a week in pictures

Here's a small selection of the pictures I took last week while on vacay.


My sister snapped this one of me and Jonathan before we all took my mom out for her birthday. And just like good little grown-up children, we let her buy lunch. Love you mom!!!!!

You all really thought I was joking when I told you about this sign on the 68-80 bypass in Russellville. Like I could make something like this up.

Okay, so this is where my in-laws live. No lie. Actually, they're in the process of building a gorgeous new house and are living in this 1960 Greyhound bus that's been converted into an RV. Cozy.

Henry the dog loves to bring you dead things as a peace offering of sorts when company comes. This deer skull made me feel so welcome.

Remember me talking about all my chigger bites? Yeah, I think this is when it happened. I was just innocently trying to find a four leaf clover. Five days have passed and I'm still itchy. Not cool.

denouement

My wonderful time in Kentucky has quickly drawn itself to a close. Soon Jonathan and I will be all packed up in the truck and begin the long trek back to Texas. Leaving always gets me down, but I should be well on the road to recovery by the time we reach the Missouri state line. I have tried to soak up every moment, savor the precious litttle time I had with my dad, and appreciate the little nuances that give my hometown its charm.

There's that one barbeque restaurant we go to with my father. The walls are covered in fishing tackle, miscellaneous mounted dead things, and sun-faded local sports memorabilia. Stephen King stopped and ate there once back in the late 80s; his picutre with an assortment of foufy-haired waitresses is hung proudly near the entrance. You can always count on having the same dining experience at a place like that. My father will know at least 30% of the dusty old farmers eating in there. You will be waited on my a young girl already leathery from the tanning bed, smelling faintly of Marlboro Lights. No matter where you are seated, you can not escape the photos of Rick Pitino, retired RHS football coach Ken Barrett, and just enough WKU posters to appease the diehard Hilltopper fan. Oh and around these here parts, their BBQ is the stuff of legends.

Every time I come home, I get a huge kick out of the big blue sign on the 68-80 bypass that reads, "TOURIST ATTRACTION: DAIRY QUEEN .01 MILES". I was lucky enough to snap a photo of it on my way out of town; otherwise, I don't think anyone in Texas would believe it.

Russellville is one of those places that never really seems to change despite population growth and the ebb and flow of various businesses. I got my Bethel Dipper fix as soon as we came into town. Their ham and cheese sandwiches, onion rings, and milkshakes fill my belly as well as my soul whenever I make it back home. I also enjoy telling Jonathan about the town as we cruise around. This is where the crappy video store used to be, the last one to offer videos on BETA. Over there was where I got my first job delivering pizza. That used to be my favorite Chinese restaurant, before all the employees came down with hepatitis and got deported.

Ah, memories.

Unfortunately, our trip wasn't without its flaws. For my mom's birthday, we took her to the mall and then to the movies to see The Devil Wears Prada. It would have been nice had the electricity not gone out halfway through the movie and we all had to leave, refund in hand. The same thing actually happened the last time we went to the movies, but it was okay because the new Superman movie really sucked and that ten or so minute intermission was sort of welcome.

Early in the week, I went for a stroll around my in-laws property, taking pretty pictures of flowers, searching for four leaf clovers, investigating an old barn. Fast forward to today and I am still clawing at the 15 or so chigger bites that have appeared on my legs. Maybe they're bug bites or maybe it's the after effects from eating tainted moo goo gai pan three times a week for two years. I might post some of those pics of the pretty flowers but I think I'll spare you the sight of me looking like a leper.

We'll be starting home here in a bit, so I should pack. Time to go back to my messy house, prepare my husband for yet another job interview, and see if I still remember how to be a jeweler.

Must go now. Time for another dose of Benadryl and Lanacane.

for everything there is a season

Well we finally made it to Kentucky after many hours on interstate 40 with a carsick cat. Oliver did okay, really, it was just that whenever we took him out of his carrier, he turned away from the windows and buried his head into the seat. Looked like this pathetic little ostrich or something. We managed to make it to his parents place a little before one this morning. Bluh. I hate getting a late start. We didn't leave the house until 8:30 yesterday morning (I wanted to be GONE before six) and about ten minutes into the trip, we ask each other, "Uh, you turned the coffeepot off, right?" Of course, we turn around and go back to the house and discover that it was already off. Grrrrr. I must have had an out-of-body experience when I flipped that switch since I have absolutely no memory of doing it.

