A Leaning Tower of Paper

It wouldn't have been so bad, had there not been a bump. But had there been no bump, there would have been no reason for laughter, either.

It was a dark and stormy night... well, actually, it was mid-morning, the sun was shining brightly, and the inside of my workplace was lit very well also. We do a lot of printing where I work. And when lots of printing is happening, lots of paper is happening, too. When when lots of paper is happening, lots of cutting very large stacks of paper is happening as well.

Thankfully, I'm not the one who does most of said cutting. My office buddy takes care of much of that - at least in this morning's case. When a print job requires more paper - you cut more paper. That's just the way it is. And when a table-height cart is available to haul the paper, that is the obvious mode of transportation.

Imagine, if you will, the cart, which, though a comfortable height, has a surface of only 16"x20" or thereabouts. Not large enough to contain two stacks of 12"x18" paper. So what should one do? Make a single, incredibly tall stack of paper, of course. I believe my office buddy, after creating the stack, used the adjective "Dr. Seuss-like" to describe the leaning, weaving, precarious-to-say-the-least, enormous pile of thick, glossy paper.

I watched. Yes, I chose to watch, not drive the cart. My eyes never left the cart. Or my office buddy's one hand that sat atop the paper tower above her eye-level, while her other hand drove. As any assistant would do, I walked alongside her, ready to lend aid, but surely in a case like this, no help would be necessary.

But see...there's this little slope in the floor where two concrete slabs meet. Call it a bump if you will. It's not enough to stop a wheeled object short, but it's enough to at least give a vehicle a jolt.

Yeah, you know where I'm going with this, don't you?

The cart, in all its splendor, hit the bump full-force. Now, the paper was so heavy because the tower was so tall, which created too much momentum for the cart to stop. So instead of all the paper sliding off the front of the cart, it slid backwards - towards my office buddy.

My ninja-like reflexes kicked in and I lunged for that crumbling mountain of coated, 12"x18" stock. My arm wedged itself between the razor-sharp edges of the paper and my office buddy, whom I was trying to save. In the meantime, both her hands became busy, also trying to stop the mountain's momentum and keep a disaster from happening. The result? The both of us hanging onto the paper, chasing the cart as it continued to move forward on its own - towards a nearby shelf.

A vision flashed before my eyes of us hitting the shelf head-on, then watching in horror as the shelf toppled over into our beloved digital press, crushing it under its weight. Thankfully, my vision did not come true, however, we did run into the shelf. The corner of it, to be precise. Did you know the corner of a metal shelf will cut into a stack of paper and leave a triangle-shaped notch? Neither did I. But, I do now.

So here we are, both still clutching the now almost-horizontal tower, defying all odds along with the law of gravity. We would not allow one paper to touch the floor. No sir! Why? Because we're just that way.

Granted, it was a close call. Because even though we had paper digging into our arms, and muscles that were straining to hold it all together, we were laughing uncontrollably. (Did I mention there were no witnesses? How sad.)

Somehow, I managed to pull my trapped arm out of the mangled mess and begin relieving my office buddy by lifting off the paper, small stacks at a time, and placing them on a nearby table. And yes - we actually did succeed in not allowing one single sheet of paper to touch the floor. And the shelf was fine. And the cart was fine. And we were fine (although we did have a few paper cuts, and our sides were sore from laughing).

So I guess, when you see a bump, you can slow down and ease over. Or you can ram it head-on and bask in the laughter-infused aftermath.

The Scented Aisle

You know the scented aisle? The one with all the scented candles and wax aroma-filled cubes? Yeah, sometimes I venture down there. I just have to be prepared to not smell anything else for at least three hours afterward…since I have to smell each and every scent. Well…maybe not ALL of them, but pretty close.

Personally, I like the citrus scents, no matter the time of year. There’s just something about orange, lemon or lime that pleases my senses. Even now, I took a deep breath, just imagining my favorite fruity scent. Get past those and into grapefruit though, and I move on.

One thing that’s always perplexed me though, is when someone, somewhere, has the nerve to think they can capture the scent of some season or type of outdoor air, or even scenery. Like a beach. Beaches smell like sunburned sand and fish. And sunscreen. Maybe some seaweed. Not like a mix of exotic flowers, unidentifiable perfume and the cleaner you keep under the bathroom sink.

