Cheating Death?

Yesterday I read a story online about a woman who luckily missed the ill-fated Flight 447, only to die days later in an automobile accident (see http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article6479203.ece). It made me wonder: is it possible to cheat death?

Being of the younger generation, it was necessary to see all three Final Destination movies. Now, these Hollywood-created stories bring the unfortunate characters to meet death in extremely odd and horrifying manners, obviously to up the gore quota for increased ticket purchases. Watching said movies only caused me to hesitate before entering a tanning bed, boarding a plane or riding a roller coaster.

I am a Christian, and I believe the Bible's promise that everyone is appointed a time to die (Ecclesiastes 3:2), so I've often awakened and wondered "is today my day?" When I'm driving on the interstate to and from work every day (an hour and a half commute) I find myself worrying that some inept driver will cause an accident and BAM - end of me. Having anxiety disorder doesn't help with these thought processes.

Knowing that I have a specific date with death, I also am aware that there have been instances when I should have been in an accident but something or someone delayed me. We got lost. I was running late. Whatever the reason, I missed a tragedy. One example that sticks out in my mind was late one night during college. I was working at Books-A-Million, and left around midnight (as was normal) on my way home. I was speeding, just like I did every night. On this particular night, a State Trooper pulled me over. He let me go with a warning, but we spent about five minutes chatting. I continued on my way, only to come upon an accident. The only person on the scene was an off-duty police officer who had happened along right behind the wreck. I stopped and asked if he needed help. He said that backup was on the way, and then asked what I was doing out so late. I responded and informed him that I had just been stopped by a Trooper only minutes before. "You're lucky then," he said, "because your being pulled over probably saved you from this accident." The weight of his words hung on me for days. Had I really been spared from injury, or worse? I thanked God for His mercy (just in case), and went about my merry way.

I have been told numerous stories by friends and family about how they just missed being in an accident, missed a doomed flight, etc. I read news stories after 9/11 about people who had called in sick to work, or were running late for work, and were spared from certain death. So, if we have an appointed time to die, and we somehow miss it, will death find us later anyway? It found that poor woman.

That thought/fear led to another - If you were supposed to die, let's say by smoke inhalation in a house fire, but somehow you escape, would you only die later in a chainsaw accident that turned out to be much more painful and gruesome? My point is this: if you miss your somewhat peaceful death, would the follow-up attempt be much worse?

I know this is twisted and probably disturbing, but I can't help myself. I think about these things. I guess I worry about my own death more since having children. I worry about Gary trying to raise two girls; I worry that my mother won't be able to handle the loss of another daughter. When these thoughts try to consume me, I find myself praying to God and asking Him to give me more time, to let me watch my children grow up, to have more time with my family. I feel selfish for making such requests, but I can't help it.

I guess the next time I'm somehow spared from death, I will keep a close eye out for faulty wiring and bad drivers....

Ridiculousness and automakers

The other day a coworker and I were discussing GM's big bankruptcy. I was voicing my opinion that the whole problem was caused because there are simply too many versions of the exact same vehicles in about eighty different unnecessary colors. I mean really, do we need this many choices? Civic, Accord, EX, LX, Corolla, Maxima, Malibu, Altima, etc. You can buy these various but clone-like cars in white, black, bright blue, navy blue, blue-grey, ash, red, maroon, bright yellow, bright orange, lime green, forest green, pine green, silver, grey, midnight (which is the same as navy blue if you ask me), shell, purple (WHY?), pink, the list goes on and on - and that's only cars!

From that speech, I continued on with what I considered wrong with automakers in general, as if anyone actually cared. Let me share some of my thoughts with you...

First off, is it necessary to make one model car in so many colors? The industry probably wastes millions of dollars making cars in colors that people don't even buy. Really, who needs a lime green car? My idea - make vehicles in white and black. That's it. If you don't like black, buy the white one and take it to the body shop to be painted. Let that be included in the warranty and price if you want. That would save money. I know, I'm brilliant. You don't have to say it.

