As in wife to George, now livin’ it up on the East Side.

In other words, For the Record has a new home.

It’s not perfect, and there’s still a chance that I won’t be able to deal with some of the behind-the-scenes functional differences, which might bring me back here or put the whole blog shebang on hold for a while, but I’m taking the plunge anyway.

If all goes wrong, Luke can just put a new engine in my old Jeep.

See you there!

But I can tell you that Season 6 of Gilmore Girls is back at home on my shelf, so we should be talking about our favorite Stars Hollow residents again soon.

And I can promise you that I’ve got a couple non-fluff posts simmering on For the Record’s back burners.

And I can give you a few prequel pics at the end of this post. (Chris’ll do something with these and the others soon; I’m sure. I’ll update when he does.)

And I can assure you that we had a great time with the family, but I love DFW.

And I really love Texas.

Grammi Roo and Caelyn bubble with excitement. (Please forgive me for Caelyn’s hair. It was windy.)

Claire watches the bubbles with a mix of skepticism and awe.

Caelyn wonders where her “sunnies” are when she really needs them.

Claire finds a playmate . . . with a few bugs on her face.

Caelyn and Claire try to free Maverick and Zeke.

When mere force doesn’t work, Caelyn shows Claire how to give the lock the Bird.

Granddaddy lures Caelyn to friendship . . .

. . . and sleep with the help of technology.

Caelyn and Grammi Roo see the world from the front porch . . .

. . . before taking it by storm.

All in all, I’m really excited for Chris to be home, but I had a good time in “The Girls’ Club.” Even so, I can think of a few reasons my husband shouldn’t leave me alone. (None of these apply when he is in town.):

1. I suddenly get the notion that I deserve to eat whatever I want and whatever Chris doesn’t like, even if it’s not good for me. Because I know how much you like details, here’s what I ate:

Friday:

Lean Cuisine Something
Wendy’s Chicken Sandwich (& a few of Caelyn’s fries)
(Small) Slice of Key Lime Pie

Saturday:

(Low-fat) Biscotti & Coffee
1/2 Chicken Salad Sandwich (on croissant) & Tomato Basil Soup
1/2 Lemon Tart (Caelyn ate the other half.)
1/3 Wolfgang Puck Natural Frozen Pizza

Sunday:

Biscotti & Coffee
(Low-fat) Baked Potato Soup (with bacon crumbles & light sour cream/cheese)
Taco Bell Nacho Supreme & Crispy Taco

Monday:

Biscotti & Coffee
Rest of Baked Potato Soup
(Low-fat) 3 Cheese Ravioli w/ Sweet Tomato Basil Sauce & Salad
The rest of a sleeve (maybe 1/5) of reduced-fat Ritz . . . in bed . . . at 2 a.m.

Tuesday:

Biscotti & Coffee
Turkey Sandwich
(I’m making fajitas tonight. And I’m excited about it.)

What’s missing from that menu? Vegetables? I love veggies, but they’re sure not on on there in mass quantity. But don’t worry. I fed ‘em to Caelyn. And I think I deserve some credit for not buying that carrot cake I mentioned in Off the Record, since I love carrot cake and Chris hates it.

2. I drink three cups of coffee in the morning, instead of one. I take it black, so calories aren’t a big deal, but do I really need that much caffeine? My tummy says no. I drink it on a relatively empty stomach, because . . . .

3. I don’t really eat breakfast. Notice the biscotti listed above, as though that’s a suitable breakfast. Again, don’t worry. Caelyn had Cheerios with strawberries and bananas every day.

4. I overestimate my ability to be productive. This weekend’s project list?

1. Pull out the clothes that don’t fit Caelyn (to give to Claire)

2. Mark and bag said clothes

3. Reorganize Caelyn’s closet

5. Buy swimsuit

6. Pull out the toys that are too young for Caelyn (to give to Claire)

7. Reorganize laundry room

8. Reorganize kitchen

9. Clean out magazine bin

10. Figure out how to reorganize books so we don’t look like crazy old professors and Caelyn can’t tear them up

11. Rip old CDs to iMac, find album artwork for the ones not on iTunes

12. Clean entire apartment

13. Wash all the rugs

14. Wash all the bedding Chris used when he had the flu

Okay. So I did all of those things, except number 8. (That’s a big project!) But I didn’t do them in one sitting, which means I made a huge mess. I also didn’t finish 11 and I’m afraid I never will. I know; how in the world do I still have CDs that aren’t ripped? Aren’t I down with the times? Here’s the thing:

I have a lot of CDs that Chris doesn’t like. And I didn’t have an iPod back when ripping CDs became hip. Plus, I wasn’t often on the computer, especially not on the iMac, where all the music “has” to be.

How is it possible that, in our family, I didn’t have an iPod?

We got the Mini first, which Chris mainly used. Then we got a Shuffle but like I want to do any major listening when I can’t select the music. (The red ones are still pretty cool.) So I just kept listening to CDs. After we moved here, Chris got a Video and gave me the Mini. But I still didn’t have much face time with the iMac and I used it with the stereo in my office — at a conservative ministry where my listening options were restricted. I switched between CDs and K-LUV for the traffic reports on my commute. (CD to radio is an easier switch.) Then I had Caelyn, quit my job, and Chris wanted a Nano to go with his shoes. You see where this is going, right?

