It's all about the J.O.B.

I didn't get the job.

I interviewed. I thought I did well...they seemed to like me...I thought I had all the right answers to their questions.

Of course, I'm 3 years out of practice in holding a job of any kind. And it was probably at least 5 years before that period that I actually had to sit down for an interview. I may be a bit rusty in that regard, but I tried to be outwardly confident, even if I felt inwardly clueless.

The job was at a bank. Just the fact that I even applied at a bank should be more shocking than the fact that they didn't give me the job.

I hate numbers. I hate tedium. I hate spreadsheets and calculations and I would even go so far as to say I hate money. Well, ok, my hatred is not for money, but for the idea of being responsible to handle somebody else's money.

So why did I even apply for a job that I may well have abhorred within the first hour of my first day? Because I am bored. And also because we need the extra income.

In Hawaii, I didn't have to work. I got to be the stay-at-home-mom with our newborn daughter and my two school-age children. The reason we were able to swing this at the time was due to our cost of living allowance (COLA), supplied helpfully by the USAF to help us defer the extraordinary cost of living on an island. This COLA was roughly equal to the income that would have been generated by a modest (part-time) second income. It was very nice. And considering we lived frugally during our time in Hawaii, we managed to get by quite easily.

But now, back on the mainland, the USAF has rudely taken away our COLA. We are back to the base pay of a Technical Sargent, which isn't awful, but is hardly enough to do much more than pay the mortgage and the utilities. We don't eat out much anymore. Our days of fillin' the cart with cool stuff at Target are in the past. The kids don't get new shoes until I figure out when we can afford new shoes. So what if Elysse's boots have a hole in them and the sole flops like a dead fish when she walks to the bus stop? She doesn't mind!

I mean, we're just making sacrifices now that maybe make us realize how good we've had it in the past. We're hardly destitute. We have a lovely home, two cars, plenty of gadgets, and nobody's going hungry. But you know, it's nicer to live without always having that voice in the back of your mind questioning you about your toilet paper purchase.

"Why you gotta get the fancy stuff? The kids don't notice if it's not quilted! The generic brand is on sale!"

I hate that voice. I like the good T.P. It's a luxury I'm willing to face a dreary day job to afford.

So anyway, I'm out there again. Looking for the "perfect" job. The one that pays good, with about 20-25 hours a week, nearby my house, with plenty of flexibility in scheduling that will never force me to work on a major holiday and never make my children into latch key kids.

I'm already learning that I can't get it all, but I'm willing to settle for getting most.

That bank job was my second interview since we've moved to Washington. I was offered the first job, but turned it down (take my word for it, it wasn't right for me). The bank position was a step into an unknown for me. I was willing to give it a go, even though I hate banks so much that I actually joined one that is completely virtual (I never set foot inside a real bank).

I would have taken that job for the money. But they didn't offer it to me. So thats a moot point.

I'm still looking. I would really like to do something that makes a difference somehow, not just answering a telephone or staring at a computer screen all day. I'm open minded. I'm looking at jobs I might not have ever considered before. One thing I do have on my side is my confidence. I'm not afraid to walk into an interview, having zero skills in that field, and tell them I'm a quick learner. I wouldn't mind taking less money if the hours were great. And conversely, if the hours were longer, but the pay was great, I might consider that one too.

But I'm trying not to take today's rejection personally. Maybe, like my church friends would say, God knows what's best for me and I haven't found it yet. Or maybe that bank manager saw right through my showy confidence, and saw my burning flame of hatred for all that is mundane in the banking world.

I'm hoping for the best in the job hunt. But right now, I'm getting ready to go on a 2 week vacation (paid for a long time ago, with tax refund cash), and not think about anything at all. Not my bills, not my skills, not a single thing, but relaxation and fun. I can't wait.

Eating too much sugar gives you the diabetes!!

This morning I had an appointment with a nutritionist. Not to help me drop this extra weight (which I could use the help with, btw), but for a specific evaluation regarding my diabetes.

