Crawl Inside a Pizza Box

This is Jazzy. I lost her last year to the ripe old age of 17. All her life though, she provided me with many smiles and many laughs. My favorite memory of her is that she was a junk food junky. Her favorite snack was pepperoni and flavored potato chips. No joke. Like most cats, she also enjoyed her dairy - cheese in particular -along with bacon, cheetos, sausage, pizza in general, and ice cream - any flavor was fine.

As noted in this particular photo, Jazzy decided to see if I'd left anything for her after downing a small pizza for supper. I can't remember if there really was anything left or not, but I got so tickled at her antics, that rather than shoo her away, I snapped a picture. In all reality though, it captures her junk food personality trait. What's more is that she didn't care. She didn't worry about calories or carbs, or the fact that she had just stuck her whole front half into a pizza box to seek out any mere morsels left behind. Really now - talk about desperate. This kitty had issues!

The more I think about it though...the more I think I'd like to be that uninhibited sometimes. I know I need to watch what I eat, and I'm not gonna throw caution to the wind and abuse my body by eating everything in sight. But every once in a while...what's really the harm in sticking my head in a pizza box? Who cares? Living life doesn't have to be boring. Of course, use wisdom, but who says we can't have a bit of fun along the way? I'm pretty sure God is not a boring God. Just sayin'.

I probably won't literally stick my head inside a pizza box (unless I'm with my brother - he tends to bring out my goofier side). But I might eat the whole thing once in a while. And I'll probably eat that whole bowl of ice cream. And I might just splash through the next puddle I see. Or balance on the curb instead of walking on the sidewalk. Or say hi to a stranger. Maybe I'll even drive with the windows down and the radio up as loud as I can stand it. Next time it rains, maybe I'll go outside and dance in the downpour.

Life's short. Very short. Leaving the pizza box closed might be a good idea sometimes. But every once in a while...stick your head inside. There might be a surprise morsel waiting that will inspire your soul.


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Creepy Tunnels

There it is. The light at the end of the tunnel. See? It does exist!

Well... it's not really a tunnel. It's a drain pipe connecting two quarries where I fish. And it was broad daylight, so the contrast really isn't that great. But I felt creative nonetheless.

Actually, staring through that pipe kind of reminds me of some of my own recent hiccups in life. This tunnel is kinda dark. Just a bit creepy. Rusty. Obviously wet. Slippery. And it's a bit of a jaunt to the other end. I can see the other side. I see more water, sunlight and trees. Looks pretty nice. (What the picture doesn't show is that I could climb up over the top to where a walkway is, and never have to worry about going through such a pipe. But that would ruin my analogy.)

Thing is, to view this kind of picture - or to get to the other side (had I not given away the secret that I could walk up and over) - the route is through the tunnel. No matter how icky, damp or creepy it is, that's the way out.

Often times in life, I find myself in the middle of a tunnel before I've even realized what's happening. Then I'm stuck. I can't go back, and going forward stinks. But sitting there in the rusty water doesn't do anything but get me wet. Sometimes going forward is the only option - even when that light at the end isn't visible. There are times when sitting still is the answer. But more often than not, moving - in any direction - is the only way to get through a tunnel. Every once in a while, we have the opportunity to see the tunnel before we get there, and we choose to go up and over, rather than through. Those are blessings. Most of the time though...yeah, we end up in that tunnel without any options, other than to simply keep moving and hope that it's a shorter distance to the end than it appears.

I'm so thankful that God provides me with an everlasting light that I can always cling to at the end of any tunnel. But I still get stuck. I still panic. I still get claustrophobic and probably whine a whole lot more than I should. But this picture reminds me to keep going even when I'm too tired, too grouchy, too sad, or too stubborn. I should make it my computer's wallpaper.

...On second thought, it really isn't all that pretty of a picture. But I can reference this blog post whenever I want...


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Newsworthy Soapbox

News. I get it. People want to know what's happening 24/7, whether it's next door or three countries over. Humans are curious by nature and we like to know what's going on around us because it makes us feel more in control. The more in control we feel, the more secure we feel. The more secure we feel, the less stress we feel. The happier we are. You get the idea.

What I don't get is the intentional (and constant) intake of sad, gruesome, tragic and downright disgusting stories and images connected to the news. Every. Single Day.

Whether I'm listening to the radio, scrolling through my Facebook homepage or watching television, I am bombarded with the most tragic stories ever told. House fires. Car accidents. Suicides. Bombers. Kids being eaten by alligators. Kids being dragged off by gorillas. Shootings. Mass killings. War. Starvation. Disease-bearing mosquitoes. The list goes on. And on. And on. And on.

If you like watching the evening news, then just stop reading this now, because I'm on my soapbox, and I'm not getting off til I've finished.

