Because We All Need to Laugh...and Weep For Our Country

I wish I could have laughed this hard at all my 10 minute breaks at work...

I took a break from writing and came across this Web site: CakeWrecks.

Funny, funny stuff.

And after I wiped the away the tears from the crazy cake mistakes, I wept for my country. There are people out there who actually made these cakes without thinking to call the customer before sending them out.

Seriously, folks. :-)

Check out the link...it isn't the homepage, but it is part of the site I found the funniest. Go explore! Waste time! Join me in the odd mixture of joy and sorrow at these very real cakes.

Ok. Back to work.

Yo-Yo Ma Rocks!

I wish I could play the cello.

Sadly, I think there is a height requirement.

This Labor Day weekend, I'm going to try my hand at writing again. I've been far too distracted, and its beginning to show. So this weekend, I'm going to make up for the eight month long dry spell. Writers tend to be hermits, but I'll try to get some quality people-time, too. But a majority of my time will be me, my laptop (sigh...envy is hitting me again) a blank page with a blinking cursor and the playlist including Death Cab for Cutie, Beethoven, and Yo-Yo Ma.

At least I'll be in good company.

Grass is Greener

I don't mind admitting this, but sometimes, I wish that I owned a Mac.

Now, I don't usually use computers much for anything other than to write stories that no one will read, so I can't justify the cost. At the moment, I am using my friend's Macbook and I find that I am hit with the jealousy bug.

Yes, I covet. Especially when they're bright and shiny.

And newer than my current laptop.

Now, I don't usually get into the whole Mac vs. PC debate. Again, going back to the point where I don't use computers ofter than to write, I don't throw my hat into the ring. I don't mind saying that I don't know much about computers and such. For instance, I'm sitting here right now, debating on whether people still use the word "gadgets" to refer to tech toys.

Fact of the matter is, I don't care which one I use. However, I grew up with Apple computers. It was the first computer my family "owned", complete with its floppy disk drive. My elementary school taught us on the infamous Apple II computers and we thought we were on the fringe of the latest technology. In high school, I envied my best friend's new iMac when they first came out, and saddened that my laptop didn't come in funky colors like hers.

So I sit here, dinking around on my friend's Macbook, wishing that I had one, too. But in the end, I still can't justify the price to get one right now.

All of that to say is...donations are gladly accepted for the Abby-Covets-Her-Friend's-Computer-and-Now-Wants-a-New-Computer Fund.

And yes, as always, I accept all major credit cards.

A Letter from the Bleary Eyed at 3:43 AM

Dear Insomnia,

Hello again. This is letter is long in coming, so please forgive me for not telling you this sooner.

I'm breaking up with you.

We've hit a good stride back in college when I used to fill the hours with homework, reading, and last minute term papers. But since then, you've just gotten annoying. I have no use for you. Sure, staying up late can be fun, but I've got other things to live for. And I can't do that with you around.

I've tried to hide from you. I had a fling with sleeping pills. I stopped drinking coffee during the afternoon. I endured the neighbor's dogs just to keep my mind off of you. But nothing worked. Your presence is always here, and I don't know how to get rid of you.

But you're no longer welcome. You are replaced by a wonderful thing called sleep. Everyone loves sleep. I love sleep. I hope to encounter sleep every night from now on, and quite frankly, that leaves very little time for you.

So please, no midnight calls. In fact, no calls at 1:30, 2:15, 3:43, 4:07 in the morning. I won't answer. I won't respond. I've already wasted too much time on you.

Saturday

The time had finally come. Reading for pleasure doesn't come as often or stay as long as it had my first year at World Vision.

Finally having challenging projects to fill my workload, I have come to this sad realization that I can no longer finish off a book within two days of picking it up.

Sadly, I can't blame this shameful confession on my work:

I'm giving up on Saturday, by Ian McEwan.

First of all, I don't give up on books. I muddle through them, unless the last name happens to be Hemingway. (Sorry to all the fans.) I had really enjoyed Atonement by the same author, but I just can't get through the first part of Saturday.