I am a Type I diabetic and have been since I was 15 years old. I must take insulin shots every day. Yes, with needles. The poky kind. I must also test my blood sugar (little poke on my fingertip, drop of blood on the machine), and in general, I must deal with all the ups and downs and complications and frustrations of this disease.

Here's a question: I'm no doctor, but with all the advances in medical science, why can't they just go ahead and give me a new, functioning pancreas? Not that I'm signing up for major surgery, or the risks that come along with an organ transplant, but diabetes is caused by a malfunctioning pancreas, so why not work on offering a replacement?

Answer: My limited internet research (which of course makes me an expert on any subject) has revealed to me that pancreas transplants are indeed an option, but not a popular nor a reliable one. Apparently, about 80% of transplant recipients will reject the new organ. Also, many opinions seem to reflect that the complications and upkeep with an organ transplant actually outweigh the daily care needed for a diabetic. Yes, diabetes can be life threatening, but if you manage it with moderate diligence, you can live an almost normal life.

The frightening thing to me is actually how many people misunderstand diabetes, especially those people who have it! Do any of you have an elderly relative or friend that was diagnosed with diabetes later in life? Either Type I (insulin dependant) or Type II (controlled by diet and/or pills)? Most people have a hard time changing long established diet and lifestyle choices. They "forget" to take their insulin or pills. They never take their blood sugar and have no idea if they are dangerously low, or dangerously high! That is so scary to me!

Not taking my insulin would make me SO sick!! A person who does not have insulin to break down the glucose in their body is going to be a seriously unhappy and ill person. The basic symptoms of high blood sugar are intense thirst, headache, nausea, and increased urination. Those nasty symptoms can quickly be followed by loss of consciousness, coma, kidney failure, and possibly, death.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, a person with low blood sugar (too much insulin in their system) is going to not only feel sick, but could be a danger to themselves and others. I have had much more personal experience with this issue than any other complication. If a person's blood sugar drops too low (Say, below 70. As opposed to a more normal range of 75-140), that person will experience many symptoms, including confusion, combativeness, sweating, shaking hands, disorientation, and the worst case scenario of passing out, then a coma, then death.

Fun, fun! I've gone down the low sugar road many times myself. From the slight disorientation and shaking hands (quickly cured by a glass of oj or candy bar), to the total loss of consciousness and the intervention of an ambulance crew. No matter how well you try to manage your insulin intake, so many factors can affect it, and a low blood sugar can sneak up on you. I always try to be mindful, and carry a snack with me, but I've been in some scary situations before.

They myths about diabetes spread by the non-diabetic population are almost as frightening to me as the people who don't care for the disease when they have it.

1. Diabetes is not caused by eating too much sugar. That extra slice of birthday cake is not going to "catch you some diabetes!". Strain on your organs due to chronic overeating and excess weight will cause Type II diabetes, but with proper diet and exercise, you can be cured. Type I diabetes can be genetic (as in my case), or the consequence of poorly managed Type II.

2. You should NOT, under ANY circumstance, give a sick diabetic a shot. You should call an ambulance. Insulin dosage is highly subjective, and if you are uninformed about the specific problem, you might just send that person into a coma with your intervention.

I actually heard a story about a well-meaning, good Samaritan who tried to give his diabetic friend an insulin shot when he suddenly passed out. This person ended up in the hospital, mainly due to the idiotic insulin injection given by his friend. Even worse, I heard this story at a First Aid/CPR class at the Red Cross. Told by a fellow classmate who was supposedly already certified in First Aid! AARRGGHH! Keep that guy away from me!

3. Every diabetic is not going to end up in a wheelchair, on dialysis, or blind. If you take care of yourself, these consequences are not eventualities.

So anyway, just a little diabetes myth-busting for you all today. I've been through 3 pregnancies as a Type I, and therefore considered high-risk. But I've got 3 healthy kids, and so I'd say I managed just fine. As I get older, I've become more conscientious about taking care of my diabetes. If you knew me in my younger days, I'm sure you saw me pass out at least once. I was less responsible back then.