I was down with the Nano, so long as I got the Video, which I use every day.

And there you have it. The only functioning CD players we have now are on computers.

5. I spend more money than I usually do: movies, music, food, swimsuit, toys. I didn’t spend a lot, but it felt like it since I rarely spend money exclusively on me. (Yeah, the ball, Mr. Potato Head, and The Great Mouse Detective weren’t for me.) I didn’t buy a ton of stuff when I lived by myself (from Jan 01 to June 04) either, but I still spent a decent amount of “extra” cash. I’d guess I probably bought around 10 CDs a month and ate out all the time. Not only that, but say I really wanted to go out for steaks but you were strapped for cash. Not a problem. It was on me. I paid my bills on time and always had groceries too. And I flippin’ worked on campus. I had my rent (and insurance and tuition) covered for most of that time, but I still don’t understand how I had that kind of cash.

I’m sure no one but my sister is interested, but here’s the swimsuit I ordered:

Not super sexy, but practical enough for Aquacise and cute enough for the pool. The top is a material that’ll make it “suction” instead of flow with the exercise moves. The only catch is whether or not it’ll be long enough. Stupid 5’11.

Of course, if Chelsea had posted about this earlier, I’d have gone an entirely different route:

6. Apparently, Chris being out of town attracts individuals to interrupt Caelyn’s nap, resulting in her spending the rest of the day and the next day devastated by the slightest disappointment . . . and everything is disappointing.

“I can’t get my purse off my stroller; I’d better scream about it.”

“Now I can’t push my stroller through the wall; I’d better bang my head against the wall.”

“Mommy is standing, since I don’t want her to, I’d better pull my hair and cry about it.”

“I don’t want to wear Mommy’s flip flop, but I’m going to keep putting it on and whining about it anyway.”

“Maverick keeps looking at me and I don’t like it, so I’ll just screech and flail my arms at him.”

(She just kissed me while I typed that, so now I feel a little guilty. She’s still a sweetheart.)

Two maintenance guys showed up yesterday to “inspect the apartment.” I asked them to come back later, but it had to be “right” then. They had a “schedule.” I’d like to point out that had I not been there, Maverick would’ve been, and they couldn’t have come in. But they did. And they accomplished nothing aside from changing the filter and spreading their cologne everywhere. I showed them where the window leaks and where the weather stripping is so far gone that you can see outside and told them that the toilet has to be plunged at least once a month. They didn’t care; these weren’t on the list. Apparently, only the filter, the locks, and the hall light and smoke detector count. They didn’t even check the other smoke detectors. Also, I know how to change a light bulb. And I’d fixed the deadbolt two days before.

Today a solicitor called. Two days ago a realtor showed up. Maverick barked at some kids the day before that.

7. I stay up way too late. I don’t mean to, but I always do. I don’t have to be doing anything. I can be watching some show I don’t care about or holding out for a show I do like or organizing or perusing the Web or reading or thinking or listening to music or taking bubble baths or cleaning or planning a project I’ll never do or writing or watching infomercials for products I’d never use (Cristin, you so need a Cricut!). And if HGTV gets turned on, well, it doesn’t matter how stupid the show is, how obnoxious the host is, or how ugly the design is — I’m hanging in for the reveal. Before and after!

Since I was ripping old CDs, I spent a lot of time up late on the Internet while listening to stuff I haven’t listened to in a while.

Like this:

And this:

And lots of other stuff that I have listened to since I acquired the Video iPod, but not as often as I used to.

8. It makes my family nervous. They like safety. They think safety is most accessible in the company of a trusted male (and least accessible in the company of an unknown/untrusted male).

9. Walking Maverick (a 95 lb shepherd dog who swerves and pulls) is tricky with a 20-month old. But we enjoyed our “family walks” all the same.

10. There are wasps in the Mail Center. And everywhere else. Plotting against me.

PS — Thanks for your comments! Look for responses during tomorrow’s nap time! But please don’t call or drop by to inquire about them or ask me to buy something. My patience is about spent.

In other words, I provoked a massive breakdown.

Or maybe she was just thrown off by the time change, because when I picked her up and put on the lullaby portion of Slugs & Bugs & Lullabies, she put her head on my shoulder and just about fell asleep . . . before lunch.

We were sitting there in the office chair listening to “Beautiful Girl” and I had to admit — it’s actually a really pretty lullaby. Mainly acapela with sweet, imagistic lyrics:

I’ve got your bottle,
and I’ve got you swaddled
and you’re to loud to ignore.
Your mamma is sleeping,
the angels are keeping,
so cry no more.

Hey, beautiful girl,
Daddy loves you, he loves you,
most beautiful girl
in the whole wide world.

The stars are all shining,
the birds are reclining,
the squirrels are all nestled down,
and the trees in the forest
are joining the chorus
and swaying to the sound.

[chorus]

I know that moons rise
and time flies
and sweet little girls get older,
and then when you do things,
or your heart breaks,
will you still cry on my shoulder?

Hey, beautiful girl,
Daddy loves you, he loves you,
most beautiful girl
in the whole wide world.

