tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9332050110386307882024-03-12T20:28:29.300-04:00The Fourth Frog BlogThe one who jumped...Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.comBlogger1166125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-79198089715297293532017-01-04T11:59:00.000-05:002017-01-04T12:07:24.884-05:002017 revealed<i>I have the privilege of writing a scripture reflection once each month for the daily reflection ministry at my church. This post is taken from <a href="http://stmonicaindy.org/reflections/daily-reflection-for-tuesday-january-03-2017/" target="_blank">my reflection published January 3</a>. I don't make a habit of sharing my scripture reflections on this blog, but I think it serves nicely as a New Year's post.</i><br />
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<b>“Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” </b>– 1 John 3:2<i><br /></i><br />
The
beginning of a new year can present itself to us as a daunting task.
People ask us about our New Year’s resolutions. We survey our lives with
a critical eye, looking for places where we can do better, be better.
I’ve often felt a pressure to create a “new me” when the calendar page
turns to January. <br />
<br />
As I read the readings for Tuesday,
I was struck by the quote above. I know that I am a child of God, but I
don’t necessarily know what that means for me, what I “shall be.”
Sometime last spring, I came to a very clear understanding that the life
I was living was not the life God intended for me. I wasn’t sure what
that meant, but I was sure I was hearing and understanding the message. <br />
<br />
It
took me a few months to let it sink in, but slowly I began to change.
None of the changes were drastic. I still have the same job. I am still
married to the same man, raising the same three teenagers. I still live
in the same house. But I am different and the difference is that I am
taking the time to consider what it is that God would have me do with my
life. What that shall be has not yet been fully revealed, but I believe
that by listening, reflecting, and being open to God’s call, I am
becoming more who God would have be me, more like him.<br />
<br />
So
this year, when January 1 rolled around, I didn’t feel anxious about
declaring a resolution. I don’t see the new year as a challenge to
conquer, but as an invitation to open and to answer, one day at a time.<br />
<br />
So I ask you, child of God, what is it that you shall be? <br />
<br />
<i><b>Father
God, I pray that I might keep your will for my life always in my mind
and heart, so that when it is revealed to me, I will find myself ever
more like you. </b></i><br />
<br />
Blessings to all of you in this New Year. If you would like to subscribe (FREE!) to receive the daily reflections (Monday-Friday) in your email, <a href="http://stmonicaindy.org/prayer/daily-scripture-reflection/" target="_blank">go here</a>.<i><br /></i><br />
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-54626267683361466382016-11-16T23:31:00.001-05:002016-11-16T23:31:45.290-05:00#JLIHolidayMart -- A New Tradition (Local Ticket Giveaway)Remember when I said the other day that I wanted<a href="http://4thfrog.blogspot.com/2016/11/spreading-holiday-cheer-uncommonly.html" target="_blank"> to immerse myself in holiday festivities</a>? Tonight I had a chance to do that. I was invited to attend the <a href="https://www.jlindy.org/?nd=holiday_mart" target="_blank">Junior League of Indianapolis Holiday Mart</a> Shopper's Preview as a guest blogger. I'd never been to Holiday Mart before...but I will definitely be going again -- maybe even this year before the show is over on Sunday. And for sure, this event is going down as one of my must-do holiday traditions. <br />
<br />
My only real knowledge of the Junior League is through my mother-in-law, who was active in the Junior League in Evansville, Indiana and through the daughter of a friend, who turns out to be the Merchant Committee Chair for Indy's event this year.<br />
<br />
I met up with my friend Katy and we strolled the booths together. Katy bought all her teacher gifts from a place called The Lotion Store. There was a section of local vendors called Mistletoe Mart that had some great stuff including B. Happy Peanut Butter (LOVE!), some great mugs, and kids' clothes.<br />
<br />
There was plenty of Christmas-themed merchandise -- super cute clothes and tree ornaments. But also, lots of stuff that I would love to have year 'round. Cranberry pomegranate cashmere soap, wine slushies, and this awesome jewelry made out of dyed fruit.<br />
<br />
But the best part? Getting to hang with my friend Katy, who I usually just "see" on social media. And that's what I want to give to you -- time to spend with a friend at the Junior League of Indianapolis Holiday Mart.<br />
<br />
<b>Thanks to JLI, I have two sets of two tickets to Holiday Mart to give away. But you have to act fast. The Holiday Mart is only open through Sunday, November 20 at 4pm. To enter, look for the giveaway post on the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/4thFrogBlog/?fref=ts">4th Frog Blog Facebook page</a>. I will announce the winners tomorrow evening (Thursday, November 17).</b><br />
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For those of you not local to Indy, hold on. I hope to have a few more giveaways to share this holiday season. <br />
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<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-84531071884270434612016-11-13T16:57:00.000-05:002016-11-13T16:57:27.167-05:00Spreading holiday cheer, uncommonly (Giveaway)I've decided this year I want to immerse myself in holiday festivities. Christmas concerts, craft shows, lights displays -- bring it on! And then there is gift giving. I find such joy in finding just the right gift for giving to a particular person. (Wait until Mike sees what's under the tree for him!...Keep it clean, people.)<br />
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<a href="data:image/png;base64,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" 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Part of that sharing that holiday joy, I've decided, is going to be sharing the opportunities I get as a blogger with you loyal people still tuning into the 4th Frog. I've been given an opportunity to share a bit about <b>Uncommon Goods</b>. In exchange for writing this, UncommonGoods.com offered me a gift certificate. I'm going to use part of that gift certificate for YOU -- If you win this giveaway, you will be able to choose one item from the $25 and under category of <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/by-price/gifts-under-25" target="_blank">Uncommon Goods.com</a> and I will have it shipped directly to you.<br />
<br />
Now, I really do try to shop the mom and pop stores and give the small businesses my business. But I did some looking at Uncommon Goods before agreeing to write this post and <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/static/mission.jsp" target="_blank">saw several reasons</a> to consider them a source for holiday shopping:<br />
<ul>
<li>They are committed to treating their employees well, giving all full and most part-time employees health insurance. </li>
<li>They seek handmade, organic, and recycled products to sell.</li>
<li>They want to help you do good by offering you a chance to designate a charity to which they will donate $1 at checkout. $1 is not a lot, but every little bit adds up -- to more than $1 MILLION so far! </li>
</ul>
But really? You'll want to click over and shop <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/by-recipient/gifts-for-men" target="_blank">Uncommon Goods</a> because they have great stuff, even for those <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" target="_blank">hard-to-buy-for men</a> in your life. Do you have newlyweds on your gift-giving list? Check out this <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/anniversary-gifts/anniversary-gifts" target="_blank">great selection of gifts for couples</a> (young and old).<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/fbomb_zpspug3vlbg.jpg.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Uncommon Goods - Fbomb photo fbomb_zpspug3vlbg.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/fbomb_zpspug3vlbg.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a>So what did I find that I thought was great?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.uncommongoods.com/product/words-cubed" target="_blank">Words Cubed </a>-- a great addition to the creative "toys" I keep at my desk for inspiration<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.uncommongoods.com/product/a-hole-paperweight" target="_blank">A Hole Paperweight</a> -- So simple, so clever, as is the <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/f-bomb-paperweight">F Bomb</a> paperweight.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/handmade-copper-wall-flowers" target="_blank">Handmade Copper Wall Flowers </a>-- I have the perfect spot for them in my house.<br />
<br />
<br />
And so much more! But you know what's ever more awesome, Uncommon Goods offers FREE stuff for everyone. There are 13 different <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/search.html/find/?q=printable" target="_blank">free printables</a> you can download.<br />
<br />
So, if you're an online shopper, consider giving <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/birthday-gifts" target="_blank">Uncommon Goods</a> a look, not just for the holidays, but for birthdays, weddings, and more.<br />
<br />
