Inspired by a lack of inspiration

I just got back from Pizza Hut. Let's not talk about how not on the diet that visit was. I did get to see the California Kroondyks and the darling Chicago Mark . . . oh, I miss him. That part of the visit was definitely on the diet.

Then I came home and got online--to look for a new job and get the church softball schedules. But then I started visiting my favorite blogs, and I realized that it's been too many days since I checked some of the those out. (Sorry, WMW.) It's inspiring to me to read what people have to say. So here are my randomly inspired thoughts for the day:

I don't keep the monitor turned up very high, because the clicking of the baby swing gets annoying. I was watching the lights fill up the monitor and thinking that there was no way that the baby was screaming that loudly. Then I realized it was the children outside. They better not wake the baby.

I need to somehow reclaim my life. When I really think about what is consuming it, I am forced to realize that it isn't the baby. It's laziness. I simply must do something for me. Maybe I'll make a list about it.

My mom asked me why I was reading a certain book over the weekend. She asked if it was for a class. When did I get so old that I read books intended only for educational consumption?

Anderson Cooper recently asked, or rather I recently read that he asked, why we care about the weather in Houston when we live thousands of miles away. That's an interesting question. Is it really fair to say that I'm just being "global" in my caring when it probably just becomes another obssession and reason to lie around watching the telly?

Happy 25th birthday, HIV/AIDS. Oh, how grand the world would be without you.

Hippy Pappy Bthdy

So it's my birthday tomorrow. I'll be 29. I'm not too worried. Now 25? That was a hard year. But 29? Nah. Piece of cake. Or rather, piece of apple crisp ala mode, if I'm lucky. I'm excited about 29, though I'm not sure why.

I have my birthday money all mentally spent, and I can't wait to enjoy my new purchases. I also know that my husband and my sweet baby girl have some fun things for me. Since I love getting new things, birthdays and I get along quite well. I also love the wisdom (cough) and experiences that each new year brings, so I have never been too concerned with growing older. Well, except for 25. I hit a major quarter-life crisis at that point. I think it was because I noticed a number of gray hairs on my head, my husband was still in college, and there was no baby cradle in my house. I felt like so much was missing from my life . . .

Now 29 is fast approaching. And I'm excited about what this year will bring. Not just the new toys to clutter my house or the new books to add to my already-too-long book list, but the deeper things that seem to matter more the older you get. I'm excited for Ellie to learn to walk, I'm excited to explore Maine and NYC and Boston, I'm excited to learn more about who I'm becoming.

This is a good life, the one I get to live. And there is plenty to be excited about. Including that apple crisp.

I Thessalonians 4:13-14.

A dear saint from our church died last week Wednesday. That was the same day that my grandpa would have turned 96 years old. Grandpa has been gone for 7 1/2 years now. But it doesn't stop hurting, really. It's just a new hurt.

We spent Tuesday evening with Jerry. He sat across the table from us at an auction, and he kept saying that he should be allowed to bid on Ellie since she was there. By the end of the night, I told him that I would PAY him to take Ellie. I was joking, of course, but he would gladly have taken her. When we were leaving, I said, "See you Sunday." He said, "Yes. See you Sunday."

Then, on Wednesday, he died. I saw him Sunday, all right, but he didn't see me.

Over the last few days, things that we said to each other in our short time of friendship have been creeping back into my mind. He loved that I sang on the worship team. He loved my daughter. He loved to laugh. He loved to sing--loud. Just like me. Tuesday night, we were eating dessert, and he was loving his strawberry cake. He looked at my German chocolate cake and asked, "Is that coconut on top?" I looked down and said, "Yes. And it's great."

What a strange thing to remember.

I think the thing that has hit me the most is that I was distracted on Tuesday night. When I spent time with Jerry, I didn't know that it was the last time we'd spend together. I didn't know that we should spend our time saying more than how great our desserts were. I figured we'd have other time to talk about how much we meant to each other. Instead, I told his wife after his funeral. I was eating dessert then, too. But there wasn't coconut on top. I wonder if German chocolate cake will always be to me Jerry's dessert.