Then we hit the morning traffic in Fort Worth. And almost died once or twice through Dallas, but that's typical since there's always tons of construction and idiots.

Hmmmm. I think I'll dispense with the play-by-play of our twelve hour tour towards the Bluegrass State. We had some Taco Bell, managed to keep the cat from barfing or escaping, and did not have a collision or fender bender of any sort. Ever since we bought the truck new this past Labor Day, it has had the back fender replaced twice, had the door dented (the day after we got it), had a runaway Dr. Pepper explode in the passenger side seat, had the antenna bent and side mirror busted due to a flying cardboard box on the interstate. So needless to say, spending an entire day in that truck with no incidents is something to note. We can only hope that fate will smile down on us again when we drive back this weekend.

Coming home is so wonderful but I am already dreading the reality of having to leave. I wish I could just sit back and enjoy my time here, but I tend to count down the precious few hours I have until we have to pack up and go back. So I'm trying to relax and appreciate each moment. Right now, I am sitting in a Greyhound Bus circa 1960 that has been converted into a camper. My in-laws have been living here since October while they are building a new house. This RV/bus/camper thing is so cramped and uncomfortable, it's almost funny. Strange that I don't mind being here. I've always enjoyed spending time at Jonathan's house with his family. I like the predicability of the food we eat, the conversations we have, the dog coming in occassionally and running amok.

It's the same way with my grandparents, who we got to stop and see for a few hours last night. It's pretty low action over there, just lots of good food and mild conversation. They have this old pendulum clock (sort of seventies and ugly to be honest) that I have loved my entire life. For as long as I've been around, it's been hanging on the wall above their couch, with pictures of my mom and her three sisters on either side of it. It makes the most perfect ticking sound. I think the soft, slow clicks remind me of how time seems to stand still there, how my mother's family has managed to stay virtually the same despite births and deaths, marriages and divorces, good times and sad ones. I was glad last night that I had the opportunity to tell my grandmother how appreciative I was about all that. But I know in my heart that things inevitably will not always be the same. Years from now, my grandparents will be gone and those of us left will have to pick up the pieces and try to manage to keep the family together; to try to find some sense of normal again. I dread that day but I know it will someday come, like it or not.

So that's why I'm home. It's so painful to leave because I know that one day I will go back to Texas and life will be very different the next time I come back. I try to make memories for myself while I'm here and appreciate all these good things that I don't want to change. But they will.

unburdened

Today was one of those days at work where you plug one leak with your fingertip and another one sprouts and you plug that one, and it just goes on and on until you are spread out against the wall. Another one starts spewing near your forehead, but you can't stop it because your chin is busy right now.

That's really about the only way I can describe today. But there's no need to deal with that here, it's just your normal day at the jewelry store. I don't want to use this page (and those who read it) as some sort of self-help, Dr. Phil session to deal with the day-to-day workplace crap. So I'll dispense with that and just fill you in on the interesting stuff. Like last night. Man, I wish I could have seen this. Big fat roach about 2 inches long crawls across the showcase while the salesguy tries to sell a couple an engagement ring. Heh. I'm told he screamed like a little girl and the customers were more freaked out by him than the unwanted guest. How's that for romantic? That's Jared! Sorry. Couldn't help but throw in that annoying jingle.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that work problems come and go. People take turns being rude little backstabbers (I think a few of them are cutting in line), mistakes are made and then get dealt with, folks get hired and fired. Other things in our lives, other issues tend to stick around a bit longer and wear on our souls. At least, that's the case with me. I'd rather spend my days having to manouver through "well she stole my commission!" or "why can't I have this work done now?" or "we're trying to make sales, what are you doing, repairs?" than some of the other challenges and hardships that seem to have no end.

