opportunity to share in my healing, and more importantly, to point them to the Author of my healing. I had fallen for another of
Satan's lies. I also opened myself up to falling again.
Stress, worry, panic, FEAR all take away from our ability to be truly free, I had walked away healed but worry was causing me to limp spiritually, the more I "limped" the more I tried to hide. I imprisoned myself with worry. I was afraid if I messed up post H.O.G. people would think what he did for me there was in my head...that it wasn't real. I am laughing as I write this at the pomposity of my self grandeur...as if I could in any way make Christ less than GOD
Its not funny though, because in the moments when I actually believe this I feel unable to move forward. What the Home of Grace taught me was to keep walking anyway. Do the little things even when I don't understand the big picture, let the Lord lead. What Gracie taught me was to KNOW which ball is the right one and don't be distracted by anything else thrown at me.
Approximately every other day I still have to remember Doc Shrop and resign (AGAIN) as the Chairman of the Universe.
Some Lies, Satan took years making us believe; and while it is hard not to be discouraged when it takes years to shake those feelings.The truth is, everyone faces discouragement.
How would it be if we could remember Gracie from day one, and focus - not on our personal wounds, or the wounds we have caused others, but on the Healer? The giver of the life we fought so hard to give away. What if we had the same focus on Christ, as Gracie had on her ball?
How would it feel to be running forward without distraction? Would the "Gracie" in our stride cause people to be envious? Would our ability to run with joy point them to the reason for our healing?
I know it sounds simplistic...but what if it is that simple?
Focus. Without distraction. On one ball.
With a Gracie style of focus on The Lord, can we find freedom not just for our selves, but be a picture of healing to those around us? Would people's focus shift from our "Missing leg" to how high we can jump? Can our ability to run gracefully point them to the One who gave us healing and freedom when it seemed impossible?
If you saw that, would your life be different? Would your relationships change? I saw Gracie's focus and it changed me.
Gracie taught me another lesson, that in her healing she learned to trust again and to reach out. She has an uncanny ability to know who needs special attention on any given day.
My last day at Home of Grace, Gracie just stayed by my side and watched me...her gaze steady as my mind raced over what would happen now. Somehow her calm gaze steadied me.
We are healed to point others to healing. We are healed to run and jump and dance, not limp spiritually. If anything, we should run more easily, jump more gracefully and rise joyfully at the sound of our Father's voice.
Most of us saw various versions of hell before we came to the Home of Grace, we know intimately how abundantly His grace is poured out despite our mistakes...How can we help but shout from the rooftops? How can we help but run"Gracie"fully?
We KNOW we are LOVED by a personal Father, HEALED and made whole by the sacrifice of Christ, and accepted by the blood of the lamb, WITHOUT QUESTION. We had only to ask and believe.
Don't forget to run for the ball like Gracie.... Don't forget that Jesus took the time to take YOU aside for three months, to tell YOU that you are worth every nail, every tear...don't get lost believing its up to you now to show the world alone... it never was! Know which ball you are running for!
Just let the life Jesus breathed back into you have room to run....and get out of the way while Jesus does aback flip or two...
Thoughts......
It has been over a year since I found myself in the Middle of Mississippi wondering how in the world my life choices had brought me to the Home of Grace. I was uncertain of many things, but I was fairly certain it was a heart wound causing me to give up more and more of my life to a bottle. I remember the first time I picked up a drink thinking "I had better be careful, cause I already know Jesus, so A.A. and a higher power won't work..."
Over time I turned more and more to the bottle and less and less to my friend Jesus. By the time I realized what I had done I was unable to go to Him, I felt I had blown the gifts he had given me, and I knew better! I was ashamed yet defiant!
It is possible I could have learned to stop the habit of drinking in another program, but I often wonder if other programs would have addressed the core hurt. In my opinion, the healing I found at the Home of Grace when I was able to face my Savior simply would not have occurred in a traditional re-hab situation...
Home of Grace taught me how to keep focused and be purposeful in looking to my Father. We didn't focus on the wounds that brought me here, we focused on the Healer, and slowly my heart was mended.
Home of Grace gave me the opportunity sit still and ponder for three months without interruption- the beauty of being loved, the wonder at why, and the security of not being in control.
I had to learn to look toward my Father again, because his gaze NEVER EVER had shifted from me. The staff at Home of Grace showed me how to create new habits. Gracie (the three legged wonder dog) showed me a picture of what life could be like after my wounds had time to heal.
