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August 29 Obama I was flipping through channels last night when I stopped for a moment on ABC's coverage of the Democratic National Convention. Katie Couric was sitting in the middle of a few people and she was introducing the woman next her. Katie said something about the woman being from NPR and then asked the woman a question. I guess the thing about the NPR broadcasters--their quiet, smooth voices that can almost lull us to sleep--is that it's not a shtick afterall. It's just who they are. As the woman started answering the question, she didn't raise her voice or try to project over the huge crowd behind her. She just quietly spoke...and I couldn't hear a word. So amusing. -b August 27 What it Feels Like to be a KennedyToday I have on a dress which has elastic all the way around the neckline. It ties in the front. This is one of my favorite dresses--it is casual, comfortable and it looks like I put more effort into it than I really did. I have my denim jacket on over it today. Earlier, I felt something break around my shoulder, but I didn't have time to check it. I've noticed as the day has gone on, though, that more and more fabric keeps drooping out of my jacket. I keep pulling it up and tucking it back in.
I just went to the bathroom to check to see the problem. When I took off the jacket, I was able to see that the elastic has broken loose and all the fabric that was once gathered to it is now stretching out since there's nothing to hold it. It looks kind of like I'm wearing a curtain with a waistline now.
 There's nothing I can do to fix this, so I just put my jacket back on and crammed all the excess fabric up underneath. Walking out of the bathroom, I turned around to catch a glimpse of a huge, unsightly lump on my back. I look like I'm trying to steal something and I have it stuffed up the back of my jacket. Some of us were just not born to be Kennedy's, were we? 
-b August 24 Hasn't the Fat Lady Sang, Already?The closing ceremonies for the Olympics are over now, I think. I say "I think" because every time I think they're over, they do something else. Not to take away from the truly impressive execution of it all, but it seems to me that once you put out the Olympic flame and pass the flag to the new country, it's kind of over. I know that no one wants to turn the lights out and go home, but it might be time. :-)
It's been fun, though. -b August 20 New Best FriendsJim's parents have a puppy, too. Cody is around a year old. He weighs maybe 65 pounds. Bernice weighs 10 lbs. and 3 oz., roughly.
 This is courtesy of Jim's sister, Laura. Bernice and Cody both wanted that silly stick and neither would let go.
-b August 19 Irony and Other Such ThingsHow is it that one who has never played a game of tennis in her life would get a case of tennis elbow? Granted, I'm self-diagnosed, but OUCH. I finally got online to try to figure out why I can't press the pump thing-y on my perfume bottle, why I can hardly pick up normal things and why I'm waking up at night with this miserable pain in my arm, and my symptoms match the tennis elbow symptoms. There was a section in the one of the articles I was reading titled: When is it time to see a doctor? I would have all of the symptoms. So, where did I go today? Yep. Walgreen's. I purchased ibuprofen and one of those odd looking bands that you wrap around your arm just below the elbow. It has seemed to help some. So, good for me. I guess I shouldn't wear it all the time, though. I don't know. Any of you ever have this? Actually going to the doctor about this seems so dramatic.
Anyway, we went to East Tennessee over the weekend to see Jim's parents and for me to teach a songwriting workshop at their church on Saturday. We had a really good time. It was a great group of youth and they all showed up and participated, which is really all I ever hope for. Of course, they made me write a song on the spot called, "Monster Truck." I suppose there's no need to tell you it was genius. I really don't know how I stay humble.
Aside from Jim's Mom's homemade granola and her brownies, a surprisingly terrific highlight was after the workshop on Saturday. Jim's uncle, Jim, lives in a nursing home close by. We were going to visit him and Jim's Dad (my Jim) suggested we take Bernice. Dogs are welcome at the nursing home. (Pete was on the trip with us, too, but those of you who know my ten year old min pin know that he's not exactly nursing home material). It was amazing how we walked in the home and started down the hall with Bernice with residents in wheelchairs in the hallways, nearly catatonic, coming to life at the sight of her. And, Jim's uncle, who isn't anywhere near that condition, insisted on holding her. They put Bernice in his lap, she licked his face and then fell asleep in his arms. He loved it.
I'm for dogs.
...and Joel's cat.
-b
August 18 ...and yet anotherHappy (belated) birthday, Brian. You also look 24...yes...definitely 24.
I was out of town and had no internet access on your special day.