I’ve mentioned Andrew Peterson and Randall Goodgame’s kids’ album before, and said that for a children’s album, it’s actually enjoyable. It’s obviously for kids, but it won’t make you want to destroy every music-playing device in your house. The first half is made up of fun tracks about bears not wearing underwear, post office ladies in the snow, babies who won’t burp, and imaginary tigers. The second half serves up lullabies that feature both daddies singing to their children, assuring them that they’ll be right down the hall while they sleep and not to worry, God will be keeping them through the night. Obviously, “Beautiful Girl” fits into the latter half.

(You can listen to a few tracks on Peterson’s website.)

As I was listening, I started thinking about some of my very first albums and whether or not they drove my parents crazy. There was Antshillvania, the story of the prodigal son, ant style. Music Machine and Down by the Creek Bank came to mind too. There were movie soundtracks, like The Little Mermaid (I used to sing “Kiss the Girl” in my sister’s ear when she was sleeping, hoping she’d give up her crush’s name in her sleep) and An American Tail (I so rocked “Somewhere Out There” on the piano).

And then there was Sandi Patti and The Friendship Company. (No, I don’t know why Patti’s with an “i” instead of a “y.”)

I looked high and low for a YouTube or audio file, but came up empty-handed. I can, however, share these lyrics from my memory (though I make no promises of accuracy):

Welcome to the friendship company.
You’re gonna love the friendship company.
Howdy, friend, hey come on in,
to the friendship company.
Now take the hand of someone near you,
turn around and say, “Hello.”
You’re gonna find the friends Jesus,
are everywhere you go.
We have friends of every color,
we have friends in every land,
but when you share the love of Jesus,
every friend can understand.

I guess that one would be a good contrast to the first half of Slugs & Bugs & Lullabies. Need a contrast to the second?

I don’t exactly remember those puppets, but there’s something familiar about them. It could just be that the intro on the video is also on the cassette.

Wanna know a secret? I didn’t even make it through that entire video. So it seems likely that my parents would’ve just barely escaped my childhood with their sanity too, right?

Not so fast. I contend that they, in fact, loved Antshillvania, Down by the Creek Bank, and Music Machine, all of which I had on vinyl. And they adored The Friendship Company!

My case is three-fold:

1) They purchased each one for me and/or my sister.

2) Getting their kids into Christian music was very important to them, particularly to my mom.

and most incriminatingly,

3) The very first musical event I ever attended (some time prior to 1988):

Let me assure you, my parents and their friends were there and it was entirely their idea.

Okay. So that video’s not actually from the concert we attended, but that song’s from the tour good old Sandi was on back then. Some time during the evening, she sang “Friendship Company” and invited all the children on stage. I went up, but only stood on the stairs, out of the spotlight. Afterwards, my parents couldn’t wait to get me in The Friendship Co.

I think I must’ve gotten kicked out a long time ago. But I’m not complaining. I’ll take slugs and bugs to friends any day.

If you’ve never watched Sesame Street, the title of this post probably doesn’t make sense to you. If you haven’t seen it in a while, you should give it try. Caelyn’s not quite there, so I haven’t really watched it since my mom told me I was too old to keep getting Sesame Street Magazine. But I put it on for her in the hotel over Christmas one morning. And you know what? It’s kinda funny!

“A” was the letter of the day. Grover was a doctor, an Alphabet Specialist, who thought he knew everything, but kept misconstructing the Letter A. The nurses would say, “That’s not what A looks like.” And Dr. Grover would say, “I’m an Alphabet Specialist!” A kept reeling off words that start with “a,” until Dr. Grover would say, “That’s really annoying!” And A would reply, “A-nnoying!”

Then there was this bit where Ernie tried to teach the kids that you can use touch to identify something. He closed his eyes and reached out just as Bert entered the room. He felt Bert’s arm and said it was like a garden hose. Then he felt Bert’s head and said it felt like a shag carpet. Finally he correctly guessed, “Bert!”

Bert was impressed, but stormed off when Ernie said, “I didn’t know you wore a rug, Bert!”

Think I’ve digressed too far? Don’t worry. I’ve got a tie in:

Follow That Bird! was my very first theatrical experience. And I loved it . . .

. . . even if the Letter F didn’t make any appearances. I guess Big Bird just knew I’d get all the F I’d ever need in Boston:

You know I’m no prude when it comes to media. But since I don’t live in an obscenity factory, it’s impossible not to notice when I’ve been transported into one via film. . . .

The first time I saw Good Will Hunting I was a jr. or sr. in high school, and if you’ve read this post, you know I wasn’t at my house. I was at my friend Jacob’s, whose parents had moved, leaving the house to Jacob. (He’s got three years on me.)

So it was Jacob, C.C., our buddy Toby, and a handful of people I didn’t know from Jake’s college. Jacob and I were were cozy on the couch. C.C. was leaning against it by my legs. And Matt Damon was spouting math ingenuity and f-bombs left and right. I admit; I was too distracted by it to pay attention to the good story happening. And I didn’t even know I was in love with Elliott Smith, so I didn’t know I needed the soundtrack to meet my completist inclinations.

What I did know was that I was out of my element — All these people I didn’t know. All these words I wasn’t allowed to say. It was another world, and despite all my rebellious longings, being in it made a guilty pit in my stomach. Even though C.C. did live in an obscenity factory, an Italian one complete with his brothers and half sisters and their 13 out-of-wedlock children, he felt the same pit in his stomach. So we ended up talking in the corner through most of the movie.