I hate the news. With a passion. It's nice to know when I need to be on guard, whether from prairie fires, or a nearby gas station robbery. But why do I have to hear ten different versions of a child being murdered? Why do I have to read, see, and hear all about a car accident that killed three teenagers? Why do I have to witness the horrific images of death and destruction every time I turn on the television or visit my Facebook page?

I despise the news networks and the way they exploit people and stories just to be dramatic. Yes, I'm saddened by senseless killings. Yes, I'm all for being aware of wars around us. Yes, I get it. But do you really need to hold a camera and microphone in front of the mother who just watched her kid gunned down? Do you really need to stand there in the pouring rain and look like an idiot in knee-high rubber boots to tell me that someone got swept away in a flood? Do you really need to show me bloody victims running from a recent bombing? Are you really pursuing the sharing of news or do you just want good ratings for drama? Why isn't the news rated R for violence?

The weather report is about the only thing I appreciate about the news hour. Every once in a while there will actually be some good news or a cute story or an inspirational thought tied in with a news-worthy article, and those I enjoy. The thing is, those are around us every single day, yet the people in charge of the cameras and stories don't find them valuable enough to share. People won't watch that stuff. Their ratings will go down. They have to be on scene at the next tragic event before their neighbor news station so they get the bigger scoop.

I'm not trying to minimize the reality of our ever-worsening world. I'm not trying to say that the lives in the sickening stories shared aren't of value. But in this case...my ignorance really is bliss. It's not even so much that I don't want to be aware - I just don't want all the graphic details shoved down my throat by the reporters who squeeze out every last drop of drama they can. Go watch a movie. There's plenty of action and violence there to go around. I don't need to worry about real life any more than I already do. Don't make me shed any more tears than I already do over pointless murders and children whose lives are ripped apart.

If you like watching the news and you've actually read this far, don't take my opinion personally. If you dig that kind of stuff, then more power to ya. The news is catering to folks who live to know about the next murder, house fire, and car accident. I'm happy to hear about caught criminals, weather warnings, heroes (although it's sad to see the small selection of people the news deems eligible for the title "hero"), and stories of survival. No, I'm not burying my head in the sand - I'm just tired of being inundated with tragedy.

The more technology advances, the more aware we are of everything happening in every corner of the world. But sometimes I wonder if that's helping or hurting us. Yes, there is a sense of security (albeit false at times) in knowledge. But I have a sneaking suspicion that if we were blissfully ignorant of just a small percentage of newsworthy items, we might feel just a bit less stress. Of course, I also wonder about the one-sided perspectives and truthfulness of the the stories we hear, but that would be a whole different blog post.


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Small Town Wonders

I live in a small town. A very small town, actually. By choice, believe it or not. I make myself drive forty-five minutes (one-way) to work every day just so I can stay in a small town. I've got city friends who think I'm nuts. But for those who love the country - or the feel of small towns - can certainly relate.

There are a whole lot of good reasons to be in a small town. I'm in the habit of locking my doors, but there really isn't a great threat of burglary or tom-foolery in this type of neighborhood. I can walk anywhere I want to, whether it's the post office, gas station, ice cream shop or... well, I guess there's not a whole lot more than that, but if there was, I could still walk there! Folks are generally friendly. And while everybody knows everything - even things they shouldn't - there's a strange amount of comfort in that kind of community. The list of benefits to living in a small town is a long one. But I keep adding to it. For example, this sunset. While driving from my parents' house at one end of town the other night, I saw the beginning of a very pretty sunset. Without anyone behind me (did I mention the lack of traffic?), I pulled over and snapped a photo. Sad that I wouldn't be able to see the rest of the sunset from home, I chided myself for thinking I had to head there right away. All I had to do was go another three blocks and I'd be at the other edge of town! So I did.

Still with no other cars in sight, I hit the edge of town in about sixty seconds (maybe eighty), and I was able to pull over again and watch as the sky turned orange. I got in a few more good shots with my phone, too. I had to laugh, though, at the thought that my town is so small, I really can go from one end to the other so quickly (without even speeding) that I don't even have to miss the ever-changing patterns in the sky.

It's not something totally amazing, I'll admit, but this small-town girl will take all the little things she can get. And since I'm a big fan of sunsets, well, this is a pretty good addition to the list of reasons I'm going to stay put.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment! Are you a city person or a country person?

Sopping Wet, But Warm

This cute little guy is Dynamite. I took this picture a little over a month ago, the same day I brought him home. A coworker had sent a message out to the staff that he had an orphaned kitten, and...well... I couldn't say no.

As soon as I got Dynamite home, I gave him a much-needed bath. Needless to say, it was quite a traumatic experience for such a tiny fella, and not exactly the most pleasant experience for me. But we both survived. I took him out on the porch to dry off in the sunshine when I caught this priceless expression. He was so miserable being so wet, and so tired, but he was loving the sunshine. Despite his dislike of bathing, he obviously felt better afterward, and thoroughly enjoyed the warm sun.