<b>If you'd like a chance to win my giveaway at <a href="http://uncommongoods.com/">UncommonGoods.com</a>, please click the link, check out the $25 and under category and comment wherever you are reading this post -- on the blog or on Facebook. Let me know what from the category (or anywhere else on the UG website) you would like to see wrapped up for the holidays this year. I will draw a winner on Wednesday, November 16. </b><br />
<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05968879934963456225noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-48915324673057575582016-11-09T15:03:00.002-05:002016-11-09T15:03:53.197-05:00Let it begin with me<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/water" target="_blank"><img alt="water photo: Water Droplet Freeze DSC_0208.jpg" border="0" src="http://i1238.photobucket.com/albums/ff494/arhamdirham/DSC_0208.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a>
<b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;</b><br />
Our country is so fractured and fearful. I can be kind. I can be patient. I can be slow to judge. <br />
<br />
<b>Where there is hatred, let me sow love; </b><br />
It costs nothing to share a smile. Today, remind me to smile at someone who does not look like me. May that smile ripple like water, inviting others to follow.<br />
<br />
<b>Where there is injury, pardon; </b><br />
Make me humble enough to say "I'm sorry" and humble enough to hold my tongue so I will have nothing to apologize for.<br />
<br />
<b>Where there is doubt, faith; </b><br />
Remind me I don't need to have the answers, that I only need to trust in you.<br />
<b> <br />Where there is despair, hope; </b><br />
Let my kindness and patience sow seeds of hope that we are still a good people.<br />
<br />
<b>Where there is darkness, light; </b><br />
Help me to see my light, to share my light, and to seek and nurture the light in others.<br />
<br />
<b>And where there is sadness, joy. </b><br />
I find joy in the colors of fall, in the touch of a friend, in a moment of quiet. Remind me to share that joy and to help others find theirs.<br />
<br />
<b>O Divine Master,<br />Grant that I may not so much seek<br />To be consoled as to console;<br />To be understood, as to understand;<br />To be loved, as to love; </b><br />
Call me to step outside of myself, to go where you would have me go, to be Your instrument, to be calm water that gently ripple invitations of love.<br />
<br />
<b>For it is in giving that we receive,<br />It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,<br />And it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life. </b><br />
<br />
<b>Amen. </b><br />
<br />
(Thanks to St. Francis for the inspiration.)<br />
<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-36144792826847688362016-09-21T17:44:00.001-04:002016-09-21T17:48:27.349-04:00Unstuck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span id="goog_4150703"></span><span id="goog_4150704"></span>Six months ago, in March 2016, I wrote about <a href="http://4thfrog.blogspot.com/2016/03/my-40-something-flat-tire.html" target="_blank">feeling stuck</a>. I knew I wanted some different things in my life, but I couldn't make myself do anything to bring about change. I was stuck and unhappy as a result.<br />
<br />
About 4 months ago, something -- I honestly don't know what -- made me move. I got up one morning and took a different direction. It helped that I had someone to take that step with me. It helped that God gave me a very clear sign that I was indeed in the right place. And you know what? Today, I don't feel stuck anymore.<br />
<br />
<b>What I did to unstick myself</b><br />
<br />
I've come to understand that the single biggest thing keeping me in that "stuck" place was the belief that I -- and I alone -- was the only one who could move me.<br />
<br />
<i>"But I've got these things that I wish were different, things that pretty
much only I can make different, but I can't seem to make any movement
toward any of them. I'm just stuck," </i>is what I said in March.<br />
<br />
I couldn't have been more wrong.<br />
<br />
On that first day that I woke up and dared to think differently, I had someone who was willing to think differently with me. I had people I didn't know but for a brief exchange of introductions reach out to me. I've had people on the periphery cheering for me and people in the trenches pulling me along when I felt like I couldn't go another step. I have God.<br />
<br />
When I became willing to lose the stubborn toddler "I can do it myself!," I found the grace to see the possibilities in life, not just the obstacles.<br />
<br />
<b>Keeping on</b><br />
<br />
The road has not been particularly easy -- changing my way of thinking seldom is, but it has been do-able. It turns out that when I start to look at one thing differently, I start to look at lots of things differently. I start to step out of the shadow of the fearful "Oh, but what ifs" and into the light of the adventurous "OH, but what IFs!"<br />
<br />
I have not arrived. In fact, I'm not entirely sure where I am going. But I am moving and it feels so good. Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-10229327433053224822016-07-19T16:48:00.001-04:002016-07-19T16:50:50.538-04:00Guest post: Letter from a black police officer's wife<!--[if !mso]>
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<![endif]--><span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>I'm yielding the floor -- ok, the cloud space -- of my blog to a colleague who has bravely taken the time to write about her experiences as the wife of a black law enforcement officer (LEO). As the Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, All Lives Matter movements rage on in our country, I've wondered what it is that I, a white middle-class woman, can do? So part of what I can do is provide space for Victoria to share a piece of her heart. -- Amy, The 4th Frog </i></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dear Indianapolis and other big American cities-</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">I hear you. I feel for you. I have been toying with the idea of writing you for
days, but feared my letter would go unnoticed, lost between recent headlines.
You see, I am a part of the very slim minority of being the wife of a Black Law
Enforcement Officer and my heart is doubly breaking these days. I can only tell
you my story, America. I can only say that these are my thoughts and my
feelings and I am not trying to persuade you to think one way or another. This
is just my story, but for such a time as this, this is my platform. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/30fbc9f8-2ccf-4673-893e-2600f406f8ac_zpsqitany3r.jpg.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo 30fbc9f8-2ccf-4673-893e-2600f406f8ac_zpsqitany3r.jpg" border="0" height="320" src="https://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/30fbc9f8-2ccf-4673-893e-2600f406f8ac_zpsqitany3r.jpg" width="202" /></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">My husband wears two uniforms, one he <i>willingly </i>and bravely wears each
day, representing this city. It’s crisp, clean, and blue, and it’s adorned with
pins and stripes and a badge with a three-digit number that identifies him. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then there is another uniform he wears daily. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">This uniform is who he is, it’s smooth, dark brown, a little
weathered from the forty something years he has been on this Earth; he <b>loves
</b>this uniform. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> love this uniform
of skin that he is in, but I also realize this uniform requires a great amount
of responsibility and intentionality. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">As I heard of the news of Alton Sterling and Philandro Castile, my heart was
put in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i></b> <b><i>place </i></b>again. That place that was never meant
for our hearts to feel but because of the brokenness of this world I feel it.
Jesus once felt it --so much so that He wept, and here I was trying to make
sense of something that will never make sense. Camera angles, what they did or
didn’t do, what they should have or could have done differently -- each person
involved, but the fact remains that two Black men are gone. Life has been lost
and it is so very tragic. When I see Alton, when I see Philandro, I see my
husband. I see his daily uniform. I see the vulnerability of black skin. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">As I stared blankly at the television screen watching the violence of Dallas unfold
I was in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i></b> <b><i>place </i></b>again. That place that makes me cry
out each day, “Come home, honey” -- each day as he heads out to face who knows
what, in who knows where parts of the city, to who knows what kind of
circumstance. I hear the headlines change from 3 to 4, to 5 lives lost and I am
broken. A peaceful protest interrupted by the unimaginable, changing lives
forevermore, taking lives too soon. When I see Sgt. Michael Smith and Officer
Patrick Zamarripa I see my husband. I see his uniform. I see the vulnerability
of blue skin. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">So many of you are asking all over social media, is it really possible to have
a deep concern for Black lives, to feel that injustice is still occurring, to
believe that discrimination still exists solely because of the color of one’s
skin and not at all based on the content of their character, while still
realizing the true sacrifice of a law enforcement officer to uphold the law,
protect its citizens, and run toward danger in every instance, the answer is yes.