Like Atonement, I expected the beginning to be slow. But this was excruciatingly, achingly, making my eyes roll to the back of my head slooooooooooow. At one point, someone was watching me stare off into space for three minutes while my hand rested on the same page. My friend also found it hilarious that I am usually found flipping through books quite rapidly, but this one seemed to be permanently stuck on pause.

It might be worth of note that it was my third try.

Sigh. Maybe someday I'll try again.

I just feel awful to give up on a book. And I guess this blog is my sad way of apologizing. :-)

Riding a Bike

First, I apologize for my last blog. It was a pure rant. And I usually process better before laying out my frustrations for everyone (well, the two people who read this) to see.

Funny thing is, as I was moping about my insignficance and my silent offering, I was writing my blog in the coffee shop. It was then I realized there was a line wrapping around the tables. This isn't unusual, but it looked like the shop needed some help.

So, I offered to help. To my surprise, they said yes.

As I rounded the counter and washed my hands, I rush of panic hit me. Its been nearly two years since I've been a barista...would I just be in the way? If I was in the way, it would be the pickle to my crap sandwich that is this whole week.

The stupid cliche is true. (I suppose it wouldn't be cliche, if it weren't a bit true) It was like riding a bike. I called out drinks, served pastries, prepped cups, steamed milk. I doubled-barred with the new kid and let him pull the shots while I told him which milk went for which drink. I even made conversation with the customers while I made a breakfast sandwich.

Now, this isn't my pining for my days at 6th and Pine. For the 30 minutes that I was behind the bar, I never lost sight that I did not want to do this for the rest of my life. I missed the thrill of a line to the door. I missed the communication and team work for a single goal. I missed meeting new people and making small talk with customers.

And even though I may never get to help in this way again, I do realize that God allowed it to show me that he does see significance in my presence--especially when I don't.

I am thankful that he can use broken, empty vessels like myself to be a blessing to a small group of people.

Its nice to be needed.

Losing the "Me" in "Team"

I've been quiet lately, and it mostly has to do with the fact that I am very angry.

This Sunday morning, my worship team was up. As a piano player, you don't get a whole lot of songs where you're not just playing block chords or fills. I usually don't mind because I am part of the team. When I had rejoined the worship team, it was pointed out that sometimes, the best I can offer are the things I don't play in between each note.

Being a classical pianst, this has been a struggle. I'm used to filling every measure with notes, and I had to learn the art of the "rest."

Silence can be golden.

So when I have an opportunity to actually lead a song I get excited. And this week, I had one song all to myself. I don't mean to sound proud, but I was excited to have this opportunity. I get to work on a song and see how I can make it better. The musician in me that I have long ignored craves these moments.

And so I practiced. It reminded me of working on songs over and over again for choir. I poured over the music and listened to it non-stop. I wanted this to be a good offering to the Lord and to offer more than what I had done in the past.

Of course, our practice Sunday morning was rough. And I couldn't hear myself play and see how I matched up with the band. It was to the point where I wondered if I walked off the stage if it would even matter. I felt isolated and ignored. It was heart-breaking. Usually, I don't mind because I'm two-notes-at-a-time-fill-in-girl. But I wanted to hear if my hard work on my one song had paid off. So I didn't mind that I couldn't hear myself during worship.

It isn't about me, after all. Its a team with an audience of One.

Every service, we have a recording. We use these records to listen to our blend and work on what we could do better. I rely on these recordings to become a better musician, to work on the one gift I believe God had given me.

And so I reach the end of the sermon, and nothing. Silence. Nothing. I don't know the reason why, but I'm guessing that it had to do with a timing issue. Plus, its just me. It wouldn't benefit the entire band to hear my one song. They can't learn from it.

With my wounded pride, I destoryed the CD that recorded this horrible Sunday. Of all the horrible things that happened this past week, practicing that song was my highlight and I have nothing to show for it.

I know this isn't true, but I was already feeling like I had nothing to offer. And the fact that my one offering this week was not part of the team CD just offers further proof of my insignificance on this team.

I will probably regret this venting session, but part of me doesn't care. I had hoped to be a good member of this team, and I know this mostly my pride talking. But I have gone this entire week believing there is nothing good in me, except for one single thing...and I have nothing to show for it.

So all that is left to offer is silence.

But that isn't always a bad thing.