I saw Good Will Hunting again in college, enjoyed the story and the acting, and barely noticed the foul language. And, if I did notice it, I didn’t feel guilty about it.

So things have changed.

But last night when we watched Gone Baby Gone, I still noticed the level of obscenities. They didn’t distract me from the story or make my cheeks burn, but it’s hard not to notice when every scene includes several f-words. The c-word even made a few appearances. Men, women, children — they’re all cursing up a storm. It’s the kind of dialogue that keeps running through your head for 30 minutes after the movie wraps. Like when you’ve just finished American History X and head into the kitchen to make dinner, where you drop an egg, squint your eyes at it all pathetic on your clean floor, and think: “Stupid mother f*****!”

The half hour passes and you’re back to your “clean” thoughts. (I’m not quite sure how I should feel about that.)

The pace of Gone Baby Gone is a little slow, which gave me a chance to think: “People in Boston sure must cuss a lot,” and then think about the other movies I’ve seen set in Boston. Two came to mind, and I began to notice other similarities, mainly the names Matt Damon & Ben Affleck.

***
LET’S ASSESS:

Nearly 150 F-words and derivatives.

Screenwriters: Matt Damon & Ben Affleck
Starring: Matt Damon & Ben Affleck
Setting: South Boston

226 F-words and derivatives.

Starring: Matt Damon
Setting: South Boston

121 F-words and derivatives.

Screenwriter: Ben Affleck
Director: Ben Affleck
Starring: Casey Affleck (who, by the way, starred along side Matt Damon in the Ocean‘s franchise and both Matt and Ben in Good Will Hunting. Michelle Monaghan is also in this one and previously appeared in The Bourne Supremacy, featuring none other than Matt Damon.)
Setting: South Boston

No, I didn’t tally those myself. Thanks to my parents, I know about this site that does it for you.

I’m not necessarily complaining. Just observing. In fact, I’m a huge Matt Damon fan. You’ve got The Bourne Trilogy, The Departed, The Good Shepherd, The Ocean’s flicks, Saving Private Ryan, Good Will Hunting, The Rainmaker . . . he’s good in just about everything he does. (Ben on the other hand, doesn’t do it for me too often.)

So there you have it:

Matt Damon and the Affleck brothers are from South Boston, where they couldn’t help but learn to curse like sailors and they want everyone else to know how gritty it was and is. They work what they know.

And how does that work out for their films?

Well, Good Will Hunting‘s a good story. The Departed, if you can tolerate its coarse exterior (and I know some of you can’t or won’t), is excellent. Both worthy of their Academy Awards.

And Gone Baby Gone‘s “not bad.”

It’s Affleck’s directing debut, in which he does a decent job, even though the flashbacks to reveal what really happened and/or what may have happened are kind of hokey. The acting — Casey Affleck, Michelle Monaghan, Morgan Freeman, Ed Harris — is quite good. The screenplay’s a little lacking. I already mentioned the pace. It’s set up as a crime mystery, but gives too much away in its timing. The dialogue feels a little forced and at times cheesy. Casey Affleck’s narrating off screen felt too “40s Detective Drama” to me. (Maybe I just associated it with that awful Boy Meets World episode.) One detail in the resolution just isn’t believable.

It simply tries too hard to be too many things. And I’m not sure Ed Harris can ever get away with saying “radio” in a movie again.

But it’s not a bad film.

In the end, I guess, Gone Baby Gone‘s less of an experience and more of an exercise in ethical thought — like you might encounter when examining The Holocaust or The Underground Railroad, but kidnapping’s central here. And it’s a worthwhile process:

(I’m truncating the questions raised in the movie and the possibility for you to discuss them with each other and me on For the Record — as well as the opportunity to examine a movie with “dirty” language through the filter of Christian faith, not the “rules” of Christian subculture — just in case you’d be mad at me for giving away too much, even though I think it’ll be okay.)

* Is what’s “right” always right and what’s “wrong” always wrong?

* Is kidnapping ever warranted?

* Does a bad mother still have the most right to her child?

* Is nature more important than nurture?

* Should you follow your legal responsibility, even if it means potentially endangering a child?

* Is murder only murder if it’s inflicted on the wrong person?

* Are lies really sins if they protect the innocent?

* Are there times when killing is necessary?

* Can anyone ever find a way to live like Jesus and not be destroyed by the evil of the world?

* What does it really mean to be “as wise as serpents” and “as gentle as doves”?

***
I won’t ruin it for you and tell you how the movie answers those questions, but I welcome your responses!

And looking at them filled me with a nostalgia that’s hard describe.

***
I’m not even sure it’s normal to feel nostalgia (if that’s the right word) like I do — not necessarily in regard to Hardin-Simmons University, but just in general. I’m pretty sure what did me in this time are those street lamps. They got me all worked up and led to this conversation:

Me, taking a deep breath: “Man”

Chris: Laughs

Me: “You mean to tell me this doesn’t make you miss HSU?”

Chris: “No”

Me: “Not even with those early-morning lights?”