</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yes, you can.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">You can love both, you can pray for both. You don’t have to be all
or nothing or one side and not the other. I love my all-American, strong,
caring, funny, father to my children, endearing husband, Black man and I love
the law enforcement officer that he is. I love both parts of him. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">Can we address our fears? Can we be honest that sometimes our
uniforms both the outward ones, the inward ones, the ones that are mandatory
and the ones that we live in, can we be honest that sometimes we are fearful of
our uniforms? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">Drive out the fear by bringing it to light. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">My mother use to tell me after nightmares to talk about it. She
would tell me to bring those awful fears to light. These last few weeks feel
like nightmares and I am in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that place again</i></b> hearing about Baton
Rouge. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">So I am left here to talk about it, “Now is the time to make justice a
reality for all of God's children. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook
the urgency of the moment.” -- MLK, Jr.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt;">
Who is listening?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-LEO wife, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Victoria Wilburn</div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-8687499485239022792016-05-22T10:30:00.000-04:002016-05-22T10:30:27.754-04:00God, Jim Carrey, and meOften, I will scroll through my Facebook feed and amidst the funny memes, the lunch updates, and the humble-brags, there will be prayer requests. Some of the requests are small, such as "pray that I can find my keys so I can get to work on time." Others are giant, mammoth requests -- prayers for healing from devastating diagnoses of cancer or other life-altering situations.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's one of the things I like most about social media, its ability to bring together a community of believers for common good. These requests are non-denominational. No one posts "If you're Catholic, please pray..." And often the poster will ask for prayers or positive thoughts, acknowledging that not everyone subscribes to the same belief system. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I try to respond to most of these requests in some way. For the "lost keys" category, I might just click the "like" button. For others, I respond "JMJ+" which is my own shorthand for "Jesus, Mary & Joseph, pray for us." The particularly heartbreaking requests will often elicit a unique response, letting the poster know that I will be keeping them in my prayers. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's the easy part. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The hard part is actually praying. Between the requests that are posted via social media, the prayer intentions that are delivered daily via my parish's email prayer tree, and those personal encounters I have with people who share need for prayer, sometimes I feel like Jim Carrey in the movie "Bruce Almighty."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/bruce-almighty-aaa_zpsbsc5w4ui.jpg.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo bruce-almighty-aaa_zpsbsc5w4ui.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/bruce-almighty-aaa_zpsbsc5w4ui.jpg" height="184" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jim Carrey is a frustrated news reporter turned God. In one scene, he is overwhelmed at the volume of prayers being sent to him. They crowd his thoughts and when he tries to organize them onto post-it notes, his entire apartment is blanketed in tiny slips of yellow paper. Sometimes the need for prayer in my world is overwhelming.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I don't have a formal system by which I handle prayer requests that come to me, but lately I've become more conscious of the commitment I'm making when I tell someone that I will keep them in my prayers. One woman I know kept a journal with lists of people she was praying for written down. Her family found it after she had passed away. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Though the idea sounds like a good one, I'm not a great journal keeper. What I'm finding works for me is silently saying a prayer immediately after I'm asked for it, praying it as I'm typing my assurance of prayer. For some requests, that's all that I feel drawn to give. Sometimes the people in need of prayer will float to the top of my mind during the day and, again, I silently lift them and their concern up in a quick prayer. Other needs for prayer weigh heavily and I find myself spending more time in dedicated prayer for these needs, often during weekly Mass. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As Jim Carrey learned in "Bruce Almighty," a blanket YES is not the appropriate answer to all prayer. I don't expect magical or even miraculous resolutions just because I prayed. But as overwhelming as the needs may be, I try to be thankful for those people asking for prayer because when I agree to pray for their need, I am gaining another opportunity in my day to be in contact with God. </div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-18373025832550799712016-05-08T13:50:00.001-04:002016-05-08T14:30:14.482-04:00She always shows up<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHtgogjxtLzUeBbAc0isxfZRLbzrovDVp9fFsMyI2nq7b-32lvCqNS9SAucK67FkAtiW3BNR_B8EzBfwosKQn99or6uDa7nFrzNHig3iKwfuHpFAkyHjLbpAj6qiCZ8Y_iiH_9rcl1UQ/s640/blogger-image-1681078673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHtgogjxtLzUeBbAc0isxfZRLbzrovDVp9fFsMyI2nq7b-32lvCqNS9SAucK67FkAtiW3BNR_B8EzBfwosKQn99or6uDa7nFrzNHig3iKwfuHpFAkyHjLbpAj6qiCZ8Y_iiH_9rcl1UQ/s640/blogger-image-1681078673.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div>I've spent a good part of today thinking about how I should honor my mom for Mother's Day. I mean, I already mailed her a card (which will, of course, arrive late) and wished her a HMD over the phone. But that doesn't seem like enough.<div><br></div><div>She's not a mom that flowery superlatives fit. What she is, really, is a mom who shows up. </div><div><br></div><div>Birthday parties. First Communions. Of course she shows up at the big things. But she also shows up to help hang wallpaper, to watch ordinary soccer games, to keep an eye on grandkids when their parents need a break. </div><div><br></div><div>She shows up by texting pictures of the Coke Rewards codes from her afternoon Diet Coke. And by firing up the sewing machine to hem a pair of too-long pants that traveled from Indiana. </div><div><br></div><div>She shows up when she answers the phone at 10:30pm and I'm on the other end asking "Do you think I could give Charlie more ibuprofen?" </div><div><br></div><div>She shows up when she remembers you asked for prayer for a friend, prays, and then calls back to see how the friend is doing.</div><div><br></div><div>She shows up even though her 5 kids tease her about bladder control, laughing to the point of passing out, and her Christmas shopping trip fanny pack. </div><div><br></div><div>She shows up when she sits up late at night leafing through the newspaper, eating cereal, and just visiting with an adult child in town for a short while.</div><div><br></div><div>Showing up is not just punching the motherhood clock. It's delivering a message to her children and grandchildren that says "you're important and you're loved." </div><div><br></div><div>Thanks, Mom, for showing up. I hope you know that when you need me, I'll show up, too.</div><div><br></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-29038873091459592282016-03-08T21:22:00.000-05:002016-03-08T21:32:19.085-05:00My 40-something flat tireI'm stuck and I'm not sure which way to go or if not moving at all is the right answer. I'm not sad or depressed or anxious. Well, maybe a little bit anxious. But I've got these things that I wish were different, things that pretty much only I can make different, but I can't seem to make any movement toward any of them. I'm just stuck.<br />
<br />
I think it goes back to my existence as a <a href="http://4thfrog.blogspot.com/2011/01/new-years-to-do-list-of-messy.html" target="_blank">messy perfectionist</a>. Or it might have to do with the fact that I'm a great idea person, but am not so swift at the details.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/Flat%20tire_zps2jub7plf.jpg.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo Flat tire_zps2jub7plf.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/Flat%20tire_zps2jub7plf.jpg" /></a>I would call this state of standstill a midlife crisis but a.) it doesn't feel like an actual crisis (thank God!) and 2.) midlife crisis sounds so cliche.<br />
<br />
It's more like a 40-something flat tire. Annoying. Inconvenient. Fixable.<br />
<br />
There are two things I can think to do in my current stuck-ed-ness.<br />
<br />
First, pray. It's always the right answer and should always be my first answer, but it isn't. But I'm thankful that when I think about where I am and where I want to be and how I have no idea how to connect the two, the thought of prayer rises to my consciousness.<br />
<br />
Second, write. Writing here, yes. But also, I know that if I sit down to just right about where I am stuck, why I feel stuck and what I could do differently, writing it all out just for myself, that some clarity will rise to the surface.<br />