Second: do we really need automatic windows? Have we as a population become so lazy that we don't have the energy to roll a window down? And what if you crash your car into a lake? Do you think the automatic motor will roll the window down so you can get out? Nope. You're stuck in there.

Third: Sunroofs. I have never quite been able to force myself to appreciate a sunroof. Unless you're in a limo and want to hang out of the top yelling at people, a sunroof is not necessary. Don't get me wrong, I like sunlight as much as the next gal. However, what happens when you get in an accident and roll over? The glass in the sunroof shatters, raining down shards of glass onto you and whoever else might be unlucky enough to be in the vehicle with you. Also, I was once on a date in a car with a sunroof. We went into one of those automatic car wash places. Whilst the car was being rinsed (and a little PG-13 activity was going on), a shower of water burst through the sunroof onto said date's lap. Quite hilarious at the moment - for me, anyways.

Last, and most importantly, I think people put too much emphasis on the whole car status. People judge other people based on what vehicle they drive. It's ridiculous. I actually overheard the following conversation between two people at work one day:

Girl 1: "Mark asked me out."
Girl 2: "Really? That's great! He's so cute!"
Girl 1: "Yeah....I don't know though. I don't think he's my type."
Girl 2: "Why? What's wrong with him?"
Girl 1: "Have you seen what he drives?"

Guy in question drove an old Chevy truck. So what? Does that make him less dateworthy because he's not in a Hummer or some ridiculously overpriced sports car? P.S. I love listening in on the conversations of the shallow. Free entertainment. Plus, it always makes me feel better about myself.

I'm going to end this love fest by giving you something to ponder:

Why in the world did the HUMMER 2 I parked next to yesterday have a bumper sticker on it that said "Live Green"????

Family Reunions......blah

WARNING: The following blog may contain massive amounts of whining, moaning and complaining.


Let me first say HI to my new followers. Welcome to the crazy world of me. Also, hi to my early followers - I've been absent for a couple of weeks. I apologize!

This weekend I had to accompany my man to the reunion of his mother's family. Said reunion took place on the outskirts of Monroe, which is a good four-hour drive from our home. In the week leading up to this event, I found myself stressing immensely over not only the drive with two small children, but the packing that was to be done. Bottles, formula, diapers, wipes, toys, snacks, juice, milk, blankets, clothes, shoes, baby tylenol, baby tummy medicine, cereal, pacifiers, and the list goes on and on - and that's not even the stuff needed for Gary and myself! Luckily I did not have to work on Thursday, so I had a little bit of extra time to prepare.

Friday morning: the bags are packed and in the car, babies in car seat, Gary in reasonably good mood, we're off! Five hours later (we had to make a few stops) we arrive in Monroe at our hotel. Immediately we are reunited with Gary's parents (who we haven't seen in over a month), Gary's mother's two sisters and one sister's husband. Then it starts....

Before I can get the car unpacked, the barrage of questions begins - "How have you been?" "Are you still working?" "Should she be drinking juice?" "Have they had naps?" "When do you want to go to dinner?" On and on.....and on. Now, let me just say before people assume incorrectly - I love Gary's parents. I do. Really. I'm just the type of person who doesn't care to be bombarded with questions rapid-fire. Give me a moment to gather myself, to articulate an appropriate (and not rude) response. At least let me answer ONE question before asking another!

Fast-forward (car is unpacked, babies changed) to dinner. Fairly uneventful, which I was quite happy about. My only problem was that the LSU game was on the television across the room and I couldn't see the score. Anna was happy, so no fussy baby dealings. Hayden was merrily dipping anything and everything into honey mustard sauce (the majority of which ended up on her shirt). We retired to our rooms and thankfully had the rest of the evening to put the babies to sleep and rest.