Chris, still laughing: “No”

Me: “Just think about those kids slipping in from being out too late, coffee, the crisp, dry air. All the learning that’s about to take place, the relationships forming. Nothing?”

Chris: “Nothing at all.”

I don’t really want to go all the way through college again, but I’ve sure got a warm place in my heart for HSU and sometimes I trick myself into thinking I do. (And, let’s face it. HSU’s got a pretty campus, but inside those buildings ain’t always so pretty. Ahem, Abilene Hall, Van Ellis/Behrens Chapel. By the way, I spent more time in those buildings than any others, except Logsdon and dorms.)

I loved HSU in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep. I think in those moments I felt the most at home. It’s a funny thing to feel as if an entire university campus belongs to you, even the parts you don’t visit very often.

And I loved HSU in the early morning before the street lamps shut off too. I’m not sure why. I only took one 8 o’clock class ever, my last semester. And if it’d been anything besides Biology with a genetics specialist, I can assure you I would’ve skipped the maximum number of allowed times. But there were those occasional nights when I stayed out until dawn and plenty nights when I worked on papers well past daylight. And, after I graduated, I taught Freshman Comp. at 8 o’clock.

I’m not usually excited about getting up early, but I have to admit — every time I’d turn onto campus, with the sun just lighting the clouds and those lamps glowing against the subtle blue, I’d feel a quiet rush. Most professors were still in their homes. The parking lots were empty. The sidewalks abandoned. The dew on the lawn untouched. I’d step out of my car with my (Abilene Hall forbidden) travel mug of coffee and stand still for just a minute,* feeling the cool of the air on my face. Listening to the calm and thinking of all the memories and possibilities just beyond its reach.

Photographs © Scott Burkhalter of IonCreativity

(You can check out more HSU pics on Scott’s Flickr. Joseph has a few too.)

***
* I should confess that I only did this on the mornings when I was early, not scrambling to get there before my entire class arrived. I think those two occurrences each represent 50% of the semester. I was never actually “on time.”

Grammi Roo’s throwing up, so the trail to Oklahoma has been temporarily closed. (See the last paragraph of this post to learn how I feel about the idea of Caelyn catching a “stomach bug.”)

Laundry, closet sorting, grocery shopping, and swimsuit buying still loom before me, though.

So where does that leave you?

In the Dream, the Reality, and the TV, which are completely unrelated, of course.

THE DREAM:

I know it can be obnoxious when people share their dreams, but this one’s so bizarre I can’t help it.

The time — Two nights ago

The place — HSU campus, but located in Plano, buried in the “wooded” corner of McDermott & Independence, where you’ll find a bank in real life.

The predicament — I’m pregnant again.

The catch — The baby has somehow implanted in my EAR, instead of my tummy. That’s right, you could look in my ear and see the tiniest little bean of a baby.

The heart of the matter — I have to find a pediatrician who can take care of the unborn baby in my ear. No one knows of one, but finally I receive a tip that a girl from my freshman class, Kourtney, who’s from Plano, had a great experience with one. (Kourtney is real. I haven’t talked to her in a long time, though, and she’s not from Plano.) She and a few other girls from that year’s Sigma Alpha Pledge Class (of which I wasn’t a part) are working out at HSU’s exclusive, posh gym. I’m not a member, so I have to sneak in. Through the kitchen of course.

I finally make it to the gym and spy Kourtney and Mandy working out on the rings. I’m on an elevated area, looking down on them. For a moment, I can’t figure out how to get down there, but then I see a staircase at the end of a passage enclosed by a glass half-wall and brass rail. I’m in a hurry — remember, I don’t belong — so I start down the stairs without taking my eyes of Kourtney and Mandy. Suddenly, I realize the staircase isn’t complete, but it’s too late. I’m falling, only to catch myself on a conveniently installed handicapped rail. Kourtney and I discuss the pediatrician while she’s hanging from the rings and I’m hanging from the rail. Somehow I make it safely to the floor and encounter . . . .

The villain — Dr. Hancock! The “camera” zooms in on him to reveal that when seen close up, Hancock looks like none other than Tom Cruise. The “camera” pans back out and it’s plain old Hancock again. “Katy, we need to talk,” he says.

“I know. I’m not supposed to be here,” I reply.

“No, that’s not it. Please follow me to my office.”

I take a seat in a chair in front of his desk and he tells me that I’m getting kicked out of HSU for missing three days of class. My case: I was sick one day. I went to the dr. the next day. And when I told Dr. Williford about my situation, he insisted I take another day on him. Hancock doesn’t care. Rules are rules.

“There’s a BABY IN MY EAR! Look!” I plead.

Hancock leans across his desk to peer in my ear. Then he slides back into his leather desk chair and raises his eyebrows, “We all have our crosses to bear.”

The “camera” cuts to the gym exterior and I’m awake.

THE REALITY:

I came across an interesting post the other night when I couldn’t sleep. It’s by a guy I know, but not well, and haven’t talked to in years. I’d link to it, but I don’t want to look like a stalker, even if I was snooping. But, really, this doesn’t classify as “snooping,” since I eventually got to his blog by following a series of links, originating from a blog of someone I actually know really well.

