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Wednesday, December 21, 2011

determined joy.

Dear FH,

(Who will have to either deal with my stubbornness or learn to manipulate it to your own advantage).

There are two things I am a strong purveyor of: joy and truth.

One day, maybe, if I'm brave enough, I'll get a tattoo on my right foot.  It will say "rejoice in truth."  After all, it's what love does.

I'm beginning to find, unfortunately, that there are more things in this life to become bitter about, rather than rejoice in.  Bitterness is such a strong seed, it takes root in even the most brittle places.  It quickly squelches, obliterates any traces of joy.

We have a little term for this in the restaurant industry.  It's called "being in the weeds."  This happens to the best of us.  Guests keep filtering in during the afternoon lunch or evening dinner rush.  You literally begin drowning in coffee and ice tea refills, picking up empty plates, greeting new guests, cashing out old ones, keeping food balanced on trays above your shoulder and praying that you don't slip and fall (something that, you will learn, is in my nature).

It's a whirlwind of welcome, thank you, how may I assist you?, it would be my pleasure, the restroom is right over this way, our lunch buffet is 16.95, yes gratuity is included, no beverages are not included, do you need change?, have a wonderful day, come join us again soon. 

And there is little time for thinking or doing anything else.

Similarly, you can slip into the weeds of bitterness in your own life.

It would be super easy for someone, for me, for you, to just sort of melt into a habit of looking at life through bitterly-rimmed glasses.  I was prepared for a day at work "in the weeds," just yesterday.  I was running a few minutes late (proof of my aforementioned need for a five minute buffer) because I was sitting in my little red toyota in the employee parking lot.  Praying.

"Lord, give me grace among the fire of this day.  Either that, or make it a super easy day." 

FH, nothing in this lifetime will ever be super easy.  But grace is always there when you need it the most desperately.

As soon as I breezed through the employee entrance, the madness began.  I smiled at my boss as I tied my apron and prepared mentally for the day ahead.

"Good morning!" I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster.  I was in a good mood.  I began praying a lot more when I began working here.

"Our buffet runner isn't here, I need you to help set up the buffet outside," my boss said to me in a near panic.

I smiled back at him, and gave him a second chance.

"Good morning" I said again.  My only reply.

He stopped, looked me in the eye with a short smile and said, "Sorry, good morning."

I turned and began brewing coffee for the lunch hour.  And so it began.

And, FH, I wasn't perfect.  I may try to convince you that I am in the beginning of our relationship, but you'll very quickly come to find that I am not.  I was impatient, I lost sight of joy.  My fuse line of patience ran rather short. 

Nonetheless, I worked the rest of the day, clearing tables, resetting silverware, counting money and listening to my dear coworkers as best I could.  Trying not to fall into the weeds of bitterness, and searching for joy in serving.

I was determined to find joy in the midst of stress, pressure and doing the dirty work.

I hope you'll trust and fight for this determination for joy by my side.  That our love for one another will rejoice in truth.  Together.



B.
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Monday, December 5, 2011

get after it

Dear You-Know-Who,

(Who may need to give me a kick in the you-know-what every once in a while)

It's Monday of the last week of my second-to-last semester of graduate school.  Motivation is low, and procrastination is at its all-time high.  I believe you will come to know that I have set the record for putting off important things in order to accomplish menial tasks, like painting my fingernails and dying my hair darker.  Both of which I have done today.

This is why I refer to myself as the latest procrastination sensation.

The fact that I'm sitting here, reclining in my worn-out, faded striped chair, still in my pajamas and slippers at 2:30 in the afternoon, listening to Christmas music, drinking Vanilla Coke and eating M&Ms is proof positive of this phenomenon.

BUT, I do have my schoolbook in my lap as a rest for my computer, so you can't say that I'm not at least thinking about the things I need to do.

Today got off to a rough start (speaking from a strictly productivity standpoint) when I read an e-mail from my professor's graduate assistant informing all of the students in our class that our paper (which I had originally thought was due tomorrow) is actually not due for a few more days.

"Oh man," I thought to myself.  "Simultaneously awesome and awful news."

You'd think I'd be rejoicing right?  But, the lack of pressure and timeliness of this assignment means I won't get anything done today at all.  I had every intention of cranking this sucker out today.  But now, I just know I'm going to wait 'til Friday after my 10 p.m. shift to put the finishing touches on it.

It's due at midnight.  See the problem?

A friend of mine who is a third-year law student, and pretty awesome at the whole not-procrastinating thing, asked me how my paper was coming along a few minutes ago.  Through a string of texts, I explained to him my thought-process of putting off completing the writing of my analysis of our homo-liturgic selves, and how humans are more than mere animalistic thoughts and actions (see, doesn't it sound like some mumbo-jumbo I should be putting off?  I mean, come on!).

A few texts in, here is the conversation that ensued:


...So, I'm writing today with no pressure.  God is good to me. 


He sure is.  Why not get it out of the way?


'Cause then I wouldn't be me.  I'm gunna give it all I got.  Maybe give myself a 2000 word goal.  Learning from you, I guess. 


Get after it. 


Those three words struck me.  I asked him if I could borrow his words for creative purposes, and he assured me his royalty rates were reasonable.  Then the whole thing turned into a light debate about fair use and copyright law.  Typical.

Side note: Future Husband, I've just revealed what a hopeless nerd I really am.  But, I guess you knew what you were getting yourself into.

Anyways, that particular verbiage really evoked such an interesting idea of passion.  I need to sit down and "get after" this assignment, give it all I've got, and be done with it.

It really made me wish and think for a moment that there's really nothing in my life that I am "getting after."  I get caught in the chaos, and get too mentally exhausted to get after anything.

And really, if you could look at me right now with my hair frazzled and piled on my head, a few loose curls falling over my blue eyes that are hiding behind my "makes-me-look-smart" glasses, and snuggled in the crook of my recliner you wouldn't consider me a woman who "gets after" much.

Which, I'm sure if you could actually see the picture I painted for you, there would be very little motivation for anyone to get after this.

But, it just made me realize I need someone in my life - the man I'm writing for - to be a reminder to chase after my dreams and calling.  Even when I don't particularly feel as though I have a dream to sleep along side of or even a basic goal to conquer.   I need to wake up, recover from my past and get after the things in my life worth waiting, working and writing for.

Today I'm hoping that you're a man who will be filled with enough passion to get after your own dreams, as well as encourage me when I'm down, and alleviate my fear of failure by helping me push through my procrastination.



And I guess all of this will be apparent when I meet you.  When the day comes that you realize you want to get after a lifetime spent with me...
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Friday, November 25, 2011

thank you

Dear FH,

(Who will just have to live with the fact that we're spending all major holidays with my side of the family.  Because they're awesome).


1200 people walked into our restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday.  And I served eighty of them. 


I'm still in recovery mode.

Thanksgiving is an all-hands-on-deck kind of day.  All of our staff - no exceptions - gather together to serve what seems like all of Virginia Beach.  The restaurant was flooded with so many people, they were merely a sea of faces, strong perfume, big jewelry  (and even bigger hair).

Busy days like that, when my section is filled to the brim, it seems like one wrong move could produce a domino effect of rather catastrophic catastrophes.  Here is when the people I serve are nothing more than a table number, a beverage order, and a dollar amount of gratuity when they depart.  I go, grab, place, serve, clean, pour in a completely feigned natural-looking robot mode.

