As if you needed more reason to think that I am a nutcase. I am going to share with you my own personal conviction about Diet Pepsi. I honestly can't believe I haven't divulged this tidbit before now. People who know me well already know what lunacy I am about to broadcast; they are shaking their heads in embarrassment for me but they love me anyway.
The 20 oz DP you purchase at a convenience store tastes far better than DP in any other form. I do not like Diet Pepsi in a can. I do not like Diet Pepsi from a concession stand. Not from a fountain, not on a mountain. Not from a cup, not with a pup. Not on ice, not with three blind mice. I do not like Diet Pepsi from a box; I do not like Diet Pepsi with a fox. Not here or there or anywhere. Oh, I'm sorry. I was having a Dr. Seuss moment, but you get the idea.
I go to my special Citgo Markette every day to buy 3-4 Diet Pepsi's (I have seriously developed quite the rapport with my cashier friends). It is my vice, I admit (and before you go thinkin' I'm too nuts, some of you are just as psycho about your $4.50 cup of joe, so there...). But in supreme seriousness, the gas station 20 oz has the best bang for your buck (plus 42 cents) - greatest concentration of fizz and burn.
Of course the conspiracy theorist in me believes that Pepsi has intentionally altered the taste to encourage me, the unwitting consumer, to buy the most expensive version of their product. They've won, I confess. But at least I'm on to 'em.
And for the record, I have had one friend confide that she too concurs with my theory (thanks, Neeter!). Think I've just stumbled upon Carson's first science project - DP taste test, Hmmm...
Ones I Savor...
- When Carson says, "That's the bomb!"
- When Campbell says, "That's a gweat idea!"
- "Tell me about this new church..."
- "Your table's ready..."
- "I enjoy reading your blog"
- the signal on my phone that indicates I have a new text message
- "Happy Birthday to you!"
- SPLASH!
- Lots of laughter
- the breeze off the ocean (haven't heard it often enough)
- anything with the word NewSpring in it (Oh, btw - the next meeting for NewSpring Florence is this Sunday night, August 3, at 6:30 at the Baptist Collegiate Ministries (BCM) building at FMU; childcare will be provided. I am pumped up; see you there. Did you love my not-so-subtle plug?)
- the sound of pages turning in an awesome summer read (Have you read The Shack yet? I finally mustered the courage, and it was well worth the difficulty of the first six chapters. First book I think I've ever read that gave me sweet dreams - just thinking about how good He is...)
Ones I'm not Diggin' so much...
- "MaaaaaaaaaMaaaaaaaaaaaa!" followed by an incriminating report (I am sure that I was a tattler as a child. I don't remember being one, but given my personality I am sure that I was one. And I do hereby publicly repent for all of the anguish I caused my parents. It is honestly about to get the best of me!)
- "I'm bored."
- Cow-thon or Caw-thorn (mispronunciations of our last name)
- "Mama, I gotta go potty" when we're in a restaurant, in a car, and especially on a bus (shaky, bumpy potty, for sure)
- "Hello, may I speak to Sheila?" (my real name - Who is she?)
- "What are we going to do fun today? tonight? in the morning? tomorrow?"
- Wailing
- The sound of my temper revving to indicate that my engine is low on patience. I was runnin' hot today, and it was not wise to stay at home all day with my two sweet ones...
What's your summer sounding like?
For those of you who don't get SHE, I am posting my submission from the July issue. This month's theme was Women Who Create Beautiful Things. Here goes...
I am the antithesis of this month’s theme. I am not a woman who creates beautiful things, but I sincerely applaud and even turn a shade of green at the acknowledgement of those of you who are. In brainstorming for this article, I wanted to share the process of something beautiful I have created, but I honestly stared blankly into an empty portfolio. I could only think of one handsome apple pie I baked over Christmas and the time this past week when Carson said, “Momma, I wish I could color as good as you” – the crowning compliment of my artistic ventures. Oh yeah, I did paint our cat’s water bowl and a soap dish in our bathroom (which is really meant to be a sushi dish). And I can strategically place tissue paper in a gift bag or basket and make it look adequate. That’s it, I’m afraid.