Usually my techniques for dealing with such problems consist of a) crying and b) prayer. Hmmm. Not the most advanced methods for problem solving, but it's all I've got. And I've been using them for the better part of my 26 years. Frustration, heartache, and anger build up and a good cry helps to relieve the mounting pressure. I hate crying, especially in front of anyone. Plus, I'm an ugly crier; I get all red and splotchy and my waterproof eye makeup quickly fails me. However there are times when you just gotta. You can feel nauseated for hours on end, or you can just close your eyes, puke your guts out, and start down the road to recovery. I spent some time this evening blubbering over the phone to my mom and the world now seems just a shade or two brighter than it was. Maybe it was the long-awaited release of tears, or the support of a loving mother. Doesn't matter I guess.

The latter of my two tried-and-true techniques I do all too rarely. Prayer is an unbelievably humbling experience for me. It is useless to lie or sugarcoat the truth. He knows what I am going to ask for, what I will undoubtedly ask forgiveness for, and what I am so grateful for, even before I open my mind to Him. He knows the root of the problem, saw it happen, and can see how it will untangle itself even though I can not.

So what's the point in praying? Why bother?

Just so you know, I sat here and stared at that blinking cursor for quite some time. Why pray? Well the Bible says to, of course. My only honest, from-the-heart answer is that God wants to hear it from me. Straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. If Jonathan is going through great emotional distress, chances are I'm going to be very much aware of it, even if he doesn't tell me about it. Why? I'm his wife. I'm a part of him, and he of me. The last thing I would want would be for someone I love to carry a heavy burden alone. I'm willing to share it, that's why I married him. I doubt God wants me to trudge through the trials of life when His help is readily available. The hard thing about prayer is that answers don't always come on our timetable. We want to hear YES!! without delay. People, myself included, are incredibly impatient. Dial-up is too slow, so we upgrade to DSL. No time to watch the commercials, so we TiVo our favorite show. But God is not digital, he can't email His answers to your blackberry. And when He does answer, it is not necessarily the response we wanted.

Once again, why pray?

Prayer always helps me find a sense of calm when I so desperately need it. Call it "inner peace", call it "nirvana", call it whatever you want. Cheesy? Quite possibly. Too simple an answer? Sorry. It's all I've got. Too often I use prayer when other conventional methods have failed. But perhaps that's exactly why they all failed. I've got my priorities backwards. Maybe I should pray first and then take action having God on the same page.

I have found that when I pray, I feel a compulsion to tell him how grateful I am for what He has given me. Over time, I have felt the need to do this first, like I should say "thank you" before I start rattling off my long list of requests. My prayers seem to have fallen into a fairly predictable pattern. One does not have to be God to figure out what I'm going to say next. But I don't think my choice of words or my repetitiveness is the issue. My thesaurus is better left to be used while blogging, rather than while praying.

I'm going to try to keep all this in mind when I say my prayers tonight before bed. I'll stumble through my usual conversation, but it'll be okay. He'll just be glad I called.

lone star whatnot

When people refer to Texas as a completely different country and really not a state at all, I used to just snicker a bit at the holier-than-thou, self-righteous comment. When I hear that these days, I kinda get what they mean. Texas is a state unlike any other, that's for sure. I'll venture to say that it has the most personality of any that I've visited (that would make Indiana come in last...sorry to all my hoosier friends).

I've been here for over four years now, but I still don't know if I'd consider myself a "Texan". I still think of Kentucky as home, but I think of Texas the same way when I'm in Kentucky. My driver's license says Texas, as do my license plates. Is my proverbial heart in Texas? Of that I am not sure. But I am starting to feel like I belong here in a way and I enjoy telling folks from home where I am these days. Texas is still an exciting place to be with a rich and diverse culture, a great deal of appreciation for the arts, and a fascinating breed of people unlike any I've met.

They say that "everything is bigger in Texas", and that seems to be the case, for the most part. Big hair, big ranches, big meal portions, and good lord, big trucks. The latter is the one that I find most entertaining. Trucks are useful to farmers, various small business owners, and the like. In Texas, however, the truck is something to take pride in, to be passionate about. Ford versus Chevy versus Dodge, the battle rages on. And there's always someone with a truck bigger than yours. I've developed a theory on this. The bigger the truck, the smaller the...man. Ahem. I frequently laugh out loud when I see some ridiculous, otherwise pathetic-looking pickup trolling down the interstate all souped up with what appears to be monster truck rally tires. Yeah, that goober driving it thinks he's somebody. But I truly think he's just trying to compensate for something that I'll not mention here. Heh heh heh. I'll bet ole Freud would have a thing or two to say about that if he was alive. The truck manufacturers are banking on the Texas thing, big time. Every commercial says, "TEXAS FORD TOUGH" or "BIGGER IN TEXAS, BETTER IN A DODGE". They assume that they will sell more trucks here if they attach the word Texas on the vehicle somewhere, and the proud Texan rednecks will come like moths to a flame.