Until...

One lady in a large black and white polka dot sweater in the corner touches my hand as I place a glass of fragrant merlot on her table.  I stopped dead in my tracks.  What was she stopping me for?

"Thank you for spending your Thanksgiving serving us," the lady says to me.  Her eyes are as full of sincerity as my portion of the restaurant is filled with buzzing people.

A lump of sadness blindsided me as it jumped very quickly into my throat.

Season number two of spending the holidays without my family.  I had told myself this year that I wouldn't pout, and that I wouldn't be sad.  That I would be very grown up about my situation this year (a.k.a. not like last year).  Plus, my family will always be here to celebrate on a day that works for all of us.

We don't let days of the year dictate when we can have a party, you know?  We're party people.

But in that moment, knowing that my sacrifice - however little it is in comparison to those who serve in the armed forces and risk their lives - meant something special to someone else.

And you know, FH?  It made me thankful.  Suddenly, it didn't matter that I wouldn't see my family on this particular day.  It didn't matter that I was working until my ankles were so weak that I can barely walk today.  I was overwhelmed, standing in front of this woman in a polka dot sweater fighting back tears as I told her,

"It's my pleasure to serve you all."

And you know what?  It wasn't even a lie.

This part of my life, FH, this place that I'm in where I have no idea who you are, if I've already met you, or if I'm lightyears away of maturation before I'm ready to even think about the "m" word ("m" as in marriage), has been quite pleasurable.

I spent the rest of the evening, after I cleaned up and hung my green tie in the closet for the next day of serving, with good friends, strong drinks and homemade turkey.

It's okay that I don't know who you are, or that I'm out here doing this whole independent lady thing.

I'm truly thankful for the season I'm in.  I'm thankful I don't know who you are yet.  And I'm thankful that I'm experiencing these adventures on my own.  I'm thankful that I'm (hopefully) becoming a stronger person outside of a relationship with you.  And I'm thankful that God has perfect timing, and that when when we finally do come together, there will be no shadow or trace of any doubt in my mind whatsoever.

I'm thankful I have a family so valuable and precious to me that I do miss them.

And I hope my prayers and thoughts displayed here are as sincere and earnest as that polka-dotted lady's words when she first thanked me.

And I'm also thankful that I have a husband who will understand how important it is that I spend the holidays with my family, since I spent so many of them serving food to strangers.

I hope.

One day.

Please?


B.
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Wednesday, November 23, 2011

I wanna go fast

Dear Future Husband,

(Who will either have to slow me down or play constant catch-up to keep up with this chick)

I think I'm moving too fast.

My life right now is an incessant string of meetings, papers, reading material, presentations, e-mails - and that's just taking into consideration the grad school sector.  There's this whole other portion of my day I dedicate to serving food to strangers.

No, not in some madonna-esque charity work.  For tips.  I'm just greedy like that.

Nearly every day, on top of the journals, and lectures and notes and trying to figure out what-the-heck is going on Blackboard (seriously, what is this labyrinth of craziness? I've been a college student for almost six years now, and still am not fluent in Bb language), I put on a bleached and starched white collar, and a bright green tie, and bebop into work with my curly, brunette pony tail leaving my only trace.

I'm usually late, and everyone in my life gets along fine with me so long as they give me a five-minute buffer zone.  Sometimes I need seven, but I never need ten.  My legs carry me as quickly down the long back hallway to the front of the restaurant as they can; giving the illusion that I am just eager to get to work, rather than I'm rushing to report on time for my shift.

We live in a world that likes to go fast.

The people I serve food like to go fast, too.

Even though most weeks I spend over fifty hours at the restaurant, I'm never not taken aback by its clean and colonial beauty as I trounce through the large wooden swinging door, entering the dining floor. The lights are dim, and each of the tables are set and lined with perfectly creased white table cloths. A tiny tea light at the center of each table illuminates an angelic glow.

It's really quite breath taking.

"Uh, waitress?" A large, white-haired man looks up at me through his wire-rimmed glasses.  "We've got a play to get to in forty-five minutes.  How long will it take for a beef brisket to cook?"

And just like that, the illusion shatters.

Now, Future Husband*, I may move fast, but I am not in the fast food business.  And no matter how much patience I muster when I have tables like this who snap their  fingers at me, or who ask me to tell the kitchen they have "some place to be" I can't get over it.

If you're here, in a fine dining restaurant expecting your Kobe Burger to come out as quickly as a patty at Burger King would, you're horribly mistaken.

A mere ten minutes pass, and it begins to get awkward.  I can feel the white-haired man with wire rimmed glasses staring at me.  He looks at his watch, murmurs something to his wife, and taps his brown loafers on the floor.

He gestures me over to the table.

"Miss, we're really in a hurry, how much longer on our food?  This is ridiculous."

Classic, shoot-the-messenger syndrome.

"Sir, I assure you the cooks are working as quickly as they can.  Your meal will be out shortly and worth the wait."

The man rolls his eyes, and I watch as a droplet of water slides down the front of his frosted water glass. I wonder if he can see a similar droplet forming at the top of my forehead.

I'm going as fast as I can.

And then it hits me: I am the impatient white-haired man with the wire-rimmed glasses.

Now, don't misunderstand me.  I am very much a woman.  Not to worry.

But, there are certain things in my life - things like you - that I have been very impatient with.  So impatient, in fact, that I was willing to settle for the Burger King version of you.

Does that make sense?

In other words, I was so desperate for the right man to come along, that I was willing to make any man the right man.  As you can well imagine, this has gotten me into trouble in the past (more on that later).


All the while I'm whining to my girlfriends, whining in my prayers.  "Lord, where IS this man? This is ridiculous.  It shouldn't take this long!"

 The Lord is saying, "He'll be along shortly, and he'll be worth the wait. I promise."

I need to learn to be patient.

A few minutes later, I see the man's beef brisket appear under the heat lamps near the kitchen.  Quickly, I go to the table, and display the food proudly before the gentlemen.  He nods, and smiles as he takes a bite of his peach-flavored barbeque brisket.

"Was it worth the wait?" I ask him with a smile.
"Mmmph," says the man between bites (I'm the queen of asking people questions as soon as they take a mouth-full of food).  "Compliments to the chef!"

Because the good things, the important things in life are worth waiting for.  You, FH, are worth waiting for.  Heck, you're worth writing for.




B.
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Saturday, November 19, 2011

a man worth writing for: a year of my life in letters to my future husband

It all started with a letter I wrote a few years ago to my future husband.

The idea was to write a letter, a love letter, to the man I was going to marry without having the slightest idea of who he was or how he would happen into my life. I hadn't a clue what was going on in my little heart at the time, but it was something I needed to do to prove to myself that I had faith in what God had promised me.

I had just broken up with my high school sweetheart, a phase in my life that to this day I'm not completely sure I understand, still.  All I know was that the Lord had called us apart, and I had ignored his calling for too long.

Those breakups are the worst.  The ones where everything is right and well, but you're holding each other from what you were made to do.  I was discouraged.  I had lost my best friend, and the love of my life (at that point in time, anyway) all at one crappy Fourth of July cookout.