<br />
Pray. Write. Move. Maybe once I spend some solid time doing the first two things, the third will come along as a natural consequence.<br />
<br />
What do you do when you're stuck?<br />
<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05968879934963456225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-3952452359193762002016-01-17T10:31:00.000-05:002016-01-17T10:35:33.118-05:00What's the most important word in a marriage? <a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/heart%20pizza_zpscj3laot9.jpg.html" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo heart pizza_zpscj3laot9.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/heart%20pizza_zpscj3laot9.jpg" height="132" width="200" /></a>Apparently, it's not love. Does that shock you? It's kind of surprising to me.<br />
<br />
Our church is hosting a marriage workshop soon. We are bringing in author and well-known speaker Dr. Allan Hunt to lead the half-day event. The promo materials lead with the question: <i>What is the most important word in a marriage...and it's not love?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I guess I won't know for sure what the answer is until January 30 when Allan Hunt tells us, but I have a few guesses:<br />
<br />
<i>Toilet paper:</i> Ok, so technically that is two words. But TP is a pretty darn important word in a marriage. It can be rough or soft. It absorbs stuff and cleans up messes. When it's missing, that's real bad.<br />
<br />
So, you're not sold on toilet paper as the key word in marriage? Try this one:<br />
<br />
<i>Pizza: </i>Don't you just breathe a sigh of relief when you ask "what do you want for dinner?" and your spouse says "Let's just order pizza." I think that's Mike's way of saying "you do so much, why don't you take it easy tonight." Or he could be saying "you're a really bad cook and I'm not up to pretending to like your latest creation." Plus, pizza is versatile. It can be spicy, chock full of things that are good for you, or decadent and rich. And, it even tastes good cold.<br />
<br />
Still not quite right? I've got one more guess.<br />
<br />
<i>Sleep:</i> Of all my guesses, this one has the best chance of being right. Who doesn't love sleep? Except for a toddler and when they don't take naps and don't sleep at night, you wonder why you ever thought it was a good idea to get married and have kids in the first place. Sleep recharges you and helps you be ready to take on the day. When your spouse let's you sleep in or doesn't interrupt your nap, that's love.<br />
<br />
What do you think the most important word in a marriage is? If you want to know for sure, I invite you to join us for <b>Passion & Purpose for Marriage on January 30, 2016 from 9am-1:30pm at St. Luke Catholic Church</b> (which is not my church. We are still rebuilding from the big fire last September). <b>Tickets are $25 per person</b>.<br />
<br />
In addition to unlocking the mystery of marriage's most important word you can expect:<br />
<ul>
<li>5 things women need to know about men</li>
<li>5 things men need to know about women</li>
<li>5 love languages</li>
<li>NO GROUP SHARING</li>
<li>A "swag bag" of books and resources valued at $30</li>
</ul>
<div>
<b><i>To learn more and purchase your tickets, <a href="http://cart.dynamiccatholic.com/Passion-and-Purpose-for-Marriage-Indianapolis-IN-p/mr013016.htm" target="_blank">click here</a>. </i></b></div>
<br />
<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-86086926627546230222016-01-13T00:04:00.000-05:002016-01-13T00:04:05.955-05:00When Cinderella got cancerI don't cry often or easily. But tonight, as I was watching my 12-year-old's basketball practice, I found myself blinking back tears. It had nothing to do with my baby growing up too fast. It wasn't the scent of sweaty sixth grade boys filling a warm gym. Instead, I stood there, profoundly sad about the death of a man I've never met.<br />
<br />
Andrew Smith was a Butler basketball player who played on the two Bulldog basketball teams that went to back-to-back Final Fours in the NCAA tournament just a few years ago. This morning he died after a two-year fight against cancer. He was 25.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/andrewsmith_zpsawyyafxh.jpg.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Andrewsmith photo andrewsmith_zpsawyyafxh.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/andrewsmith_zpsawyyafxh.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I never met Andrew or his young wife Samantha. My only real connection to him is the fact we went to the same college -- 20 years apart. So why, I wonder, did I stand in a gym tonight and will my tears not to fall? I think it has something to do with Cinderella.</div>
<br />
When Butler made its first NCAA run to the Final Four in 2010, they were tagged as a "Cinderella" team. No one expected them to make it to the big dance. But they didn't listen to everyone else's expectations. They kept their heads up, their hopes high, and their determination solid.<br />
<br />
Andrew was a Cinderella cancer patient, of sorts, invited to a cruel dance. No one expected him to be there, in the role of patient with a hospital as his ballroom. Just before his diagnosis, he had been playing professional basketball in Europe. In their approach to cancer, Andrew and Samantha Smith kept their hands folded, their faith high, and their trust in God solid.<br />
<br />
Cinderella had a fairy godmother who waved a wand and turned dirty, raggedy clothes into a radiant gown. She transformed mice into footmen and a pumpkin into a glittering carriage.<br />
<br />
I think somewhere along the way, I let myself believe that Andrew Smith would have a godmother who would work unimaginable miracles, that Andrew's story would become a hopeful fairy tale told to generations.<br />
<br />
I kept up with Andrew's cancer journey through <a href="https://kickingcancerwiththesmiths.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">blog posts from his wife</a>. I could hear the urgency in the voice she used to tell their story. I could also hear the fierceness with which the Smiths believed that Andrew would be healed. Samantha Smith did not paint a rosy picture -- she painted an honest one.<br />
<br />
She wrote about the ugly stepsisters of cancer -- pain, nausea, frustration, desperation. She wrote about Prince Charming -- the stranger who swept in to donate the bone marrow that held the potential for a cure. In the past few weeks, Samantha wrote about the desperate search for the glass slipper -- a clinical trial -- that would give she and Andrew a chance to live happily ever after.<br />
<br />
Sadly, this story does not have a fairy tale ending, at least not as this world would define it. But the faith that Andrew and Samantha so unabashedly shared with all those who lifted their hearts for Andrew's healing tells us that this tale does have an eternal happy ending.<br />
<br />
I don't cry often or easily. But I did cry when the Butler Bulldogs lost the 2010 National Championship to Duke. So I guess it's ok for me to cry at the loss of a 6-foot, 11-inch Cinderella named Andrew.<br />
<br />
#AndrewSmithStrong #OnceaBulldogAlwaysaBulldogAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-63804952995687824962016-01-02T08:37:00.000-05:002016-01-02T08:37:20.083-05:00I failed at my 2015 goal but I have no regrets<div class="MsoNormal">
About this time last year, I made a very public declaration
that by January 2016, I would have my house ready to sell. My New Year’s goal
(not a resolution, mind you), was to spend 2015 methodically purging and
sprucing our house so we could move. And
how did I do? <b>Failed miserably. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I sat at home on New Year’s Eve enjoying deep dish pizza,
Treehouse Masters on the DVR, and a few rounds of Killer Uno, it occurred to me
that all the things I could have worked on, improved, done better last year are
all still there waiting for me. My weight, organizational habits, the number of
books that I didn’t read, money management…I could go on. That realization could have been a recipe for
disaster, or at least regret.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I didn’t let it be. I changed some in 2015. I learned
not to sweat the small stuff. I got comfortable with the idea of not being in
control of everything all the time. I ventured into the land of “no,” and found
that the world did not fall apart because I declined to do something. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trust me, I’m still a work in progress. Just ask my kids. I still get stressed out
over stupid stuff. I utter “yes” to too
many things. I still own my people pleaser badge. But I do it all less than I
used to, so I’m counting it as a win. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><o:p></o:p>For 2016, I’m seeking balance. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/balance_zpslvjnprnq.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo balance_zpslvjnprnq.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/balance_zpslvjnprnq.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do I let things go, while at the same time holding
myself accountable to goals and standards that I consider important. I can say “Life is short; eat dessert first,”
but then be toppled by a heart attack or stroke or even a ballooning weight
because the reality is that donuts for breakfast and Snickers for lunch really