To me, I think Gracie is the perfect picture of the healing which occurs at the Home of Grace.
Sometimes help doesn't come in the package we expect. Sometimes it's breaking down and going to re-hab in the first place, sometimes it's in the form of a three legged dog. I don't always get it.
God gets it. Even when we don't. He knows where to lead us for healing, and exactly what situation will bring us home to Him. He is passionate about bringing us home. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Over time I turned more and more to the bottle and less and less to my friend Jesus. By the time I realized what I had done I was unable to go to Him, I felt I had blown the gifts he had given me, and I knew better! I was ashamed yet defiant!
It is possible I could have learned to stop the habit of drinking in another program, but I often wonder if other programs would have addressed the core hurt. In my opinion, the healing I found at the Home of Grace when I was able to face my Savior simply would not have occurred in a traditional re-hab situation...
Home of Grace taught me how to keep focused and be purposeful in looking to my Father. We didn't focus on the wounds that brought me here, we focused on the Healer, and slowly my heart was mended.
Home of Grace gave me the opportunity sit still and ponder for three months without interruption- the beauty of being loved, the wonder at why, and the security of not being in control.
I had to learn to look toward my Father again, because his gaze NEVER EVER had shifted from me. The staff at Home of Grace showed me how to create new habits. Gracie (the three legged wonder dog) showed me a picture of what life could be like after my wounds had time to heal.
To me, I think Gracie is the perfect picture of the healing which occurs at the Home of Grace.
Sometimes help doesn't come in the package we expect. Sometimes it's breaking down and going to re-hab in the first place, sometimes it's in the form of a three legged dog. I don't always get it.
God gets it. Even when we don't. He knows where to lead us for healing, and exactly what situation will bring us home to Him. He is passionate about bringing us home. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Without anchor?
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Some days that appear the most normal, are the ones that make me feel most at sea. Watching Brennan play soccer, seeing families cheer together, makes me more lonely than I care to admit. I wonder how I could have gotten my life back together and still feel adrift. I can't help but wonder which of my choices was the final straw that tipped me to the point of no return....The place where I will never have a family again. Life is good, my job is good. Brennan is fantastic, I bought a new car...been sober for a year now. and yet I am utterly lonely. I feel like I am a ship without anchor, I see land but can find no safe harbor to call mine. I wonder if I will ever be around families and not feel a sense of loss. I know its my choices but I don't know how to fix it. so yeah. That's me lately
Some days that appear the most normal, are the ones that make me feel most at sea. Watching Brennan play soccer, seeing families cheer together, makes me more lonely than I care to admit. I wonder how I could have gotten my life back together and still feel adrift. I can't help but wonder which of my choices was the final straw that tipped me to the point of no return....The place where I will never have a family again. Life is good, my job is good. Brennan is fantastic, I bought a new car...been sober for a year now. and yet I am utterly lonely. I feel like I am a ship without anchor, I see land but can find no safe harbor to call mine. I wonder if I will ever be around families and not feel a sense of loss. I know its my choices but I don't know how to fix it. so yeah. That's me lately
I am created to be curious
I am Creative and Curious
I wonder
why people treat differences as endings.
I hear the cries of a million perspectives,
shouting louder to be heard.
I see a crazy quilt of mismatched fabric
telling one story.
I want to discover
the language of laughter.
I want to speak it fluently
I pretend I am not afraid
of the unknown...
I feel confused by the idea of more questions than answers.
I touch the scars of my wondering,
from the valleys of doubt…
I worry because fear shouts,
(and faith quietly whispers.)
I cry out for direction,
then don't listen for answers...
I am Creative and Curious
I understand
I am not in control,
but not why I keep trying to be...
I say I know I am because of I AM
but I easily forget how to trust
I dream of answers, of music, of flight....
I want to listen more than I speak,
I hope
the whispered
are the words
my heart follows.
I am Created to be Curious
Fun with $20 Bucks and a broken U-Haul
Thursday, December 28, 2006
So what had happened was
After three days of solid cross country driving, I get to Phoenix, but I only had $20 and 1/2 a tank of gas left, NOT enough to get me to San Diego.