There were two things I remembered about that day: I broke up with my boyfriend of nearly four years at my neighborhood's pool party.  To top the whole day off, there were no hot dogs to be found anywhere.

Worst. Fourth of July.  Ever.

But, I look back on those years fondly as just a fond, innocent time in my life and I am thankful and blessed by them.

It's three years later and it's quite humbling to think that I'm still waiting for a man to sweep me away as he did.  Hasn't happened yet.

And it's perfect.

Because now, I'm a fairly independent young woman living alone in Virginia Beach.  Fairly independent, because I know I truly could not function without the joy following the Lord has given me, and a family who supports and loves every breath, thought, or pursuit of my being.

I'm pursuing my dreams and my Master's degree all the while serving strangers food every night at my beautiful little fine dining restaurant.  And I'm confident that the Lord sees that it is good.

Of course, anyone who has heard the slightest whisper of how the world works will tell you that life is so not easy.  These realizations have startled me from a complacent place in my little corner of the world.

My heart has been wrecked, and left only halfway mended.  And having a glass-half full when it comes to healing is impossible.  Being only partially full leaves the remaining parts only yearning and hurting more.

Then there's this whole business of jealousy that pries its way into your life.  My Facebook feed is flooded with gorgeous engagement pictures.  You know the ones, color enhanced, the lady's left hand on the chest of her fiance.  Don't get me wrong, I am so happy for them all.  But, it's almost humorous how those photos of people I barely know can send me into a whirlwind of discontent and insecurity.

So, in the midst of all of this one letter written a few years ago no longer holds the promise of what my life and future holds.  Let's say, it was a step in the right direction.

I decided to chronicle a year of my life in letters to my future husband who will, of course, be the man worth waiting for.  Or, in my case, the man worth writing for.

This is what my blog will now be dedicated to.

I've thought long and hard about starting over fresh, and just beginning again.  However, I can't just dismiss the things I've written in the past.  Part of life is learning from mistakes and growing from them.  This little site has such a neat place in my heart, and I'm too sentimental to let it go.

But things are going to change around these parts for sure.

There have been so many interesting lessons learned, and crazy characters I've met along the way here, and stories too good not to share.  Sometimes I think the random tidbits and thoughts that pop up out of nowhere happen solely so that I may write them down.  And I totally do.

My little fingers are bursting on the keys - and I'm trying to hold them back as to not reveal too much at once.

Welp.  This is going to be fun.  I hope you'll read along.



B.
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Saturday, June 11, 2011

if you and I were old friends

Hello old friend.

If the lack of my posts the last few months reflected my dedication to a friendship, we'd be in big trouble.  We would meet up in a coffee shop and the conversation would fall off every few minutes into several awkward pauses...

So...how's your mother doing?


I have a pocket full of excuses.  Mainly that my computer, Judy, has fallen ill.  I've been a bad mother and have failed to get her to the Mac store in time.  Now not only do I not have a computer, I am at risk of losing every blabbering narrative I have written this year along with several hundred dollars worth of iTunes music.  I wish I was exaggerating - that darn Glee cast is SO talented.

But you, old friend, did not come here for excuses. Truth be told, I don't know what you've come here for.  Perhaps you like to glimpse into a life of a woman who is very forward about how imperfect she is.  Maybe you laugh because these things happen to you too.  Maybe you like to drop by to distract you from your own stack of paperwork and e-mails which you - like myself - have swept under the rug. 

Or maybe you just love me and my voice mail is full and I don't return your calls, therefore by the theorem of deduction this is the only way to sustain a very one-sided relationship.


Maybe, just maybe, you come here for a little slice of hope.  I must confess: this is why I write.  I must also confess:  this is what I have been lacking.

Without going into too much detail, let's just say that in Virginia Beach I was working tirelessly to build a beautiful house made out of sand.  Just like a child, I knew that it's construction could not be permanent.  However, it was no less heartbreaking when it's quick destruction came. 

Like the song says "the rains came down and the floods came up," and my poor, beautiful little sandcastle eroded away taking a chunk of my heart with it.

For so long I simply stood still on the shore blinking at the lumpy mound of what was, and what I dreamed would be.  But now, a month later, I am able to wipe my eyes dry and chase after a more stable foundation.  One that wont be depleted by rain or waves.  One that will stand firm.





I've learned a few lessons along the way.  Lessons I hope to relay to you all here.  Now that my shore has been blessedly wiped clean and fresh, my life can begin again. 





Thanks for sticking around to discover this with me. 














B.
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Sunday, May 1, 2011

you know it's a slow night in a fine dining restaurant when

Two hostesses, two waiters, a manager and a chef are gathered chit-chatting at the front entryway.  A single customer walks in.   Seeing the delight in our faces that we have someone to serve for the next hour or so remarks,

"I expected you all to say 'Welcome to Cici's!'"





And that's how we do.




Happy Sunday!  Wrapping up the last bits of the semester and catching Regent's rendition of Bye, Bye, Birdie!

B.
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Wednesday, April 27, 2011

why couldn't you have stayed calm for once instead of flying off the handle?!



My cousins and I - all eleven of us - are amused by this every year at our annual OBX trip.  We call it "Mento Madness."



My dad is the coordinator.  Because he's awesome.



Relishing my home life.

B.
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clicking your heels together three times just doesn't cut it




You gotta DANCE in those ruby reds - all the way home!



(finally!) Wednesday.



B.

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uh...yup.



Same thing goes with graduate school professor's e-mails.




Happy Wednesday. 


Spontaneously off the next three days.  Going home to Richmond.


B.
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Monday, April 25, 2011

all the single ladies!



"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me with you seek me with all your heart.  I will be found by you,' declares the Lord, 'and will bring you back from captivity."


Jeremiah 29:11-14





Happy Monday!


B.
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Monday, April 18, 2011

this is just the sort of trite thing this blog needs

The scene: My front porch on a bright, sunny day in Virginia Beach.

I was painting my fingernails Sally Henson's "Red Zin" and talking to my friend Barbara about the woes of this final week of our first year at Regent.  

A call beeps in - it's my neighbor - I politely ignore the call.  The girl talk was too good on the other end, I'll call him back.

As I continued to stroke my nails a deep red, I hear footsteps marching up the steps to my apartment.  It's my neighbor.  He signals me to get off the phone and follow him.

"Hold on!" I mouth to him, trying to listen to Babs.

"My neighbor is getting rid of his kitchen table, do you want it?"

I did.

I quickly hung up the phone and followed him to his neighbor's apartment. 

After a quick inspection and writing a one-hundred dollar check my seven month long quest to find a kitchen set is complete.

And the best part?



It totally has fruit painted on it.





Oh yeah, baby!


Happy Monday (what's left of it!)



B.

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Wednesday, April 13, 2011

all hail the queen!

 Congratulations to Ashley Smith, Regent University M.B.A. Journalism student - 2011 Miss Virginia!

Of course, I couldn't resist.





Fine dining at the restaurant tonight (my favorite!).  Happy Wednesday!


B.
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Monday, April 11, 2011

here is my final thought on the matter



Oh, Ella.  I love you.

B.
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this has literally been stuck in my head for four solid days







I know I need help.  I just don't want it.



B.
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If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy, I can only conclude that I was not made for here.

