Bernice is doing well.  She even knows what the goal is when I take her outside.  ...if I can break her wanting to taste her poo, then life will be much better.  Butt breath...yeah, not gonna' work in the Smith household.

 

I taught at the WAJ workshop on Saturday.  It was nice to see some familiar faces attending and sad as it is, I don't get to see some of my dear friends on the faculty any other time of year but at WAJ events so that makes it fun, too.  I'm so THRILLED to have learned that Kevin Stokes is a fellow text messager.  Maybe he and I can communicate more often now.  ha 

 

It's always nice to see Scott Krippayne on this side of the country.  No matter how familiar he is to me, there is magic in his voice.  There always will be.  And, when Kyle Matthews told me that he truly didn't love much of anything he's written over the past ten years--and he said it from the truest place of humility because that's just who he is--I was blown away.  WHAT?!?!?!?  But, I wouldn't want Kyle to be any other way because that's what makes him who he is.  One of the most moving moments I've experienced in Nashville was soon after I moved here when I bought a ticket to the Dove Awards.  That was the year Bob Carlisle debuted, "We Fall Down."  As an audience member, there was no choice but to applaud in the middle of the first chorus.  The entire place went crazy in the middle of a song because of the message.  To write a song which demands that--Kyle Matthews is the man.

 

My Mom and Dad came Saturday evening and just left this morning.  They were on a fishing trip in Alabama.  My brother and I left home and Mom and Dad bought a boat.  Nice.  So, yesterday we trekked to Bass Pro.  Gang, it's not my store, BUT its always amusing to go with them.  My Mom even got a new reel.  I love that they're fishing.  And, this morning, I watched them pull out of my driveway--the truck, the boat in tow, Dad driving, Mom in the passenger seat, and Ruby propped high on suitcases and blankets behind Mom.  It looked like Mom was wearing a dog on her head.  I liked it.

 

My brother is in Seattle working.  He had his rental car parked in an empty lot at a college he was working in and two guys in a minivan rammed it leaving it totalled.  They totaled his car and their van.  Isn't that insane? 

 

Okay, I think that does it.  Hope your weekend minutes were well spent, too.

-b 

 

 

 

 

I've slept in two hour increments.   It's so hard to believe that something so small can make such a big impact (see yesterday's photo).  Pete and I are hanging in there.  We're both sleepy.  Pete is not impressed with having to wake up all the time.  He's pretty unsure of what the heck is going on, and, frankly, I am completely on his page.  Did I mention I'm dogsitting Ruby this week, too?  My neighbors are going to think I've become some crazy lady who collects small dogs...I have a 19 pound miniature pinscher, I have an 8 pound chihuahua and a 2.5 pound pug.  You know, when you put it in writing like that, I guess neighbors would be correct.

 

Gang, I affirm to you that I am an idiot.  :-)

At least I'm figuring out who I am...

 

-b

For a while now, we've been thinking Pete needs a friend.  More honestly, everyone thinks that since Pete is almost 10, he doesn't have that many more years left and they fully believe I will have to be institutionalized when I lose him...which is probably true.  So, while he's still young enough and active enough, it might be a good idea to add another canine to the family so that when he does go, I'll feel like I have something to live for.  We kind of tried this with Ruby--who now lives happily ever after on my Dad's lap in WV.  The thing with Ruby, though, is that she was a rescue dog who had been sent to a kill shelter when they were done breeding her.  She's probably 8 years old and she has some ISSUES!  When that whole experiment went south, we determined that the only dog Pete would accept would have to be a puppy. 

 

And, so, I present to you...er....well...the as yet unnamed new addition:

See those bricks?  They're not real.  They might look real, they might feel real, but it's all smoke and mirrors.  ...and I worked on that wall FOREVER. 

-b

 

 

My doctor is irritates me.  I like him but he has this thing where he wants to see me every 6 months.  (Apparently, if I were elderly, I'd have to go every three.)  I've been going to him for years.  Here's how it goes:  he writes on my chart that I need to come back in six months so when I'm paying the receptionist, she takes my money and schedules the next appointment.  Then, I politely take the card with the appointment information on it, pretend I'll see her in 6 months, and then wait about 3 months and then call and cancel.  I'd say this has been going on for probably 8 years now.  I see no point in going to doctor every six months when there's nothing wrong with me.  I don't have that kind of free time. 