I stopped at my sisters and returned a map at Staples ($25.00 more for gas!!!) and my sister gave me $20, so I filled up my tank and was on my way, thinking IF I was lucky (SORRY MARTIN, can't find a good replacement for that word...) Okay wait, IF God was watching my back....(Better!) I might be able to coast into San Diego, (I was still six hours away)
Yeah- so two hours later, I am driving through the desert and listening to a c.d. that my friend Noel gave me, and the song is talking about "Its over now, the storm is over now, I feel like I can make the storm is over now" and I think , "well God, I sure felt like that at the Home of Grace, but I am not so confidant about making it to San Diego, but I trust you //>>../// . . //// . /// ... // . . . . . . __________
Clank, whir, buzz, lights flashing on the dash.... Nothing but the sound of a u-haul coasting...
the truck breaks down
In The middle of the desert
Two hours from my sister
4 hours from San Diego
My cell phone died somewhere in Texas
I CAN'T FIND THE BLEEPING HAZARD LIGHTS!!!!!!!
As I am coasting to a stop, BEFORE I could start to (REALLY) panic about my cell phone being dead and me being on the side of the road,
"Aaaallllllrighty then God!!!! what now? Show me what you got up your sleeve "
I was only half serious
BEFORE I even finished praying for help I see the Arizona Department of Transportation truck pulling in beside me. God had it covered.
Do you know how many times in the bible God answers prayer BEFORE people even finish praying???
Me neither, but its like A LOT!!!!
Upshot.....Miquel (The ADOT Guy) calls U-haul, takes me to a restaurant to wait for the tow truck guy,
Dennis (The tow truck guy) drives me to u-haul (60 miles closer to home, thank you Lord for gas I didn't use)
They end up having to put me in a new truck. (Good times with the u-haul guys re-load my truck....as they evaluated me by the contents of my truck!!)
It was a bigger truck, MUCH BIGGER, I knew I wasn't going to make it home now. PLUS it had less gas than the other truck when it broke down. )
Umm God, You Still There?? Remember me, Tiff, in the desert, child of the most high??? Hello??
Let's just say I took matters BACK into my own hands and used every bit of the interpersonal relational, communication skills I learned at the H.O.G. (Thanks Doc Shrop! Oops, mighta forgot about the trusting God part though)
I managed to get them to agree to give me $20.00 worth of gas.(to make up for the difference in the tank not the mileage)
The difference in mileage was 8 miles to the gallon and I was 232 miles from home, ( Hello??? That's a lot of gas!)
At this point I was guaranteed to be of running out of gas in the mountains and for sure gonna miss Brennan's singing debut at his school. PLUS there was a catch, I had to go to another u-haul place for them to give me the gas.
Not enough.
Not gonna make it home...
Okay Plan B- Tiffany Style.....
(So much for trusting God....)
I get the next u-haul place. (40 more miles down the road now I am down to less than 1/4 tank- Where's Ben Tilley and his Hybrid smug smugginess?) I am thinking I can ask them to fill up the whole tank and put it on the credit card used to reserve the truck, (Which is a very good plan I think, except my Dad might be upset at the extra charge, notso good- but I was willing to risk it.)
Turns out, They don't have a gas tank pump there, they are going to re-imburse me for the gas.
"AARGGHHHH why couldn't they have done that at the other place before I traipsed all over Arizona!!!! "
I asked the guy Nathan calmly-I think I am being nice about it, but at this point in my post-alchohalic journey I am well aware my idea of nice might not be as nice as I think it is.. I might just be shrieking so high pitched internally dogs are running....
not gonna make it home
NOT gonna make it home.
I was trying not to cry. Didn't cry but you could tell I wanted to so that didn't work out so much (Way to keep the tears in check tiff,<---insert sarcasm here--> again, thanks Doc! but I might need more classtime)
NOT gonna make it home.
I AM NOT GOING TO MAKE IT HOME AND I WILL BE STUCK IN THE DESERT AND I AM GONNA DIE ALONE AND COLD... IN A DESERT... WHICHISNOTHOTINDECEMBER ITISVERYCOLD..... IGOTOUTTAREHABAND NOW I AM GONNA DIE....
breathe...
be....
still.
and know.
I AM GOD!!!
God kinda had a plan all along, but as per my usual- I thought I had a better one.
Except, my plan wasn't working at all.
It just got me back in the same position I was in before the breakdown...
Which is the story of my life.
While I was coming to this realization at the gas station.... God was still working the plan he had all along.