If the flesh that i fight is at best only light and momentary,
then of course I'll feel nude when to where I'm destined I'm compared.




Happy Monday!


B.
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Sunday, April 10, 2011

hello, norfolks!




A foggy and overcast day in Norfolk, VA.  I was in town for the Society of Professional Journalists conference at the Waterside Marriot.

And by visit the conference, I mean accidentally crash a Virginia Press Association meeting then skip across the street to visit a little bookstore/coffee shop called "Prince Books" where I bought three books including a young adult novel by John Green titled "Will Grayson Will Grayson."

Then I looked at the pretty boats on the pretty water.

So.  Productive day?  Very official. 



Happy Sunday!

B.
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Thursday, April 7, 2011

it is a truth universally acknowledged

that time spent doing what I love flies by.  And time at work

tends





to


slow


painfully



(very painfully)



down.



Especially when it's a night of refilling drinks, clearing plates and small - though very much appreciated - tips.




Where do the hours between 9 and 3 go? 



Time to put on my high starch collar and bright green tie.




B.
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delightful

I can't wait to go back to taste unlimited.  A 2010 "Best of Chesapeake" 
winner from the Virginian Pilot.

 Of course I opted for the Chesapeake crab cake sandwich.  The most delicious thing ever.  Babs and I also bough lemon squares, however mine didn't last long enough to take a photo of it.  That good.
 I'm reminded of a scene from the 1953 Doris Day film Calamity Jane.  She marches into a bar after driving a stage coach across Illinois and orders a Sarsaparilla all mean and tough-like.  So cute.
Hey, if the drink lid says it, I guess I have to do it.
 Statues in the 2X4 museum at the Virginia First Landing State Park.  Peace.  We just want peace.
Beautiful displacement.




Do I need to consume these photos with words?  Or may I just let them speak for themselves?

I will say this: it was the windiest day EVER.  I have sand in places...well, let's just say, I'm still finding sand.

I took half the beach home with me in my book bag - which in essence is pure joy, except when I pulled out a notebook at a meeting and sand sprayed everywhere.  There is a time and place for everything, and sand does not belong at business meetings.



Happy Thursday!

(pasta night).


B.
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Monday, April 4, 2011

have a little faith



Kelli O'Hara from the Broadway revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific.

Right before her character, Nellie Forebush, bursts into this song - she speaks about the war, and how the world around her is falling apart.  All of her friends, her family, even her own mother doubt there is any beauty left in the world.

Not her.

Despite the fact that she is a nurse in the Great War she says she "can't work herself up to getting that low."

I feel that way a lot. 

Working in a restaurant.  Surrounded by greed.  In a place where many people - not all, but many - don't follow through.  Just living life trying to squeak by. 

It can really mess with your mind. 

Finally last night, it was as if my head fell into itself.  All of the walls I have built up against people were destroyed.

Yes, people screw up.  People are imperfect.  I am people.  I am imperfect. 

But I refuse to believe that this place we inhabit for just a short whisper of time is void of all beauty and freedom.  I can't work myself up to getting that low.









There is truth in this world, and I'm going to find it.  It's okay to have faith in people.  It's okay to acknowledge there is, yes, evil in this world, but also there is good.  There is good.  There is good.

So what if they call me a "cockeyed optimist?"

Happy Monday!

B.
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Saturday, April 2, 2011

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by TOWANDA!

She is your instant source of gumption when you need it the most in your life.




Happy Saturday...y'all.

B.
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Monday, March 28, 2011

welp, everyone I know is awesome

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hey everyone! come see how domesticated I am!

Today was a day of cleaning, errands and cooking.  Adulthood is becoming more independent and less lonely.  It's a good feeling.


So, tonight I decided to take a stab at my mom's famous tortellini soup, with my own twist, of course.


Start by boiling 4 quarts of water.
Add a small palmfull of salt and a teaspoon of olive oil.
Add your package of cheese tortellini and cook for 7 minutes.
Drain the pasta.

Then heat 3 cans of chicken broth.
Add 3 tomatoes, 1/2 chopped onions and about a handful of raw spinach.
Bring to your desired temperature (I typically like my hot liquids to burn the enamel off my gums).

Put in the tortellini and voila!



The finished product is quite delicious if I do say so myself.  And I had a surprise visitor stop by and take part in my culinary spurt.  Hooray!
Also, I wouldn't be me if some catastrophe didn't happen in the kitchen.  Somehow I managed to scrape by and only catch my oven mitt on fire. 



It's fine.





Happy Monday...again!


B.
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ah, the benefits of cleaning are so clear to me now

As I was nesting my new apartment - you know, the new new apartment the folks at the Regent student housing were so good to force me to move into - I stumbled upon some encouragement from a dear, dear friend of mine I so desperately needed to read.

You are singing and dancing on the yellow brick road the Lord has set before you.  May your Emerald City be your eternal home and may the song of your heart encourage any (strange) characters the Lord leads you to along the way.

"Resurgence Betty" is becoming "Regent Brett" come Friday.  Continue to walk as He leads.  The Lord is working in you and through you, Brett Wilson.  Be reminded of His presence, of His faithfulness, and of His sense of humor as you enter into this new season.



My friends are so incredible.  Thank you, my sister (you know who you are) for your beautiful words.  They were written nearly eight months ago, but they still impact me today.  They will continue to be displayed on my new office wall.


Happy Monday!

B,
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Thursday, March 24, 2011

the depressed dames playlist




No profound thoughts of the day.   Just some tuneage I've put together.

No tables tonight, I was a happy camper nonetheless.  Why?  Because I somehow still managed to swipe a cannoli before "pasta night" was quite through. 

Also I'm home in time for tonight's episode of 30 Rock.  Boom.


Happy Thursday! 

B.
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Wednesday, March 23, 2011

The problem with people who have no vices is that generally you can be pretty sure they’re going to have some pretty annoying virtues



It's never a happy Wednesday when you wake up to this.



A lot of Liz is going to be on my Netflix queue for the next few weeks.



B.
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Tuesday, March 22, 2011

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by patsy cline

It's not me. 


It's you.


This song has been on my "stuck in my head" playlist for the last week or so.  Perfect to listen to while sitting on my front porch with a cup of Chick-fil-a sweet tea. 

Go ahead, give it a try.  You know you want to.







Crazy... I mean...Happy Tuesday!


B.
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Monday, March 21, 2011

my love for my job is continuing to surge

It's my job that I had to go to a wine tasting all day today at the Williamsburg Winery.

My JOB.

Some things I learned today during class had nothing to do with wine.  For instance I learned that in a group setting there will always be the following:

1. One snobby guy/gal who asks all of the obnoxiously, pseudo-intellectually structured questions.

2. The not-so-discrete cell phone buzz.  Usually with an embarrassing ringtone.

3. The table of the black sheep.  Usually where I am sat.

4.  The female who is inappropriately dressed.  Really, who confuses "business casual" with a short, tube-top dress?

5. People just here for the free wine and dinner.

6. The "stand out" guy who tries desperately to be funny. 


The other things I learned had to do with wine...kind of.