Note: Our lovely Dodge Ram 1500 is indeed the "Lone Star Edition" but that is only because it had the nice seats and CD player, but none of the other useless crap. If we wanted the little metal decal to put on the outside of the truck, it would put us back $200. Uh, thanks anyway.

Trucks are just one of many examples of how strange an animal the great state of Texas is. I'm still pretty entertained for the moment, so I doubt our house will be on the market anytime soon. Everything might really be bigger in Texas (egos definitely are), but I'm still evaluating the one about the steers and queers. I'll be sure to get back to ya on that one.

mama I'm comin' home

Well I am just about giddy with anticipation. Next week is my vacation, and I'll be trading the stifling 106 degree Texas heat for the stifling 96 degree Kentucky heat. I rarely get to see my friends and family back home, so I usually coerce my husband into driving me there while I'm on vacation from work. I take a lot of pride in my career and I enjoy telling people all about what I do for a living, but there are several drawbacks to being in the jewelry industry. The most difficult this is the fact that we are busiest during the holiday season, so we are working overtime while the rest of the world spends time with their loved ones (and not so loved ones...ha). If I wanted a break from work during Christmas or Thanksgiving, it would be a permanant one. The other crap thing is the fact that I only have two weeks of vacation for the entire year. I'll get a third week after being with the company for five years. Sheesh. That's still two years away for me.

Jonathan, on the other hand, is a public school music teacher. He will usually go home to visit his folks a couple of times a year while I stick around here and "make the donuts". I have no problem with this; "me" time is often hard to come by. But by the time my vacay rolls around, he's already been home and wants to go on a trip somewhere else. I just want to spend some time with the folks and my sister. So I feel a little guilty about vetoing his much-desired trips to Washington state or Wyoming (he's my little nature boy).

But I married a kind and understanding man, so we will be pressing east to Kentucky sometime Monday morning. Those who know me well know that I can't do much of anything without worrying or stressing about it to some degree. I'm already fretting about how I'm going to spend my precious little time. Five or six days there is such a small amount of time when I want to see my parents, sister, grandparents, and my in-laws. Yes my friends, you read that right: my in-laws. I consider myself unusually blessed to want to see Jonathan's folks and sister almost as much as I do my own. I know that I am most certainly in the minority on this one. Maybe I'll tell you all why they're so great in a future blog. Mmmmm. Hopefully that won't deter any of you from continuing on with me here.

For those of you who either a) have never had the pleasure of visiting Kentucky or b) don't know anyone from there, let me clear up some common misconceptions. We do wear shoes. I'm friggin' tired and just got home from work so I am comfortable in my bare feet at the moment; but if i am going to be going anywhere beyond my property lines, I am always properly and sometimes fashionably, shoed. Thanks for asking. Also, you will not be able to check my family tree and discover my husband on any branch other than the one next to my name. He ain't my daddy or my cousin last time I checked. I think I knew one chick in college who actually admitted to kissing her cousin, but that's the closest thing to inbreeding that I know about. So spread the gospel, okay? And don't fret. We do indeed have internet access, even out in the boonies. You won't have to go a whole week without reading my daily take on life. Yeah, I know you were all worried, but I'm not going anywhere.

some nice things

I frequently re-read my blog postings and all the comments that they generate. Mostly I just write about what is on my mind at the end of my day, but exhaustion, hunger, and stress turn my normal thoughts into paragraph after paragraph of complaints about "who done me wrong" and "how stupid is that?". So this evening, in lieu of my usual fussing, I'll mention a handful of things that bring joy.

Okay YES, this is in part because today consisted of nothing I deem interesting enough to share with my online community. And yes, I love making lists like these. Lists can bring joy if you let them...