I mentioned a season. Let’s take autumn. Autumn Leaves. Autumn Air. Essence of Autumn. Do you know what autumn really smells like? Go outside and take a whiff. Damp earth (aka: wet dirt). Piles of leaves (aka: decomposing tree parts). Nature at its best (aka: almost-sun-dried earthworms, that emit a scent akin to dying fish). Throw in a little car exhaust and the neighbor’s last barbeque of the year, and there you have it. Autumn.

So where do all these warm spices come in? Oh, sure, you’ve got your Pumpkin Pie Surprise, your Grandma’s Apple Fritters, and Thanksgiving Delights. I understand the connection – some foods are generally made around falltime. So when someone smells them, they automatically think: fall. I get the marketing strategy here. And I don’t mind so much when they name it what it is. Pumpkin. Spice. Cinnamon. But Autumn? Maybe it ought to be Autumn Memories. Or Flavors of Autumn Foods. Or Foods Only Made at Thanksgiving by Great Grandma. That would be a winner, I’m sure.

Of course, I still have to smell them all, hoping that one of these days, I’ll sniff something that actually does smell like garden mulch with a hint of car exhaust. Not that I’d buy it. I can go outside and smell that. But at least they would have gotten it right.

Until then, though, I think I’ll stick with the no-nonsense scents. Like Lemon. Or Mixed Berries. (Did I mention all those linen scents never smell anything like my own fresh laundry?) But as I leave the scented aisle, I’m sure the one thing that will never change is the lavender and some foreign spice semi-permanently adhering to my nostril hairs.

If you’re in Walmart and you hear a sneeze…it’s probably me. But it’s not contagious. Unless you brave the scented aisle as well.

The Complexities of a Cyborg Invasion

At first glance, I might think this has something to do with some alien machine ready to invade the planet. But then once I realize I recognize those green knobs, I feel safe again.

The inside of this digital press is only viewed by me for one reason: a paper jam. Obviously, since I took this picture, I recently experienced one of those jams. But then, I suppose, without that frustration, I’d never get a view like this and imagine we’re being taken over by cyclops cyborgs…with green levers.

From the outside, the press seems pretty simple. You push a few buttons, put some paper in a tray, and viola – it prints beautiful pictures. Or creates booklets. Or postcards. Or anything else. But other than a couple screens and trays, it really looks simple. It’s a big gray box that produces color prints.

Once you open up one of the doors though, a whole new world is exposed. There are those green knobs and levers. Gears. Wires. Rollers. Hidden compartments where paper particles like to dwell as they set off sensors that insist there’s still a jam in there somewhere. There are sharp edges that get caught on inquisitive fingers. Hot surfaces. Warning labels. Springs. Screws. And things that have no name with mysterious functions.

The simple machine suddenly becomes a complex giant, which can be intimidating to say the least. The technology taken for granted is suddenly respected for all its intricacies – even more so when the service man has to be called because you can’t find the problem in the maze of mechanisms.

So often, more than just printers or copy machines are taken for granted. I’m talking people. We think we can look at a person, size them up after one conversation and assume their life story, or even just their personality. But the fact is, they’re no more simple than all those wires, knobs and invisible hot surfaces that are only found by sticking your hand into the dark abyss. People, of all things, should never be taken for granted. They’re made up of preferences, quirks and past experiences. Multi-faceted personality traits, moral standards and hidden secrets. Broken hearts, sharp minds and fears no one else knows. Under the simple exterior lies a multitude of mysteries.

Nobody should be taken for granted. Ever single person is complex, no matter how simple you secretly think they are. You’ll never accurately size up a person at a glance, come to the right conclusion after only a handshake or be able to predict their behaviors after only one encounter. They’re too complicated for that. And it’s a complexity that should be respected. Explored. Investigated before assumptions are made.

Besides…you may find out they’re actually a cyborg.


Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts. I love hearing from you!

The Truth About Me and Church

I might as well admit it. I don’t really like church. Oh, I go every Sunday, don’t get me wrong. But I gotta tell you…it’s really not my thing.