I am not even sure what happened while I was off getting the gas, but when I came back Nathan comes in, hands me my $20 bucks, doesn't say a word
He tells me to get in the truck we are going for a ride, (whuh???? THINK TIFF, Okay..lessons I learned at the H.O.G.: follow directions even if you don't understand, just listen, don't argue...)
So I get in ,
(Still no explaination, the man is eerily silent.... Way NOT like me!!!!)
I don't say a word as he drives to the gas station,
jumps out and FILLS MY TANK UP WITH GAS!!!!
THEN he takes me back to u-haul, has a team of guys check my fluids, fill my tires, while he PUTS A LOCK on the truck for me.
Oh yeah and he had his guys wash the windows too. I can see now, not the road, but that I am gonna make it HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!
(I love you Nathan you're my Christmas hero!)
The only thing he said to me was "okay you're all set" and when I tried to shake his hand he grimaced and held them up because they were dirty. I told him I didn't care and shook them anyway, I would have hugged or kissed him if the fear of Ms. Betty and the H.O.G. man Police hadn't made me so skittish around men, I was afraid they'd find out...
seriously... really. I'm not lying....
ok well maybe a little exaggeration, but I would have liked to have hugged him! I was too shy. (YEAH RIGHT!)
So it looks like God got me home. (I love you Jesus YOU are my true Christmas hero!!! Thanks for letting Nathan in on your gig!)
I was giddy. He told me I could trust him and I can.
Sometimes help doesn't come in the package we expect, sometimes its a truck breaking down in a desert, or me breaking down and going to re-hab, God gets it and he really takes good care.
Above and beyond care.
Not just getting you there care, but pressed down shaken together and overflowing care....
Meeting our needs in excess care....
So Yeah, I made it home with $20 in my pocket AND half a tank of gas, just in time to cruise into my son's school and hear him sing.... About the goodness og God....
It was awesome...
he waved at me from the stage,
We cried and hugged each other for like ten minutes in the middle of the room while people stared at us like we were insane..
It didn't bother us though because we are a bit crazy sometimes. We are children of the MOST high God. and HE made us that way. He pretty much rocks my world.
So that's my story and I am sticking to it
So what had happened was
After three days of solid cross country driving, I get to Phoenix, but I only had $20 and 1/2 a tank of gas left, NOT enough to get me to San Diego.
I stopped at my sisters and returned a map at Staples ($25.00 more for gas!!!) and my sister gave me $20, so I filled up my tank and was on my way, thinking IF I was lucky (SORRY MARTIN, can't find a good replacement for that word...) Okay wait, IF God was watching my back....(Better!) I might be able to coast into San Diego, (I was still six hours away)
Yeah- so two hours later, I am driving through the desert and listening to a c.d. that my friend Noel gave me, and the song is talking about "Its over now, the storm is over now, I feel like I can make the storm is over now" and I think , "well God, I sure felt like that at the Home of Grace, but I am not so confidant about making it to San Diego, but I trust you //>>../// . . //// . /// ... // . . . . . . __________
Clank, whir, buzz, lights flashing on the dash.... Nothing but the sound of a u-haul coasting...
the truck breaks down
In The middle of the desert
Two hours from my sister
4 hours from San Diego
My cell phone died somewhere in Texas
I CAN'T FIND THE BLEEPING HAZARD LIGHTS!!!!!!!
As I am coasting to a stop, BEFORE I could start to (REALLY) panic about my cell phone being dead and me being on the side of the road,
"Aaaallllllrighty then God!!!! what now? Show me what you got up your sleeve "
I was only half serious
BEFORE I even finished praying for help I see the Arizona Department of Transportation truck pulling in beside me. God had it covered.
Do you know how many times in the bible God answers prayer BEFORE people even finish praying???
Me neither, but its like A LOT!!!!
Upshot.....Miquel (The ADOT Guy) calls U-haul, takes me to a restaurant to wait for the tow truck guy,
Dennis (The tow truck guy) drives me to u-haul (60 miles closer to home, thank you Lord for gas I didn't use)
They end up having to put me in a new truck. (Good times with the u-haul guys re-load my truck....as they evaluated me by the contents of my truck!!)
It was a bigger truck, MUCH BIGGER, I knew I wasn't going to make it home now. PLUS it had less gas than the other truck when it broke down. )
Umm God, You Still There?? Remember me, Tiff, in the desert, child of the most high??? Hello??