My appointment went fine, by the way, and my A1C is a very exemplary 5.8. I sure do wish I didn't have this disease. If I could get rid of it tomorrow, I would do it in a heartbeat. But it is possible to live your life with this problem, as long as you don't mind the needles. Even a sharp needle looks a lot less scary when you consider what will happen if you don't make the needle your friend. You get over that really fast.

Flaming June

Once when I was about 21, I won an essay contest through the University of Southern Maine.

I wasn't a student at the school, but had seen an advertisement for the contest in the newspaper. The first prize was a notation someplace moderately important (possibly the school newspaper or literary magazine, I can't recall anymore) and, more enticing to me, a credit for the tuition costs for one class of your choice at the University.

At this time, I had recently been through quite a personal upheaval in my life, and I had plenty of ammunition to write a very memorable essay about the value of a college education.

I was a college drop-out, single mother, part-time employee of a go-nowhere job. My heart was still stinging with the sudden and painful collapse of many of my most cherished personal friendships. My best friend had run off to another country. My former boyfriend of 5 years was apparently in love with, and living with another of my former best pals. I had just given birth to a child with a man whom I did not love, but had tried desperately to commit myself to for the sake of our baby. And not surprisingly, within a few months of her birth, my newborn daughter's father had deserted us as quickly as his spindly legs could cross the border and leave the state. I was living at home with my parents, sharing a small basement room with my little girl, and feeling generally lost in the world.

One thing I did know was that I had to move forward. As I vehemently stated in a previous blog post (Ghosts from the past make me feel bad), I made a decision to move past it all. To be above it. To show the world that I could rise from the pit I'd fallen into, and to move on with my life.

So I wrote the essay. I think it was in an inspirational vein, not a downtrodden single mother story, but I can't really remember my exact words anymore. But even then, I knew I had an instinct, about what kind of an essay would win me the prize. It was that trusty intuition of mine, pushing me to put pen to paper and giving me the nudge I needed to drop the essay into the mailbox.

Thank goodness, I won. I really needed that affirmation in my life. Someone telling me, "You did well. You did great. You are worth something."

Since I had no plans, nor the funds, to go back to the University full time, I decided not to choose a practical class as my prize, but instead, one that I was truly interested in taking. Something just for me. You'll never guess what class I decided on....probably one that would put most of you to sleep...Art History. And it was great. I loved it.

I took an evening class at the Gorham campus, and I enjoyed every minute of the experience. The best thing about the class was that it didn't cost me a thing. Well, except for the 2nd-hand textbook I purchased, and maybe a parking ticket or two.

I took copius notes in the darkened classroom as the teacher flashed slide after slide of hundreds of years of art, from the historicity noteworthy friezes of ancient Greece to the masterpeices of the modern masters. I relished the homework assignments that would require me to spend a few hours at the Portland Museum of Art. I loved the fact that I could not only enjoy the art on a visual level, but now had a bit of education to better understand and interpret what I was seeing.

My final project was a 10 page discussion of a work of art (of my own choosing) that was on display at the Museum at that time. I chose Flaming June by Lord Frederick Leighton. It was a huge piece, as I recall, hung prominently in the first room you came upon in the busy Museum. However there was a bench placed conveniently within viewing distance of the enormous, reclining subject of my assignment. I felt very intellectual as I sipped my chai tea and scribbled observations in my spiral notebook.

There were many captivating items in the Portland Museum's collection, but I was drawn to her for some reason. Maybe it was the vibrant color of her flowing tangerine gown. Maybe the peaceful countenance on her sleeping face. Maybe it was the texture of the paint on the canvas. Or maybe she just reminded me of myself, an exhausted mother. She could have been one too.

I really enjoyed that class. Did I say that already? Well, I'll say it again because it was true. It meant a lot to me, and I credit my time there for giving me the courage to return to school again about a year later. It gave me the confidence I needed to throw myself into the college world again, and this time, really appreciate the knowledge I was being given.

That is a good memory for me. I would go back to school again today, if only someone would offer to accept payment for my degree in essay form. No problem, I'm a winner.