The actual reunion took place on Saturday. We had to drive about 40 minutes into the backwoods to the home of someone's mother, I'm not entirely sure who though. We had our faithful Garmin leading the way. We were doing great until Garmin directed us to make a left onto PR### (Note: PR means Public Road - a road without a name yet). Said road was gravel. We drove down it a while, and the gravel turned into dirt. A few hundred yards further, the dirt disappeared and we were driving through grass. Suddenly, trees. Nothing but trees. The garmin showed the checkered flag for our chosen destination only a short distance away. How was this possible? Gary realized that the Garmin was picking up the public road that was not quite finished yet. Awesome. So we turned around and headed back, hoping for an alternate route to appear. "Recalculating," said Mr. Garmin as we headed down the dead-ended road. It instructed us to turn left down another public road. Gary obediently turned, and after about a half mile, another dead end. I began laughing hysterically until tears were streaming down my face. We had a quarter tank of gas, no cell service, and no idea where we were. Fabulous.

We considered laying on the horn until someone came to save us (or we attracted a starving bear or another equally horrifying animal). Finally, we decided to go back to the asphalt road and hope for the best. TA-DA! New route, and down a paved road (mostly), no less. We finally made it to the reunion, about thirty minutes after everyone else. Jokes all around, hardy-har-har. Yes, we're idiots. Moving on...

Personally, I have always been a fan of family reunions. My grandmother's family hosted reunions every single year since before I can remember, and we always had a blast. Three days together, laughing, eating, staying up late, and catching up. Wonderful memories. However, it's a slight different when it's not YOUR family with which you're reunioning (not sure if that was an actual word, but you get me).

If you're lucky, you know a handful of people there. Extremely lucky if you know ten people. Myself, I somewhat knew about 9 people. Other than that, complete strangers. So, of course you get the "who is that girl?" stares. People asking you a million questions about who you are, what you do, where you're from, blah blah blah. Then if you're a parent, any time you do anything at all with your child(ren) you get the looks that say "I would never let my child do that/give my child that/etc." These people don't even know you and within ten minutes they've decided that you're a terrible parent and can't understand why in the world someone in their family would be with someone like you. Then comes the advice. People want to share their wonderful parenting skills with you.

I'm not saying these aren't good people. They are all probably wonderful people. My thing is this: if you don't know me, please don't attempt to enlighten me.

I endured four hours of uncomfortable conversation and strangers holding my children before Gary - thankfully - decided it was time to go. Back to the hotel for a rest, then dinner AGAIN with about twenty-five people. We sat down at six and ordered. At eight, we were just receiving our dinner. My girls were restless, we were tired. Gary decided we would get the food to go and just leave. Apologies all around, goodbye.

So last night everyone gathered in Gary's parent's hotel room to tell stories and hang out. I luckily needed to stay in our room to tend to the babies. After putting Anna down, I got in bed and drifted off into a peaceful sleep, dreamily awaiting morning and our return home.

Back to today. We're home. It's fairly late, both babies are asleep. Peaceful. I'm sure I've rambled quite ridiculously here. I don't even know if it all made sense. Hopefully I made some sort of point. I can take some joy in knowing that these reunions are only every OTHER year. Yay.

Old Navy.......or a glimpse of hell?

It is well known that I am a lover of all things flip flop. Multi-colored, wedge, leather, rubber, I love 'em all. So imagine my delight when I saw a commercial for Old Navy this morning promoting a one day only sale of flip flops. $1.00 - any color you like. I was so excited!

I promptly began the process of getting my children and myself ready to leave the house; this takes a good hour and a half. I got them dressed, took a shower, got myself dressed, made bottles, packed diapers, loaded Anna into her carseat, and my cousin and I put the babies in the car, buckled our seatbelts and hit the road.

When we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed an unusually large number of vehicles parked in the vicinity of the store. I looked on either side of Old Navy. To the left is what used to be a grocery store that is now closed. On the right is a shoe store that never has more than a handful of shoppers in it. I realized that all of the passengers from these cars were in my store........buying my flip flops.