I’ve been shy for as far back as I can remember. Even in groups of kids my own age, I was uncomfortable. I knew well how to socialize with just about anybody – I just didn’t like to. As I got older, I learned I liked being alone more than I liked being with people - even friends. Sure, I still had fun hanging out with my few closest friends - it wasn’t like I hated it. But in all honesty, I liked my alone time. If I had to be with people, I preferred just a few…if not only one or two. Present a group activity, and I’d probably hide in the corner while battling an upset stomach and sweaty palms.

Once a teenager, I felt a little better about socializing…in small groups. It wasn’t so bad. But I only had a couple people I’d actually call friends. Those I’d actually talk to outside of social activities. Going on a trip to Colorado with a dozen or so others to a huge youth event was the farthest out of my box I’d ever been. I had a great time and I’ll always be glad I went. But being around all those people was the ultimate discomfort.

The truth is, I still lean more towards being an introvert than an extrovert. I’ve gotten really good at mingling in a crowd, getting out of my shell and making my surface look like it’s my favorite thing in the world. My insides, though? They’re still that kid who would rather go push myself far enough into a corner that my presence would go undiscovered.

And thus…church. Where there are people. Lots of them. And my insides still want to run and hide. Every Sunday morning, I have to push myself out the door by thinking about what makes me want to go. Things like my friends. I’m pretty picky, so those I’ve got, I love dearly. I love seeing them. I love getting hugs from them. I love sitting with them during the service. I love knowing we’re more like family than friends.

I also go to church because it keeps me on track. I have a hard time studying by myself at home, even though I’ve got at least two Bible verses delivered to me every day, whether via email or my smart phone app. Sunday sermons give me a chance to listen, learn and grow just a little bit more, spiritually. God is my priority, so even if I didn’t have those few faces I wanted to see every week, I’d still somehow manage to get over the sick feeling in my stomach and walk into the church building. He’s just that important that I know I need to get my boost to last me through the week.

I also like singing. And though I often sing along to the radio in my car, there’s something I like about singing praise songs in church. I just enjoy that part of worship, and I’m sure it helps that I simply love music in general.

There are a lot of things I dearly love about going to church. But it doesn’t change the fact that I really don’t like it – all those people. All those strangers. All those eyes. A lack of places to hide. But I go anyway because I love the benefits. As much discomfort as I feel, the relationships (with God and friends both) are more important. So I swallow my weekly fear, walk though the doors, and allow myself to smile as I focus on the benefits. If I didn’t, I’d sit at home alone. Which I’d also like…but eventually…I think the quiet would be too much, even for me. And I’d rather not find that out the hard way.

God's-eye View

This is just a fun little piece taken from Smatterings of an Analytical Loner for this October Friday.

I remember when I originally wrote this, it was very fun because of both the perspective of the tiny main character, and my enjoyment of autumn.


God's-eye View

Weeee! The thrill! The excitement! Oh my, the drop! The wind rushing by my face, the cool, scented air tickling my nose... There’s nothing like it in the world!

Crawling out to that thin ledge, I looked down, down, down. It seemed to go on for miles. I almost didn’t have the guts to go through with it. Oh, but the thought of soaring high on the breeze was enough to make my antennas twitch.

I latched onto that dry leaf as if a hurricane was coming. I thought we’d never take off. But one good gust of wind, and whoosh! Away we went, I and that ruby red maple leaf.

I know, leaves aren’t something to toy with. They can pile up and bury an ant like me if he’s not careful. But riding one like this? I’ve never felt so alive.

Up, up, up, higher and higher towards the sky we went. I gazed down on rolling fields, rich and golden, bare of harvested crops. There were orchards filled with rows upon rows of luscious green apples. The fragrances were like no other. It was as if the season was suddenly condensed and wrapped up in a tiny package just for me. My mouth watered at the thought of spicy cider.

I flew over a pumpkin patch and dreamt of sliding down those prickly vines. Indian corn hung from someone’s porch - a perfect place for hide and seek. Mmm, I think I smelled a pumpkin pie.

My eyes became slits as the leaf picked up speed, rushing over a crystal brook. I gazed down upon trees of gold, bronze and orange. Some looked as though they had been set ablaze as their red leaves boldly proclaimed their beauty against the sun.

The magic carpet I clung to so tightly took me above the forests, over meadows and through streets that rang of children’s laughter as they ran through piles of their own leaves. I ducked, barely missing the branch of an old oak.