-b August 14 Trying to Get in the GameWhen I was in elementary and middle school, I wore a brace on my leg. It was the kind with the metal bars that went up both sides of my leg with a t-strap wrapped around to try to hold my ankle up, and it attached to whatever pair of leather orthopedic shoes I was wearing during that time. They were always either brown leather shoes or saddle shoes (you know the black and white kind.) I guess I wore that brace up till my freshman year of high school.
Anyway, I remember that our school was having some kind of special basetball game, probably as a fund raiser or something, and I can't remember what grade I was in--maybe 5th? (Our school went from kindergarten through eighth grade.) I don't even remember who we were playing--maybe the parents? I do remember wanting to play in that special game so badly. I was the "manager" of our school basketball team. I actually sat at the score tables and kept the scoring books, but I really wanted to play. For obvious reasons I couldn't be on the team, but this special game was my chance, I thought. So, I went to the coach and asked him if he thought I could play in that game.
Our school had just gotten a brand new gym floor and I had already been told not to walk on it because my hard leather shoes would scratch it up so I knew I was in shaky territory by asking to actually play. I remember the coach mulling it over and then he said, "Ask the principal. If he says it's okay, then you can play."
Looking back on that moment now as an adult, I can imagine that the coach was looking at this nervous child with metal bars on her leg who had just limped into his classroom thinking, "I'm not going to be the one who says 'no' to this. Someone else can carry this one." That's what I would've been thinking, at least.
I was scared to death to ask the principal. I can feel it now as I'm thinking about it. That was such a long walk down the hall. The secretary was sitting there when I reached the office and the door to the principal's office was open. She yelled into his office and told him I was there to see him and he told me to come in.
In one of the scariest and most grown up moments of my young life, I remember telling him that I knew my shoes might scratch up the gym floor, but that I'd really like to play in the game and that if he would let me, I'd try to be really careful. I fully expected to be shot down. I expected him to tell me, like the teachers had, how expensive that new floor was and that we couldn't afford to get a new one just because I walked across it, when I could just as easily walk around.
I remember Mr Hutchinson looking across his big desk to me in the chair. He smiled and said, "Belinda, I don't see any reason you shouldn't play."
And, so I played. The coach didn't put me in for very long, and I was really terrible, I'm sure, but I did get to play. And, sometimes just being in the game is enough.
Thanks, Mr. Hutchinson.
-b
August 13 Head RushHere's the mental image for your personal enjoyment:
I'm wearing a green hoodie (short sleeved.) I'm sitting at the desk and I drop my pen underneath. I lean down under the desk, far under, and grab the pen. I kind of felt the hood come up when I bent over, but didn't think much of it.
As I tried to come back out from under the desk, I realized the horror of my situation. The fibers of the hood somehow caught on a sharp edge of the drawer and FOR THE LIFE OF ME I could not unattach it myself. I couldn't take off the hoodie and deal with it because I was wearing it as my shirt and no matter how I fumbled, I couldn't get the desk drawer to let go. I tried reaching around for the drawer which held the scissors and couldn't reach it. No other options.
And, so I dangled there, weakly saying, "Help," as familiar and unfamiliar shoes passed by. It wasn't until the eighth pair of shoes that I was rescued. In shoe time, that was SIX FULL MINUTES.
Gracefully yours,
-b
HaHa!Sue and I wrote yesterday afternoon. I think we wrote for almost 4 hours, finished the song in one and laughed the rest of the time. We were writing a song about having relatives visit. It's kind of funny how universal the experiences seem to be.
Then, Tony played us this snippet of an NPR show and we all three laughed till we cried.
August 12th was a good day for laughs.
-b and another...Happy Birthday, Marty Funderburk.
You look every bit of 24, too.
-b
August 08 Being a Grown Up StinksI was at the Co-op yesterday getting some stuff for the puppy. She has a skin thing going on and I had to get her medicine there.
When I came back out, my car wouldn't start. Yes, this would be the car I've only had about a month now. After having to be jumped by two different people, I got the car started. The battery was shot, apparently.
...tricycles were so much easier to maintain.
-b August 06 Nerd AlertI actually sent this email today. I make myself giggle. It's just that my lunch budget is a lot less than my dinner budget--and there is a budget, thank you--and there's a point when you just feel gouged. Today, I was robbed.
Dear Sir:
I have been eating lunch at *******'s Nashville/Brentwood location two to three times a week for the past year plus. I suppose it is safe to say that I'm a creature of habit. I go to just a few places for lunch and I get the same thing at each place. For your restaurant, it was a lunch value meal (smoked turkey with green beans and a plain baked potato) with an added large unsweet tea. The grand total was $7.58. That's not a lot in the scheme of life, but it was still pushing the lunch envelope for me.