We searched impatiently for a parking spot less than quarter-mile from the store, finally lucked out when someone pulled out of a spot near the store, parked and went in.

Wait, this is not Old Navy......this is hell. There were people everywhere. Everywhere! Kids playing with the dog mannequin in the front of the store (which I must say I see no use whatsoever for a dog mannequin, it's simply a waste of hard plastic and also kind of creepy), people browsing over every table, every rack. Every register was open with lines going all the way to the very back of the store. I'm not kidding. It was like flipflopalooza in there.

We forced our way through the crowds, maneuvering the ridiculously oversized stroller carrying Anna around people and clothing. We reached the flip flop wall, stopped and stared. Where were the flip flops? They were gone. An entire wall of flip flops, nearly barren. The only remnants were a few pairs of size 5 and 6 flip flops in light pink and purple. Those didn't remain long either; a couple of 12ish year-olds came barging past us and grabbed those off of the wall in a flash of ponytails, plaid and giggles.

I glanced at my cousin, who looked just as shocked and appalled as I was. I sighed, dejected, and began walking towards the baby clothes. Despite this terrible turn of events, I was determined to spend at least a little bit of money. I wandered aimlessly through the racks, grabbing a few pairs of shorts, some shirts, and a cute bathing suit for Hayden. Feeling slightly better, I turned to face the checkout line. The end of the line appeared to be in the exact same place it had been when we first entered the store. I looked from the line to the clothes, then back again. Did I really intend to spend precious minutes of my life standing in this nearly motionless line? No. I put the clothes back, fought my way back through the crowd and exited the store.

Next time, I'll just pay the extra $1.50.

Dare I conform to the fads of technology?

This whole thing started over an iPhone.

It's that time again....time to upgrade. The ads are everywhere, people preach at you as if they're faithful followers of some iPhone religion. "You have to have it!" "It's AMAZING!" "I can't imagine not having one now that I've seen what it can do!" Why do people insist on shoving this advanced piece of technology at me? It's as if I will been seen as a disappointment if I refuse to spend an obscene (to me, anyway) amount of money on a piece of equipment that I will most likely lose, or that will be dropped into the toilet by my 1 year old.

I guess I'm what you would consider a baby as far as technology goes. We didn't get the internet at my house until I was a sophomore in high school (1999ish). The world wide web blew my mind. Before that, the only playing I did on a computer was Oregon Trail day in junior high school. But once I had a taste of chat rooms, email, online games, I was hooked. I do have to admit that I always seemed to be just a slight bit behind all of my friends. They had figured out chat rooms long before I even knew what one was.

Then came webcams. Now, the mere idea of this freaked me out. Strangers watching you doing.......what? Typing? Eating potato chips? Little did I know that there was an entirely different use for these little peep show products. I won't elaborate on that one.

As far as cell phones went, they were pretty much nonexistent at my high school. If you had any type of communication device, it was a beeper. And for the most part, the people with beepers were dawdling in some less than legal activities. The only people who had cell phones were the super-rich kids. The ones who carried Coach purses to school. (Only later in life -and by that I mean very early 20s - did I learn the wonderfulness of a ridiculously expensive handbag)

Only when I graduated high school and began an hour-long commute to college did the idea of me owning a cell phone even present itself. After an extremely tiring conversation with my parents about the responsibilities of taking care of a cell phone and paying the bill on time, I was given my very first cell phone. It was a Nokia 5110. The main purpose for me having said phone was in case of an emergency (flat tire, accident, kidnapped and locked in the trunk, etc). However, once my friends introduced me to the world of text messaging, I quickly learned that cell phones were much more useful than I had ever imagined.

From that point on, I kept a cell phone until it was broken. I recall tearing up two cell phones myself by dropping them into glasses of sweet tea. It didn't really matter back then what kind of phone you had. As long as you had a cell phone, you were in. Be honest, we all know what that means.

This technology, which began as a celebration of how far we've come, how advanced we were, started to change into something else..... enter pop culture.