Anyway, this guy — we’ll call him Matt — wrote a post based on the false prophets in sheep’s clothing in Matthew 7. His illustration was living next to two “cult leaders” in an HSU dorm during his (and my) freshman year. Matt says the guys started a Bible study that he visited once. They kept the newcomers in a separate room. Nothing specifically “wrong” happened, but Matt and his friend still felt that something was off. They never went back, but kept a close eye on things.

The Bible study gained a following of students who met together daily for hours, dressed the same, and got similar haircuts. They associated strictly with other members, except for attempts to convert outsiders. If you weren’t a part of their group, they believed you were bound for hell. If you tried to leave the Bible study, you were accused of committing an unpardonable sin, for which you would pay on The Day of Lord — one of their main foci. Parents began disowning their children; Matt began to see his friends sucked into the cult.

Matt claims the two leaders maintained authority over the group and intentionally preyed upon the uneducated and impressionable, aka any freshman class ever.

I was reading along, thinking, “How in the world did I miss this?” The answer is that, outside of hanging out with freshman girls in the dorm, I quickly (and inadvertently) became a member of a circle of upperclassmen. I wasn’t really in many social settings with other freshmen, especially freshmen guys. But then Matt said something I recognized:

The members would innate a recruitment session by asking you to define “grace” and then acting like only they knew the real answer.

When I read that, I remembered sitting in the SUB studying one afternoon. There were a couple kids — who were in my class, but I didn’t know them — sitting in a booth right by my table. A smart alecky looking guy approached them and made a little small talk before diving in:

“Do you guys know the definition of grace?”

The two kids stumbled and the other guy was ready to reel them in. I was sitting so close that I really couldn’t help but be a part of the conversation. Now, I’m not saying I know everything or that I’m a theologian or that there’s not room for various interpretations of various things in the Christian faith. But I think the heart of grace, no matter how you specifically define it, is critical to God’s character. And, well, this guy’s answer was crazy.

But the kids were buying it.

Suddenly, the recruiter was joined by a friend spouting the same mumbo-jumbo with an air of “I’m not just more intelligent than you. I’m holier than you too.” I couldn’t stand it.

“That’s not what grace is,” I interrupted.

The recruiters shot their eyes at me, “So you think you know what it is?”

I answered them with a definition and several biblical examples, complete with references, that I couldn’t re-list if I tried. They weren’t happy with me at all.

The conversation ended with me saying something about how if they thought they were being like Jesus, going around exposing the Truth — which they’d told me they were doing — they were way off. The interaction we were all having wasn’t how Jesus wanted members of his family to treat each other at all, and they’d started with the premise that we’re all Christians, right?

They left after that. I went back to my textbook and never thought about it again.

Matt says the cult disbanded after several Christians intervened. I can’t say for sure that any of this is true, as I’ve just shared my one and only witness of anything remotely related to it. But I can say that throughout my freshman year, I “felt” warnings in my heart: “People are not always who they say they are.” “Innocence can be deceiving.” “Guard your heart, for it is the well-spring of life.” I never had any tangible reason to think those things — unless I was a crazy skeptic, which I’m really not — but I prayed specific prayers based on them.

Funny, though. If there was anything to those “feelings,” I recognized it when the Witnessing Army, the Spirit Dance Revolution, and friends attending “faith-healing” churches tried to unintentionally “ensnare” me. But it sounds like I might not have even realized one very big “tangible reason” when I talked to it in the student union building.

THE TV:

Does anybody else think Amy Sherman-Pallidino in her silly black top hat and propensity to be too clever for her own good needs to come forward as an uncredited Lost writer? Sawyer and Paris enjoy much of the same sort of insult hurling. Sawyer just does it with a Southern “charm,” while Paris burns with Northeastern intellectualism.

(That’s in no way intended as a claim that the writing on Gilmore Girls and Lost are in the same genre or style or level. Nor am I acting like I never enjoy these sorts of quips. I’m just saying.)

Mom: “Hi! How are you? Loweta says hello.”

Me: “You’re with Loweta?”

Mom: “Yes, it’s Monday.”

And that’s when it hit me. Today is Monday. Not Thursday.

Incidentally, my mom’s “schedule” is pretty crazy this “semester.” Just in case you’re the sort who needs to know way too much inane information (and let’s face it, you ARE reading For the Record):

Mondays: Meet from 9 to 5 with Loweta (prayer partner/mentor), then teach Precept Bible Study at First Baptist.

Tuesdays: Teach another Precept Bible Study at FBC in the morning, then do lunch with study ladies.

Wednesdays: Teach Bible study at the Base Chapel in the morning, then teach AWANA in the evening, after swinging by Taco Bell for a bean burrito.

Thursdays: Mentor a lady in the afternoon.

Fridays: Clean & try to meet goal of seeing each grandbaby, who both live at least 180 miles away, every month.

Saturdays: Return from seeing said grandbabies.

Sundays: Teach inductive study-style Sunday School class at home church (not FBC) in the mornings, go to morning services, take nap, return to church to teach Women’s Bible study & attend evening services.

Every day: Manage prayer chain, write letters to countless people, take care of husband & home, and meet the demands of being extremely popular in a small town.

Okay. So I might not have been as busy as my mom this weekend, but I was still busy. And I’m still tired. Plus, I’m supposed to be doing laundry and sorting clothes/toys to take to Caelyn’s little cousin when we girls head to Oklahoma on Wednesday.