"There's only so much you can do with a fruit loop."
-Matthew Meyer, Wine-making 101



"God, I do love yeast.  They basically eat, sleep, have sex and die...they reproduce like crazy."
-MM

"I am a champagne whore."
-MM

"People will be like, 'is the wine ready to drink?' and then they'll say 'Yeah, as soon as I get the cork out of it I will be..."
-Phil Pratt, director of school of wine









Beautiful pinot noir we tasted.



 A little beef portion we paired with our wines.




The sixty degree wine cellar.  My coworkers and I dipped out of the tour early.  We were being too disrupted, and they needed a smoke break.


I learned that in the days of ancient Greece, wine was like the Starbucks of its time. 

I also learned that tasting a good wine is like poetry for your palette.  As a lover of words, I very much enjoyed drumming up adjectives to describe each wine we tasted:

Tangy.

Coffee.

Citrus.

Warm.

Woodsy.


So much fun.



Happy Monday!



B.
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Thursday, March 17, 2011

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by...this girl...

Innocent obliviousness?

Or viral genius?

You be the judge.








Challenge: try not to say "way-ho" when you see the very last shot of the video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aiww4OTA194



Happy Thursday.


Way-ho.
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Wednesday, March 16, 2011

pursuing pursuit

For the past two years or so of my life, pretty much ever since I finished the book Captivating for the first time, I've decided not to date.  I've decided to wait for the man who comes to me for friendship first, romance second. 

I'm waiting for the man who pursues me.  The perfect fairy tale.  The reserved romance for my life.

I've complained to and with countless girlfriends that there is no such man out there for me/us.  There are few who can simultaneously lead and love.  We, in our young little lives, have come across men who are the product of being chased.  Who are so used to having women come to them, they are hardly categorized as chasers.

I've been discussing this and other relationship ideals with one of my friends here at school.  He described his want for a relationship where he takes the lead. 

"Don't chase me, Brett," he said.  "Slow down. Let me pursue you. It's the man's job to pursue."

Crap.

Allowing someone to pursue you takes patience.  Patience.

My cup overfloweth with coffee, not patience.

How humiliating.  Here I am trying to be cool and breezy, and all he sees is someone on the hunt.  Someone who likes the chase.  Isn't that the most exciting part about the relationship?  The part in the story that's the most exciting - the climax of the movie?

Then the guy and the girl get together with a kiss at the end.  Then the story is finished, and the words "The End" appear over the screen in fancy calligraphy.

Why?

Because the "once upon a time" is so much more interesting than the "happily ever after." 


Isn't it?

We never see Cinderella washing Prince Charming's boxer briefs (he doesn't seem like a whitey-tighties kind of guy).  We are privy to the pursuit.  The ball, the lost slipper, his hunt for his beauty.

We - sweet ladies - have been conditioned for the hunt.

And a lot of relationships turn sour because of this.  We have only allowed ourselves to dream of the chase and not the catch. 

But the thing is, is that a woman with any sense at all would long for a lasting and peaceful relationship.  An exciting adventure with a beginning, middle and never ending until death parts. 

Girlfriends, if you long to be pursued in a Godly romantic way, you need to slow down and have the courage to be pursued. 



Happy Wednesday.

B.
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Monday, March 14, 2011

booty girl's nature window

Windows have always been a constant in my life.

I know what you're thinking - what the heck does that mean?

Ever since I was little, coincidentally, my windows have been full of little critters.  Much to my delight, wherever I moved my windows have always been the resting place of spiders spinning webs or little ants marching one-by-one (hoorah!).   Which is particularly lucky, because there's hardly anything I love more than being outside. 

My family calls this the "booty girl's nature window" phenomenon.  Booty-girl, I think I should mention, is a nickname that my family still calls me to this day.  I'm not really sure where or from what it first originated.  But I will say that I am now fully aware of its implications and what the term "booty" means in today's vernacular.

Thankfully, they never call me that in public.

One year a family of wasps made home in my "nature window."  I watched in awe as the big momma wasp circulated and spun and worked and plotted to make her nest for her little baby wasps.

I'm not sure how old I was.  I was in somewhere in the age range of "old enough to know that wasps could harm me," but "young enough to convince myself that I was invincible and that wasp stings probably don't hurt as badly as everyone says."

Finally, I felt compelled to share the latest happenings in "booty girls' nature window" with my dad. 

"Look, Dad!" I said with my bright blue eyes gleaming.  "The baby wasps!  They're about to be born!"

I brought my Dad into my room to show off my findings.  The larvae were wriggling and struggling out of the nest little little worms.

The next thing I knew, my Dad was outside of my window with a can of Raid. 

All the wasps, babies, struggling larvae and momma, fell dead to the bottom of my nature window.  And I was devastated.

I remember my mother coming carefully into my room.  Like many of the little girl dramas, I dealt with this one head on: face down, bawling into my pillow.

She stroked my back and explained to me that wasps were harmful. They were not pets and it didn't matter how much you loved them, they would still try to hurt you. 

"Your Dad is protecting you," said my Mom in a very serious tone.  Bless her for having patience with a daughter who is devastated by the lost of her wasp friends.  I didn't argue.  I just continued to cry hysterically.

"Plus," she said. "You wouldn't want your Daddy to get stung while he was working in the yard, would you?"

I sat straight up in my bed suddenly alarmed by this possibility.  Could my wasps really have tried to hurt my Daddy? 

Oh no

I dried my tears and watched my Dad outside from the now formerly-booty-girl-nature-window.  Those wasps needed to go.  They needed to get out of my window. 




Y'all, isn't our Heavenly Father the same way?  If He eliminates or strips something out of your life, it isn't because he hates you or wants to make you miserable.


It probably made my Dad miserable to watch me cry as a direct result of something he had done.

But he did it out of protection.  Because he knew something I didn't.



God works in the same way.  Any loss or misery we face in our daily lives has a purpose.  God wants to protect us.  He doesn't enjoy taking our pleasures away - but He wants to protect us from heartbreak. 

Sometimes we need God to step in and kill the wasps in our lives.




Happy Monday!


B.
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I'm becoming more and more frightened of the choice between the kick ass career and wife/motherhood



Even more so now, especially after I went to Target tonight specifically to purchase my very own copy of Morning Glory.



Here is my life at a glance: I'm just a waitress who occasionally also caters to the interests of a small niche of Christian University students via editing the school's online news publication. 

And I can't seem to make stuff fall into place even now.


Y'all, I can't even give up coffee for 40 days.  Yes, I partook in a catastrophic lent experiment that ended today after a 2 a.m. closing shift at the restaurant, a 9 a.m. wake-up call and one less hour of sleep. 

Sorry, Lord.  Had to do it.




How in the WORLD am I going to make this all work?  Or will I just have to give up on passion for the other? 




Monday.  Just...Monday.


B.
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Thursday, March 10, 2011

your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberry

Win of the day?



Monty Python and the Holy Grail


On sale at Food Lion (of all places!) for $8.99.  Who could resist?


I'll leave you with this:








Happy Thursday!


B.
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Tuesday, March 8, 2011

reason #874 why regent is the best thing that has happened to me (note the urgent subject line)






Y'all.   It's just too beautiful for words.





I obviously e-mailed a reply asking for a french toast bagel.  Duh.



Stir fry night at the restaurant.  Two tables.  Was cut from work at 7:30 p.m.  And made it home in time for Glee, laundry and have time to knock out two papers that I obviously didn't start over break. 