All of a sudden no one was listening to good 'ol AM/FM radios anymore; satellite radio was the new thing. Laptops everywhere, bigger screens, lightweight, HD, Blu-ray, wireless, blah blah blah. Something new would come out, and the old stuff wasn't good enough anymore. Everyone just had to have the newest version of whatever piece of equipment the advertisers were shoving in our faces.

Welcome to iPod world: all of your music shoved into this teeny, tiny, miniscule product that could easily be lost if not for the earphones attached to it. I rebelled against the iPod, just as I had with satellite radio, HD and blu-ray (I did cave and acquire a laptop, which I love). Before I knew it my sisters, friends, even my DAD had iPods. They continuously insisted that I would be so much better off if I would just give in and purchase this wonderful thing. Nope, not me. I refused.

In all honesty, I truly had no interest whatsoever in having one. Could have cared less. Although, being a music lover, I had in my possession over 700 cds that were somewhat of a burden to carry around all the time. Still, I couldn't see myself keeping up with one of those things.

Despite my outspoken refusal on the subject, Gary bought me an iPod touch for Christmas this past year. I was apalled. Me? An iPod owner? Noooooo. I spent a good three weeks in protest before I finally gave in and began tinkering with the thing. Suddenly I found myself engrossed in the many wonderful features that this tiny piece of technology had. I copied every one of my cds onto the thing (which I was amazed at - how could it possible hold that many songs?). I put pictures on it. I downloaded books and games. I have to say though, that I felt justified in that the games I downloaded were designed to exercise the brain. I still have morals, after all.

So, having broken down and accepted that I, too, could be persuaded to actually like this advanced technology, the time came for the upgrade. My current cell phone is a Samsung Sync. I love it. The menus are easy to navigate, I can text well on it, I can always hear people I'm talking to, etc. It's a great phone. Sometimes, though, when I'm out in public and talking on my phone I get these looks. The looks I get are similar to looks of pity, like the one you would give a stray dog on the side of the road. It's as if they are all thinking, "Oh, poor thing, she's technologically retarded." I feel like the ugly duckling. All because of my not-top-of-the-line cell phone. Am I really so shallow? Do I actually care if people look down on me for the type of phone I have? Not so much, no. However, I do need to upgrade. Whether subconsciously I yearn to be socially accepted or I just really do want a new phone, I'm not sure.

After rambling on for the past few paragraphs, though, I think I have decided that I do not, in fact, want an iPhone. I'll settle for something less......fad-like.

The little joys in life

• my 16 month-old daughter trying to dance along with music playing on the television
• puppies
• a large fountain coke
• rocking chairs on a front porch
• cuddling :)
• singing at the top of my lungs in the car
• DVR
• my 5 month-old giggling at her older sister
• flip flops
• LSU football
• boiled crawfish
• sweet tea
• music
• rain on a tin roof
• reading a good book
• roadtrips
• sunflower seeds
• romantic comedies
• roller skating
• fishing on a hot summer day
• bubble baths
• coffee
• Sunday lunch at Mawmaw's
• Springtime
• Snow days
• slinkies
• walking through a museum
• karaoke
• board games
• sushi
• a day at the park
• walking on the beach at night
• 80s films
• raw cookie dough
• fortune cookies
• F*R*I*E*N*D*S
• double entendres
• Disney films
• drawings by children
• photography
• sarcasm
• Simon Cowell
• "Saved by the Bell" reruns
• live bands
• roly poly bugs
• toe socks
• driving down the road with no particular destination
• bookstores
• coffee shops (I'm talking small-time shops, not Starbucks)
• flea markets
• yard sales
• sock hats
• themed events
• poppyseed muffins
• hoodies
• Egyptian cotton sheets

Wednesday

I'm sitting here at work.