Pretty Things

Honestly, I wish I had this kind of photography skill.

This lovely photo is courtesy of Shaded Memories, on Etsy.

I always wanted to be creative like this. Gifted with he kind of perspective that could see these angles and make something beautiful out of a simple thing like a flower or a cloud or a fencepost.

Some people just have that artistic gift. I've always been envious of artsy folks. People who's talent just flows out of them so easily..like they don't even have to think about it.

Unlike me, who only occasionally manages a good photo, usually out of luck, or maybe after a painstaking set up of my subjects, and about 50 retakes of the shot. Not exactly genius at work.

My husband is pretty good with the camera. We bought a very nice one with some of our tax money this year (a Nikon D3000), and he's managed to take some really creative shots. He's not too shabby of an artist himself, although he doesn't get much call for his skills in his day job with the Air Force. Our camera has offered him a nice creative outlet, and we've gotten some great family and nature photos, thanks to him.

I know I would love the camera even more if we had another lens for it..for the real detail shots..but I don't have an extra $300 for that at the moment.

I suppose my "artistic" talent is my writing. Though, as with art, the enjoyment of it by others is purely subjective. I think I'm decent, but in the past, my greatest writing triumphs were of the most boring kind.

I'm a super essay writer. And, even more exciting, I can write a thriller of a business letter!

You can imagine the acclaim I've received over the years from my teachers and bosses. Gosh, just the kind of creative feedback a sensitive artist needs. I am quite often asked to "read this over for me, Jen?" and help others to improve whatever it is they have written. Some people have asked "why don't you become an editor?", but what they don't realize is that you can't just stroll into a publishing house and tell them your quite good at critiquing other people's work. They don't hire editors that way. More like an uphill struggle, prefaced by years of education, followed by years of working from the bottom of the publishing business, up to the heights of a respected editorial position. I feel a bit old and under-educated to begin that trek right now.

I did write a book a couple of years ago. I participated in NanoWrimo for the fun of it. I was able to finish my 50,000 word goal in the month's time, but I never took them up on their offer to publish a copy of the story. It was no "grand prize" or anything, you simply write your novel, upload it at the end of the 30 days, and if their word counting program can verify that you've written the 50,000 words, they award you with a free printed copy of your book, courtesy of Amazon. But after I "won", I reread the book, decided it was good, but far too cliche, and told myself I'd edit it and then do the publishing thing later.

But, lazy me, I didn't get around to editing my own book, and the year passed and my prize was no longer valid. I did give the one printed copy to my mother to read, but if her lack of interest is any indication, my literary masterpiece was more of a novice snooze-fest.

Anyway, I am glad I have this blog to make me feel like I have some artistic merit. I know not everyone can blab on and on every day. I guess my creativity is good for something. But don't ask to read my book. It will shatter the illusion of talent that I've worked so hard to conjure with these blog entries. Short and sweet is my strength. Novels are much harder. And more embarrassing.

Are you as tired as I am?

My cat is wheezing and snoring on the bed behind me. Hopefully Natalie is finally asleep, an hour since I laid her down, but with a final tearful scolding from Mommy to exhaust her. Brian came in, briefly, before changing out of his uniform, and then was out the door again to attend a men's church luncheon. The two older girls are still at school. The house is so quiet.

Well, at least for another hour until Abby breezes in and heads directly for her two favorite things, the pantry and the telephone. Then, the house will be filled with the nauseating smell of whatever late lunch she decides to cook at 3pm, and the unnecessarily loud and shrill sound of her laughter as she guffaws at something oh-so-hilarious during her telephone conversation.

Then Elysse clomps in, throws her backpack, sweatshirt and shoes directly in front of the door, so someone might more easily trip over them later. She also heads directly for the pantry, but more predictably, to grab a stack of Chips Ahoy to inhale before I can attempt to count the number of cookies concealed in her clenched fist. Then it's off to her afternoon conference with Sponge Bob. They meet daily, in their usual spot. He's animatedly living his life on tv, and she's curled in a ball on the family room couch, enthralled by his every word. Despite the fact she's seen every single episode at least 25 times, this time with SB is vital to her day.