is not a great idea. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know what balance looks like for me in 2016, but I honestly feel a call to it. I know
it includes slowing down and really considering my needs and opportunities, not
rushing in, being comfortable with – or at least tolerant of – uncertainty. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2015 was a good year. A year of subtle, but significant
change. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am looking forward to the balance that 2016 can bring.<o:p></o:p></div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-59255126254039058902015-11-22T21:24:00.003-05:002015-11-22T21:24:34.707-05:00Rules for using coloring books for grown ups<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/8DCF51B6-51D8-4A19-BE96-8EAD733B3319_zpsc0wr9n2g.jpg.html" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo 8DCF51B6-51D8-4A19-BE96-8EAD733B3319_zpsc0wr9n2g.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/8DCF51B6-51D8-4A19-BE96-8EAD733B3319_zpsc0wr9n2g.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>Adult coloring books are all the rage and something I'd mentally put on my Christmas wish list. I've always like to color; crayons are my artistic tool of choice.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, I was offered a chance to snag a review copy of an adult coloring book offered by <a href="http://www.putmeinthestory.com/grown-up-gifts/personalized-coloring-books" target="_blank">Put Me in the Story</a>. There were a couple of things that made saying "yes" to this opportunity easy.<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>It was free. No brainer. </li>
<li>The PMS coloring book (unfortunate abbreviation) is personalized. So my copy came with my name printed on the front and inside. </li>
<li>Tucked in the designs are inspirational quotes, for instance "Do one thing every day that scares you." (Eleanor Roosevelt)</li>
<li>I got to create the dedication myself. I chose a quote -- "To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong." (Joseph Chilton Pearce)</li>
</ol>
<div>
Which leads me to the <b>Rules for Using an Adult Coloring Book</b>: </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. There are no rules. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, that was quite the short list. But really, that's the beauty of this art form. There's no way to mess it up. Each person can approach each color encounter however they wish. There are a few things I've discovered that may or may not help you if you're interested in picking up a coloring book. </div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>There is no pressure to finish a page. I might color one section of a page and be finished for the night. Or I might color one portion of a page, then decide to move on to another page. </li>
<li>Fine-tips seem to be best for the job. I've been using some regular Target colored pencils. I'd like to try some of the fancy fine point crayons. (Maybe Santa will put them in my stocking.) I'm a little scared to try markers because I worry that they might bleed to the next page, but the vibrancy of color might be worth it. </li>
<li>Working on a relaxing coloring page with 3 boys and a football game on TV in the next room pretty much negates any relaxation that might have been had. </li>
<li>It's been interesting to see what kinds of designs I'm drawn to. Circular designs are my favorite. Straight-line geometrics, not so much. </li>
<li>Challenging myself to try questionable color combinations is kind of freeing.</li>
<li>I'm finding that getting to the relaxing part takes time. Despite my chosen dedication quote, it takes me a bit to let go of the need to color it right. I have to try to remind myself that mistakes are part of the creative process. </li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/7466726F-7931-466A-AF29-EB6AE7CCDC6D_zps9kp9yomq.jpg.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo 7466726F-7931-466A-AF29-EB6AE7CCDC6D_zps9kp9yomq.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/7466726F-7931-466A-AF29-EB6AE7CCDC6D_zps9kp9yomq.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Since I received my copy of <i>Keep Calm and Color On</i>, Put Me in the Story has added another grown up coloring book to its line. <i>Keep Calm and Color On: For Stress Relief</i>. Each book has 64 pages, good for hours of relaxing coloring. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The price -- $19.99 for one -- is slightly higher than what I've seen in stores like Michael's. Now through December 13, you can order 2 for $30 with the promo code <b>RELAX</b>.<br />
<br />
I don't get anything if you do buy, except the satisfaction that my friends will be enjoying their coloring books too.<br />
<br />
Do you color? Do you find it relaxing? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05968879934963456225noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-42344082152165650122015-10-10T22:18:00.002-04:002015-10-10T22:18:50.244-04:00So it turns out I do miss my college kid<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/7ac17ae5-f724-41dc-9922-64ad5bbb3056_zpsvpkcbylf.jpg.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo 7ac17ae5-f724-41dc-9922-64ad5bbb3056_zpsvpkcbylf.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/7ac17ae5-f724-41dc-9922-64ad5bbb3056_zpsvpkcbylf.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a>When we dropped off Annie at college nearly two months ago, I was excited for her. I knew she was ready for this next adventure and I was confident that she would do well. I will admit to having a good cry the night before she left. But when we dropped her off at school, I didn't shed any tears. Heck, I didn't even cry when two hours after we left she posted on Facebook that she'd gotten (and been hiding) a tattoo on her leg.<br />
<br />
In the days and weeks surrounding Annie's college departure, plenty of people have said to me "How <i>are</i> you? " Or sometimes "How are <i>you,</i>" as if sending my daughter off to college should have left me sobbing buckets of salty tears. I kind of felt like a bad mom when I answered honestly, "I'm fine." Maybe I shouldn't be fine. Maybe I should be feeling my heartstrings stretched to their capacity, crossing off the days until she comes up with big red Xes on the calendar in the kitchen.<br />
<br />
My boss, whose youngest child is Annie's age and is off to college himself this year, assured me that I am not a bad mom. "You will miss her at the weirdest times," she said. And it turns out she was right.<br />
<br />
The first time I really missed Annie was on the way home from visiting her for Family Weekend. We arrived on a Friday night and hung out in her dorm room with about 6 or 8 of her theatre buddies. We got FroYo and walked around the campus. The next day, we watched her hang lights in the theatre, went to hometown favorite burger place and drove out to a pumpkin patch, where I got some great pictures of Annie and the boys.<br />
<br />
The next morning, we headed home. And on our way home is when I really started to miss her. It wasn't so much that Annie wasn't coming home with us. It was more that I didn't have her to myself anytime over the weekend. The family time was fun, but as we were headed back to Indianapolis, I found myself longing for some girl time with my girl.<br />
<br />
So maybe, I'm not a bad mom after all.<br />
<br />
The other time I find myself missing my college kid is at work. I work on a college campus and lately, I've had a lot of meetings that require me to crisscross the campus several times a week. As I walk past the students who are close to my daughter's age, I think to myself "Annie is probably walking to class right now." I look at the brick buildings and the changing leaves and the kids with their frappa-mocha-lattes, backpacks and school spirity sweatshirts and think about Annie doing the same things on her college campus. And I miss her. Not in a break-down-crying-need-to-talk-to-a-therapist way, but in a happy-for-her-but-wish-I-could-spend-time-with-her kind of way.<br />
<br />
And guess what? She'll be home this weekend for fall break! She will be home to see Robbie's football game, eat dinner with us, cuddle with the dog, and go to church with us. And on Monday, she and I will have girl time getting our hair done and driving her back to school.<br />
<br />
