Meals On Wails

Being a wife is wonderful. I love when I can cook, clean, work to provide income for my family, and do charitable work all in one day! To accomplish a craft or two in that day would be ideal - but I'm not there yet. What I did add to this day, that did in fact happen, was a tear filled car ride... *sigh* Let me paint this picture for you:

I get a call at work, in the middle of a huge, time-sensitive project, from our local Meals on Wheels. It hits me like a ton of bricks. I had FORGOTTEN that I was supposed to fill in for the staff members that normally volunteer for a Meals on Wheels route. As luck would have it, our back-up person that is familiar with the route was also out for the day - so that meant I would be filling in... having never even assisted with the route our company is responsible for. I apologetically talk to the woman who informs me that I am already 20 minutes late for the normal route time. Now, I was briefed - very briefly - the day before on what to expect. But I neglected to write down anything that I was told (which is very unlike me).

So off I go. Trying to remember street names, parking lot locations, etc. I race down the road unsure of where I'm going. Then, out of no where, I see a truck in the left lane with a 'Meals on Wheels Driver' sign in his window - I swerve to the left lane and follow - unsure of where he's taking me. What do you know - he drives right to the Meals on Wheels location!! and keeps driving - he wasn't even going there! (this was a total Jesus occurance, I'm sure of it - why else would he just drive by the place and not stop?! - I could have creepilly followed this poor guy through his entire route!)

I pull into the parking lot and race inside. There is virtually no one in the room, that I was told is normally PACKED with people, except a sweet woman with a name tag, 3 insulated bags full of food, and a patient smile. She hands me a stack of papers including a list of 13 names and locations, a map, and a handbook and wishes me luck.

I'm now in my car. Staring at my map. I stared as if I were waiting for 'Tom Tom' to appear on the paper and tell me to take a left out of the parking lot. 'Tom Tom' never spoke. I crawled down streets glancing from paper to street signs, paper to street signs, as they did in the stone age (aka 10 years ago... I was driving 10 years ago... so this fact makes me feel incredibly old of course, as if I needed one more reason to cry). After I finally go the correct direction down the street my first location is on, it's already 12:15, and these people normally have their food and are happy and full by now!

Leave it to me to not only affirm stereotypes of female driving standards, but to withhold food from the elderly and disabled in my community! Winner.

I take a deep breath and start my mission. I am approached by a resident anxious to help me - I obviously looked like the new kid. She told me she had gotten wind from neighbors that they hadn't received their food today... the food in my pocession, so she was anxious to rescue her starving friends. She walks me through the list, and we, a team now, go down the list handing out warm edible bricks of gold. When we finished the majority of the list, I had 3 more locations to find, and my partner wished me luck.

Tell me. Architects of the world. Why would odd numbered buildings be located accross the street, at a separate location, looking nothing in apppearance like the location with even numbers? Any ideas? 'Cause I don't! But I sure asked myself this over and over as I hiked around the property as if it were Jerico. I asked it in a different tone when my first tears fell... from shear pathetic hopelessness. It was quite a pathetic scene. Believe me. Now, by this time I'm starting to get hungry - which only feeds my guilt of starving these poor people who's homes are hiding from me; which in turn adds to the the pitiful under-my-breath-while-crying-in-public rant I have going while, apparently, waiting for the walls to fall. *sigh*

I finally finish my route... 1 hour and 4 minutes later. What. A. Day.

I freshen my makeup and head back to work to finish my day, thinking about what a feat that was. My encounter is like nothing I read in fairytales. Snow White did this every day! Feeding bearded men, cleaning, cooking, maintaining a balanced diet of fruits (ba ha) and never needed to freshen her makeup! That's why I'm writing my own. This feasible fairytale stars a princess with poor directional skills, who cries often (especially during sensitive times of the month), and learns something new each day.

What did I learn on this day? Well.
1. Do NOT embark on journies alone that you have never seen before.
2. Learn to read a map.
3. Crying in public is rarely acceptable... and always pathetic.

A New Tire, Tylenol, and a Latte Please

Finding a new place to live is becoming as common as ordering a latte for our Fairytale. In the 2.5 years my sweet hub and I have been married, we're approaching our THIRD move. *sigh* Just call us nomads. In fact, pitching a tent may be what we HAVE to settle with if this third moving adventure doesn't find solace soon. Let me explain - I'm a visual person:


December 31, 2009 - Married

Move 1: July 1, 2010 - Moved from Apartment Bachelor Pad to Rental House/Electricity Pit

Move 2 (1/2): August 1, 2011 - Homelessness/Literal Roaming from Couch to Couch
Move 2 (1/2): September 1, 2011 - Moved Back to Apartment (Less Bachelor Pad-ish this time)

Move 3: September 11, 2012 - Our 30 days notice is up...