 

So, today, I called to cancel the six month check-up...like I always do.  She said, "Belinda, why do you schedule the appointment when you're here if you're going to cancel it every time?"  And I replied, "Because I want your approval." 

And it's true.

 

She was still laughing we hung up.

 

I'll see her in the fall...or sooner if I get sick.  But, I'm just not going in for the fun of it. 

 

-b

 

It snowed here today. 

-b

I will just go ahead and tell you that a few years ago, I accidentally knocked a disabled midget down.  I flattened him.  I may have even blogged about it just to get it off my chest.  It was so awful and terrible and I still feel so badly about it.  I will also tell you that I'm not sure if the word 'midget' is politically correct, either, but I'm using it because I think it is.  I'm not trying to be insensitive in the use of the word.

 

And, so I'm repeating a story to you that I heard second hand yesterday, but it is true...and it makes me feel a little better.  I've met the chic who did this...and I feel her pain.  I'm going to shorten the story for fear of messing up the details.

 

Essentially, this girl--we'll call her Ellen for the re-telling--was with a few friends in the airport waiting to fly back to Nashville.  Well, the flight was delayed and so Ellen and her friends proceeded to a bar where they drank...and drank and drank...until they were essentially hammered by the time they were to board the flight home. 

 

They were finally seated on the plane when a midget made his way down the aisle.  He stopped next to them, and Ellen and co. watched as he struggled to get his bag under the seat.  After a few minutes of trying and failing to fit the bag into the space, he gave up.  He turned to Ellen and said, "Would you mind helping me?"  Ellen, being as truly sincere as possible, said, "Of course."  Having been around Ellen myself and also knowing people who are friends with her, I can vouch that she wouldn't think twice about helping someone out. 

 

Remember, though, she is trashed.  So, she gets up out of her seat and without even processing the thought, reaches down...and picks up THE MIDGET, raising him up so he could place the bag in the overhead.  Gang, Ellen actually picked up the human being rather than the bag.  Then, she even lacked the reasoning ability to keep from adding something like, "Wow, you people are a lot heavier than you look."  

 

Needless to say, she has sobered up and is appropriately horrified.  I guess the gentleman who was the victim of her "drunken kindness" was furious--of course.  You should also know that her friends who were watching the whole thing actually took photos on their cell phones--which I will never be sharing.  But, I can sooooooo see my friends doing the same thing--they wouldn't stop me, they'd just take pictures. 

 

It's awful.  It's an awful story and an awful thought. 

But it makes me feel a little less awful about my unfortunate run in...literally.

-b

 

 

 

 

Wayne called on Saturday night.  His message said, "I don't know how you're doing on the inside, but your hair is holding up great."

 

Yet another of the many reasons why I love Wayne.  He can quote from movies like a madman!  I watched "Half Nelson" yesterday and couldn't tell you one line from it...Wayne is quoting from "Steel Magnolias." 

 

 

It's 74 today.  I can't justify blogging.   I need to be outside.

-b

I like college basketball.  I used to follow it more than I do now, but I really do enjoy it. 

 

 

So, a few years ago, all the 'guys' were sitting around filling out their brackets and turning them in trying to predict the Final Four winner (yes, Joel, that's basketball).  I will publicly say that there was no money involved...just lots of potential self-satisfation.

 

I said to one guy, "I want to do it."

He said, "You?"

He then smirked and said that would be fine if I really wanted to.  You could literally hear him thinking, "Just humor her."

 

Over the following weeks, I was the one smirking every time I got closer to the being the winner.  The truth was I was the one humoring them by letting them think they knew more about it all than I did that year.  Boys...

And, then, in a poetically just moment on behalf of all the underestimated everywhere, I won the whole thing--and there was something like 70 people playing.

 

I've never been allowed to participate again.

 

-b

 

 

I was wondering how one would transport a giraffe.  Yes, I'm serious.  These are the things I think about.  I mean, if the zoo got a new giraffe and it wasn't a baby, then how would you get it there? 

 

Apparently there are special trailers that have expandable tops to accomodate this.  Who knew....

 

Obviously, this isn't a photo of the special trailer, but this photo amused me nonetheless.

