Tuesday, April 27, 2010

I Go Out Walking After Midnight....

Just arrived home from a walk. My hands are numb, my cheeks are stinging and my ears are burning. So I checked with the weather man to ensure I hadn't turned into the time traveler's mistress (detour: i don't recommend The Time Traveler's Wife unless you're into insanely sappy, creepy, weak plotted flicks) The weather man assured me I hadn't morphed into the past, it is indeed April 27, 2010. All 55 degrees of her. I've reached a conclusion, spring is cheating on me with winter, tramp.

Well, that was about eleven-ish negatives how bout I round the bend and step on some thanks?

1,000 thanks continues........

10. for evening walks
11. for pretty, orangish flowers decorating a yard on said walk
12. for the tree lined air field that borders my abode
13. for the full moon shining brightly in the dusk
14. for yummy muffins my sister made me waiting to satisfy my hungry walking woman belly
15. for the reminder to be grateful

Sleep tight and here's hoping Spring will find her way back home.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

The Road of A Thousand Thanks

Blogging sometimes seems like the joy of driving without the worry of getting lost. This road takes you to that road which leads you on to the next.  Can't even remember how I got there but a blog led to a blog with a post titled, "When You're An Affirmation Junkie." Well, say something nice and call me a pusher. Hello, my name is Elizabeth and I'm a major affirmation junkie. I made a sharp u-turn and pulled over on that blog. The premise of the article was we small, self-absorbed humans have a deep unquenchable desire to be loved. At least that's what I took. All we need is love, love, love is all we need. Sing it to me boys.

The thing is Christ loves me completely, yet I so often search for affirmation, love, in other's words in other's actions. And on some days my fellow, fleshly humans do a nice job of topping off my love tank. But the thing is they'll never overflow it. They'll never quench it. Only He can.

A holy experience that was the name of the "street" I turned down. Narcissistic girl got lost on a holy experience blog and while there she was reminded of the power of thanks.

I love posts where people list their happy things, things they're enjoying, things that make them smile and dance on the inside. I'd planned on making my own "happy things" posts. Then I got lost on "church girl's" blog.  She has a real name and she's a legit writer, but I prefer church girl. Anyways church girl started this whole caravan of a "grateful community." Basically she challenges you to open your eyes and count your many blessings, name them one by one. I probably should hush and just let you go sit awhile with "church girl." After all her blog is holy and mine is ahem, narcissistic.

All that blabbering and I get to my point. I'm in, The Elizabeth Highsmith shall put down her needle laden I and count her blessings. A thousands thanks, the beginning....

1. For purple Georgia wisteria
2. For cute ole men who cut your field on a John Deer tractor
3. For babies who ask you for popsicles when they come over
4. For impromptu walks with your neighbor and their babies
5. For His sunshine that warms my spirit like far few things can
6. For His son who loves me more than I'll ever know
7. For feeling so full of life on a Saturday that I bust out in a random self made opera song
8. For bright orange old timey cars
9. For knowing when I'm wrong, I can turn around and get it right

For these and all other gifts, I give thanks.

To be continued....

Monday, April 19, 2010

Mamma Mia

Here I go again wondering what kind of mama I'll be, assuming I have children. And assuming I don’t, may I have one of yours? Cause I really wanna be a mama. Anyways back to rambling. I’ve observed many a mama and I wonder what kind I’ll be.

The au naturel green mama with a heavy side of germ-aphobe? Doubtful, I’m a bad recycler, clutter gets to me, the trash can is my friend. As are the microwave and preservatives. Don’t tell Al, he'd go all gory on me. And a life without high fructose corn syrup would just be depressing.

Then there’s the ubberly, cool, fun mother, who not only can tolerate the messiest of the messy,she helps make um. Small chance, I’m too anal; I thrive on the neat and tidy. Help! I'll be a terrible mother! Nah, we’ll just have to adopt an organized chaos approach to messes.

Would I be like the Bev’s mom and make homemade biscuits in my pearls?  Probably not, I’d hate to put Pillsbury out of business, that boy can make some pretty decent dough. Maybe I'll resemble Ma Wilder and pull a needle and thread? Dubious at best, when I get lost at Target and wind up in baby land my belly cries forth in desperation. Who wouldn’t want a little tarjay dressed tyke?