Let's just say I took matters BACK into my own hands and used every bit of the interpersonal relational, communication skills I learned at the H.O.G. (Thanks Doc Shrop! Oops, mighta forgot about the trusting God part though)
I managed to get them to agree to give me $20.00 worth of gas.(to make up for the difference in the tank not the mileage)
The difference in mileage was 8 miles to the gallon and I was 232 miles from home, ( Hello??? That's a lot of gas!)
At this point I was guaranteed to be of running out of gas in the mountains and for sure gonna miss Brennan's singing debut at his school. PLUS there was a catch, I had to go to another u-haul place for them to give me the gas.
Not enough.
Not gonna make it home...
Okay Plan B- Tiffany Style.....
(So much for trusting God....)
I get the next u-haul place. (40 more miles down the road now I am down to less than 1/4 tank- Where's Ben Tilley and his Hybrid smug smugginess?) I am thinking I can ask them to fill up the whole tank and put it on the credit card used to reserve the truck, (Which is a very good plan I think, except my Dad might be upset at the extra charge, notso good- but I was willing to risk it.)
Turns out, They don't have a gas tank pump there, they are going to re-imburse me for the gas.
"AARGGHHHH why couldn't they have done that at the other place before I traipsed all over Arizona!!!! "
I asked the guy Nathan calmly-I think I am being nice about it, but at this point in my post-alchohalic journey I am well aware my idea of nice might not be as nice as I think it is.. I might just be shrieking so high pitched internally dogs are running....
not gonna make it home
NOT gonna make it home.
I was trying not to cry. Didn't cry but you could tell I wanted to so that didn't work out so much (Way to keep the tears in check tiff,<---insert sarcasm here--> again, thanks Doc! but I might need more classtime)
NOT gonna make it home.
I AM NOT GOING TO MAKE IT HOME AND I WILL BE STUCK IN THE DESERT AND I AM GONNA DIE ALONE AND COLD... IN A DESERT... WHICHISNOTHOTINDECEMBER ITISVERYCOLD..... IGOTOUTTAREHABAND NOW I AM GONNA DIE....
breathe...
be....
still.
and know.
I AM GOD!!!
God kinda had a plan all along, but as per my usual- I thought I had a better one.
Except, my plan wasn't working at all.
It just got me back in the same position I was in before the breakdown...
Which is the story of my life.
While I was coming to this realization at the gas station.... God was still working the plan he had all along.
I am not even sure what happened while I was off getting the gas, but when I came back Nathan comes in, hands me my $20 bucks, doesn't say a word
He tells me to get in the truck we are going for a ride, (whuh???? THINK TIFF, Okay..lessons I learned at the H.O.G.: follow directions even if you don't understand, just listen, don't argue...)
So I get in ,
(Still no explaination, the man is eerily silent.... Way NOT like me!!!!)
I don't say a word as he drives to the gas station,
jumps out and FILLS MY TANK UP WITH GAS!!!!
THEN he takes me back to u-haul, has a team of guys check my fluids, fill my tires, while he PUTS A LOCK on the truck for me.
Oh yeah and he had his guys wash the windows too. I can see now, not the road, but that I am gonna make it HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!
(I love you Nathan you're my Christmas hero!)
The only thing he said to me was "okay you're all set" and when I tried to shake his hand he grimaced and held them up because they were dirty. I told him I didn't care and shook them anyway, I would have hugged or kissed him if the fear of Ms. Betty and the H.O.G. man Police hadn't made me so skittish around men, I was afraid they'd find out...
seriously... really. I'm not lying....
ok well maybe a little exaggeration, but I would have liked to have hugged him! I was too shy. (YEAH RIGHT!)
So it looks like God got me home. (I love you Jesus YOU are my true Christmas hero!!! Thanks for letting Nathan in on your gig!)
I was giddy. He told me I could trust him and I can.
Sometimes help doesn't come in the package we expect, sometimes its a truck breaking down in a desert, or me breaking down and going to re-hab, God gets it and he really takes good care.
Above and beyond care.
Not just getting you there care, but pressed down shaken together and overflowing care....
Meeting our needs in excess care....
So Yeah, I made it home with $20 in my pocket AND half a tank of gas, just in time to cruise into my son's school and hear him sing.... About the goodness og God....
It was awesome...
he waved at me from the stage,
We cried and hugged each other for like ten minutes in the middle of the room while people stared at us like we were insane..
It didn't bother us though because we are a bit crazy sometimes. We are children of the MOST high God. and HE made us that way. He pretty much rocks my world.