I do relish the time before they return from school. I savor the time when Natalie is napping. I enjoy the silence.

However, I admit, sometimes the hour or so I get each weekday to pursue my own interests is more boring than anything else. Around 1:30, unless I'm knee deep in dirty laundry, or washing dishes, my eyelids start to droop. I love the quiet afternoons for reading, or surfing Etsy, or thinking of these clever blog topics (haha). But as predictable as my children's routines, my own mid-afternoon slump overtakes me, and all I want to do is crawl back into my warm bed and fall into a deep, consuming, uninterrupted sleep.

But since each afternoon is predictably punctuated by the events I listed above, you can see how that will not actually happen. I can NEVER fall into a deep sleep in the middle of the day. I'm always half listening for somebody to come through the door. I'm more awake than asleep, worried that Natalie will awaken from her nap and if I'm sleeping, she'll wander outside into the street or stick her finger in a light socket. Or if I do attempt to sleep, the phone will ring. And it won't be anybody fun. Instead, it will be Dr. Collins office reminding me of Elysse's dental appointment next Wednesday. Or a recorded message from a "Local State Representative". Or my credit card company, promising me a "great new offer"! People I don't want to talk to, who feel it necessary to talk to me, and tell me things I care nothing about.

Naps are for old people and babies, who are lucky enough to be short on wakeful nuisances and heavy on the ability to fall into a comatose sleep for hours and hours.

Sleep is something I am always thinking about, but never seem to be satisfied by. Why is that? I might go to bed early, but when that alarm rings, even the extra time in bed is not enough. I might sleep a bit late on a Saturday, but the rested feeling only lasts until midday, at which time, I'm sleepy again.

What's wrong with my tired, 36 year-old body??? I guess I won't get any satisfaction until I'm an old biddy. Napping here and there, with no regard to appropriate time or location, just snoring away. And if you see me, passed out on a bus or at the public library, you'd best just leave me alone. By that time you should know, as with any elderly napper, I'll have earned the sleep.

I like to rummage in dark and dusty places.

This past Saturday was a back-breaking, weed-pulling, lawn-mowing bonanza at the Watts house. By Sunday, I was so done, I was over-done, so I gathered the family, and piled into the Kia to see the Farm Chicks show. This has been on my calendar for months, and it was exactly what I expected it to be, which is a good thing and a bad thing.

This is the hyped show in Spokane. This event is not only advertised all over town, but also in every major country, vintage, and decorating magazine published in this country. The Editor of Country Living magazine was in attendance at the show today, and was signing copies of this month's edition for whatever "fans" a magazine editor might have. I didn't line up to get an autograph, in case you were wondering.

The show itself was chock-full of vintage goodies. It is a very "boutique" atmosphere, as much as an antique show held at a fairground auditorium can be. The vendor booths are so cute with a mega-vintage-country vibe. There are kitschy kitchenware displays alongside the prerequisite quilt booth and rusty garden furniture booth, somehow lit by a cleverly hung mini-crystal chandelier. Tables upon tables, stacked with everything from piles of old American flags to trays of tiny watch faces and antique skeleton keys. There are vendors selling vintage clothes and ladies dainty gloves and hats, but around the next corner is a booth with handmade children's clothes, sewn from 1940's tea towels and tablecloths.

The majority of the peddlers were dressed to match their shops, with lots of cowboy boots and hats paired with vintage aprons and lacy floral dresses. This lady even had her blog-followers take a vote about what she should wear to the show. The whole atmosphere was really straight out of a magazine photo shoot. And loving every minute of it all, was the wave of women, pushing granny grocery carts filled to overflowing with their found treasures. Here and there, I saw a tired looking husband or boyfriend, usually wrangling the children so that Mom could shop. My own family fell neatly into that category.