I can't wait.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-32708150195045996482015-09-07T20:52:00.000-04:002015-09-07T20:52:22.083-04:00It happened Labor Day weekend<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/Flintstones_LD_zpse950ywvl.jpg.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo Flintstones_LD_zpse950ywvl.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/Flintstones_LD_zpse950ywvl.jpg" height="200" width="188" /></a>I drove through the campus of my college alma mater, Butler University, today after I dropped Charlie off at his girlfriend's house for a Labor Day picnic. As I drove down West Hampton Drive, past the Sigma Chi house where Mike lived for his 4 years of college and past my own Delta Gamma house, I realized that it was 26 years ago this weekend that Mike and I met.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We weren't on campus. Instead we were at the YMCA Flat Rock River Camp for Butler's Freshman Weekend. Mike was a freshman, a camper. I was a sophomore, a counselor for Freshman Weekend. I was there because I'd become involved with Butler's chapter of the YMCA during my freshman year and had volunteered to help out at the Labor Day weekend event. Mike was there because his mom wasn't about to have him come back home for the 3-day weekend so soon after she'd gotten him out of the house for college. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mike said he first noticed me, "this really cute girl," when I was in the center of the circle during the game "Honey, smile if you love me." The person in the middle has to stand stoically as people come into their personal space -- no touching allowed -- and yell, coo, holler, sing or otherwise deliver the line "Honey, smile if you love me."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I caught sight of the tall, cute, beefy freshman when he was assigned to my skit group. When there was some free time, he invited me back to his cabin (blush!). I went (what?!), where he promptly laid down, fell asleep and left me chatting with his cabin mates. Later, he would tell me that he hadn't really fallen asleep, but that he only pretended to be asleep so he could listen to me and see what kind of girl I was.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There was dinner and a few other activities I don't remember. Then it was time for the night hike and bonfire. He held my hand on the hike. I might have swooned a little. We arrived at the bonfire, where there were more games and songs and probably the making of s'mores. What I do remember about the bonfire is that we were playing a game called "Sing a song or kiss a counselor." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A few counselors had flashlights. When the light of the flashlight landed on you, there were two choices -- sing or kiss. I happily anticipated Mike's moment in the spotlight, the one where he would stand up, walk past the fire and share our first kiss, likely just a peck but a first kiss for sure. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sure enough, a few rounds into the game, the bouncing flashlight glow landed on Mike, the brown-haired, brown-eyed man-child I'd become smitten with. He squinted in the light, then smiled broadly. His eyes turned toward me and...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"FLINTSTONES! Meet the Flintstones," he belted out. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If it is possible to have your hopes dashed and your funny bone tickled at the same time, that is exactly what happened to me right then. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Lucky for Mike, he did deliver on the first kiss later that week, after he asked me to "go with" him, a statement which he still denies making. I suppose there is no point in arguing the point, since here we are, 26 years later, still laughing. </div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-18181618074296438622015-08-13T00:07:00.000-04:002015-08-13T00:07:16.000-04:00My terrible, horrible, no good, very bad trip to Target<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/target-sad-face_zpsrywkwlf3.jpg.html" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="target sad face photo target-sad-face_zpsrywkwlf3.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/target-sad-face_zpsrywkwlf3.jpg" height="140" width="200" /></a>I went to Target tonight. It's usually my happy place. Tonight was a different story.<br />
<br />
I was already in a bad mood because one of my offspring made a boneheaded decision. Do they have military schools in Australia? But nothing like a little retail therapy to fix a bad mood, right?<br />
<br />
Well, I needed to pick up some prescriptions from the pharmacy. The pharmacy that is located in such tight quarters that I am certain whoever planned the layout of this Target store has never actually maneuvered a grocery-laden cart through barely wide enough aisles. I started to turn down one aisle...jam-packed with people. So I made the turn into the next aisle. There was some guy in scrubs looking at pain relievers. Dude, can't you get those at work?<br />
<br />
"Excuse me," I said. He barely looked up and mumbled something, which I'm guessing was "no," because he and his cart stood there, taking their half out of the middle of the aisle. "Excuse me," I said again, this time not waiting for him to move and just forging ahead. He got the idea and inched his cart over, though still not far enough for both of our carts to fit. "He's probably related to the guy who designed the pharmacy," I thought while lifting my cart's wheels past his.<br />
<br />
I finally made it the pharmacy and asked for my waiting prescriptions. The pharmacist found them, rang them up and said "That will be $721."<br />
<br />
"What the?!" The ridiculous total was enough to make me sick. So I picked up two of the five prescriptions, told him I'd be back after payday and made a mental note to call the insurance company to see a.) if there are any cheaper options they will actually pay for, b.) how close I am to meeting our deductible, and c.) see how much drugs cost in Australia.<br />
<br />
Did I mention that Robbie was with me? And he was intent on finding stuff to put in his locker? He was excited at the prospect of buying something for him, so he was dancing in the aisles, touching every box and bag in front of him and generally stomping on my last nerve, even though he was really doing nothing wrong.<br />
<br />
Then we had to buy stuff to pack in the lunch boxes. So, I pulled out my phone and started adding items to my Target Cartwheel savings app as I dropped them into my cart. And then, my phone died. There went my instant saving and my Target mobile coupons. Argh.<br />
<br />
They were out of the flavor variety the kids like in the multipack of chips. Of course; by this point I was feeling like I'd been singled out for persecution. I was so frustrated that I didn't even bother to look at the prices of what I put in the cart. Budget be damned.<br />
<br />
Peanut butter, applesauce, chips and carrots finally acquired, we headed to the school supply section. For the love of all that is holy, I KNOW better than this. I KNOW that the school supply section is the WORST place to be right before school starts. It's a collection of frantic mothers, impatient children, and shell-shocked Target employees trying to keep the shelves stocked.<br />
<br />
And yet, for some inexplicable reason, there I was, pushing my cart down aisles (wider than the pharmacy, thank you Jesus!) full of things that will make for a successful year at school. I found the "locker decor" section. Did you know they sell shag carpets and chandeliers for lockers? Because Mitzi's science book will be so much more bearable if it's surrounded by modern touches of wastes of money.<br />
<br />
Robbie didn't find what he was looking for; I'm not sure he knew what he was looking for other than "cool stuff for my locker." So we headed for the check out, where the lady in front of me apparently was taking her Sunday drive in the Target check out on a Wednesday afternoon.<br />
<br />
"Do you have any coupons or gift cards today?" the cashier asked me when it was finally my turn. I told her my dead phone tale of woe. She commiserated. I told her about my $700 pharmacy bill. She was sympathetic. When she rang up my York peppermint patty, she didn't even ask if I wanted it in the bag or with me. She just handed it to me because she knew nights like this one called for chocolate ASAP.<br />
<br />
That cashier was the bright spot in my trip to Target and I headed for the exit feeling slightly better.<br />
<br />
Until I got to the parking lot and realized I had no idea where I'd parked. It might be in Australia.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-26875452700884126952015-07-25T11:54:00.000-04:002015-07-25T11:54:44.752-04:00Hot & cold...a personal realizationI realized something about myself yesterday as I sat at my desk eating the lunch I brought from home. Ok, eating the lunch I brought from Panera on my way from home to work.<br />
<br />
At the Panera drive-thru, where I'd planned to order creamy tomato soup and a Med-Veg sandwich, my eye fell on a picture of a barbeque chicken flatbread. It looked good enough that I abandoned my go-to order and told the voice in the box to fix me up one of those flatbreads. (I'm spontaneous like that.)<br />
<br />
I drove to work, popped the Panera bag in the fridge when I got there, and sat down to a busy morning. It wasn't until about 2pm that my stomach reminded me I had lunch waiting for me. So I took the bag out of the fridge and walked back to my office -- right past the microwave.<br />
<br />
The barbeque chicken flatbread, chilled by now with its melty cheese solidified in an oozy pattern, was delicious. I almost wished I'd ordered two of them, not because it wasn't filling -- it was -- but because I didn't want to let the flavor go so soon.<br />
<br />
And that's when my realization came. When it comes to hot food or cold food, I prefer formerly hot food cold. Does that make me weird? (Ok, so what really makes me weird is the fact that I've thought about this enough to devote an entire blog post to it.)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/Cold%20pizza_zpsir5n5cgn.jpg.html" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Cold pizza photo Cold pizza_zpsir5n5cgn.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/Cold%20pizza_zpsir5n5cgn.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>The cold flatbread was not a culinary anomaly. This morning I had two, formerly hot, panko-breaded chicken tenders, leftover from last night, with a side of fruit salad.<br />
<br />
Morning-after-straight-from-the-fridge General Tso's chicken? Yes please!<br />
<br />
<br />
And cold pizza? Well, if eating pizza cold is wrong, I don't want to be right.<br />