So that's my story and I am sticking to it
SIX ?? Dead Rats
Monday, July 17, 2006
Perhaps it was the similar characteristics of rats and he/they who shall remain nameless, but I finally decided enough was enough... No more vile dirty creatures in my life.
I haven't been at my loft in months, literally. I got sidetracked for a minute by a daydream and spent a lot of time elsewhere, It has been probably 5 months my loft has been unattended.
My loft is above an organic grocery store...
My loft is in a hundred year old building.
My loft was without power for 4 months.
When you think you are moving power is not really a necessity... right?
What was I thinking? .
If the rats had flashed a pretty smile and said trust me we won't shit on your life, I probably would have tried to co-exist with them as I am that freakin naive.
I am a pacifist middle child, If I can avoid a fight I will. If I can communicate my way out of a problem I will try... I am so annoying.
Actually, I think I have some ostrich relatives on my family tree as I am very good at burying my head in the sand... (Yet I digress...)
I tried pretending they weren't there, then when that didn't work I tried screaming crying and throwing shoes, I thought I could scare them off by showing loud emotion...
(By the way- that only works on rats who walk upright!)
Didn't work.
I pissed the rats off.
The rats started getting all in my face, squeaking and shrieking if I came home.
Then the biggest rat of the bunch started sending me the most horrible messages. Never had I been told such vile things in high pitched squeaky rat hysteria.
Enough was enough. I ignored the messages and took my anger out on the rodent roomies.
done and done.
When your inner peace and strength is being dragged through the mud, its sometimes difficult to push yourself to face the hard stuff.
If this occurs you must turn to your friends to hold you accountable and encourage you to be strong.
This support is usually from a girlfriend, as upright rodents don't like to see their kind exterminated.
Doris and I used our reserve girl power yesterday and laid traps all over my loft, then took off for her house so we wouldn't have to hear the horrible snap- squeak -squeal sounds of death...
(I didn't want to watch their squealing death dance...)
I wasn't holding my breath... I never seem to be able to escape the rodents in my world..
To my suprise and pleasure it freakin squeakin worked!!!
Final score:
Rats: 0
Tiff: 7 (6 plus the big one gone for good!)
All in all this is shaping out to be a great week!
Perhaps it was the similar characteristics of rats and he/they who shall remain nameless, but I finally decided enough was enough... No more vile dirty creatures in my life.
I haven't been at my loft in months, literally. I got sidetracked for a minute by a daydream and spent a lot of time elsewhere, It has been probably 5 months my loft has been unattended.
My loft is above an organic grocery store...
My loft is in a hundred year old building.
My loft was without power for 4 months.
When you think you are moving power is not really a necessity... right?
What was I thinking? .
If the rats had flashed a pretty smile and said trust me we won't shit on your life, I probably would have tried to co-exist with them as I am that freakin naive.
I am a pacifist middle child, If I can avoid a fight I will. If I can communicate my way out of a problem I will try... I am so annoying.
Actually, I think I have some ostrich relatives on my family tree as I am very good at burying my head in the sand... (Yet I digress...)
I tried pretending they weren't there, then when that didn't work I tried screaming crying and throwing shoes, I thought I could scare them off by showing loud emotion...
(By the way- that only works on rats who walk upright!)
Didn't work.
I pissed the rats off.
The rats started getting all in my face, squeaking and shrieking if I came home.
Then the biggest rat of the bunch started sending me the most horrible messages. Never had I been told such vile things in high pitched squeaky rat hysteria.
Enough was enough. I ignored the messages and took my anger out on the rodent roomies.
done and done.
When your inner peace and strength is being dragged through the mud, its sometimes difficult to push yourself to face the hard stuff.
If this occurs you must turn to your friends to hold you accountable and encourage you to be strong.
This support is usually from a girlfriend, as upright rodents don't like to see their kind exterminated.
Doris and I used our reserve girl power yesterday and laid traps all over my loft, then took off for her house so we wouldn't have to hear the horrible snap- squeak -squeal sounds of death...
(I didn't want to watch their squealing death dance...)
I wasn't holding my breath... I never seem to be able to escape the rodents in my world..
To my suprise and pleasure it freakin squeakin worked!!!
Final score:
Rats: 0
Tiff: 7 (6 plus the big one gone for good!)
All in all this is shaping out to be a great week!
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Insane in the rain
Recently there was a giant storm, Hurricane actually. Gale force winds raining sideways rather than up and down- you get the picture.