Quite often I find myself with great amounts of free time while I'm forced to endure eight long hours here at this place that enables me to live somewhat comfortably. Most of my free time is usually spent on facebook, which I'm sad to say I have developed an addiction to. I decided yesterday that I would no longer allow myself to waste away so much of my brainpower and precious free moments attempting to save the rainforest by sending and receiving imaginary plants (and little people with plant clothing on, which is kind of creepy) with my facebook pals.

I decided to mess around with my blog, which I have neglected since starting it only a few weeks ago. A friend of mine has one, and after reading a few of her posts I was inspired to create my own. Of course random strangers would love to read about the everyday thoughts and moments that are my life. I wrote two blogs, and then....nothing. What's wrong with me? I always excelled in writing during my education. Heck, I was even offered a journalism scholarship to ULL, which I regrettably declined. I have written short stories, poetry, even made a few attempts at novels over the past seven or eight years.

Writing is part of me. It's who I've always been. Yet somehow, I read the blogs of others here and I feel intimidated. Ridiculous. Almost as if I'm some pretender trying to be cool and keep with the times. The way that people express their thoughts and feelings fascinates me. The wording just flows, humor shows up unexpectedly. I've even felt the urge to cry while reading a few of the more personal blogs. How can I even attempt to be as creative as the others? Will I spend hours writing out blogs that no one will ever read? Will my words just float around in cyberspace for eternity (or until Mr. Gates creates some more advanced form of communication), wasted and useless?

After spending much time obsessing about this, I decided that it didn't matter if no one reads my stuff. Besides, the short stories and poetry that I have shared with friends and family have all been embraced completely. They think I'm funny. Creative. Imaginative. That's all that matters, right?

What's funny to me, though, is that I titled my blog quite fittingly without even knowing. It may not be a big deal to anyone else, but if it's a big deal to me, by God, I'll write about it!

Rearranging furniture.....or rearranging life?

So, for the past two days Gary and I have been moving furniture around in the girls' room and in our living room. No matter how I set up the rooms, I am not happy. It's as if there is some magnificent solution to the clutter that we have accumulated, but it remains just slightly out of my grasp.

After finding myself disappointed for the third time yesterday, it occurred to me that this attempt at order in my home could be a reflection of some inner turmoil that my subconscious may be dealing with. I decided to stop and meditate on my current place in the universe. Am I happy in my relationship? Definitely. Am I happy being a parent? Absolutely. Do I love my job? For the most part. Are there any problems that I am aware of? Not really. So what is it, then, that escapes my conscious mind, but disturbs my sleep at night?

I went to bed last night still hoping for a light bulb to go off, for some sudden realization to present itself to me. Alas, nothing came. My sleep was interrupted during the night, but not due to an inner conflict. It was my youngest daughter, Anna. Maybe it is she who has a problem, and I am reacting to her sympathetically, unknowingly. She was gassy yesterday...

Despite this situation, I have managed to find an arrangement in both rooms that is suitable to me. For now, anyway.

"Your hidden creative talents will soon be revealed."

That was the fortune cookie I received on Wednesday when Kiley and I got take-out Chinese. It made me wonder: at the age of 24 (almost 25), shouldn't I already be aware of any/all "hidden" talents that I may possess?

Naturally, as a person grows from a young child into an adult, various talents become apparent through different experiences. Some people are blessed with an array of talents (ie: musical, athletic, artistic), while others possess only a specific gift. Sometimes the talent can be strange, even extremely odd. I, myself, have a few "interesting" talents.

So, as I'm thinking about the talents I am already aware of, I begin to wonder if I do, in fact, have somewhere deep within the recesses of my mind, some brilliant ability that could change mankind, cure a disease, or win a Nobel prize? Do I contain the answer to some age-old question? Am I really as smart as Einstein and just simply not exercising an extra 5% of my brain?

How do we really know what all of our special talents are unless someone provokes it from within us? How many of us go through life not using the gifts that we've been given? What if at a particular moment, in one instant, a talent that we have could be used for greatness, but we aren't even aware that we possess it?