So - if you're seeing the date of this Blog entry - you can see that we have 24 days to find a place to live. Or we're homeless again.

Now, I promise, each move has had a motive, we're not just itching for a headache; however, we could probably own stock in Tylenol.

Move 1 Motive: a tiny 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom apartment with no 'time out' space is a recipe for horror film/newlywed disaster. Not to mention the unfavorable location of said disaster was the location of a fender bender, car break in, drunken woman at front door, and the potty training location for our dogter.

Move 2 Motive: the selling of my kidney to pay for $400 electric bill in a 700 square foot space. Okay... so my kidney is intact, but you get it. REDICULOUS UTILITY BILLS.

Move 3 Motive: the 'unfavorable location' we were soooo wise to willingly return to has been the location of yet another car break in (resulting in over $1200 in property stolen), an audible upstairs birth control (a.k.a 3 year old that apparently never learned to walk, only run and jump... at night), and as of 1 week ago, a SLASHED TIRE ON MY HUSBAND'S BRAND NEW TRUCK.

Break out the boxes... AGAIN.

So. Why put our notice in if we didn't have a place to live you ask? Well, we did. A perfect place! A perfect neighborhood! A perfect price! We had paid the deposit and were signing the lease and in bold letters:

Tenant agrees to     []inside   []outside only   [X]no      pets.

No Pets?! Uhhh.... whoops. Now. This is a long story. But the short version is: thought I could give away dog, was wrong, hubby loves me, told the land lord sorry. And NOOOOW we're in a bind. Naturally, the very next call was a "wait!!" call to the apartment complex... who informed us that our apartment had already been rented upon our departure. AAAAGGGGHHH! So. Here we are. Move #3 in progress. With homelessness as a grave possibility. God is good, and we're not too worried (yet). But oh our Fairytale, gotta love it! ;)

And I'll have no whip cream on that latte please. Thank you.

Blank-Canvas-itis

*insert cricket noise*










Can you imagine?.... blankness? ME?!

The amazing church I am apart of has an occasional gift on Sunday mornings that intrigues the creative and tortures the A.D.D. Every once in a while we will have 1-2 prophetic artists create amazing pieces of art inspired by something the Lord reveals to them before/during worship. The artists will start with a completely blank canvas, and by the end of the worship hour, the completed work is BREATH TAKING.

Now. I've been known to let my creative juices flow from time to time. People compliment me all the time on being 'creative.' In fact, since I can remember, it's been one of the words regularly associated with me. Now, I say this not to brag - it's actually mildly pathetic that my claim to fame is having ideas on turning a paper bag into wall art... not world peace... not intellectual advances for society... nope... I can use a glue gun. I digress. Anyways, so, seeing as I'm the 'go to girl' for all things needing creating, I've been ITCHING to get my hands on a canvas myself, and to see what pours out of me.

And it happened! I received a glorious text message from a cousin that knew my interest, inviting me to borrow a canvas and paint and have a painting night. *cue angelic chorus* It was my chance! She came over, canvas, paints, and brushes in tow. We set everything up, looked at our canvas and......






*cricket noise*






Seriously. That's what happened. NOTHING. I sat and sat. Thought and thought. Pinterest ideas flooding my mind and NOTHING. I attempted one of the cute word art things I've seen a thosand times... and people. I morphed into a 9 year old child right before my eyes. Suddenly, my handwriting was rediculous, the paint brush in my hand turned into a noodle, and the canvas looked like it had come right out of a 3rd grade meet-the-teacher-night. I painted over my 'masterpiece' and stared some more at the blank (now black) canvas in front of me. This was embarassing. I was supposed to be Creative Barbie, complete with a hand made apron and miniature modge-podge bottle.

What happened? Where was my creativity? Where was my skill?! The canvas won. I lost.

Then, I remembered that creativity doesn't always have to be done with a paint brush. I've told this blank canvas adventure a few times to people, and as I tell it, I realize that 'my art don't need no stinking paintbrush.' My art is my words!

I've always loved to write. I had a poem published when I was 13. I was editor of my High School Newspaper my Senior year. Competed in journalism competitions. I was a headline writer for my College Newspaper. Writing is my art.

I love that even through this blog I can allow people to nod their heads in agreement, chuckle, or roll their eyes. I love that I can give you a word image of something from my Feasible Fairytale, and you have a better understanding of who I am. Looking at a great sculpture, a beatiful painting, or any other art can do the same. I'm just much too talkative to not do it with words. So thanks for reading my canvas! I think I'll hang up my paintbrushes for a while... until a 3rd grader can show me how it's done.