<br />
<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-1629863222718563392015-06-30T23:19:00.001-04:002015-06-30T23:40:46.583-04:00My writer friends, an Amazon gift card giveaway & #SunshineSharing<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/typewriter" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="typewriter photo: Vintage Typewriter 16012010233.jpg" border="0" src="http://i285.photobucket.com/albums/ll80/taichianna/16012010233.jpg" height="112" width="200" /></a>I fancy myself a writer, but if it weren't for the internet, my writing would be unknown. (Well, it's practically unknown even <i>with</i> the internet.) What I mean is that I haven't written a book, yet. I have a couple of ideas rolling around in my head and even have one that I've gotten a small start on.<br />
<br />
Several people I know personally <i>are</i> writers, as in written, edited, and published real books writers. When my friend Jennifer Parker announced the publication of her book, <i>Messy Blessings</i>, earlier this Spring, I thought about all the people that I know who are published authors. It's kind of amazing, really. Honestly, what an accomplishment.<br />
<br />
So I wanted to share those people and their accomplishments here. Check out the books and let me know what you think.<br />
<br />
<b><i><a href="http://amzn.to/1JJl5DX" target="_blank">Messy Blessings</a></i> </b>by Jennifer Parker. I first met Jennifer in college. It turns out that she has actually known Mike since they were both in diapers. <i>Messy Blessings</i> tells the very true story of Jennifer's youngest daughter Hope who was born with a severe heart condition. Miraculously, Hope is a happy 8-year old today, despite a stroke that robbed her of her speech when she was very young.<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://amzn.to/1bv498R" target="_blank"><b>Slaying the Debt Dragon</b></a></i> by Cherie Lowe. I met Cherie through the blogosphere and flew beside her in a WWII stunt plane several years ago. Cherie and her husband Brian have been on a journey to pay off debt and find riches that money can't buy. The amount of debt they slaughtered in just four years will astonish you. Cherie's approachable writing style will make you feel like you've made a friend.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1GyltHT" target="_blank"><i><b>How Sweet the Sound</b></i></a> by Amy K. Sorrells. I met Amy through a mutual friend when Charlie was just a baby. She is a nurse. When she told me she was a writer too, I thought, "yeah, right." <i>When How Sweet the Sound</i> was published, I bought it and promptly left it on the nightstand for a while. When I finally read it, I was sorry that I waited so long and I had doubted that a nurse could also write. This story is a modern-day retelling of the story of Tamar in the Old Testament.<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://amzn.to/1OWUJzK" target="_blank"><b>Then Sings My Soul</b></a></i> by Amy K. Sorrells. I haven't read Amy's second book, yet. But it's central figure is a 90-year old man and you know how much my heart loves elders. This book is definitely on my to-read list.<br />
<br />
<b><i><a href="http://amzn.to/1zhSaqy" target="_blank">The Forgotten Girl</a></i> </b>by David Bell. Ok, so I don't actually know David Bell. But his wife, Molly McCaffrey was my roommate for our first week of college, before we moved into our respective sorority houses. Molly and I re-connected via Facebook and that's how I came to know David. So he "counts" for the purpose of this blog post. <i>The Forgotten Girl</i> is a thriller, as are several of David's books.<br />
<br />
<i><b><a href="http://amzn.to/1HJ0pNw" target="_blank">Listen to Your Mother</a> </b></i>by Ann Imig. Ann is the brainchild of the Listen to Your Mother speakers/readers series that takes place during the month of May all over the country. Like David, I don't personally know Ann, but I've been honored to be in two LTYM productions, so that's enough connection for me. What's more, one of my Indianapolis cast mates, Natalie Cheung-Hall, has her piece "She Knew It," included in Imig's anthology.<br />
<br />
<b>The Giveaway with Sunshine Rewards</b><br />
<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/SunshineRewards_zpsfzevxajs.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo SunshineRewards_zpsfzevxajs.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/SunshineRewards_zpsfzevxajs.jpg" /></a><br />
As I was thinking about writing this blog post, an opportunity from <a href="http://www.sunshinerewards.com/" target="_blank">Sunshine Rewards</a> came along to do a giveaway for a $50 Amazon.com gift card. I thought it would be a great tie-in for this post. So, there are three things you should know:<br />
<br />
1.) The links above will take you to the Amazon.com listing for each of the books. If you buy one of the books from that link, I will earn a few pennies from your purchase.<br />
<br />
2.) Sunshine Rewards provided me with a $50 gift card of my own for participating in this giveaway.<br />
<br />
3.) I totally love and support independent bookstores and make purchases at them whenever I can. But I also really enjoy the ease and efficiency and don't-have-to-leave-my-chair of Amazon.com. So I felt ok about hosting this giveaway. If you win, you are free to spend your gift card on anything at Amazon.com, not just books.<br />
<br />
<b>What is Sunshine Rewards?</b><br />
Sunshine Rewards is a shopping and discount site that offers you the opportunity to earn cash back on online purchases, shares special discount opportunities for members, and allows you to earn rewards for surveys. The owner of Sunshine Rewards is someone whom I have known through the Indiana bloggers network for several years. For a little more info, check out the <a href="http://www.sunshinerewards.com/help.php" target="_blank">FAQ on their site</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Enter to win! (Begins at midnight on July 1)</b><br />
<br />
<a class="rcptr" data-raflid="77ce68923" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/77ce68923/" id="rcwidget_8cgigrq3" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>
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<b><br /></b>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-67390876419195695342015-05-21T08:08:00.000-04:002015-05-21T08:08:19.530-04:00Excellence in human living...Last night was Annie's graduation from high school. (PAUSE). That short sentence holds inside of it 18 years of WOW.<br />
<br />
I sat in the Hilbert Circle Theatre waiting for her to appear at the top of the stairs, ready to make her entrance as "Pomp & Circumstance" trailed from the quartet on stage. Why didn't I think to ask her what side she was walking in on?<br />
<br />
And then, there she was. It was the first glimpse I'd had of her in cap and gown. She had a rose in her hand and smile on her face. Time stood still.<br />
<br />
As tears streamed down my face, I captured her frozen in my gaze. A sudden panic rose up inside of me. How did we get here already? Have I taught her everything she needs to know for life? I think I need more time...<br />
<br />
I watched her move down the stairs toward her seat with the rest of the Class of 2015. She was confident and happy.<br />
<br />
When her name was called...Anna Michelle Magan (prounounced correctly, thank you very much)...she glided triumphantly across the stage. She graduated with honors, but even better, I think she graduated with Excellence in Human Living. She is both passionate and compassionate. She seeks to be a righter of wrongs, still unjaded by life. She is stubborn and sometimes maddeningly insistent. She is creative and inquisitive and determined.<br />
<br />
As she crossed the stage, there was no hesitation, no panic on my part. Oh, there were a few tears. It was as if I could physically feel the separation happening as my firstborn child, my only daughter, stepped into her own life. It's a life where she will need me still. Heck, I'm almost 45 and I still need my mom.<br />
<br />
But it is her own life and as she came down the stairs, diploma in hand and something bigger than a simple smile on her face, I thought to myself, "She's got this."<br />
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-53902095073874072002015-04-20T17:55:00.000-04:002015-04-20T17:55:00.358-04:00Useless<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/Useless_image_zpszkr4d5dj.jpg.html" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Useless photo Useless_image_zpszkr4d5dj.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/Useless_image_zpszkr4d5dj.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><br />
“I feel so useless.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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She didn’t say it looking for attention or for pity. She
didn’t say it as a statement for dramatic effect. She said it almost in
passing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She is an almost 96-year old lady I met yesterday. I had
stopped by her home at the retirement community to bring her Communion because
her ride to Mass had fallen through. It was the first time she’d missed Mass in
almost 60 years, she said. She doesn’t have a car – although she said that she
could still drive if she’d had it. But when she moved to the retirement center
a few years ago, there was a shuttle bus that she could ride to church. So she
sold her car.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Selling that car was one of her big mistakes, she said.