Now, as impressed as I was by the whole production of it all, it was not my first time at the retro-rodeo. If you know me, you know that I am a crazy (and this is literal) thrift shopper. My husband and children spent many a Sunday afternoon, sunburned and sweating, trolling the endless aisles at the Rosebowl Flea Market in Pasadena. That is, above and beyond, my own personal heaven on earth. My kids know that Goodwill and the Salvation Army are nothing to be ashamed of, and there are not many things in this world that will stop me from pulling over and running inside a newly discovered antique shop. I'm in it for the thrill of the hunt, and the thrill of the DEAL.

Having been to so many events like this one, I knew it would be eye-candy for most people, so much to ogle over. But for me, the hunt for the DEAL was D.O.A. The majority of the shoppers at the show were not the die-hard thrifters that can be found scouring the dusty shelves at the Baptist Thrift Store on a rainy, Wednesday afternoon. Farm Chicks shoppers are ladies with cash bulging out of their purses, snapping photos next to the giant "HOWDY" sign at the front entrance. These are ladies who are not perturbed in the least by plunking down $95 for a rusty wheelbarrow. They love the look of the stuff, but they love it in the boutique display that the vendors had so nicely presented them with. They like to root through a small pile of pre-washed and ironed linens. They want to buy that adorable milk glass lamp with the decoupage shade for the table in their guest room. Second-hand is great, as long as they don't actually have to get their hands dirty.

Do I sound like a Second-hand snob? Well, maybe I am.

Spokane is not short on second-hand shopping opportunities. There are numerous festivals, flea markets, thrift shops, antique shows, yard sales, garage sales, rummage sales...etc...etc. And if you know me, you know that this town is my kind of place. You simply won't catch me paying $25 for a set of salt and pepper shakers, nor would I pay $300 for a table somebody refinished with a couple of coats of Antique White paint. I loved the idea of the show, but the reality was too done-up and far too overpriced for my taste.

And I've trained my kids right too. Shortly after we arrived, Abby spotted a 50's era kitchen chair that, upon closer inspection, looked awfully familiar. Sure enough, it was a chair that I'd wanted to buy (but didn't, because we were living in a hotel room at the time) from a Spokane shop for just $12. When I moved into our house, and returned to the store a second time to buy the chair, it was gone. Eagle-eyed Abigail found it again, this time with a $28 price tag at the Farm Chicks show. After she'd sweetly asked the booth's proprietor about the price, she turned to me and scoffed. She couldn't believe how it had been marked up, but neither of us was surprised when we circled the booth again later, only to find the chair was sold.

"You shoulda' gotten it when you saw it, Mom!" she nudged me and pointed to the empty space where the chair had been. "I can't believe somebody paid that much for it!"

I know, kid. I know. The thrill of the hunt, or at least the instinct to find that bargain may live on for another generation.

Warning! Bad poetry ahead!

Well, make your topic of the day politics or religion, and you get some ACTION! Whoo hoo! Thanks to everyone who read my blog yesterday, I just wish you'd ALL come back every single day! And FOLLOW me for goodness sakes!

I'm less inclined to be as wordy today. Instead, read a dumb poem I was inspired to pen this morning.

Ode to Dirty Laundry

Jen’s day begins

Gentle shall she awaken..

Wait, she’s got children,

You must be mistaken

Loud meowing at the foot of the bed

Slamming of doors, voices, FLUSH!

She groans and pulls the warm blankets back over her head

On with the day

Coffee in hand

Kids off to school

Read Mom’s daily email, check eBay, Facebook, Bank balance…

Where’d all our money go??

Ahh, Jen, its called Supply and Demand

Wipe sticky counters

Clean up the dishes

Take a quick shower

Make the bed

Empty trash

Make those appointments

Run out to get milk

Haul 50 pounds of laundry

Down

Down

Down

Into the dark basement

The detergent is sticky

Blue goop down the side

This laundry is smelly

Stinks like somebody died

Back up to the sunlight

Breathing in the fresh air

Don’t slip on that pop tart

Children left on the stair

The hours pass so quickly

Family home…no more calm

Predictable and whining

“Whats for dinner? We’re hungry, Mom!!”