The funeral service had ended, my grandmother's casket was safely in the hearse and I was walking outside to get into the car with my Dad, Mother and brother for the ride to the cemetary.  Ours was to be the first car after the hearse and my Aunt's car was behind ours.  I'm walking to the car and I pass my aunt going back into the funeral home.  She said, "We forgot a baby toy, I'm going to get it," to which I replied, "Go get in the car and I'll get it."  My Aunt is getting ready to bury her mother.  It was a no-brainer that she need not deal with grabbing the left behind toy.

 

I walked back in, couldn't locate the toy and asked the funeral director's wife to hang on to it if she found it.

 

I made my way back out the front door where the hearse and my families cars had been just seconds before and the parking lot was empty.

 

Do you remember me telling you a while back that one of my favorite movies is, "Little Miss Sunshine?"  There's a scene in that movie where the family was loaded in the van after getting gas and someone looks around and realizes that Violet, the little girl, wasn't in the van.  Then, the camera cuts to Violet standing outside the gas station waiting for the van to come back and get her. 

 

My brother who was sitting beside where I was suposed to be in the car didn't notice that I wasn't there.  My Dad, looking back in the rearview mirror, didn't notice.  But, about a quarter of a mile down the road, my Mom said, "Where's Belinda?" My Dad, then realizing that I'm not there said, "Well, she'll just have to get a ride," and my brother, finally realizing what was happening said, "Dad, we're kind of it," noting that there aren't exactly taxis in rural WV.

 

Jimmy, the funeral director was driving the hearse.  Jimmy is one of my Dad's best friends.  Thank God Jimmy saw me walking up the road toward my Dad's car about the same time and stopped the procession to wait for me. 

 

...and there I went walking past all the cars in the procession about a quarter of a mile down the 2 lane road to take my place in the car...covering my face because I was grinning from ear to ear thinking of Violet in "Little Miss Sunshine."  My family big fat left me!!!!

 

-b

 

p.s.  A special thanks to my cousin Chris who told me at the grave site that he was going to pick me up if Dad hadn't stopped.  At least SOMEONE considered me.

 

 

My Grandmother died yesterday with my Dad and my Aunt at her side.  She was 83.

Thanks for your prayers and thoughts.

I'll check back in with you later in the week once I get back in town. 

 

-b

There's this fellow I know who has BIG dreams.  HUGE, even.  He's a little much to take, to be honest.  He's the kind of guy who doesn't really know anything, but talks like he does.  He only talks about himself and only asks about you so that he can talk about himself.  You know the type.  I try to be very careful around him because really, I don't want to discourage anyone from dreaming.  He's probably 60 and he thinks he's going to be a famous trumpet player.  You know what?  Maybe he will someday.  Who can say...

 

However, I think I hurt his feelings this morning.  Here's the conversation:

 

Him:  Belinda, what's the going rate for selling a song these days?

Me:  Well, the statutory rate is something like 9.1 cents per unit, and that's if you own the publishing and wrote it by yourself.

Awkward silence.

Him, genuinely shaken:  Are you serious?  That's nothing.  I thought it was like $45,000 per song if you had a good one. 

Me:  I wish.

 

...and he walked away silently defeated.  

It had never occurred to me that he didn't know how royalties worked. 

 

Okay, but how AWESOME would it be if the statutory rate actually was $45,000 per song?!?!?!? 

-b

So I've kept you up to date with my grandmother.  She lives outside Chicago close to my aunt and that's where my Mom and Dad have been all week.  The new doctor who reviewed all the medical information today told them they could expect my grandma to live about three more days.  Honestly, I'm not sure that it occurred to my Dad when he left WV on Saturday that he was going out to watch his mother die this week.  She'd been sick and it was serious, but I just don't think anyone was expecting this to happen quite so fast.  Again, he's so broken hearted. 

 

So, the doctor wrote a letter to my Dad's employer (an aluminum plant there in our home county) confirming that my Grandma is in her final stages of life.  This letter would get my Dad a few more days off from work to be with his Mom as she goes through this.  They faxed the letter to the plant. 

 

Okay, now, are you sitting down?  Some...someone told him that he could not accept a fax and that he would have to have the original signature from the doctor before they could give Dad more time away.  (Dad has been on personal vacation this week, too, mind you.) Can you imagine?  Can you imagine being the kind of person who would call someone who has worked there for, what, 30 years, and say, "Hey, I realize you say your mother is dying, but I don't buy it and I'll need the original signature from the doctor."  Can you FATHOM being that awful of a person?  No, seriously, can you????? 