My friend Rick and I were bored.
Rick Publishes a Weekly newspaper and I design the covers. We share an office under a bridge, in a small town in Georgia. Our downtown is a square with all business facing each other like a giant monopoly board.
I am from California, so I am still figuring out quirky habits of southerners. I am fairly certain there is a law in the south which mandates that if there is a storm- all citizens must drop what they are doing and make a run for the nearest grocery store to stock up on supplies. It doesn't matter if your pantry is full, you must go or you will be alienated for life. I didn't figure this out until I had lived here for 3 years.
If you don't run immediately to the store, everyone will know. This is because everyone in town is in the one open line- baskets overflowing. They have plenty of time to take roll. If you are absent from the tally, whenever anyone speaks your name thereafter, it will always be followed by "Bless his/her heart". This, (I learned fairly quickly) is the southern way to soften a negative statment lest it be considered gossip. Example: "Bless her heart, she's just looking for someone to love her, I'm sure she doesn't mean to be an utter prosititute husband stealer")
I digress...
The point is, on this particular day, downtown was a deserted because everyone was (of course) at kroger. As I said, Rick and I were bored... bored and alone.
I'm not sure how the idea occurred to us, ( Perhaps because the only other person downtown was the local Radio D.J.) but we came up with a gem of an idea to liven things up...
This is our version of a radio station stunt.
Our local radio station broadcasts from a window in the square (Think Northern exposure)
Giggling at our cleverness, we gathered sturdy umbrellas and headed to the radio station. Like trained military professionals, (In our minds) we timed our excursion precisly. We went went the D.J. was live at five.
Then, like the childish adults we are, we went running past the window as if the winds were blowing us away (Mary Poppins Style) The d.j. the true professional he is, was able (just barely) to contain his laughter. We were not. we managed to convice a total stranger to join in our game, and the three of us took another pass. Then rick and I made a break for the bridge.
Unforseen complication: we were completely soaked and we still had a paper to put out. So much for our career in the military.
I am 34. Rick is ageless put pushing 200 at least. We live in a small town and are easily amused. Rick's wife Patty was not as amused as we were..Oh well... at least we didn't have to stand in line at kroger, bless our hearts.
My friend Rick and I were bored.
Rick Publishes a Weekly newspaper and I design the covers. We share an office under a bridge, in a small town in Georgia. Our downtown is a square with all business facing each other like a giant monopoly board.
I am from California, so I am still figuring out quirky habits of southerners. I am fairly certain there is a law in the south which mandates that if there is a storm- all citizens must drop what they are doing and make a run for the nearest grocery store to stock up on supplies. It doesn't matter if your pantry is full, you must go or you will be alienated for life. I didn't figure this out until I had lived here for 3 years.
If you don't run immediately to the store, everyone will know. This is because everyone in town is in the one open line- baskets overflowing. They have plenty of time to take roll. If you are absent from the tally, whenever anyone speaks your name thereafter, it will always be followed by "Bless his/her heart". This, (I learned fairly quickly) is the southern way to soften a negative statment lest it be considered gossip. Example: "Bless her heart, she's just looking for someone to love her, I'm sure she doesn't mean to be an utter prosititute husband stealer")
I digress...
The point is, on this particular day, downtown was a deserted because everyone was (of course) at kroger. As I said, Rick and I were bored... bored and alone.
I'm not sure how the idea occurred to us, ( Perhaps because the only other person downtown was the local Radio D.J.) but we came up with a gem of an idea to liven things up...
This is our version of a radio station stunt.
Our local radio station broadcasts from a window in the square (Think Northern exposure)
Giggling at our cleverness, we gathered sturdy umbrellas and headed to the radio station. Like trained military professionals, (In our minds) we timed our excursion precisly. We went went the D.J. was live at five.
Then, like the childish adults we are, we went running past the window as if the winds were blowing us away (Mary Poppins Style) The d.j. the true professional he is, was able (just barely) to contain his laughter. We were not. we managed to convice a total stranger to join in our game, and the three of us took another pass. Then rick and I made a break for the bridge.
Unforseen complication: we were completely soaked and we still had a paper to put out. So much for our career in the military.
I am 34. Rick is ageless put pushing 200 at least. We live in a small town and are easily amused. Rick's wife Patty was not as amused as we were..Oh well... at least we didn't have to stand in line at kroger, bless our hearts.
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