Alas, the day is over

Just collapse into bed

She turns to her hubby for a kiss

But gets a bedtime fart instead.

Goodnight!

I speak plenty, just not in tongues.

To anyone who may have gotten the wrong impression of me from yesterday's blog entry, I am not a vengeful nor angry person. My point was to explain how in my YOUTH, I was immature enough to let these feelings affect my response to events. However, after many hurtful encounters, I came to realize that revenge was not the way. It would not make me feel better. So I had to take the longer path of eventual forgiveness, and after awhile, the anger I felt towards people just faded away.

Just to be the opposite of yesterday, here is a video that is all about love and harmony.

Haha. But seriously, I'm not angry.

I was going to talk today about politics, since I got rilled up by NPR this morning, but now I realize that ranting about that topic will only infer that I am indeed angry. And again, I'm not.

So, lets talk about.....church? I'm going to Brian's dream church now. It is the church he's wanted to attend ever since he became "born again" back in California. I was a bit weirded out when we went to our first service there. They are Pentecostal...meaning that they are moved by the Holy Spirit and they let you know it! They sing loudly and wave their arms and they shout out "Praise Jesus!" and various other exclamations, and they believe in "healing by laying hands" and they will reach out and pray over you and anoint you with oil and speak in tongues!

Now, to the average person, this may sound like a little much. I will admit, my first impression was "This is over the top". But let me state some of the positives for the skeptics out there.

These people are the nicest people I've ever met. That is not an exaggeration. Brian and I have been to so many churches over the years, but never in my life have I had people of every age (old to young) as well as the Pastor and his wife, take such a HUGE and PERSONAL interest in me and my family. Everyone is friendly. Everyone shakes your hand, hugs you, talks to you, invites you to things, and everyone wants to know your name. This is a good and bad thing for me, but mainly because I am used to the 30 second Kiss of Peace at the Catholic service, where everyone shakes hands politely, and then turns around again and minds their business. At our church, they shake your hand, hug you, and then get up out of their seat and walk around and hug everyone else all around the church!

The kids go to Children's Church (Sunday school), and Abby even goes to their Youth Group on Monday nights, and now has begun attending Youth Bible Study on Wednesday nights! This is just unreal as far as a teenager is concerned! Now, it may have to do with the extremely SMALL town we live in. A lot of kids in her high school also attend the Youth church events, because there aren't many events or places for kids to hang out on weekday evenings. And the Youth Pastor, the very cool guy, Pastor Alex, is a huge part of the draw. He looks like a teenager. He's usually seen with a group of teenagers, possibly with a skateboard in his hand. He texted Abby yesterday afternoon to ask if she'd be coming to Bible Study last night. I mean, how many Youth Pastors will text the kids to invite them to things?? It's a unique situation, but certainly not a bad one for her.

Another positive, is that after I got over my initial weird-out-feeling from the enthusiasm of these people, I began to appreciate it and enjoy the service. There is no boring lecture. They have a band, and they sing 3-4 songs and they have a nice PowerPoint screen with the words so you can sing along. The Pastor is very outgoing and friendly. He is ENTHUSIASTIC about the Bible, and about his feelings, and his sermons are very inspirational, as well as occasionally humorous. And one thing that impressed Brian right off the bat, was the fact that after our first service there, Pastor Dennis walked right up to us and introduced himself. That has never happened to us before.

This is Brian's dream church because of the intimate, family atmosphere, as well as the enthusiastic preaching and numerous opportunities for him to "get involved". He has always wanted to be more a part of things, but honestly, in all our past churches, either the place was as big and crowded as a rock concert, or we never felt connected to the place, and therefore, never felt welcomed to become a real part of it.

Now, as far as the politics and core beliefs of this church, I cannot say that I am 100% on board with it. They are religiously enthusiastic, and yet their political and religious opinions are very Bible based and conservative. They are very anti-Obama. I sort of sway from one extreme to the other during the Sunday services. I am happy and feeling inspired by the preaching. But then the Pastor says something about this being a "Christian Nation" and the old lady in front of us stage-whispers to her old lady companion "Not according to OBAMA!!" and I prickle. I am not a "born again Christian". And therefore, I am not fully entrenched in the Christian agenda.