You know what that means: another mindless We Need to Talk.

PART I

1. Chris & I went out to eat with some of my birthday money (from July!) on Friday night and then watched a movie in our sumptuous bed.

a) At the restaurant, Caelyn informed us (via her behavior) that she’s ready to graduate to a booster seat. She’d also like to believe she’s ready for a cup with a lid/straw instead of a sippy. She’s mastered the straw, but she still tips the cup forward, spilling milk all over her lap. It’s possible that she’ll never overcome this, as I did the same thing with my water glass, not once, but twice during the same dinner.

b) We watched Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington in American Gangster, which is inspired by the true story of drug lord Frank Lucas and the former deep corruption of the NYPD. Through the work of Russell Crowe’s character, two thirds of the NYPD were arrested. Two thirds! It’s an unsettling film in some regards, but it’s pretty darn good too. You could say it’s a grittier, dirtier Catch Me If You Can. At the very least, they’re both about Franks.

2. In case your deductive reasoning skills need sharpening, we celebrated my nephew, Graham’s, first birthday this weekend. We also threw in a celebration for my mother-in-law, Jan’s, birthday and a bonus estate sale for Chris’ Grammie, who’s moving from her retirement center apartment to a set-up with medical assistance. We did all of this on Saturday. After 3 o’clock. It was a mad-dash to fit it all in, and in the end, we didn’t. We went back on Sunday to move a few more things.

Caelyn and I hung out with my sister-in-law and her two kids while the men did the grunt work and Jan directed. The kids had fun, but they’re not quite the right ages yet. Finley (3 1/2) desperately wanted Caelyn (20 months) to play Hide and Seek. When Finley walked Caelyn back to her room, said, “Go hide!” and shut the door, Caelyn flipped out. Then Finley went back in, patted her on the shoulder, and said, “Don’t be scared. Hide and Seek is fun.”

One of these gamers is more advanced than the other.

When I explained that Caelyn just didn’t understand, Finley suggested Simon Says as a consolation game.

You can imagine how that went.

Nonetheless, Caelyn had a great time. She even got to sit at the “big kids” table and eat pizza.

3. Those “few things” on Sunday turned out to be a lot of things. We headed to Arlington straight from church, where Caelyn wasn’t changed in the nursery and leaked all over my shirt that I wore until 8 p.m. when we returned home. She fell asleep on the way over, so I dropped Chris off and kept driving. My adventure took me by Turning Point High School, located directly across from a church with this marque:

“No contemporary services. We do church the old-fashioned way.”

After she woke up, we hung out by ourselves at Chris’ parents’ house. Our afternoon consisted of catching an episode of The Twilight Zone, which could easily explain everything on Lost in under an hour, and remembering why I’m not excited about summer, despite my wistful feelings about it on that morning, after a walk.

Juliet! I know you know what’s going on. If you love me, you’ll tell me!
***

I’ll leave the Lost speculation to you and just cover the walk:

First, we tackled a hill across from my in-laws’ house, where we snapped this pic two Thanksgivings ago.

Finley & Bald Caelyn

I sat in the grass and watched Caelyn run around before we checked out the pond and walked around the block. We saw a couple turtles. And then a snake.

Not in the pond, but about two inches from our feet.

I took the opportunity to teach Caelyn that some of God’s creation should be wondered at from afar, but never touched without a certified adult. Undaunted, we headed back to the hill. Chris called while we were scaling, which almost prevented me from seeing the WASP not one centimeter from my toe-exposing flop! It was cool and drizzling, yet there was a WASP . . . in the grass . . . where I’d been sitting 15 minutes before!

I screamed/shrieked/cried in Chris’ ear and hurried Caelyn back down the hill saying, “It’s not going to get us. If we just walk away, it won’t get us. Don’t look back. It’s not going to get us,” in my panic voice, which I can’t replicate in writing. Just trust me when I tell you that you’ll recognize it when you hear it.

When I calmed down, I saw a massive spider. I’m not afraid of spiders. They don’t give me nightmares or cause me to scan the porch before I leave my home or run screaming through our apartment corridor while a couple looks at the model across from ours, prompting Chris to say, “Katy! They’re trying to show the apartment!” And me to respond, “If you’re gonna live here, you better know what you’re getting into. If they can’t get rid of those wasp nests, they don’t deserve to rent apartments!”

In those moments, I believe every word of that ridiculous statement. I also believe that you should avoid bees, wasps, etc. too. But I’ll expect you to remove the assailant if we encounter one together. I know there’s not really any danger. To you. I’m just going to run three blocks in the other direction while you take care of things.

I don’t feel that way about spiders. But I don’t want them touching me either. So we spent the rest of the evening inside.

4. Then it was more suffering in church this Sunday. The “Grace Sufficient” kind. More thoughts on that later, if I can remember them, but for now:

Are you more likely to expect a miracle or disaster?

**

PART II

5. You just think I’ll be turning 27 this summer. I’ll really be turning somewhere between 45 and 63. In other words, Cristin and I are signing up for a Water Aerobics class. But, don’t worry. We’ll make sure to wear “cute” suits.

Can you spot us?