That, and selling her house on 10 acres and moving away from the community
where she’d lived for her entire adult life, where all of her friends are. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She used to volunteer at the hospital and at the retirement
center, but health concerns have taken her out of that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If it wasn’t so far to church – at least 3-4 miles – she
said she would walk. She always thought she would like to live next to the
church so she wouldn’t have trouble getting to Mass. I suggested she call our
priest and ask about moving into the spare bedroom in the rectory. We both
laughed, even though the eternal optimist in me was 1/16<sup>th</sup> serious.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I feel so useless.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was my turn to feel useless. I wanted to fix the
situation for this sweet woman. I suggested maybe she could write letters and cards
to soldiers. There is a need for that. She nodded and then held up her
tremoring hands, saying that writing is more and more difficult these days. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I told her that I would be happy to give her a ride to Mass
when she needed one. I wrote down my phone number even though she said she
wouldn’t call me because she was sure my life was so busy. I promised that I
would tell her “no” if I couldn’t help, but I’d be happy to drive her if it
worked out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We shared the Eucharist, said a few prayers, and visited for
a few more minutes. Then I left to get back to my busy life. But I’m still
thinking about her and wondering how many thousands of older people feel useless
and what I, what we can each do, to embrace them, letting them know how needed
they are in our world. <o:p></o:p></div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-44164997219573597792015-04-16T23:18:00.000-04:002015-04-16T23:18:17.848-04:00Vague post: a morality taleSomeone did something not very nice to me & my family. I know the reasons behind it, but I still don't like it.<div>
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I was hurt. I still am if you want to know the truth, especially because this someone should know better. But no one will die over this. Probably no one will lose sleep. In the grand scheme of life, it's probably just a speck. Not even everyone affected by it will know about it. </div>
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But I know and I'm kind of stung. Sometimes things happen that are out of your control. That's when you want to know someone has got your back. And sometimes you learn that they don't and you find yourself adrift.</div>
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But you know what? That floating out there on the stinging raft led me to look at another situation in my life. A situation where I've been the not-so-nice one. Oh, I had reasons. But those reasons probably don't matter to the person that I've stung. Maybe that person doesn't even realize what I've done. Or maybe they do. But I know. And I know better, so now I have to do better. </div>
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The moral of the story is: 1. Treat people the way you want to be treated and 2. when you realize you've failed to do that, go back to number 1 and start over.</div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-33457968010416456342015-04-14T23:16:00.000-04:002015-04-14T23:16:23.588-04:0010 ways to get out of being a line judge at a volleyball gameTonight was the first volleyball game Charlie got to play in. I was so happy that I volunteered to help the coach in whatever way she needed help. That turned out to be line judge. Oh, anything but that. I think I'd rather pick up the entire team's dirty sweat socks than have to be the line judge.<br />
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The job of the line judge is to stand at one corner of the volleyball court and to wave your flag in various directions to indicate that the ball is in or out or that the server stepped on the line or that the wisp of someone's fingernail touched the ball before it sailed out of bounds. Being the line judge is completely stressful. Winners and losers can be decided all based on what one line judge did or did not see. Plus, being a line judge totally interferes with the chatty mom role I prefer to play during volleyball games.<br />
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So while I was doing my line judging duty, I used lulls in the action to think up ways that I could get out of the job. Here's what I came up with:<br />
<ol>
<li>Wet my pants enough to cause a puddle to form beneath me. (That wouldn't have been much of a stretch...note to all future line judges: pee first.)</li>
<li>Throw up on the court. Definitely not sanitary, but a sure-fire way to make sure no one argued with me about stepping down.</li>
<li>Re-enact the high school drill team's half-time flag routine with the small red flag I was supposed to use to indicate in, out and whatever else the flag is for.</li>
<li>Cheer loudly for the home team. As a line judge, you are supposed to remain impartial. </li>
<li>Yell "miss it" in the middle of an opposing player's serve (see above re: impartiality).</li>
<li>Stand with my knees locked and will myself to faint right on the spot. </li>
<li>Call for a do-over several plays in a row, saying "I really should have worn my glasses for the game."</li>
<li>Yell <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EN2_PSs2Pjc" target="_blank">"Way to go, Paul"</a> every time a player messes up. </li>
<li>Order a pizza to be delivered mid-game and assure the official that I am an excellent multi-tasker.</li>
<li>Duck and scream every time the ball comes within 3 feet of me.</li>
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Alas, I did none of these. Instead I stuck out the shift, did not have to make any controversial calls, and made a mental note to be first in line to sign up for ticket sales at the next game.</div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-70391369430230530042015-04-04T15:16:00.000-04:002015-04-04T15:16:00.702-04:00Bad jokes for my PaPa<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/MomPapaSchulers_zpse9ehuxvo.jpg.html" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo MomPapaSchulers_zpse9ehuxvo.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/MomPapaSchulers_zpse9ehuxvo.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>My PaPa passed away peacefully yesterday morning. He would have been 90 years old today. I guess he decided for his birthday he wanted to be reunited with NaNa.<br />
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There are a lot of things that I will remember about PaPa.<br />
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<ul>
<li>How he left college in his freshman year because he missed NaNa too much. </li>
<li>How he drank "neer beer." </li>
<li>How he would rub my knuckles together when he shook my hand. </li>
<li>How he loved Schuler's Donuts (which are the only ones that could hope to compete with a Long's Donut from Indianapolis). </li>
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But mostly, I will remember PaPa for his corny sense of humor and his never-ending quest to find and share bad jokes.<br />
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So PaPa, these jokes are for you:<br />
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What do you call rabbits running backwards? <i>A receding hairline</i><br />
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Why did the golfer wear two pairs of pants? <i>In case he got a hole in one.</i><br />
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What is a bear without teeth called? <i>A gummy bear</i><br />
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What did the beach say when the tide came in? <i>Long time, no sea.</i><br />
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What do you call a cow with no legs? <i>Ground beef</i><br />
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What did one toilet say to the other toilet? <i>You look flushed.</i><br />
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This o<span style="font-family: inherit;">ne comes from </span>my Uncle Bill:<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My favorite by far is his Hammond organ joke. I would be sitting in the living room while he was practicing the organ. PaPa would stop playing and said "You know, Hammond wasn't always in instrument business. He used to be a farmer. Back then the company was called Hammond Eggs..."</span><br />
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So PaPa, though we are sad to say "Wieder auderheisen," we will laugh on in your honor.<br />
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Readers, if you have a "PaPa joke" to share, please leave it in the comments and then spread the laughter today by telling the joke to someone who will groan appropriately.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05968879934963456225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-25339903901200124682015-03-29T11:08:00.001-04:002015-03-29T11:08:37.338-04:00Listen to your mother (in-law) #LTYM<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/LTYM-logo_zps21ae9409.jpg.html" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo LTYM-logo_zps21ae9409.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/LTYM-logo_zps21ae9409.jpg" height="175" width="200" /></a>Drumroll please...I am incredibly excited to announce that I will be part of the first cast of <a href="http://listentoyourmothershow.com/evansville/" target="_blank">Listen to Your Mother Evansville</a> and I have my mother-in-law to thank for it.<br />
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<a href="http://s368.photobucket.com/user/4thfrog_2008/media/EPS_0078.jpg.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo EPS_0078.jpg" border="0" src="http://i368.photobucket.com/albums/oo121/4thfrog_2008/EPS_0078.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a>Karen was the inspiration for my submission. This piece is very different from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIs2XJmdFR4" target="_blank">the piece I read</a> at Listen to Your Mother Indianapolis two years ago. There will be laughs (I hope). There might be a tear or two. What there will not be is me teetering on wedge sandals that I will wear for that event only and never put on my feet again. Lesson learned.</div>
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I am excited and nervous for this show. I'm coming in as one of two outsiders -- everyone else in the cast is from the Evansville area. Other than Hilary Melchiors, one of the directors and a castmate of mine from Indianapolis, I don't know any of the other women. </div>
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I'm excited for the energy that I know will surround this show. I'm nervous to read a piece about my mother-in-law with my father-in-law in the audience. I'm excited to "introduce" my mother-in-law to so many people who probably don't even know that she had an impact on their own lives. I'm nervous that she won't approve of something I say and will come back to haunt me from the grave.</div>
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Mostly, I hope that though this piece is about my own mother-in-law experience, people will be able to relate in some way and will leave feeling like my 4 minutes was worth their time. </div>
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<i>LTYM Evansville will take place on May 9 at 7pm in the AIS Diamond Auditorium. If you're within driving distance to the 'ville, get your girlfriends together and make a night of it. You can buy tickets ($15) <a href="http://listentoyourmothershow.com/evansville/2015/03/09/tickets-on-sale-now/" target="_blank">here</a>. </i></div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-933205011038630788.post-1281985139730662992015-03-06T10:56:00.001-05:002015-03-06T11:07:19.487-05:00Open for prayerThis weekend is my annual silent retreat. I'm posting from my phone in the pedicure chair right now...because everyone knows that spiritual wholeness begins with fabulous toes.<div><br></div><div>After this our crew will head toward the retreat center, making a stop for lunch at a local winery...because delicious food and good wine opens your senses to God's, grace, of course.</div><div><br></div><div>Once at the retreat center, I will have lots of time for prayer and reflection. I want to take your needs and desires with me. If you have a prayer request, you can leave it in the comments here or email it to 4thfrog70 (at) gmail (dot) com.</div><div><br></div><div>And even if you don't send me a note, I'll be praying for you anyway. I'd love it if you pray for me in return.</div><div><br></div><div>Peace to your day...and your weekend.</div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12547679169487196540noreply@blogger.com2