I have not embraced this church as Brian has, because I still have too many questions. I am not ready to say "It's in the BIBLE and therefore it is TRUE." I am not ready to say that the only way to God is through Jesus. I believe there are many, many devoutly religious people in this world, be it Muslim, Jewish, or even those (sorry, but it's true) crazy Jehovah's Witnesses! If a person goes though their entire life, living devoutly, piously, lovingly, and worshiping God, then when they die and go to Heaven, Jesus will be at the gates to turn them away??

Brian says, either you believe in the Bible or you don't. Either you accept it all as true, or you don't. You can't say "I believe in some of it, but not all of it". Unfortunately, that's kind of where I'm at. The Christian perspective is mostly what I believe, but then again, not totally.

So, I'm attending the church. I'm enjoying most of it. I truly do love the people we've met, and the positive influence it's had on my family. But perhaps the Holy Spirit has not seen fit to power through my soul just yet?? Perhaps I'm not at a place where I am ready to accept it all. Or perhaps I will just switch back to Catholic. You never know.

But, hey! If you get a chance to attend Lake City Assembly of God while traveling through Medical Lake, Washington, you really should swing by. They will make you feel welcome, even if your a skeptic, like little old me.

Ghosts from the past make me feel bad.

Today I got an email from a person in my past. A person I'd rather not remember, honestly. A person who brought a lot of heartache and serious trouble to my young life. After I got over my shock, I gave that person a hasty brush-off in my emailed response. But I keep checking my inbox today to make sure they don't try to provoke me with any more attempts at conversation. I have a nice stomach full of anxiety because of that unexpected correspondence.

As an adult, I can clearly look back upon my teenage/young adult life, and see my mistakes. I can see why I chose certain people for my friends. I can see why I shouldn't have chosen others. I can see where the path of my life became rough, and I encountered obstacles (physical and mental) that really broke me down. After these experiences, I had to change who I was. I had to move ahead, move past the events and the people that caused me pain and suffering, and in almost every case, my final decision had to be to cut them from my life completely. I stopped talking to them. I very clearly stepped away, and told myself to take the high road. How many times did I have to repeat that phrase to myself "Take the high road. Do not show them how they hurt you. Do not look for revenge."

Because, as you may or may not know, I am a Taurus. As a Taurus, I hold onto my anger. I am like that Ezekiel passage that Samuel L. Jackson recites during Pulp Fiction, "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you."

I mean, I'm not the type to burn a house down or slash tires, but my anger can be so consuming, that I will not rest until that person has been hurt as badly as they hurt me. In my teenage days, that might mean that I get up in their face and berate them until they want to cry. Or perhaps I just manipulate the situation until that person feels the pain that I felt. I was crafty with my methods of youthful retribution.

But what I learned, especially during the time I spent dealing with the above mentioned person, is that vengeance is not sweet. Vengeance does not make me feel better. What it does is create such horrible feelings inside of me, that I can never move past the event, even when the offending party has been subject to the full force of my anger and resentment.

What does make me feel better is moving on. Being a better person than they were to me.

Every person who hurt me, or caused me trouble in my life, was going to have to face their own demons someday. And you know what? Every single person who ever hurt me and seemed unscathed at that moment, did eventually have to pay their karmic debt.

They encountered the pain of a broken heart, or a long stretch of depression or loneliness, or even ended up facing the authorities. Yes, I did hang out with the kind of people who were doing things that might lead to jail. They weren't evil people, but just the kind of people who only thought of themselves. They never realized how their actions could reverberate for a long time after they disappeared from my life. It all comes back to you...what you put out there, I mean.

So, today when I got that unexpected email, my first reaction was just a huge knot of anxiety. But then I tried to calm myself, and I composed a response that clearly stated that the past is the past, and some things are best left back there.

But it did get me thinking, it might be time to adjust the ol' privacy settings on Facebook.

I'll be taking care of that one, ASAP.