Happy.  So happy.

B.
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this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by Anna Graceman





Damn.












I mean, woah.


Her voice is the most intoxicating thing I've heard since Josh Groban.  She has all of the talent of Charlotte Church without the crazy "voice of an angel" claims.

You can tell she's just a bundle of sass.  Love that.

I stumbled upon this video while I was getting lost in the sauce of YouTube.  So many of my friends have uploaded her little sister's video: 5 year old needs a job before getting married.





These girls are going to take over the world.  You heard it here first, people!



Happy Tuesday!


B.
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Saturday, March 5, 2011

if I only had a brain



"My head is quite empty but once I had brains, and a heart also; so, having tried them both, I should much rather have a heart."


-Tin Woodman
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, 1909



Happy Saturday!   Y'all, we made it through another week!



B.
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Friday, March 4, 2011

buy it if you find me even remotely trustworthy

Christian artist and Dove-winner Francesca Battestelli released her new album, Hundred More Years, this week.

Get it now.

I first became a "Fran Fan" in the summer of 2008 when my boyfriend of three and a half years broke up.  Her song I'm Letting Go was the theme of that summer.  It reminded me to let go of the control I had (or at least, I thought I had) on my life and really let God take the reigns.

Later that year, I made the song Free to be Me my ringtone:

Got a couple dents in my fender
Got a couple rips in my jeans
Try to hold the pieces together
But perfection is my enemy.
And on my own I'm so clumsy,

but on your shoulders I can see -

I'm free to be me.
When my girlfriends and I totaled my best friend's Ford Explorer (named the "Exploder" by her family.  I'll leave it up to your imagination as to why it was named that...) on a trip to New York City that winter my phone was ringing off the hook.  My parents called every five minutes to make sure we were all okay. 

Every five minutes our conversations were interrupted by my phone ringing...

Got a couple dents in my fender...

Got a couple dents in my fender...

Got a couple dents in my fender...



At that moment, my friends did not appreciate the irony of my ringtone and asked me to change it or put my phone on vibrate already.

I didn't care.  I still loved Francesca.

I think the deal was sealed when I heard the news that my parent's godson was to be her keyboardist.  He still travels and performs with her to this day.  Currently stoked that they will both be making a stop in the Norfolk area on March 20th for Winterjam





I'm falling more and more in love with this new release with every passing day.



Happy Friday!

B.
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Tuesday, March 1, 2011

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by Claudette Colbert






It Happened One Night (1934).

What happened in movies before the Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind.


I read that Claudette had reservations about lifting her skirt.  The director said, "No problem, we'll get you a leg double."  When Claudette saw the girl who was to be her "leg," she immediately agreed to do the scene as originally written. 

She didn't like the look of that other gal's gams.

Also, fun fact: It's rumored that Bugs Bunny was inspired by Clark Gable's performance and carrot eating in this particular scene.  Who knew?

Happy Tuesday!


B.
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Saturday, February 26, 2011

the fire lane

Home in Mechanicsville this weekend.   No trays, no tips, no long hours.  Just family, friends and coffee.  Lots of coffee.

I woke up this morning to the flooding of the sun into my Tiffany blue bedroom and the smell of my Dad's famous waffles crawling up the steps.

When I was a little girl, I absolutely loved Saturday mornings for this very reason.  Every Saturday would either be pancakes or waffles day with Dad. 

I'd step into the kitchen early Saturday mornings in our little house on the Fire Lane - I always loved the name of the road I grew up in.  The Fire Lane house was a very small brick ranch on over an acre of lush green property.  To look at it now, it seems more like a dollhouse rather than a starter home for a family of three.  

But it was where my family began.  And it was where the Saturday breakfast tradition began.  I'd come running down the hallway in my barefeet and my favorite floor-length night gown that made me feel like a princess.  I'd find my Dad in the kitchen cracking eggs and pouring milk into a large plastic bowl. 

Always feeling like quite the culinary genius, I'd ask my dad to hold me up over the counter.  I'd stir the batter until it was thick and smooth.

When breakfast was ready, I'd smoother the crisp, brown waffles in some sort of Smucker's syrup.  It made everything sticky and wonderful. 

I don't know if I should divulge the fact that I loved pancake syrup so much that one morning my mom woke to find me sitting on the floor of our pantry, drinking boysenberry syrup straight up from the bottle.  

This morning I didn't wake early enough to help my Dad stir the batter, but we did sit around and chat it up, like the old days on Fire Lane.  I was still his barefoot, curly-haired, syrup loving daughter.  We talked about our latest musical downloads (his, Lionel Richie's greatest hits, mine Adele's new album, 21).



Happy Saturday!

B.
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Thursday, February 24, 2011

fortunate

Stir fry night.  Six hours. Five tables.  One spilled child's Dr. Pepper (even though it's in a plastic cup with a LID - how that little guy managed to spill it all on the floor I'll never know).  Forty-eight dollars.


BUT I did come across the best fortune cookie ever:



...in bed...




Also, I got a pretty interesting comment card - we hand out these "comment cards" to customers asking how their experience at the restaurant was - saying that:

Brett was an attentive and friendly server.  And very entertaining.

Very entertaining? 

Yeah, that was the customer I got in an argument with.  When I told him I was from Richmond he made a face and told me that "People from Virginia Beach don't like Richmonders, and Richmonders don't like people from here."

And I was like..."Well...I'm here to bridge the gap?"

Sometimes it's hard for me to reign in the sass.  But, you know, don't trash talk my city!

Typical night in the post-holiday restaurant season.  Which I have to admit has been a bit of a relief.  All of the servers here have grown accustomed to working double, sometimes even triple shifts.  I think the record of the season was an eighteen hour day.  Ridiculous.  So, as far as I'm concerned, it's okay if things slow down.  Give us a chance to live our lives on top of serving others. 






Anyway, it's spring break.  Can you believe it?  I'm so confused.  I can't believe I'm almost halfway through my graduate school career. 

I've been thinking about what's next.  I'm always thinking about what's next.  And I have to admit, I've been praying a lot about pursuing my Doctorates.  I figure as long as I'm getting a seventy-five percent discount on tuition for working at the inn, I might as well see how far I can run with it.

Plus, it would drive me crazy knowing there's a degree out there that I don't have. 


I don't think I'll be good and ready to leave this place in a year.  But, there I go, running away with the future again...I'll stick to the here for now.



Happy Thursday!

B.
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Monday, February 21, 2011

Saturday, February 19, 2011

walking at night

My feet felt like lead statues after my eight hour shift at the inn.  It was a night of constant refilling drinks and special orders like...



I want this salad...

but I don't want croutons...

and does your soup of the day have gluten because I'm intolerant...?

and may I have a side of oil and vinegar, with no dressing...?

and can you get me two high chairs for my sloppy children...?

and I'll be sure to tip you ten percent of my bill after leaving the world's biggest mess for you to clean.



But the sky was so clear and the stars were so bright that a midnight walk was definitely in order.

I texted my neighbor: Doing my paperwork and then heading home.  Wanna walk? He replied: Let's go.
And so we went. 

Our usual route is just a couple of loops around the neighborhood.  But the past couple of days we've taken a trail across the street that leads to a pretty large lake.  We've never gone through after dark. 