Cheese brings joy. Jonathan and I spent part of yesterday afternoon strolling through Central Market in Fort Worth. It's this monstrous grocery store of super fresh foods and other specialty items I would have no clue what to do with. Their cheese department (yes, friends...department) fills me with a lust like no other. Brie, feta, gorgonzola, you name it, they've got it. A giant wheel of cheddar weighing several hundred pounds. Little white cubes of I don't know what floating peacefully in oil. Crap I've never even heard of. Truly, a wonderful place. Anyone familiar with the cheese sketch from Monty Python's Flying Circus? They probably have one of every cheese mentioned there. And without the annoying musicians.

The cat brings joy. The few, tiny flickerings of materal instinct in me are directed at the cat. Pets make us do stupid things. One I have discovered is the constant questioning.
"Who's a good kitty?"
"Who's a baby?"
"Who's Mama's good baby?"
Gag me, please. Not only do I (and many others I'm sure) put their pet through the Spanish Inquisition, I feel the need to repeat the question or comment an octave higher. I am consciously aware of how strange it is when I do it, but nevertheless I am compelled.
"Who's my kitty...WHO'S MY KITTY?"
"Oh, you're just a little bitty guy...JUST A LITTLE BITTY GUY!!!" Please, somebody make it stop. But he is the best kitty. Oh yes he is. Ok, enough of that humiliation.



Blogging brings joy. Makes me feel hip and cool. Yeah, that's pretty much it.

Other smaller, more random sources of joy include:

Mah Johngg. A kind of tile board game that little old Chinese ladies play. Over the years, the characters on the tiles have ceased to become what they are and look like letters or objects to me. One little green one I refer to as "fuzzy thing". Another looks like a basket. One has five circles and reminds me of the Purina logo. Right now, "fuzzy thing" is the favorite.

Watching TV with my hand in the waistband of my pants a la Al Bundy. This one is fairly universal, so it needs little explanation.

Earlobes are way fun. When Ronald Reagan died, I learned he had the same fetish. So I suppose I'm in good company.

"Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard. Back in college, it always seemed to come on the radio when Jonathan and I were in the car together. We consider it "our song". Would've walked down the aisle to it, but I doubt our families would have thought much of that.

So that's a teensy selection of wonderful things. See, Amanda? Your crabby/just ate too much/i-can't-believe-its-already-10:30 disposition is now a bit more on the positive side. Perhaps I should write like this more often.

and now we wait...

Ever since I got married, I have realized that I am severely lacking in the cooking/housekeeping/anything homemaking department. I think the first peek into wedded bliss occurred in college while we were engaged and I foolishly attempted to make his mother's heavenly yeast dinner rolls. I frequently distract her while she is making them, stealing a sizable lump of dough and running away like a squirrel snatching seeds from a bird feeder. My finished product looked like a 13x9 pan of cobblestone and was about as heavy. I remember Jonathan patiently consoling me while I bawled on his back porch.

Fast forward five or so years later, and the situation has changed little. I go to the store, wander from aisle to aisle in a stupor and come home with piles of miscellaneous crap and less eighty bucks. I just spent the past hour or so (no lie) trying to come up with something to do with some ground beef that needed to be used. Meatloaf? The boy doesn't dig it much and it takes an eternity to cook. Mexican Whatnot? Not one damned tortilla in my house. Chili? Made that already.

I finally settle on this cooked pasta dish cheezy thing and I still have to improvise in the cream soup department. I don't have ONE BLASTED CAN OF CREAM OF MUSHROOM???? My stress level is now shooting up, I start slamming pans around, and I feel increasingly guilty about my messy kitchen. It's just a no-win situation here. All I want to do is cook a nice meal for my husband. Is that too much to ask? Yes, I am a bit of a traditionalist; I want him to come home to a clean house (or at least tolerable), I want to be able to prepare good food (hopefully slightly above edible), and still have a career and just a sliver of sanity left over. Reality? I have a job I enjoy with a promotion very possible in the months ahead. The house is a wreck and I am usually too tired to cook so I have been known to go to bed hungry. That is just not acceptable. I am desperately searching for that work vs. home balance. Now don't go getting all feminist on me...I genuinely want to be able to care for my home and the family we will someday have. I just want to be able to do that and have the career too. Unrealistic? Possibly. But I'm workin' on it.