Going through some tough stuff lately, I wonder how much I actually look like Dynamite in this picture. Frazzled, wet, tired, and at the world's mercy. And yet...there's sunshine. Despite everything seemingly going wrong and pulling me down, even if I feel like crap and I don't want to get up in the morning...the sun still shines. God still has His arm around me. He still has everything under control - even when I feel like a drowned rat. He has already seen tomorrow and is already there waiting for me to simply continue in faith. He's got this, even when every ounce of control is ripped from my grasp.

Dynamite is twice as big now, and he does not appreciate baths any more than that first day. But we get along great. Even though I put him through getting clean, he loves me and I love him. As long as he's got his sunshine, he's good. And as long as I've got my sunshine - literal or figurative - I'm good, too.


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Roses are Red, Days are Too Busy...

"Take time to stop and smell the roses." That's a phrase I've been familiar with almost all my life. I've never been able to understand people who are always on the go. Busy, busy, busy. Too active to actually stop for just a few seconds and smell the proverbial roses. I've always been quite content with a slower lifestyle. A quieter one. A lifestyle that allows for early bedtimes, naps, and hot baths - leaning towards being an introvert helps, I'm sure. I know some people are not busy by choice. There are families to care for, jobs to do, and responsibilities stacked to the ceiling. I get it. And I've got my own set of responsibilities that keeps me on the go as well.

Lately though, even with a very slow lifestyle (in some people's eyes), I find myself caught up in a routine that feels way too fast. Way too busy. Way too stressful. I've realized that stopping to smell the roses may not actually have all that much to do with literal time. I've got more time to spare than most of the people I personally know. Yet even I look at he clock and find that the day has simply melted away, leaving me with a long list of things I never accomplished.

I wonder if, perhaps, I've simply been ignoring the roses. It's not that I don't have time. It's that I've been too focused on the things that stress me out, rather than the things that have the potential to relax me. Stopping to smell the roses takes all of two seconds. Tops. I know this because I pass by several rose bushes every time I walk into my parents' house. If the breeze is blowing just right, I hardly even have to pause to be able to smell them.

The point is, I'm aware the roses are there. Whether my body pauses mid-stride or not, my subconscious takes a brief breather (no pun intended) to allow my olfactory system to absorb the sweet scent, and for that split second, my spirit is calmed.

Busy to the hilt or not, there's always "time" to stop and smell the roses. Because, in reality, it doesn't take any time at all. Yet it still provides a quiet moment in time to just be. Breathe. And remember the little things in life are the best.

Maybe the "roses" in your life are kind words from someone else. The sunshine on your face. A smile that lifts your spirits. All we have to do is be open to accepting those tiny blessings for what they are - blessings - and we have essentially stopped to smell the roses.


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Reading, Writing and Rambling

A little over a year ago, I posted about a Successful Experiment that Failed. Basically, I was gaining readership through a formula I'd learned from a best-selling author. But in the end, it was less than fulfilling. I didn't want readers just to have readers. I simply wanted to blog whenever I wanted to and if anybody took notice, it was a bonus. Much of my attention reverted to easier places like Facebook, where one-sentence thoughts are more acceptable than on a blog. Obviously, it's an easier pastime.

But I'm still a writer, and I still like to ramble...pretty much about anything. Which can be, at times, more appropriate in a blog setting. So today, the topic is books. Not my books, though.

When I was younger, I couldn't get enough of reading. I don't know how many times I walked to the library to check out more books. I remember picking out the illustrated children's books, later graduating to the chapter books in the young adult section. I can still smell the basement floor. You know - the musty pages smell that only comes from well-used books. Back then, I had to learn how to find books by sifting through literal cards. Books weren't scanned - they were hand-marked by the librarian.

When I started writing my own books, I began using most of my spare time to write, not read. If I had ten minutes or ten hours, I wanted to get in all the writing I could, so I didn't make time to read, unless it was a book I was really interested in. So for a handful of years, I rarely read any books.

Then the bug bit me just recently and I've fallen in love all over again. Granted, now it's a mix of novels and educational material, but either way, I'm rediscovering my love of reading. Books. Real books. Not intangible files I've downloaded on my computer, but real, honest-to-goodness books that have actual pages that I can feel and smell and dog-ear. I can scribble notes, underline, highlight and thumb through pages to find my place. I can take books wherever I go without worrying about running out of battery or having internet access. I can put them all on my shelf in any order I please, and I don't have to perform searches to find them again.

I'm not saying I don't read on my computer or smartphone. Actually, I read quite a bit on my smartphone. But when I really want to sit down and enjoy a good story, or I want to dive into the study of a topic in which I'm interested, I'll choose the paperback version over digital any day.

We may have entered a digital age, but mark my words (you can print this out and underline and highlight if you want), printed words will always have a place in the hearts, hands and homes of true readers.

How about you? Do you prefer digital reading or printed?


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