My friend stopped. 

We were in the middle of a game, fighting over who gets to kick the pine cones that have fallen in the middle of the sidewalk.  Stupid, I know, but most of our outings escalate into some sort of competition. 

He looked at me and then looked at the woods.  Next thing I knew we were walking down the path leading to the lake.

It was so quiet that even the tinniest snap of a twig beneath my feet made a crunch as loud as the cymbals in Sousa's march.  He warned me to be very quiet and to match his pace when we walked.

I couldn't clearly see his face, but I could tell he was annoyed.  He said, "Brett!  Heel to toe." 

"I am! I am!" I said.  Then after a few uniform paces, there was inevitable snap beneath my feet. 


He told me how important it was to stop and listen.  To make sure there wasn't something or someone following us.  He's so paranoid about things like that, but for good reason.  Let us not forget the fox incident that happened the first night we met.


We heard the sound of rustling in the leaves, and he had me so high strung that I nearly ripped his arm off, I grabbed it so quickly.  He just smiled and stood patiently with me for a moment.

And after a long night of running around the restaurant, and taking care of other people's needs, I was taken care of.  Someone cared about my protection.  Someone worried about the surroundings so that I could enjoy myself. 

Then, in the distance, we saw two deer. 

They left as quickly as they had come.  And before long, we did the same and began the trek back to our homes for the evening.



Happy Saturday!


B.
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Thursday, February 17, 2011

I can't help it. I love serving.

Now, I know how people get caught up in this industry.  It is such an awesome feeling to serve.  To go above and beyond.  Further to minister to the people that I serve. 

MORTAR of the day came from the ladies who left me a gratuity of 50% and a love note on the ticket.

Y'all, sometimes serving sucks.  I'm not going to lie.  It's so stressful.  But it's things like this that make everything worth it.  It even makes up for the crabby pants who suck down sodas and expect 6-8 refills when my entire section is packed.
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jealous.

Check it out, y'all. 

Sitting on my porch with peanut butter toast and coffee, listening to the Morning Glory soundtrack while simultaneously doing laundry.  I'm so oddly productive when the weather is nice.  Y'all should see the inside of my apartment.  All the stuff I have to keep myself accountable for - like dirty dishes, dirty clothes, crumbs on the rug, they're all taken care of. 

I haven't been procrastinating.  I almost don't even recognize myself.  It's like this baby prelude to the spring just surges within me and makes me want to crank it up a notch or two. 

It also makes me want to blog and exercise more.  Go figure.

It's also days like today that remind me who I am and what I'm here to do.  It's so freeing.

One of my girlfriends, and writers for the Daily Runner -- the small online news publication I am the editor in chief of -- wrote this refreshing article: Ode to Mount Trashmore

Barbara is one of those people who you feel automatically at peace with.  Yesterday, my Regent girlfriends and I were sitting in our mini-documentary class, watching each others interviews.  One of the girls interviewed Barbara on the beach. 

The backdrop was so beautiful - the sun was setting, seagulls were everywhere, and there was Barbara.  Completely free and herself. I was completely captivated by the whole picture.  It was stunning.  Then I immediately became sad.

I don't think I would have looked quite as natural and at peace walking on the beach if someone were interviewing me at this point and time of my life.


I decided then that I, no matter what, would no longer carry tension from the restaurant or school in my shoulders and face any more.  No matter what, I will be free.  I am free. And I will act accordingly.



B.
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Tuesday, February 8, 2011

stumbled upon this little gem while reading an article for my research evaluation methods class

[On the sense of community felt among the Maasai people - a group living on the Tanzanian and Kenyan border]




"Others try to reach the moon, we try to reach our villages."

-Julius Nyerere, former president of Tanzania


Such a commentary on the priorities of the nations.  Ours don't seem to match up as powerfully as those in the third world.


Happy Tuesday!


B.
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Sunday, February 6, 2011

mortar: a new segment

The great thing about being a waitress is that you don't ever have to take any of the stress from the office home with you.  People who make you angry and who make you swallow your pride and continue serving them with a smile, or make you take back food that isn't perfect and run into a conflict with a chef are just tickets that you have to ring up at the end of the night.

They are just receipts that you have to balance out and make sure add up.  Suddenly the man who is upset because his burger took 15 minutes to cook is just a little piece of easily disposable paper that you have to turn into the front office. 

Then you're off, you don't have to think about him ever again.  Thank heavens!

But sometimes people that you meet along the way are more than just receipts.  Which brings me to my new *segment (I like to think of this blog as my own built-in-do-it-yourself talk show, so yeah, we'll call it a segment) called: MORTAR (MORe Than A Receipt) where I reflect on the good guests - anonymous of course - who I come across in my evenings waitressing. 

And it's perfect, because a mortar is something you create food in.  So it's all good.

Well, today's mortar of late is a woman who was visiting the inn with her husband and son from Rochester, New York.  She was in town for a conference we were holding at the inn called the "Throne Zone." 

Don't ask me how we started talking about the Lord, but we did.  These things just tend to happen.  She said she was a "truth-seeker."

"The truth is like a little nugget of gold," she said.  "And you have to pan through a lot of dirt before you can find it."

She was so right.  Sometimes I feel as though my vision is so clouded by lies.  They greatly outnumber what the truth is.  And you have to shift through a lot of garbage, lies from the world, from the media - even from that little voice inside you own mind - in order to find it.

But when  you find it, it's so valuable.

It's like the show Gold Rush that my friend and I like to watch together.  These guys will stop at nothing, even severe illness, to find the tiniest little specks of gold. 

We need to be that vigilant in our own search for the truth.



All this realization from serving a beef brisket to a woman from Rochester.
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Monday, January 31, 2011

dun-dun-da-duuuuun!

Seven a.m. wake up call to the soundtrack of Glee - "Forget You."  Mornings like this when I've had less than five hours of sleep, my eyes make a very unattractive puffy-squinty combo.  This winning combination makes me crabby and adds about fifty years to my face.

But this morning when I rolled over to check my e-mail on my bedside laptop (so unhealthy, I know, and also the reason I got less than five hours of sleep every night), my eyes shot wide open.

Thank you, sweet Amy at the Pink Pony for the award! 

So, now I'm supposed to write seven things about myself, then pass the award along to some bloggers whom I also believe are "versatile."  Due to my constant procrastination, this might take a while [side note: this post took almost a week for me to finish...see what I mean?].  But it will get done!  Promise!

And, guess what?  I'm bending the rules again...

I hate writing lists about myself, because it makes me feel very uninteresting.  So, I'll write seven things I believe in instead.  That okay?  Then y'all can draw your own conclusions about me, and I won't have to feel like a boring person when I get to number three and can't think of anything to write.

1. Despite my going back and forth the past year, I believe in God.  I believe that He loves me, and that He knows the number of hairs on my head.

2. I believe in having sisters.  Biological ones are great (hey, Caro!) - but the ones that you weren't given on purpose are pretty spectacular as well.

3. I believe in coffee.  Lots of coffee.

4. I believe in left handedness.

5. I believe in journalistic integrity: writing/showing the absolute truth in a creative way while protecting the underdogs who don't have a voice.

6. I believe nothing pours out more joy than singing.

7. Macs rule, Dells drool.







Happy Monday!

B.