My oven timer is beeping. Showtime. Toss up a little prayer for me, and I'll let ya know how the casserole goes.

hollister hoochies

Between signing up for this new weblog and spending ten minutes in a Hollister store today, I'm feeling really freakin' old, you guys. Managing this new page is going to be difficult since I don't understand HTML like the rest of the world seems to. I keep trying to figure out how to title each of my blogs, but alas, no dice. Despite the inital frustrations, I'm enjoying blogspot thus far. My best friend since the dawn of time told me that I referred to myspace as if I'd been dumped by my boyfriend. Funny. I really don't have much practical experience in that department, so I'm gonna say that it's more like ripping off a dangling band-aid. It's something that needed to happen and I'll be better off now that it's gone. So, farewell all you little 14-year old girls in push up bras and dirty old men who have never touched a woman, I've gone to a better place.

Oh, and speaking of little nasty teens and tweens, Jonathan and I went into a Hollister store this evening, just for grins. Now if any of you out there reading this (all 3 or 4 of you, hmmph) wear Hollister products, don't start getting all offended on me and crap. This is only my second entry here, okay? But Hollister is really big down here with the 12-25 year old crowd, so it seems. Twenty-six year old me and my husband at nearly twenty-nine looked pretty out of place in there. Like somebody's grandma in a Spencer's checking out birthday cards featuring 400 pound naked women. Or at least, that's how we felt. Our real excuse for wandering in there was to do some market research on their stock, since Hollister is a part of A&F. All I could comment on was the fact that I would have to wear a size L in all of their clothing to maintain some level of self-respect and whine about their lack of practical lighting. And is it just me, or is anyone else tired of all the mannequins appearing cold? *Sigh*

We left quickly and proceeded on to the Eddie Bauer next door.

Pretty sad that I'm only in my mid-twenties and already I'm feeling ancient. But really, teenagers seem so much different now than when I was one. And it really wasn't all that long ago!!!! Exposed butt cracks are about as common at the mall as they are at a plumber's convention. And about as attractive. The not-so-lovely one we saw today at the food court was sponsored by this chubby Goth looking chick with black and green hair and skin that had only today been exposed to the rays of the sun. Another chick standing in line for Chick-Fil-A had her cheeks hanging out below her pink shorts. My darling husband deemed that fashion faux pas not quite as offensive. Mmmm hmmm.

So that was pretty much the extent of my day off. I know, I complain on and on about being increasingly old and boring, but life is still pretty good. Yeah, my carpet is the same color as a putt-putt course but it's still my house. My career hasn't (and likely won't ever) make me filthy rich, but I get a great deal of gratification out of it. But we've all gotta whine and complain sometimes, right? Until next time...

amanda

one door closes...

Hello, friends and neighbors. Welcome to my blog at its new location. A few days ago, the powers that be voted me off the myspace island, putting a quick end to my blogging. Don't get me wrong, myspace was quite the enjoyable addiction, but it is nice to have this new forum for my thoughts, joys, and agitations. I doubt this will be read by as many, but there will be no more "hey baby youre kinda hot lets meet" emails from nearby strangers or fake threats of myspace expulsion from Tom. So we'll see how this goes.

Some of you may be wondering why I chose to title this blog page "the crucible". Well, when one is going to melt down some metal to cast it, it is melted in a crucible then poured into the mold or ingot. I consider myself to be a multi-faceted person (sorry about all the jeweler references), a strange juxtaposition of contradictions. I cherish my dry, sarcastic sense of humor, but I still a worrywort and a scared little kid deep down. I am a devout, conservative Christian, but my word choices are often crude, abrasive, and downright vulgar. I am known as someone who openly speaks her mind but fears arguments and confrontation. All these conflicting aspects of my personality have been melted together and formed the person I am today.

Oh, so you want to know who I am? Mmmmm. Guess that's sort of important here. I'm Amanda. Jonathan's wife. Budding jeweler. Annoying little sister. Loving daughter. Mother of a very bratty cat named Oliver. You'll figure out the rest as we go.

G'night, all!