Spinning around and around, the world became a kaleidoscope of browns, yellows and tufts of stubborn greens. And finally...finally, the ride began to slow. My nerves were racing. I could hardly catch my breath. Grasping the edge of my leaf, I guided the aircraft to the edge of a wide open meadow where locusts and crickets sang their final songs.

The world seemed so still as I finally stopped. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes could see only the tall grass towering in front of me. But spying a tree just a few hundred yards away, I could swear I saw another leaf just starting to fall. Maybe I could make it in time. God’s view of autumn was worth a second go.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

Enjoying the Sweat

I recently heard a phrase that went something like this: “Nobody enjoys exercising anyway.” I don’t remember the exact conversation, but it was emphasized that there really was no enjoyment in exercising. In the results, perhaps, but certainly not the activity.

I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that maybe I found another area in which I’m an oddball. I have to admit…I like exercising. I like sweating. I like feeling my muscles burn as they strain to keep up with my determination. Of course, I enjoy the results of exercise the most, but I do actually enjoy the activities that make me sweat and get my blood pumping.

There’s a strange sort of satisfaction in trying my hardest at a physical activity. Granted, half the time I bite off more than I can chew when it comes to straining my joints or my back, but I still do what I can.

The other day, I was lying face-down on the mat during my kickboxing class. I’d just completed one of several exercises (which means six rounds of as many reps as I could do) and there was a part of me that wasn’t so sure I’d be able to complete the rest of class, let alone walk away when it was over. Or even survive at all. But as I pushed myself up and saw a puddle of sweat where my forehead had been, there was a bigger part of me that found satisfaction.

I finished class with higher numbers than expected (and I did manage to not only walk of the mat, but drive to work without collapsing behind the wheel). I was exhausted, but…it felt good. It wasn’t just the aftereffects though. It was the fact that I’d survived. I’d pushed my limits, sweat til my shirt was soaked, and at one point thought my muscles would probably burst at the seams. But the fact that I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do – that’s what made it enjoyable.

Exercising is tough. No doubt. And hard stuff usually isn’t fun. I won’t lie – there are mornings I don’t want to even roll out of bed, let alone go to a kickboxing class. But nine times out of ten, I’m glad I went because I really do enjoy it.

So for those of you who hate the act of exercising and only do it for the results – I’m sorry. I wish you could enjoy it like I do. Call me weird. I like to sweat. (And shower. Don’t worry – I don’t forget that little task either.)

Sometimes the hard stuff can be enjoyed more than we think. Like life. I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, but if I do, I’ll be sure to share that here, too.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

Foggy with a chance of inspiration

I've struggled to blog lately. Even with all of my kitty adventures, ninja episodes and spider attacks, formulating words in a manner others would enjoy has been rather difficult. I blame it on a lack of inspiration. A lack of time. The weather is to blame for an awful lot of things that happen in my life, too, by the way.)

The thing is, some days, I'm just too overwhelmed to pour out any more of...me. I'm empty. I've spent the day performing my job, driving, talking, thinking, planning, imagining, holding my tongue, and worrying - much more than I should. When I get home, I flop down on the couch, pet my purring kitty, and fall asleep to the sound of The Andy Griffith Show on the television.

Not every day is like that, granted. I have days stuffed full of energy and inspiration that carry me from 5:45am to 11:00pm. Generally speaking though, it's usually 6:10 til about 9:00pm and I'm ready to crash. So fitting in a new blog post that will make people laugh or think in any way, shape or form can simply take too much energy.

This past week has kind of been like a very long, stretched-out, "one of those" days. I used to have a poster on my wall of a tired-looking bulldog. The text read, "It's been one of those days all week." That's been me since, oh, Monday afternoon. No tragedies. No mass trauma. Not even any real emergencies. Just a lot of little, itty-bitty things piled one on top of the other.

Included in those little things was an inner voice - one that kept telling me there was no point. No point in trying to do my best any more. No point in doing what I liked. No point in trying to go beyond what was required of me. I was tired. Simply tired of being and thinking at all. Yesterday was the worst. Nothing seemed to go right, and to top it off, my spirits were too low to handle it. It's a good thing I didn't have any comfort food around my apartment last night, or it would ALL be gone.