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Friday, January 28, 2011

preordered today.


I think this woman is perfect storm of incredible and hilarious. 

Confession?  I've begun to wear my dark rimmed glasses more often.  Because I want to be incredible and hilarious. 

Also, I've watched every episode of 30 Rock.  They just keep getting better and better.

I can't wait until April 5th.  When that day comes, I will make the necessary means to read this cover to cover.  Placing all my priorities aside.  Stuff like school work.  What a sacrifice that will be...


Thanks for allowing me to indulge a post in my celebrity girl-crush.

Happy Friday!

B.
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Monday, January 24, 2011

the king's wife

"A bell's not a bell 'til you ring it.  A song's not a song 'til you sing it.  Love in your heart wasn't put there to stay.  Love isn't love 'til you give it away." 
-The Sound of Music

Pessimism has penetrated my thoughts of relationships the past couple of days.  I'm usually a look-at-the-bright-side kind of girl, but the conversations I've been having with people about their current marital status are so discouraging.

Everyone I have talked to has been cheated on.  Everyone.  Wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends.  Everyone at one point or another has been affected by betrayal in their relationships.  Even me.

So, I'm watching t.v. with one of my guy friends, and one of the characters on the show cheated on her husband.

Me: [Staring straight ahead, under my breath, to myself more than him] I could never do that...
Him: You say that now.
Me: No, I could never do that.
Him: How do you know?
Me: I just know.
Him: But, you're not married.
Me: Thanks for the reminder...
Him: I'm just saying, you don't know what it's like. 
Me: True, but -

Him: You fall into those patterns every day, you get sidetracked, get tempted...
Me: Yeah, I know, but -
Him: It happens to lots of people.

He then went on to cite Biblical examples of women who were unfaithful to their men.  Samson and Delilah, anyone? 

I told him not to worry, I wasn't going to cut his hair off. 

But, shoot.  I couldn't argue with him.  Especially when he brought the freaking Bible into the debate.  He was totally right.  Cheating happens to lots of people.  It's happened to him.  Even people like me who swear from the beginning that they will always remain faithful.  Even those who are so concerned with people-pleasing, even the most loyal of friends. 

I think this is why this movie was so refreshing.  I learned a lot about love and marriage (or just relationships in general) from the King's Speech, watching the character of the Queen.  Just watching her character.

The movie begins with her search for a speech therapist for her stuttering husband.  She knows exactly what he needs, and she humbles herself on her quest to get it.  Abandoning her cushy life in her home, she ventures into the streets, and is treated like a regular citizen. 

She meets the therapist (without giving too much away), the protagonist, and treats him as an equal - which is more than what I can say for how her husband treated him. 

Throughout the movie, she didn't once raise her voice to her husband or get frustrated and argue with him when he wanted to give up.  She stood by him and patiently waited for him to arrive to the decision to stick with his therapy on his own.

She was never ashamed of his failures.  She loved him.  She was his biggest fan, whether he delivered a perfect speech or stammered and sputtered his words in utter humiliation.

What a beautiful thing.

It made me long to love someone in that way one day.  To embody that strength, to be that support, that patient kind, and faithful love that a man, that anyone deserves.  I hope I have the capacity and the opportunity to love someone in that way. 

If you all are blessed with that opportunity, don't let it go to waste.  Be faithful. 



B.
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Sunday, January 23, 2011

I should pay more attention to the pastor


Sunday afternoon is traditionally a time for the Christian demographic to reflect on what they learned earlier that day in service. 

And for napping.

Friends, I couldn't accomplish either of those today.  Not even the nap, and especially not the "Godly reflection."  Why?  Because not one, not two, but THREE infants were wearing these this morning:
To make matters worse, one of them had pierced ears.

Ridiculous. 

Don't get me wrong, I am pro-fashion.  But this is just exploitation to the max.  It's a cute idea in theory, but if your child is too small to sit up on her own, you should probably wait a few years before you begin weighing down your little bundle with gratuitous accessories. 

Plus if you start her off now, where will the fun be in trying on her grandmothers black pumps and pearls later on in life?  Is nothing sacred?


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I should pay more attention to the pastor

Sunday afternoon is traditionally a time for the Christian demographic to reflect on what they learned earlier that day in service. 

And for napping.

Friends, I couldn't accomplish either of those today.  Not even the nap, and especially not the "Godly reflection."  Why?  Because not one, not two, but THREE infants were wearing these this morning:
To make matters worse, one of them had pierced ears.

Ridiculous. 

Don't get me wrong, I am pro-fashion.  But this is just exploitation to the max.  It's a cute idea in theory, but if your child is too small to sit up on her own, you should probably wait a few years before you begin weighing down your little bundle with gratuitous accessories. 

Plus if you start her off now, where will the fun be in trying on her grandmothers black pumps and pearls later on in life?  Is nothing sacred?


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Thursday, January 20, 2011

cork it

Delight is making ninety dollars off of three tables. 

Serving is humbling.  Go figure, right?  And last night, I felt like Superwaitress.  I was singing Don't stop me noooowwww...I'm having such a good time...

I had just sold a $78 bottle of red wine to a three top table.  I. Was. Unstoppable.

But, as we all know...what happens when I get a big head?  Oh yeah, so put back in my place.



A coworker looked at me and said, "You know you have to present that wine to the table, right?"

"Uh, YEAH," I said with the most sass I could muster.  "I have been here four months you know.  I have learned something..."

He laughed it off like he thought I was joking.  And I do joke a lot.  So much that when I'm actually serious people think I'm joking.  I wasn't joking.  I hate it when people patronize me.  I don't joke about patronization.

I grabbed the bottle, and draped a fresh napkin across my arm and headed to the floor to present the wine. 



He called after me again, "It's a '99, so be sure the screw goes all the way through the cork."

I smiled and nodded, but inside my head was Grrrrrrrrrr.




So, I bounced to the table presented the wine.  The customer gave me the "go-ahead-and-pour" nod I wait for, and so I began to open the bottle and...

And the screw didn't go through the whole cork.  I mean, this wine was twelve years old.  The cork was brittle, and it broke into pieces in my palm.  The worst of it was, a fourth of the cork was left near the bottle's base of the neck. 

Whoops.

I panicked and left the table without saying a word.  Not like Superwaitress, more like Super-deer-caught-in-headlights-waitress.  I grabbed said coworker who was giving me such a hard time and looked at him all like fix it! 

Well, the cork fell in the wine.  And if you know anything about wine you not only know more than I do, you also know that cork in wine equals bad.  It's not only gross, it depletes the worth of the wine itself. 

And I had the audacity to be a bucket full of sass to my coworker.  What was I thinking?

So, brave coworker goes to explain the situation to the table.  And these guys are TOTALLY fine with it.  The man suggested an alternative...just pour the wine through a coffee filter.  Cork-be-gone!
 

I took the remainder of the wine to the table and apologized briefly to the gentlemen.  The man who ordered the wine looked at me, smiled and said, "I like it better this way, anyway." 


You know, we're all kind of like a bottle of wine.  We're complicated - at time fragrant (ew) - people.  We make mistakes.  And sometimes little remnants of cork fall into our lives.



And the best part is, it doesn't mess with our lives or deplete our worth.  We are loved and delighted in just the same. 
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