Let Heaven and Nature Sing, Especially Nature.

I went through a pagan phase as a mid-teen, in those pre-Twilight, post-Anne Rice vampire days, except I wasn't a Goth like the other people I knew who were pagan.

I didn't do it for the spells or The Craft or to make people like me. I did it because of the woods and the music.

When I think "pagan," my mind conjures (ha!) up images of dancing outside to Celtic music, and giving people names that are either hippie-ish to the max or with a mix of vowels and consonants unfamiliar to most American tongues. I think of intellectualism and sisterhood and beauty and oneness. Of course, I know these are not ALL of paganism's traits, but this is what I think of on this dreary winter day.

So I got to thinking...

Why have we as Christians distanced ourselves from that? Obviously we should distance ourselves from worshiping anything other than members of the Trinity, but why have we so easily given up the other aspects?

Why don't we, who believe that man was given stewardship of the earth, spend more TIME in that environment? Why can't we worship our Lord, the Creator, in the midst of His creation?

And dang it, why have we settled for peppy, mainstream, pop music as our worship music? Where are the fiddles and pipes and other good instruments?

Why is Christian sisterhood so different? Why can't we spend time together as females just cooking and laughing and sharing WITHOUT big hair and dinner-with-a-guest-speaker?

If we believe God made us, all of us, why are we so afraid to discuss the deep issues? YES, there are times where we ultimately have to rely on faith, but why are we afraid to use the minds our Lord gave us?

Why can't we enjoy the beauty around us, the moments we're given -- to be fully in the moment and loving Jesus at the same time?

These are the things I'm wondering about on this dreary winter day.

Soundtracks

Sometimes I come across the question "If you had a theme song for your life, what would it be?" and I 'm really stumped. I have to tell you that I can't imagine any song playing during a montage of parenting, errand-running and going to school. Unless it's Eye of the Tiger because that is the king of montage songs. Didn't Starbucks prove that?

Anyway, I may not have a theme song, but I think about music ALL the time. Songs pop into my head all the time and they sometimes crack me up! Everytime I pass a Mustang lately, Mustang Sally pops into my head. Whenever it's someone's birthday, I hum a little Unhappy Birthday. When I was pregnant with my fourth child and vomiting nonstop, I would sing a specific praise song next to the toilet. Which, I suppose, is not entirely bad. Just possibly disrespectful.

The problem with fat!

The problem with being fat but not massively hugely fat is this: You still get hit on, but only by the really desperate guys.

I either need to lose weight and get someone decent (Funsize or a Funsize equivalent), or gain more, start wearing circus tents and give up.

Cool it now...

My son's mentor picked him up today. He said he had Bobby and Ricky in the car.

I wanted to know where Ronnie and Mike were.

If this is obscure, go here.

Ah, pre-crackhead days.

Sometimes you just gotta let it all hang out

Warning: This blog is not profound in any way. It may also be stomach-turning for the squeamish (and skinny).

You know how some people have a fat pouch? The thing that kinda...hangs...down at their belly?

Yeah. I noticed one back in April. I couldn't figure out where it came from because I'd lost some weight.

I gained weight a couple of months ago and, oddly, the pouch disappeared.

I returned to my April weight (possibly less) and there it is again!

I have realized this sucker is nothing but loose skin. Ewwwww.

My poor lower abdominal muscles have been cut through five times. I'm amazed they even hold ANYTHING together. And thinking back, this weird thingy first reared it's saggy head after my last major surgery.

I really hope this thing will disappear with regular exercise, decent diet and time. Else I'll be going under the knife again.

What do I miss?

Someone recently asked me what was hardest about no longer being married.

My answer was that I no longer have someone to open jars.

Yeah, that's about it.

Life is like a box of chocolates (outdated, for 99 cents)

I have a very ungirly confession to make: I hate shopping.

Yep, I said it. I hate to shop.

That said, I have been shopping lately as I look for things for our new place. And I started thinking about how people's existences are a lot like shopping.

First and foremost, you've got the people with Mall lives. They have it all: the perfect hair, the perfect children, the perfect house, the perfect vacation. You name it, they've got it. They have a little bit of everything tasteful, just like the mall and all the un-tasteful stuff is hidden away in the secret passageways of their hearts, and so few are allowed in. Their pace of life is usually unhurried but never slow. But just like the mall, all of this comes at a high price. Usually no one has any time to spend with one another because they're too busy making sure everything is just right.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, you've got your Wal-Mart people. Loud, obnoxious and keeping their toilet habits next to their dining room tables (much like Wal-Mart), these folks live busy lives too. The difference is that they feel like they have to have a little bit of everything, but everything is cheaper. So they do everything in excess but it means so little.

My life is neither. My life, if you have to know, is somewhere between a thrift store and a "scratch and dent" (closeout) store. There are some real wonderful treasures in it, but you have to dig through the piles of crap to find them. Pass the 50 year old broken sewing machine and the industrial sized tubs of mayo, there's a beautiful work of art and a $10 box of organic cookies for $1.25.

Ideally, I'd like to have a Target life. It's about as pretty and nice as the mall but doesn't take as much work. It's almost as easy as the Wal-Mart life but there's just a slightly better quality to it. And sometimes you'll find a really great deal at Target.

But back to thrift stores, I want to know who buys framed photos of some lady and her baby circa 1980? Or used greeting cards? I mean, I can understand maybe buying a broken cellphone because you've got the parts to fix it or it's got the parts you need.

And scratch and dents...Today I could've bought a Boston Red Sox shirt for $3, a bottle of outdated salad dressing or a dented box of condoms. Condoms in a damaged-goods store? Yes, you're right. Good thing there's pregnancy tests next to them. Damaged pregnancy tests.

Huh

I thought my heart was long gone, so imagine my surprise when I found it on my sleeve.

It's weird watching your entire life be packed up into four rubbermaid bins and a duffel bag and driven off in the back of a pickup.

That's all we have to offer this world.

Or is it all the world has to offer us?

Someone shut my brain up.

I overthink everything. I want to understand everything but then I'm not happy when I do. It's messed up. I'm messed up. Here I go again. I'm now thinking about how messed up I am and why I overthink everything and now I think my brain's going to explode.

I'm really, really tired of people saying I'm a strong woman. It sets such a high expectation that when I screw up, I feel like a disappointingly cheesy movie.