Today, I went as I usually do, ordered the same old thing, and my total was $9.81! The exact same meal and portion size I got last week has now gone up $2.23. The 'lunch value meal' is gone and has been replaced with 'plates and platters.' Semantics, titles or whatever--lunch just went up a whopping $2.23.
I realize that the economy is tough right now for everyone. I've adjusted to raises in most everything I buy, but I have to say that even gas only goes up a few cents at a time. Unfortunately for me, you've now priced me out. Seven dollars and fifty-eight cents was a little high already compared to my other lunch options, but $9.81 is out of the ballpark.
The way I figure it, I was spending around $75 a month at your place...that's more than I pay for a week of groceries. So, maybe you did me the favor.
Anyway, I wish you continued success and I hope your business grows enough with these changes to support your decisions.
Best- Belinda Smith Nashville, TN
I have officially turned into a grumpy old lady. ...and speaking of grumpy and old, happy birthday Tony Wood. You look every bit of 24. ha!
-b August 05 We Are Marshall I grew up hanging out in Huntington, WV, spent a lot of time at Marshall University and almost went there. Their music program just wasn't what I was looking for, though, and that was why I didn't go there. Anyway, I'd always heard about the plane crashing with the football team. It happened before I was born, but the stories lived on. Still do. Lots of people I know knew someone who died in that crash or they knew someone who knew someone. Anyway, I'd wanted to see the movie in the theater, but I just never made it. I don't see a lot of movies in the theater, and so today it came via Netflix. I painted another wall in my living room while watching. ...yeah, I cried almost all the way through it. I'm such a dork. I guess it was just because it hit so close to home, literally. Who knows. However, I'd recommend it for your movie rental entertainment. It was done well--and I'm a sap for good true stories. -b August 04 Sunday Sermon SmackdownI warn you, I’m already feeling awkward knowing that I’m about to tell you about what happened. The story isn’t about me, though. Thank GOD—and I mean that literally. Thank God for giving me a little common sense. We had a smackdown at church yesterday. Oh. My. Goodness. I could not have been--could not even be now--more horrified at the inappropriateness of it all. I go to a Nazarene church in town. I’m not Nazarene, but I like the pastor, his sermons and the music guy and so it’s where I go. I only tell you that because you need to know that I don’t go to a church where the congregation is regularly yelling, “Amen,” to the pastor as he preaches. There are no real Pentecostal moments in our services. It’s not at all stuffy or psycho-formal, but people don’t exactly run the aisles, either. So, when the pastor began the sermon and this lone Voice kept ‘amen-ing,’ you can understand why I noticed. It just doesn’t happen that much. I couldn’t tell where the Voice was coming from, but it wasn’t from my section in the balcony…a fact about which I would again thank God later. The first time I knew the 'talkbacks' weren't sitting well was when the pastor said, “Some people of our tradition believe that women cannot be preachers.” At that very moment, the Voice yells out, “Boooooooo!.” They actually booed. There was a slight nervous laughter over the congregation, but the preacher didn’t flinch. He tried to ignore it. That should’ve been the person’s cue to shut up. The pastor went on, and moved on (I have no idea where the woman preaching thing went or what his view on it was because I was thinking about how weird the ‘boo’ was.) At this point in the sermon, maybe ten minutes later, he was talking about Paul and Silas in jail and wondering what on Earth possessed them around midnight to, of all things, sing. He made a joke about what he’s thinking about at that hour and he said something like, “I’m thinking, ‘Let’s order a pizza,” and that’s when the Voice yells out, “Amen! Let’s get out of here.” And that was it. The pastor stopped the sermon, looked straight up into the middle section of the balcony (one section over from my section) and very sternly said, “That’s enough. It’s not funny anymore. I’m serious,” and he let us sit there in awkward silence for a few seconds. Awk-WARD silence. He went on with and made his normal jokes, but we were too afraid to laugh. And, then, at the end of the sermon, maybe twenty minutes later, he said very pointedly, “God’s word will not be mocked.” I’m still embarrassed for the person. It seems to me that the only recourse would’ve been to wait till all the heads were bowed for the dismissal prayer and then sprint like an Olympian to the parking lot where they should’ve gotten in their car, driven away with lightening speed, and vowed never to leave their house again. For the record, I’m glad the pastor handled it. My grandpa would’ve been proud. I think some people are never too old for a good, old-fashioned spanking. One might have been in order yesterday… -b |
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