So, I confess. I cannot take a twig, a scrap of ribbon, a feather, a plum, a few fern fronds, and a piece of bubblegum and make a glorious centerpiece. I do not prepare meals that are aesthetically appealing. I am at a loss when it comes to decorating. I cannot sew. I am inept at arranging flowers. I do not grow beautiful things and have, therefore, relinquished that duty to my husband, who is much better at it than I am. I am unable to make a pleasant sound with my voice or any other instrument under the sun. I am not crafty, and I do not smock (is that even a real verb?). I am dangerous with a hot glue gun but not in a creative sense, and I cannot work magic with a spool of ribbon. I do not tie well-formed bows, not on a gift or a dress. I seriously stopped buying dresses for my daughters that require me to tie a bow. Those two long strips of fabric on the sides of a dress taunt me and dare me to put my deficiency on display on the backsides of my darlings, and I have refused and instituted my own personal boycott.
Furthermore, I am surrounded by women who are beauty engineers: my Nana, my mom, my stepmother, my aunt, my mother-in-law, great friends. They can work miracles with paint and pastries and photographs and flowers and baskets and bows, and they are generous enough to bail me out when my life requires something beautiful from me (creative art projects for preschool, home improvement projects, gifts, entertaining, etc…).
Lest I need therapy before I finish writing this, I have discovered my role here. I am a beholder. My life is richer because of the beauty that surrounds me - whether it’s lyrics and a beat that so precisely articulate my heart or candlelight or a Clemson sunset or the furious flapping of a hummingbird or the funky paintings hanging on the walls of a coffeehouse. I see it on the face of a smiling child, in the patterns and stitches of a quilt made by my Nana, in the lush wildness of an uninterrupted forest, and in a poignant photograph of people I don’t even know. My experience with beauty often shocks my system and causes me to catch my breath and stare; I am hungry to live in that state of wonder and awe regarding the beauty and complexity around me. I am content to be a beholder.
But I am more. I am the daughter of the Creator of beautiful things. All beauty and truth find their origin in Him, and He whispers that I am more. I am an object of beauty – not because of my appearance or my intelligence or even my goodness or kindness – simply because I’m His. Like any proud father, He gushes that He is “enthralled by [my] beauty” (Psalm 45:11) and yours. And I think that’s just beautiful…
Continued from yesterday...
And it was as if He said in perfect tenderness, "Thank you for asking; I've been wanting to talk to you about this for a long time."
This conversation occurred in the midst of a study entitled Believing God, and part of the homework was to create a timeline of my life. By answering a host of probing questions, I was to revisit every stage of my life and document how God had been present all along. I fully expected to find no evidence of Him in my early years, but one of the dearest things He has ever done for me was allow me to literally see His fingerprints all over my childhood - mostly in the amazing people He strategically placed around me. He gave me favor with some of the kindest people I have ever encountered, and He loved me through them since I was not in a healthy church situation nor was I in the company of compassionate believers that much at all. The older couple who kept me while my mom worked (sometimes until 9:30 at night); I was their favorite. The family who owned the rental house my mom and I lived in were so good to us. My third grade teacher; I was her pet. Two older ladies who cared for me in Marion. My Nana and Poppa (my new grandparents). He used their arms to hug me; their hearts to love me; their voices to affirm me. He gave me two parents who thought I hung the moon; in retrospect I am allowed to see that there was no shortage of love and there was no absence of God.
With regards to the pain of those years; He assured me that He was as angry and as saddened as I was. He reminded me of His justice. He had not chosen that pain for me, but He had allowed it for this very day - that I might share His faithfulness in the face of life's ugliness. Through my study of His Word, He promised to heal me, to make me healthy, and to use it all for my good and His purposes. If I would allow Him to...
I have.
I was blown away to discover that I had been wrong about Him all along. This life-changing experience piqued my interest to know Him, to know His character, to know His heart. I got real with Him and stopped trying to pray the right things because that's what I thought He wanted to hear; as if He didn't know what a liar I was. It's hard to get really real, even with your own self, but He is safe. He is gentle, compassionate, slow to anger, ever present, abounding in love, all knowing, attentive and involved, patient, perfectly good, perfectly faithful. He has never not kept His Word, and there is no darkness in Him. The Bible is full of His promises of love and hope and peace and joy and comfort, and He has never dropped the ball on a single one.