 

I've mentioned grace before, and the proof that grace exists lies in the fact that I don't have a name, number, physical picture and address of the horrid, sorry, <fill in the blank however you see fit> who is so miserable that he would treat my father like this when my father is more broken than I've ever seen him.  Yes, gang, that's grace...for the awful, sorry person who is pretending he matters more than he does and has chosen a time like this to insert his insecurities where they so profoundly don't belong.  ...it's grace for this--this--person because I'd like to beat him with a stick...

 

And, again, you say, "Belinda, what would Jesus do in a time like this?"

 

Yours, trying to determine which plague would be most appropriate for Jesus to send to that smelly little office in Ravenswood, WV, right about now...

 

-b

Just a few things I'm thankful for:

 

1.  I know there are people who love me.

2.  Fresh air.

3.  Good people--there are still a few out there, you know...

4.  Naomi Sego cutting one of my (and Tony's) songs yesterday--that's so crazy/cool to me.

5.  Email.

6.  That I've never gone hungry...and I probably should have a few times.

7.  That I understand what Lionel Ritchie has been singing about all these years.

8.  Joel is doing better than he has in a long time.

9.  Sue is home safe.

10.  Getting a good night of sleep last night.

11.  The D.J. on the radio is playing a song I wrote right now.

 

-b

James and I wrote a cool song a few weeks ago.  He and I both, independently, pulled it out and gave it another listen within the past few days.  And, he emailed to confirm what I was already thinking:  cool.  In my typical fashion, I did a little "pre-writing" before that session because we'd already decided on a title idea from the prior session.  The weird thing is that I pre-wrote in a really cool up-tempo 6/8 (be quiet, Tony), and before I arrived at the session, James had already been messing around with a melody which was in 4/4.  Gang, since I didn't write the melody, I'll just tell you:  the melody is perfect for the song.  James sent it sailing out of the park. 

 

The song is called, "Yesterday's Rain."  Wanna' hear it?  Well, if you're a Nashvillian...or if you're coming to the WAJ extravaganza in Nashville on March 29th (www.writeaboutjesus.com), then get here a little early on the 28th because it looks like I'll be doing a show with James (James Tealy) and Kevin Stokes here in town on the 28th.  ...Maurice may be in on it, too.  Not sure.  This is NOT a WAJ endorsed thing that I know of, but rather, a few of us who normally play out just hanging on a convenient night.  And, again, for those of you attending the WAJ workshop, since we're not performing at the WAJ concert on Saturday night, the Friday night thing will be your big chance to make sure we know what we're doing before you come to a class of ours the next day.

 

-b

 

Update again--

p.s.  Thank you, thank you, thank you for the kind words regarding my family and my grandmother.  The doctor gave the official "we've done all we can do" speech today and not a lot has changed.  The hurt is profound and there are still decisions to be made regarding where my grandmother should go since they aren't going to keep her in the hospital much longer.  It's a position that none of us would wish on someone and I'm hoping that Grace will prove itself again in this particular situation...whatever that is supposed to mean.  My Dad just needs a little peace.

 

My grandmother is retaining something like 40 pounds of fluid.  She is unrecognizable.  It is not her heart, apparently.  Something unknown is causing the fluid retention and the doctors are "baffled."  She is in excruciating pain and the medications are causing her to hallucinate.  She has a terrible case of clausterphopia and they are forcing her to wear an oxygen mask, so she is going insane with that.  They also believe she has uterine cancer, but they cannot put her under to find out because that would surely kill her. 

 

My Dad and his sister are, of course, distraught that their mother is laying there swollen, hurting and scared, and there's nothing they can do for her.

 

If you have a second, send one up for them and for my grandmother.  I know there is suffering all over, but this bit of suffering is ours and, even more, my grandmother's.  Watching someone you love suffer in pain like this is just...a lot.

 

-b

We went to Fall Creek Falls this weekend.  Jim's parents had a luxury cabin and we mooched off them.  It was lovely.  We hiked the trail yesterday and Pete had a ball.  Let me give you a heads up:  If you want me to walk a long distance through the woods, call it a long walk through the woods. If you call it a "hike," I'll dread it.  If you call it, "A long walk through the woods," then I'll totally be on your page.  I guess it's all semantics...effective, nonetheless.

 

We "hiked" .9 miles to the overlook and Jim put Pete up on this cornerstone: