Green

Today as I was leaving work I told Brad that I was going to mow my lawn and what did he do? He laughed. He immediately did an impression of me mowing the lawn, in which the lawn mower took control of me.

Then he told me how he's never mowed his lawn. I mentioned that I needed to put gas in the mower and he said, "like from the gas station?"

I did mow the lawn, during which I had multiple adventures. One of the wheels decided to bust, and only move when it wanted to. The plastic piece attached to it cracked, and wet pieces of grass were lodging themselves between it and the wheel, stifling movement. I went to the garage and grabbed the first tool I could find (a spade, I think) to dig out some of the grass. It looked like frozen spinach, which I don't like, by the way. So every few strokes, I had to kill the motor, dig out some spinach, and continue on. I also kept running into low tree branches, from which pollen would fall on me, causing me to think, "oh great. This is good for my allergies."

Also, my neighbor slowed his car down, and I realized he wanted to talk to me, so I killed the motor for about the 10th time. His dog was in the passenger seat and he (my neighbor, not his dog) said, "I saw you looking at Mac the other day in the window [I was looking at Mac, he's cute], so I thought you'd like to meet him." Precious. So moral of the story: mow your lawn, and you'll meet cute puppy dogs.

A Time for Love

My friend Samantha told me once that she could see me with an older man. I asked her why and she said that while some of her friends have a lot of strength because of their education, or their race, she told me "I don't know where your strength comes from." She said that men our age couldn't understand me. "They're just boys," she said.

I just watched the movie "Suburban Girl," based on the book "The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing" by Melissa Bank, a book I loved. It's about a young woman with an older man. Last night Brad and I were talking about who we were just a few years ago and who we are now, how our opinions have changed, how the churches we attend now we probably couldn't have attended before. In "Suburban Girl," the young woman ultimately leaves her boyfriend, because she tells him that she sees a teacher when she looks at him and that he sees a student. She says that in order to grow up, she has to leave him. All this has me thinking about how much and yet in some ways how little we all change over time. The girl in the movie was able to love a man in a very different life stage as her, yet she also recognized that there would be a difference in her life if she married him or explored the years ahead of her with someone else. She knew she would change as she aged no matter what, and that who was standing beside her in the future would affect that.

My friends make fun of me all the time for being a Celine Dion fan, and when they're not making fun of that they're making fun of the fact that her husband is 26 years older than her. I always get defensive and tell them what I truly believe and that is that "love is love."

That's all. My mind is not exactly organized today, so today I give you the gift of ramblings. I blame the rain, delicious springtime rain. Yay for a day off.

"Make Good Choices!"

So it may not have made your newspaper today, but there was a hurricane last night. I lived through it, that's how I know. I was chilling with Brad and Melissa, and when a sudden freezing wind came through we decided to pay some attention to the brewing clouds, and they promptly sent me home, with orders to call when I arrived safely.

I got in my car, saw something orange and thought, "oh yeah, I forgot my car was on empty." Guess what? I drove home anyway. I somehow sucked 26 extra miles out of my gas tank. It started raining shortly after I got on the interstate, and then it started pouring. Now I pride myself on being a very good and calm driver in the rain. But this was still no fun. My thoughts ran back and forth through the following:

"I am going to hit someone because I can't see anything."

(going up hills): "I am going to run out of gas and be unable to get up this hill"

(going down hills): "There is going to be a ton of water at the bottom of this hill and I am going to hydroplane"

"I'm going to run out of gas in general"

"I'm going to pull off the road and wait this out"

"Nevermind, I'm just going to keep driving, Brad and Melissa will worry"

"I'll stop at a grocery store and call them"

"No, I want to get home and go to bed, I work early in the morning"

"There's a gas station, maybe I should stop"
"I'll get struck by lightning if I grab the metal gas pump"

"Well, nevermind, guess I just passed the gas station"

...Etc...

After passing many a gas station and grocery store, I finally made it home, miraculously on my one tank of gas, like the never-ending oil lamp. Dibbs was hiding under the bed. I rescued his cuteness in distress, who was happy to see his mama, then immediately reverted back to nonchalance when I told him it was cuddle time. I called Braden, who then typed to Melissa, passing the message that I was safe. Thanks, guys, for worrying about me. It means the world to me. ;)

Here comes the beep, you know what to do

Sometimes checking my messages is the most entertaining part of my day. I just came home to the following four messages:

1. My brother Patrick, asking if I want to go to a Royals game in June.

2. Patrick again, with his wife Jenny, the two of them saying "please call us, please call us, please call us" in varying voices, finishing with a giggle from Jenny.

3. Mom, saying she just got done volunteering at the Festival of Books, where she met Bob Barker and told him "God bless you." Then she said, "I'm waiting for the bus, here comes a bus but it's not mine, oh! A Previa! Love you, bye!"

4. Brad, calling for Dibbs. "Dibby? This is Uncle Brad. I just wanted you to know that Mommy's on her way home, I'm following her right now, she'll be there soon. Did you survive the storm? Dibbs? We were nervous too, we had a radio ready. Mommy'll be there soon. Bye Dibby."

Bonding

I've discovered that I can't hang out with Brad for less than 4 hours at a time--once we open our mouths we can't stop talking. He makes me laugh so hard I choke on my spit.

Tonight we went to church together and I laughed during a baptism. Everyone was laughing, because the baby had a hilarious bug-eyed expression, but then they quieted down and I let out one loud, solo squawk.

I also discovered that my 3rd grade teacher sings in the choir at his church. I went up to her afterwards to introduce myself and Brad said, "Scared, Bailey, scared" because he didn't want to go up to her with me.

Pass the Salt

24 hours ago I was at the beach. I frolicked in the water, got my jeans wet, and let my dad bury me in the sand. On the way to the airport I admired the wavy line of white on my jeans created by the salt of the ocean water dried on my jeans. Three hours later, about to touch down at my home airport, there was salt on my cheeks. I wasn't ready to come home, and now, 24 hours later, I'm still not ready to be here. :(

Matthew 5:13 says "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?" My confirmation verses were Matt 5:14-16, and verse 16 says "let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." At the age of 13, I chose these verses because they certainly represented (and still represent) who I am--full of bubbly, energetic light. It hurts to cut vacations short, to have my parents on one end of the country and my brothers on the other, and come home to only a cat (though do not underestimate the value of said cat). But it is the diversity of my experiences, both with vacation beaches and everyday cats, that give me my unique saltiness.

I had a friend in college, Braden (not to be confused with my newest friend, also a Braden), who I discussed with once "the name game." This is the game where you say, "I am Awesome Abigail" or "Stunning Stefanie." Well Braden and I discussed the crappy selection of "B" adjectives--we got tired of saying "We are Bodacious Braden and Beautiful Bailey." So we did a little research, and Braden discovered the term "brackish: having a somewhat salty taste, esp. from containing seawater." While it may not be an appropriate description in the literal sense, we enjoyed that it described us as flavorul people. If you think about it, we actually always probably taste a little bit salty, thanks to our sweat.

I feel I am at yet another crossroad in my life (I feel like ages 20-30 are one big crossroad, can I get an Amen?), explaining my tears yesterday. Part of my sorrow was that I just plain didn't want to leave the beach, the sunshine, the break from work and everyday boring life. Another part was that I didn't want to leave behind my parents, who so seldom get to see their children, and who are such brave, faithful stewards to journey to sunny California in their late 50's. I wish my mom, who's so talented, could have the employment she deserves. I know that me being with her doesn't solve that void, but it can offer her a happy interruption to the waiting. I also don't know what's next for me in life, grad school, boyfriend? :), different job, travel the world, travel the country, stay put? If I think about it all at once (let's face it, I do), I get overwhelmed. And scared. Really scared. And sometimes sad.

The tough thing about being brackish is that you have to get wet in the cold ocean sometimes to earn that cool little design on your jeans. And in the meantime, you have to wait to dry. That salt line doesn't appear instantly. The salt is there, but it's invisible to the eye while it's wet. As cliche as it is, how true is it that when we're in the storm it's impossible to see the light behind the clouds? But the truth is that the light is always there. Jesus told us to let our light shine (and not to let Satan "poof" it out), and to keep our salty taste. Admittedly, sometimes when I read verse 13 I think, "What?" But I also like the poetic metaphor it offers. Being told that we are salt and light is encouraging always, even when it doesn't make perfect sense.

I definitely wouldn't erase my past good memories just because there are bad memories interspersed with them. It's a joke with my friends and family that I can't go anywhere without either seeing someone I know or making a new friend. I am this way partly due to my father's gregarious genes, but a huge chunk of it comes from the fact that my family moved to a new city every few years while I was growing up. With each move came the unpleasant task of asking, yet again, "Can I sit with you at lunch today?" and making annoying, empty small talk, but you know who I got to know over one of those public school lunch tables? Big Bird. Haha, no. My best friend Corie. All those times being tossed around under the violent surf lead to glorious baths in the sunshine on my favorite bed of all time--the sand. When I laid down on the sand yesterday (moments before Daddy Dearest began kicking sand on me), I told my mom, "This is heaven for me."

All of this "chin up, trust in God" talk is easier said than done, obviously. When I am in a storm, I become terrified. I fall silent or ramble on about silly things to keep myself from feeling like I'm drowning. What I learn every time is that I am not in fact drowning, but that God washes me in the salt of each storm at sea, and gives me renewed energy and personality to tell others my stories, and His stories.

While I know God never leaves me alone in a storm, it often feels the opposite, so it is important for us to remind each other always that we, in addition to God, are here for each other during our storms. Feel free to share with me your storms, and I'll lift them up in prayer for you. I hope this blog is a little salt lick for you to snack on during your next storm. God's blessings to you all, until next time.

Thanks, Braden!*

"I'm just gonna buy it for you to get you to shut up!"

These were the loving words sent my way by Brad just an hour ago.

I've been bothering him for a couple of weeks now to buy me two books that we sell at Starbucks. And he did it. You know why? Because he's a winner.

So now I have entertainment in paper format--one of my favorite kinds.

Thanks, Braden. Love you.

*I am still intimidated by this whole blog thing--feel like I should knock you off your feet (like Usher--sorry, inside joke with Brad) with every post. So bear with me for a while as I get used to this. NOT that this was a poor post. Anything involving Brad is, like him, a winner.