About the time all of this wildness was going on inside me, a most bizarre thing happened. I never saw it coming. I was really starting to love Jesus and enjoyed learning more and more and more. One Sunday morning the Sunday School teacher called Chris, who was the SS director for our class, and announced that he was sick and was unable to teach in forty-five minutes. That meant that Chris would have to step up; I volunteered to do it because I had been a teacher by vocation. I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat, and I thought I really might throw up. I was the terribly quiet one in class each week who got really nervous about even making a comment (I know that is too far-out there to even believe). I taught that day - with great trepidation and stammering- and burst into flames right before the class (not literally although that's a pretty cool image). I discovered my life purpose in that cinder block room. I am most alive in this world when I am speaking or teaching or writing about His goodness and His faithfulness. I love it like nothing else.
I can tell you that He has healed my marriage of past sin and past hurts. He has taken every hurt in my life and used it for good. He has allowed me to pray some of the biggest prayers my tiny brain could conceive of and then answered them a gajillion times bigger than I dared dream. He has blessed me with people in my life who push me to be more like Him. He has permitted me to see Him change people's lives, and He has blessed me with a passion that my skin can barely contain! I just may burst...
And that is not to say that I don't get discouraged, distracted, angry, impatient, disinterested, self-absorbed, apathetic, etc, etc, etc... I am still flawed, weak Cookie who screws it up regularly. Now I'm just well connected...
Continued from yesterday...
And so knowing that Jesus loved me was cute and all, like the song, but that in and of itself meant very little in the day-to-day living of my life. The knowledge of it was kinda like applying a band-aid to an amputation; it didn't do much to heal the gash that was in my soul. I did believe that He loved me, but I wondered why He had not loved me before I was thirteen. My adolescent understanding deduced that He started loving me because I bought what He was selling. First, you drink the Kool-Aid then you get the goods: His affection, His protection, His forgiveness, etc... I bought it, but it didn't all jive with me. I remember sitting in a youth retreat in Garden City, and we were anonymously turning in questions to our youth pastor to discuss as a group. My question was - Why do bad things happen to good people? I was deeply disturbed by who I thought God might be. In my brain He was punitive and selfish and partial and powerful, and to me that was a pretty scary combination. His love was manifest when He withheld punishment that I deserved, which is true but it isn't the only manifestation of His love. I had a super-limited understanding of God's character and that tripped me up for years.
There was an absolute disconnect between what I wrestled with in my spirit and in my heart about God and how I lived. In fact, I honestly remember praying for forgiveness in advance of going out to drink way too much (by the way I do now understand that isn't how forgiveness works). I showed my fanny for a good eight years before college graduation saved me from myself by removing me from the environment that promoted my destructive behaviors.
Chris - who was not a believer at the time - suggested that we (as a new couple) start attending church regularly because that's what respectable people did; it was a great way to meet people, and it was the right way to start a work week. God took full advantage of having us for an hour a week and began to till the soil of our hearts for future planting; give that Fella an inch and He'll take a mile every time.
We added Sunday School to our repertoire when we moved to Flotown, and God just kept drawing us in ever so slightly and slowly - almost imperceptibly. And we were willing to be drawn. In large part because God had surrounded us by people who were like us but who loved Him. They were willing to say, "I need Jesus because I totally screw it up on my own!" and we could identify with that. Chris made a new Acquaintance, and we became inchworms for Christ - inching closer and closer to Him, in very small increments, mind you.
I quit teaching after Carson was born and attended my first women's Bible study, after all what in the world was I going to do all day? Some of you know that I was born to be a student; I love to be a student. It's why I became a teacher (because no one would pay me to be a forever student, and teaching was as close as I could get. I still got to be in the classroom, smell books, and use newly sharpened pencils). So, I took seriously my role as a Bible student. If the teacher challenged us to pray in the middle of the night in a headstand (which she did not), that's what I did. I totally think God was humored by my desire to obey and please.
It was in those Beth Moore Bible studies that she gave me permission to be honest with God; she began to press on my gash and whispered to my soul that He was big enough to handle it. So I put on my big girl panties, and gritted my teeth, and pointed my finger in the air, and asked,
And it was there - in that place of brokenness - that the fullness of our relationship began.
To be continued... (I know I'm very long-winded!)
I got an email from a friend who reads the blog; we knew each other about twelve years ago and have barely been in touch the past nine years. She asked about my journey. What has transpired in the past decade? How did I get from there to here, spiritually speaking? And that made me think. Some of my Marion peeps and my Clemson comrades, and my Anderson amigos may be wonderin', "Who in the world is she?" And some of you who are just getting to know me may be thinkin', "Who is this spaz who doesn't know how to use her air conditioner?" My blabbering probably won't lend any insight into that question, but I would love to kinda share my journey from there to here...
Once upon a time, there was me and I was the only child of my parents' marriage. They divorced when I was four; my dad remarried pretty quickly and mom did the same four years later (I'm not giving you a sob story here; there's just some background I need to share). They both went on to have other children, and I found myself with two families, four siblings, and four sets of grandparents. Divorce is ugly and contentious, no doubt about that. My mom and I lived on a puny budget, but she was (and is) the bomb! Both of my parents tried to love me to pieces to make up for their choice, but I look back on my childhood as a painful one - for far greater reasons than the divorce. Couple with that dozens of harsh negative church experiences at the hands of extended family members, and you have a little person with no use for God. And you don't undo that very easily...
And so it was as a thirteen year-old that I first heard that God loved me at Centrifuge youth camp at North Greenville College. I went for the boys. I went because of my friends. I went for a week away from home, but I left having made a new Acquaintance (and snagged a new boyfriend from Dothan, Alabama).
But the ten years after that were rocky for me and Him. In fact, I am the picture in the Illustrated Bible for Matthew 13:5-6. In my case, the Seed fell on the rocky places; "it sprang up quickly because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root." My claim to Christ was not rooted in faith. There was a lot of heart stuff going on (emotions) and a lot of head stuff going on (I began to attend discipleship classes), but there was no root. So when life as a teen and a college student got wild, so did I. I had enough of Jesus to keep me out of hell, but that was absolutely it...
To be continued (hopefully tomorrow)...
I know. That's a scary word, but I am one. I told you that in my last post, but here is further proof...
I am learning to use the air conditioner in my car. Seriously. Either the air conditioner is set on the coldest temperature and the most powerful air blowing setting or it is off. You see where I'm going with this?
I turn the air on highest and coldest and then I get cold (and I abhor being cold) so I turn it off. My husband, like any normal human being, continually adjusts the temperature and the air flow to achieve a comfortable climate. I go from sweltering to comfortable to frigid to comfortable to sweltering all over again. This cycle can be repeated innumerable times in hopes of enjoying the fleeting perfect temperature every so often.
That's just dumb!
So - after Chris pointed out (in a most gentle and loving way) how asinine that was - I became intrigued by the whole concept of manually regulating the temperature in my car. I had honestly not ever considered such manipulation of the air controls. I am now reticently wading in to the waters of climate control on the hunt for the ever elusive perfect temperature, not stuffy - not arctic.
For an extremist like me, that's progress, my friends...
Sorry for the most depressing post last time, but whoa! thank you for your prayers! It's a little weird hanging out your heart for everybody to see, and I've even questioned whether I should have put it out there. But you soooo blessed me with your love, and I am so thankful for you!! I am glad I shared - even if it was a little uncomfortable. The situation is better a hundred-fold since Monday, so you rock...
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! The NewSpring meeting was tonight!!! We're taking a bus trip up to a service in Anderson and to check out the Greenville campus on July 27. Get on the bus!!! I was ready to jump on the bus tonight, baby! We're also having a launch team meeting on August 3. Strap me in 'cause I am ready to go.
You really don't have to stop reading my blog because you think I am bipolar. I'm not really. Given to extremes - I'll give you that.
It has been a rollercoaster week, for sure. But you know, my low and my high can happen in the same five-day time period because my God is constant and faithful. My circumstances change, but He does not. He hears my cries, and the peace and patience and hope He poured out over the church start process that has been two years now is the same peace and patience and hope He is issuing in this other situation. His goodness is always sweet, even in the bitterest of places...
And sometimes I wonder if I come across as too preachy or in-your-face or try to ram God down your throat, but I can't not tell how He changes my life everyday.
My goal is always to shoot straight with you, and He is straight-up the best thing that has ever happened to me.
So.... (sigh), there are some days when life throws something at you that knocks the wind out of you. Monday was one of those days for me. Caught me so off guard that I was blank. In the eternity that transpired before I could catch my next breath, I stood in a vacuum. There was nothing going on in my head, nothing going on in my heart - not one thought, not one emotion. I did not know what to say or think or feel or do or pray. I did not cry; I just stared vacantly.
And then I began to thaw and my brain started clickin' out questions; it was still a while later that my heart began to spew out a buffet of emotions: angry, sad, worried, afraid, and then angry again. And then sad again. A Lazy Susan of feelings served up in rapid succession.
And then I got on my face and sought Truth over the issue and wept.
And then I scurried. I got busy being busy. I'm a fairly frequent runner, so I outran my thoughts and feelings and questions and worries for the rest of the day. Best workout I've had in a while. There was a grey blur of emotional "stuff" that followed in close behind as I zigzagged through my day. Bobbing and weaving and running, and I have to say that they never caught me. I scurried from one random activity to another just keepin' the lead. Frantic but out in front of the pack.
There was a fatal flaw in my plan; I eventually had to stop - late that night. Exhausted. As I finally lay down around 1:30 am, they caught me and attacked viciously. My eyes would not close; my soul would not settle; my mind would not stop. I slept little.
Yesterday I moved slower in a healthier state of processing. I marinated in it all day and continually sought Help.
Today I am digesting.
May I ambiguously ask for your prayers? He knows where they need to be applied.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I am about to jump out of my skin this morning! Please reread this post from a while ago before you continue reading; it has some background stuff that you need to know...
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! The wait is truly almost over! NewSpring Florence is having its first informational meeting this Thursday night - July 17- at 6:30 at the Baptist Collegiate Ministry (BCM) building at Francis Marion University. If you live anywhere in the Pee Dee and have interest in checking out this new fellowship coming to Flotown, please make plans to be there (no childcare available for this meeting). You can also check out the church website (check out the old site while the new one is under construction) and the campus pastor's blog for more info.
My family and I are beyond excited to finally be a part of the church family we feel God has had in mind for us for a long time (technically before the beginning of time, but you know what I mean...). We are living in anticipation of what God is going to do in this area through this body of believers, and we are praying for such a mind-blowing move of God through the Church (big C) that the Pee Dee is changed in a very good way. Praying for unity. Praying for a singular focus. Praying that the name of Jesus will be made famous in this place.
Humbled to even be allowed to see what He is about to do...
I have a favorite sound at the gym; it's the sound of two runners pounding it out on the treadmill to the same pace and rhythm - particularly if I am one of the runners. I have encountered a fitness phenomenon this summer that delights me when it happens.
On two separate occasions this summer I've been on a treadmill and a stranger has taken up post at the machine beside me; there's nothing unusual about that but they both ran pretty good distances at a pace I could keep. In both instances we eventually got into the same step, and it was exhilarating. I felt like I could hammer it out all day in step with my neighbor, and I was able to run my longest distances of the summer on those two days. Today the guy next to me stopped eleven minutes before I was set to be done, and I wanted to turn to him and shout, "What do you think you're doing? Don't you quit on me now. Move it, buddy; we ain't done yet." But I resisted - although it would have been too funny.
I'm sure there's application here. Is there somebody in your life who inspires you just by their proximity and their activity? Is there somebody who pushes you as they push themselves to do more, to last longer, to finish well? And I'm not speaking to comparison. When I compare my appearance or my workout to others at the gym, I am quickly discouraged and disheartened. And I'm not just talking about fitness. I'm talking about people who inspire you to be a better you because they are authentic and doing their thing in a way that challenges you.
My observation: It's easier to pound it out and push ourselves in the company of others who are doing the same; I happen to believe the converse of that is true as well...
In the still of the night I am a more gentle, compassionate, patient, and tender parent than I am otherwise. And I can say that now as the mother of a six year-old and a three year-old, who - for the most part - are good sleepers in their own beds. So I beg the pardon of any new parents who are slugging through some of the hardest days I've ever encountered; your plight is blessed and almost intolerable. Chris and I have had some of our most heated exchanges in the wee hours of virtually sleepless nights. I also ask the forgiveness of any who have little ones who don't sleep well. I can only write this post because it is a fairly rare occurrence that my beauty rest is disturbed.
And I only make this observation because it is so counterintuitive, especially given how much I treasure my sleep. But with this mystery malady (fever, cough, runny nose, hurtin' tummies) the girls have contracted, there has been increased nocturnal activity around our house. And I love to swoop in as the midnight superhero to hold and snuggle and reassure and comfort. Campbell has nightmares, and I find great pleasure in wrapping myself around her to make her feel safe and secure. She slept on top of me on the couch for a portion of last night. Carson awoke in the wee of the day feeling puny, and I savored tucking her in right beside me to help her settle back into the rest her little body needs. There is something about the innocence and vulnerability of their sleepy, puffy faces wet with tears and their preciously unruly bed hair. The mischief of the day is gone; the defiance has drained away and is replaced by pure dependence and need.
I, in some half-awake way, enjoy scooping them up in the grey of our scantily lit house and pouring out love and security and safety the best way I know how. And I think this is such a dear time to me because I vividly remember many nights - during all seasons of my life - where I was unable to sleep and felt some of the most acute loneliness and fear that I've ever felt. And they'll experience that too, but it won't be on their momma's watch...
And I am struck by my own dim understanding of His tenderness toward us when we approach with tear-stained dependence and vulnerability, all defiance having faded away...
Not too much coherent thinkin' goin' on at this address, so I'm just totally spilling what's in my brain...
Lone Cypress at Pebble Beach: This is my favorite pic from vacation, and the deer is my second fave.
e girls, especially given Campbell's current situation.I bought The Shack by William P Young on Saturday. Anybody read it? I'm so interested to dive in to this most controversial novel, but I have to admit that I'm afraid to begin it. I know what happens in the beginning, and I'm not too jazzed about going there - particularly right before I go to sleep (which is when I normally do some reading). Trying to muster up the courage to open the front cover...
I am well aware of the fact that I am not a City Girl, but I always thought I could hang in the city - at least for a short stay. Chris and I have always wanted to live in an upstairs city apartment over a downtown storefront or office, and that is still something we would like to do in a different season of our lives. But Charlotte and Greenville and Charleston are more my speed, I discovered...
On our vacation, Chris and I drove in to San Francisco about 6:00 pm on Sunday evening. It had been a big weekend in the city, and people were everywhere. They 
were walking in front of the car as we were scrambling to find the hotel and avoid driving the wrong direction on one-way streets. Fortunately, there were no pedestrian roadkills, but it was close more than a few times. The city was immediately noisy and busy and crowded and loud and impolite, and I was overwhelmed. I think I experienced sensory overload where I just crawled into myself and decided I hated it! It was overcast and gloomy (I couldn't even see the top of the Golden Gate Bridge as we approached because it was cloaked in clouds). We had a quiet - almost despondent- dinner in Sausalito.
This place was foreign to me - not so much because it was a new setting. Foreign because there was nothing familiar about the people. How I live my life couldn't be more different than that of a city dweller: the pace, the noise, the hardness. For the first time during our trip I was constantly aware of being outside the Bible Belt, outside of the South, outside of my world. When I traveled to England, I expected to feel like a foreigner. I did not expect to feel that heightened sense of alien"ness" that I did in SF.
I require my morning 20 oz DP (Diet Pepsi) as close to my awakening as possible, so the next morning, on our walk to this awesome breakfast place, I stopped in to the corner Walgreens and something very unexpected happened. I was washed in the comfort of being somewhere familiar; I realized the hilarity of it but I just stood in the front of the store and breathed in the familiarity of it. I silently staked out that place as my retreat for comfort if that city threatened to crash in on me.
Then another funny thing happened; I got my city legs. I enjoyed my DP, had some phenomenal pancakes at a legendary restaurant, and I was ready to dive in. I got my city legs, and Chris and I proceeded to do it up. We could walk to any store imaginable; we walked to some fantastic meals; we rode trolley cars and brushed death with every turn in the backseat of a taxi (I happen to think that's the most death-defying stunt you can do in any city - take a taxi). I put on my hard self and smiled less; not because I was unhappy - I was having a ball.
That's just how you roll in the city. I bought some sunglasses that cover most of my face, put on my loud yellow jacket and my black wedges, and I enjoyed being City Cookie.
The moral of this story is that I am too sheltered in my own little life. SF is a great city, and we had a fabulous time. And I was genuinely surprised by my initial reaction to it.
So if you see me ridin' through Flo-town in a blindingly yellow jacket, with enormous sunglasses, and I keep angrily blowing the horn at other motorists, just know that I'm still decompressing from the trip.
And if you see my loitering in local Walgreens, just know that I may be reminiscing about our trip...
And the truth of the matter is that City Cookie would love to get her nose pierced, but Flo-town Cookie could never pull that off...
We're back!!!! And thankfully so. We had an amazing trip, but we are tickled to be home. We spent two nights in Carmel (in a dog hotel), two nights in Napa (in a "green" hotel - not the color), and three nights (in a Union Square dead-middle-of-the-city hotel) in San Francisco. And I'll try not to bore you too terribly with trip details, but I really had some neat experiences and made some interesting observations (mainly about myself) while we were there. So there may be a couple of vacation posts to follow... Here are some of my vacation superlatives:
Biggest blessing: The flights were mind-blowing. Thank you to those of you who prayed for our travel, especially given my high, high, high state of anxiety. Our flight to California was amazing. I was desperately searching for the barf bag before we took off, but once we began to taxi down the runway I was totally okay. I had asked specifically in my prayers to enjoy the flight, and I internally whispered Isaiah 26:3 over and over again. He showed up. Right on time. As always. Large and in charge. The flight home was a little more turbulent than I would have preferred; we ran into a bit of "weather" which threatened to leave me totally unglued. But - as it turns out- my fear and a little weather were no match for Him.
Biggest surprises:
- I got my nose pierced.
- California is cold! At least the parts we were in. It was 59 degrees when we landed in San Francisco. It was pretty overcast and even borderline gloomy for most of the time that we were there. There's a popular quip that I found to be totally true - "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."
- The people we encountered in Carmel and Napa were so nice (The city's a whole different story for another post...). The South definitely doesn't have the monopoly on kindness and hospitality.
- My hair liked California.
- We very much enjoyed the dog hotel in Carmel. It was this ultra-super pet friendly hotel, and there were dogs everywhere. We are not dog people, so we were prepared to cancel our reservation if it was too over the top when we got there. BUT, and this doesn't usually happen to us, we were pleasantly surprised. The dogs were beautiful, and well-behaved, and so varied (lots of unusual breeds) that we so enjoyed the dog aspect. We even decided that we might be dog people as empty-nesters.
Biggest deer-in-the headlights moments:
- We went into a clothing store in Carmel where Chris picked out a shirt he liked, and we dropped our jaws when he flipped the tag to see that it cost $365 (as opposed to the $11 Old Navy shirt he was probably wearing and the $4 one I was wearing). This was not a singular experience; I picked out a $125 white t-shirt. Chris picked out $600 shoes. Needless to say, those items are still hanging out in Cali...
- We used hotel points to pay for our stay in SF, but it cost $50 per day to park there. It only cost us $24 to park for the entire week at the Charlotte airport; we were rejoicing to be back in the South!! The SF hotel also charged us to use the business center and the fitness center (which we are not accustomed to paying for). As slow as I am, it would have cost me a fortune to blog there (they charged in time increments).
- A Diet Pepsi cost $1.89, and a gallon of gas was in the $4.50-$4.70 range.
Things I missed the most:
- OUR GIRLS! By Monday it was almost unbearable trying to go to sleep on the other side of the country from them. All four of us slept together last night until about 4:00 am (when it became unbearable to be that close).
- Water pressure!
- Brewed tea
- Driving without traffic
- Being in a place where 20 oz. bottle Diet Pepsis are plentiful!
- Clean clothes - because the weather was colder than we expected, we had to keep rewearing our warmer clothes. It was totally disgusting by the end of the week. That's gross, I know.
Things I learned:
- New word: patisserie
- New kinda food: Asian fusion
- You gotta be gritty in the city.
- There aren't as many convenience/gas stations around but there are a gazillion Walgreens everywhere.
Biggest fish tale:
- I didn't get my nose pierced but I really want to! Gotta think about it and research it a little more...
More to come I'm sure as my brain and body rhythms catch up with the three hours we lost yesterday. If you're ever heading that direction, I would love to share some of our faves and some things we would do differently.
As lame as it may sound, The City Girl, on her 35th birthday, couldn't be happier to be home doing laundry and washing dishes with the sound of shrill little girl screams in the background...