I’m not seriously na├»ve enough to think mothers can truly be classified. They’re each one of kind, even if they hover under certain stereotypical umbrellas.

I’ll most likely be the unpredictable smorgasbord of a mama. With a little of this and a dash of that, Like I’d probably feed my kids red # 40 with a little high fructose corn syrup and organic vegetables. One thing I will do is educate my children on the horrors of bleach. If they come within forty feet of it, I will teach them to yell, “Bleach is the child of Satan and he ruined my mama’s favorite britches!” That’s really all I wanted to tell you, Bleach bad, babies good.

P.S. I wanna baby, did I mention that? And that I will read them books and hug them a lot?

P.P.S. I love my mama, she’s great

P.P.P.S. I have a problem with P.S. I feel they are essential to all posts.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

To Put It Blindly......

Dear Blind Man,

I find it admirable that you care about the children so much as to include a protection disclaimer and warning in the packaging of your blinds. Kudos for even putting it in spanish. I applaud your little nifty device to ensure the babies are protected. I second the horror a child's harming would be from a blind mishap.  I just have one little suggestion. If you give a girl without a husband, boyfriend or power tools a set of blinds sans instructions replete with 49 hundred screws, you're gonna need yourself a new warning pamphlet!

Cause I fear the ladies might poke their eyes out with those screws, or choke on the mysterious plastic parts and that would be the best case scenario. Worst case, well those cords are long you know. Why don't you just bless their little hearts and throw in some instructions?

Yours Truly,
Drooling in Broad Daylight

editor's note: happy elizabeth who doesn't rant on books and stomp on blind instructions will return after this brief word from grumpy, gritchy, gripey elizabeth. 

Saturday, April 10, 2010

I See the "Bad" Moon Rising- - - - - I See Trouble On The Way

The sun is shining brightly today and I can't be happier. I survived, barely. Of what do I reference? The phenomenon that is Twilight. Let's just pause and sink our teeth into the fact that if you're a Twilight fan, you might want to run and hide, in the dark of course. I mean it, go admire some pasty skin, or drink in someone's fresh breath, go be clutzy and call yourself cute. Seriously, if you are a Twilight lover and I know some of you are, you have been warned. And I would deeply mourn a bloggy divorce over what I'm about to write. Don't let it happen, please go dream of Eddie.

Here it is my review. Just for fun I'll throw in the fact that it took me months, months, to finish it. And that's only because I'm a firm beliver in finishing what you start. Enough, I know.

The review:
"Twilight reads like the journal of a lovesick middleschooler who gotta a little blood on the pages because she enjoys picking her scabs and watching them bleed."

I am aware that Miz Myers sits atop the best seller list eating twilight candy bars and snickering at the likes of me and all other doomsayers. All the while counting her dollars and freaky followers, I mean fans.  Nonetheless, I'd rather prick my finger and listen to the blood drops than to take another bite.

So does she become a vampire or what? Read it, I know right!

Sincerely,
The critic or cynic, whichever you prefer

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

For Better or Worse

Big Money, that’s my car, he didn’t get his name until we’d been together for quite some time. He doesn’t like me. He says we have a marriage of convenience and that I’m driving him crazy. Whatever, I think he’s sensitive about his age spots, too much time in the sun. And he’s embarrassed about his seat being ripped. I tell him to quit being so metro on me, it’s not attractive and to take his age like a man.

Then he starts in on how I ignore him and how I refuse to do anything about our relationship until things just blow up. Typically, I just pat him and say 'there, there, ole boy, I hear you' and ask him to please cut the lights off and turn down the racket. Sometimes it works like a charm. Not this time, I’ve known for a few weeks he was onto me. I could tell he quit listening to me. It got bad, he was threatening suicide. So I took him in for counseling in hopes they could calm him down and talk him off the ledge. That therapy business isn’t cheap, guess it’s what I get for marrying an old man. Men! Can’t live with them can’t live without them. I’m beginning to understand why people just trade theirs in for a new one. Not me though, I’m a stand by your man kind of girl. Until Death do us part. He's worried this means I'm trying to kill him. I think he heard about some old flames.

Clearly he fell in love with me for my stellar fashion sense........