This morning, things felt just a bit brighter. Not so many things broke, I wasn't (quite) as tired, and I had the energy to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It helped, knowing that tonight I was getting treated to a fish fry, courtesy of my brother and his wife, but for whatever reason, my spirits simply didn't feel as heavy.

Later, I read a friend's blog post and realized that my "issue" was more widespread than just me. I realized that I needed to open my eyes just a bit more and start thinking clearly again. I wasn't the only one battling life. While caught in my miserable fog, I forgot the key factor to finding clarity - I've got Someone fighting for me. I've got God in my corner. Part of my week - my fog - was due to a spiritual battle. I'm not saying that satan deliberately caused paper jams or corrupted my computer files - but I'm sure he had a hand in how I felt -  what my emotions were doing. He was the one whispering to me that there wasn't any point in driving forward any more. And I had forgotten this. I'd become so focused on ME, that I hadn't stopped to think about the One who was there for me.

Duh.

No matter what was going through my head when everything seemed to be going wrong, I should have remembered to just quit thinking so much and remind myself that I matter to God. He cares about me. Loves me, even. I'm worth far more to Him than I realize, even when I mess up. He's got a purpose for me here, even when I'm too tired to see it. He cares about me enough to have lifted the fog this morning, even though I was slow on the uptake.

This knowledge doesn't always make the battle easier. I still get super tired. But it does make the battle more hopeful. God will win out in the end. Lots of ick can happen in between, but He's got this. I may die for my faith one day - who knows? I may suffer a gruesome fate. But for me, that's not the end.

I need to work on thinking of these things more. When the fog starts to settle, even if my emotions are off the charts, I need to remember God's in my corner, and I need to talk to Him instead of just myself and that inner voice that likes to lie to me.

The blog post that started this whole train of thought is here:
http://auggment.me/i-hate-your-blog/
As far as I'm concerned, his post today had great purpose just for me - but I'm sure it will reach many more.

I hope you have God in your corner like I do. If not, hit me up. Let's talk.

Have a blessed weekend.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts.

What's in a smile?

Ever wonder what the deal is with smiles? I mean…think about it. They really aren’t that pleasant to look at. What’s with the whole turning up the mouth thing? The muscles in the face contract to draw up one’s lips. In a really enthusiastic move, one can even control their lips in order to expose their white protrusions of enamel. And we like this because…? Not only do we enjoy seeing someone’s gaping mouth, but it can actually be contagious. Does anyone else see the oddity in this?

No matter how gruesome the actual gesture of a smile may actually be, there’s something about it that we all like.

Something magical happens when we smile. And when I say “magical,” I mean something that seems to have been supernaturally created – which I believe to be the truth. It makes me wonder about the very first smile. Whose was it? Did Adam smile when he saw Eve? Or was it Eve who first smiled? When their first child smiled, was it just as contagious as babies’ smiles are today? Was smiling something that was automatically understood as good and positive, or was it an expression that was created then passed down through the generations?

When you think about it, most facial expressions are odd. We’ve learned how to read quirked eyebrows, furrowed brows, scrunched up noses and narrow eyes. We’ve learned and mimicked them so well that they come automatically to our own faces, controlled by emotions. Yet even as we have learned these subtle signs so well, eyebrows can be misinterpreted. Eyes can be deceiving. Even a frown doesn’t always mean one is sad – they might simply be concentrating. But I dare say that a smile is the least likely expression to be misinterpreted.

When we see someone else’s smile, it evokes the purest form of delight. We take pleasure in seeing others’ pleasure. A smile can bring comfort. It can ease pain. It can make us laugh. It has the power to soften hearts, greet another without words and offer the most genuine encouragement. The greatest ability though, is when one smile leads to another. No other expression is so contagious.

It makes me wonder why, if we hold such power, we do not use it more often. If a smile can truly do all those things – which it can – why are we not spreading this contagion more often? A genuine smile never hurt anyone – the wearer or the recipient. So what’s to lose?

Smile at your neighbor. The waiter at the restaurant. The school bus driver. The old lady you see in the store all the time. The child you pass on the street. You friends. Your family. Your coworkers.

Sometimes it’s not easy to smile. But the most incredible thing of all is that when we give the gift of a smile, we actually receive a portion of the blessing ourselves.

Spread a little love. It’s a win-win for all involved.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.