6. Unstoppable Moron tipped us off to this one not long ago. But it bears more thought:

Are people really stupid and greedy enough to participate in activities they know will ruin their lives? Absolutely.

Is network television sleazy and greedy enough to exploit the shambles of American marriage? You betcha.

7. For the Record, apparently, has become a hot spot for for sexy pictures of Danielle Fisher, aka Topanga Lawrence! Other recent hits include:

“i’m an adult who likes to pee my pants”

“guys sitting on the potty older guys”

and most disturbingly:

“katy praise sex “

8. Chris brought to my attention Avalon’s new album of covers of Christian Music’s greatest hits. (Yes, “Place in This World” and “El Shaddai” are included.) I know some of you secretly (or proudly) harbor Avalon love, so I’ll keep my commentary on the personal story side:

In high school, my friend C.C. had me check his email for him once. I can’t remember why. He was probably too busy watching Golden Girls. Whatever the case, getting me to do it meant relinquishing his password. Since our circle of friends played pranks on each other relentlessly, I stored this info in my memory. Later, Kara and I broke into his account and sent a message to a guy we picked randomly by performing a search for taken Hotmail addresses. The guy wrote back!

Long story short, in our first reply, we told the guy that C.C.’s greatest, life-long dream was to be in Avalon. Somehow or another, by the time it was all over, we also put C.C. in a wheelchair that rolled into a pothole after he wheeled away in a huff from a friend’s house, where he’d received a jump rope for a Christmas present.

Once C.C. finally figured out what we were doing, he pointed out that this guy probably really hoped to make a good friend and needed the love of Jesus. But it was funny while it lasted.

C.C. not pictured.

9. How do you feel about a man holding the role of “Marriage Pastor” when he’s only been married for three years?

10. Caelyn has started showing compassion whenever you’re sad. That means if she’s pitching a fit and you start to tear up too, she’ll instantly stop, come over, wipe your eyes, pat your head, and give you a hug and a kiss. Then she’ll smile and bring you something she thinks is cool. It melts my heart.

But my question is: Does faking sadness to put an end to a fit constitute manipulation?

You should know that I’ve also played “Who can be the best tree?” and “Who can chew with their mouth closed the longest?” with a group of kids.

And that’s it. You’ve just thrown 15 minutes of your life away and I don’t even have a prize for you. Just this:

I promise when I get back from The Native American State, I’ll give you some high-quality posting.

Until then, I’m sorry. But thanks for reading! If you do happen to find something in here worth commenting on, I’ll do my best to sneak in a response in between the packing and family visiting. See you then!

***
Then there was Caelyn, who screamed at the sight and taste of her first birthday cake.

***
And then there was Graham, who ate his first birthday cupcake whole . . .

in one messy bite . . .

and then wondered, “Do birthday boys get seconds?”

Happy First Birthday, Graham!

Way to take it like a man.

***

* More weekend tales, pics, and thoughts, as well as comments/responses, if and when nap time arrives!

Yes. We got a lot of answers and a few more questions.

Yes. I’m a Romantic, so I love “The Constant” as a title and an idea, even though I don’t fully understand it.

Yes. I loved the phone call between Penny and Desmond.

Merry Christmas. I love you.

Yes. I’ll try to get back to you on everything else, but I might not. (This is a blog about many things, after all.) But I’ll do my best. Please remember, if I do, it’ll be a while. A) It’s Friday. B) We’re celebrating Jan’s and my nephew, Graham’s, birthdays tomorrow. It’s his first one! C) Caelyn and I are headed to Oklahoma mid-next-week, so I have to do laundry.

Yes. I’ll give you a few links about last night’s episode just in case I don’t make it back to this topic:

Screencaps & Easter Eggs from Dark UFO

USA Today Interview with Desmond

Vulture

Television Without Pity Nutshell Recap

Television Without Pity Forum

Kulturblog

TV Guide

Give Me My Remote

Yes. We just got electromagnetically charged with more dorkiness than I can handle.

Yes. Caelyn says I’ve got to split and get to comments later. (Thanks for yours!!) But she’ll let me share this conversation first:

Chris: “I’m not sure how many answers I’d feel like we got if I hadn’t read that theory. I wish I hadn’t!”

Me: “What? I think I’d have gotten a lot. That theory barely even talks about time travel. I saw it coming before I read that theory because of the polar bear and C.S. Lewis reference.”

Chris: “What would you have learned?”

Me: “Well . . . . Penny knew about the Island for sure. Hanso has a connection to the Black Rock. Widmore knew about the Island as far back as 1996. The Island has space-time problems. The purple light that appeared when Desmond turned the key causes the same thing as the purple light mind-bending machine in Farraday’s lab. The rest of the Losties may have side effects from the light as well, just not as severe as Desmond did in ‘Flashes.’ The time travel occurs mentally, not physically. . . .”

Chris: “We already knew that!”

Me: “No. Desmond could’ve gone back in time physically. They never told us that.”

Chris: “I never thought it could be any other way. Why would anyone think that!?”

Me: “Michael J. Fox traveled through time with his body.”

Chris, appalled by my lack of sci-fi knowledge and in utter seriousness: “He had a DELOREAN!”

How do you know about gigawatts?

Not a DeLorean. I should’ve known better.

* Screencaps from Lost-Media, original property of ABC.