groundhog, can I join you in that burrow?

It's Groundhog Day and I'd like nothing more than to crawl into that hole the hog came out of (and didn't see his shadow!) and stay 'till the weekend.

It all started yesterday when two little sneaks stole candy out of my desk. I knew and they knew that all three of us knew what happened, but I had no proof and they wouldn't own up. I layed the guilt on really thick and told them I hope they always remember this moment.

The moment they sold their integrity for a chocolate covered cherry.

I'm not kidding. I really said that to them. With fire in my eyes and ferocity in my voice. The statement hung in the air heavily, like unleavened bread.

Then, as I was leaving school and stepped out into the 40 mph winds (not kidding here either) and monsoon rain, my umbrella immediately flipped inside out and I couldn't stand up to the strength of the wind. It literally pulled me all over the front drive, where cars waited to pick up kids after sports practice.

I made a poor decision to wear no tights with my dress yesterday. So in front of dozens of cars, not only am I soaking wet with a flipped umbrella and getting the daylights beat out of me by the wind, but my dress flew clear up to my chin.

No tights: Poor decision.

I made eye contact with no one as I scurried across the streets of downtown Birmingham to the youth YMCA, where, coincidentally, my car still sits even now.

This brings me to today.

At 5:15, I was ready to leave school. But when I went to fetch my purse and keys, which are ALWAYS placed in the same drawer of my desk, my keys were gone. I tend to misplace my keys quite a bit, but not at school. I just don't mess around with personal belongings at school.

So I knew it was strange when my keys weren't where I put them that morning. Two hours and a AAA visit later, it was concluded that my keys had in fact been stolen.

Little shits.

I had to say it.

On that note, I have started a new blog. Actually it's a tumblr, whatever that means. Its sole purpose is to store noteworthy pieces of conversations I have at school. Things I never thought I'd say in the workplace. Things like, "Don't test my gangster" which happens to be the title of the blog.

Anyway, if you care to read it, hop over to http://www.donttestmygangster.tumblr.com/

Hope your Groundhog Day was sunny and theifless.

the severed wasp is still in flight.

She might be battle-scarred, but she's still in flight! If a severed wasp isn't a defeated odd personified, I don't know what is. I am going to shamelessly forego an explanation of this one. Apologies.

Pending a liver MRI tomorrow morning, Meredith is cancer free!! I am so, so relieved that, as Mere said, it looks like God's not finished with her yet. And when I say relief, I mean RELIEF - the world needs as many Merediths in it as possible. And she's the only one I know of.

So today I'm thankful that the Lord's mercies are new every morning, that He is the upholder of all life, and that He walks with us and is faithful when our faith leaves us.


Fly on in gilgemrous flight, O severed wasps.

portlandia genius

That new show Portlandia might be my new favorite thing since Flight of the Conchords came out.

Thanks Design Sponge for this one...



Oh yeah design world, I will also mercilessly make fun of your ampersands & twine & xoxo's.

Love ya.

xoxo

hope that conquers fear

As I type, my oldest friend in all the world is having surgery to map/remove/test lymph nodes and remove melanoma cancer cells. So as I sit here in the McWane Science Center watching 35 13 year olds run around like lunatics in a play area that they are entirely too old for, my mind is entirely somewhere else.

I know and Meredith knows that our Lord is sovereign, that He is faithful, and that He is just as good today as He was the day he rescued us by giving us his very life.

Even still, I am afraid. Fear is a beast, isn't it?

The very thought of Mere being sick or hurting or a single cancer cell lurking in her body has every cell in my body tensed and terrified.

Thankfully, the one in whom we put our hope is also the one who crafted our every cell and who holds all things together, working them together for Mere's good, for our good.

An oldie but goodie from yesteryear.

Because this will make Mere giggle. Sorry Ya.

My new favorite picture of Nita & me. Just because.

swirling in my head this saturday morn...

"It is impossible that a Christian can truly follow Jesus and not suffer for Him. The question is how much will we volunteer for? That depends on what we think the Good News is... And what abundant life really means."

-Bryan Kelly, Common Ground Montgomery

an unfortunate dental milestone

Here's my advice for anyone who's getting a root canal:

Don't watch a video of the procedure on YouTube the night before.

Even if it is a cartoon.

I had an emergency root canal today. It involved a cracked tooth, not decay, lest you think all those circus peanuts are to blame.

It was my first root canal, and I feel like this means I have one foot in an early grave.

What's next, wooden teeth?

(That one's for you, Kate)

ps. It didn't hurt.

I am so, so thankful for laughing gas and anesthesia.

"Who told you you might meddle with such hifalut'n foolishness, hey?"

It's been years since I read Huckleberry Finn.

I am no acclaimed literary scholar, nor am I easily offended by issues of artistic integrity. But when I learned of the new edition of Huck Finn & Tom Sawyer that will soon be released by a local publishing company with all 219 uses of the N word replaced with "slave" and references to Injun Joe in Tom Sawyer changed to Indian Joe, I was frightfully taken aback.

I'm not sure what kind of a right I have to speak to this. I'm white. I have no idea what it feels like to be the object of racial slurs. Exept for that one time this kid called me White Chocolate back in 2006. Apples to apples here, as you can see.

So you can imagine my apprehension when I found out that I might be interviewed for CBS's 60 Minutes on this issue. I could handle the .18 seconds of the back of my head appearing on Anderson Cooper, but you might remember my reference to the damage I could have done had they handed me a mic.

So would you mind if I used you, my certain mass readership, as a sounding board for a minute?

All I can say is this: I don't know what it's like to stumble across a word in literature, in school, that is deeply offensive to my heritage, my ethnicity, my ancestors.

But isn't it more dangerous, more risky to sugarcoat here? Especially when it comes to classic literature? Should this not spur on the hard conversations that none of us really want to have with each other in the company of mixed races? Or, ahem, when you're the only white girl in the room?

It's not easy, it's not comfortable, and it's not supposed to be. But it's the reality of our country's past, and we're not doing ourselves any favors by pretending it wasn't as bad as it was. Nor or we doing ourselves any favors by acting like there aren't still remnants of that history in all of our lives today in some way, shape, or form.

My biggest question here has little to do with what Mark Twain would think, because the truth is that the stories ARE no longer under copyright, and besides, he seemed to be of the sort that was okay with tweaking, changing, and messing with his works after they were penned.

My biggest question is this: Is it WORTH it to alter such literature so that it becomes easier to deal with the language that reminds us of our past? Is it worth it to tweak classics so that the at times shocking reality of our own history is a little easier to sidestep, particularly in the classroom? How relevant is it?

Quite relevant, I think.

Now granted, I'm speaking out of a mere 5 years experience in the classroom compared to Alan Gribben's 40. Also granted that the term "slave" isn't quite sugarcoating. But I feel certain that Twain's use of the N word 219 times was purposeful, and I don't think it's ok to undo that intentionality for the sake of not having to deal with the explosive nature of the word in the classroom.

Because what is Mark Twain if not explosive?

And how is this still-uncomfortably-real kind of tension to be dealt with if not head on, regardless of the comfort level?

So there you have it - my very white, somewhat naive take. Hand me a mic at your own risk.