Starting a new book conjures up many emotions for me. I haven’t been able to read for pleasure very much because of grad school. I have read plenty, but lately it’s only been books about advertising theories or consumer behavior. Nothing that I would classify as pleasurable.
But now that I’m on “vacation” (at least, from school… although not yet from work) I have time to read. I have a stack of books next to my bed that I’ve been looking forward to devouring as soon as I have a free minute. The first one is Fortune’s Rocks by Anita Shreve. I loved another one of her books, The Pilot’s Wife, which is a gripping tale about a woman who discovers her husband’s secret life after his untimely death. I highly recommend it.
Starting a book is a big commitment. It will require much of my attention over the next few days. It will be one of my dearest friends, an escape from my reality, but also something requiring time and energy from me. Once I start it, if it’s as good as critics say it is, I won’t be able to put it down. It’s both exciting and daunting.
And now it’s time to begin… page one…
Sometimes I start to think that I’m cool, sophisticated, have my act together.
And then I drop my cell phone in the toilet.
I did this Saturday night. My beautiful pink razor phone. I’m no techno-geek, but I did love that pink phone. I had only owned it for a few months, and I had finally figured out all the bells and whistles. Plus, I could always spot the pink right away in that big purse I carry.
But alas, the pink phone wasn’t meant to be. And I’m the only goober who didn’t realize you’re supposed to buy the insurance with your phone. I mean, who really buys insurance? Apparently everybody but me.
Saturday night was our church Christmas party, and I think we had about 75 people packed into my little house. It was a wonderful night! This is the whole reason I wanted to have my own house, so that I could use it to bless other people. And somehow, by the grace of God, there wasn’t a single spill, stain, or spot on anything. Now that’s a miracle!
My next party will be a wedding shower for a good friend in January. I ordered the invitations tonight–I can’t wait!
Tomorrow I’m hosting my church Christmas party at my house. I can’t wait. I’ve been looking forward to this all month. My Christmas lights are up (and working… hopefully), my house is fully decorated, and I have dozens of freshly decorated Christmas cookies waiting to be served.
I was planning to get my piano tuned so we could do a Christmas carol sing-along, but I got busy, and someone told me that might be cheesy. I love it when they do that in movies–when they sing around a piano, usually wearing turtle necks and drinking cocoa and smiling knowingly at each other.
I really should go to bed. It’s 1:00 a.m. and I have to get up in six hours to hear one of our doctors get interviewed on a local radio show. I really wish he could have been on around 10, because tomorrow would have been a good day to sleep in.
This has been a strange and stressful week. I find this encouraging.
Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,
Whose confidence is in him.
He will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends its roots by the stream…
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.
I want to be like the tree, strategically placed, with deep roots, who can weather a temporary storm. I want to be strong enough to survive a year-long drought without losing my spirit and my joy.
Yesterday I decorated my new house with Christmas lights. I feel a special connection to Clark Griswald, because they look GREAT when they’re not on. When they’re on, half of them look great, and half don’t work. But I’m working on that…
Most of the time I exist in a constant state of noise. I’m either talking, or listening, or doing. My life is lived to a soundtrack of the radio, phone ringing, dog barking. I even sleep with the TV on.
But tonight was different. I came home to a house that was warm. And quiet. And comforting. It may be the Christmas tree filling my front window with light. Or maybe it’s because I’m curled up on the couch, hiding under a blanket, while my dog sleeps beside me. Whatever it was…
It was nice.
Today is my birthday. I’m 27, which sounds surprisingly adult. My mother was 27 when she had me, and I always figured that she was a grown-up. Now I wonder. Because I still feel young and uncertain. Like a little girl playing dress-up in her mom’s high heels. Other days I feel seasoned and savvy, like I can conquer the world.
Maybe it’s the combination of my birthday and the Thanksgiving holiday that makes me so sentimental. I’ve been thinking of reviving my blog for a few weeks now, and I figure this is the best day to begin. The birth of a new blog.
I’ve arleady done this once. I kept a blog for about two years. It recorded mostly silly thoughts… purposely superficial. I did that by design. I don’t know how this one will work. I suspect that this one will be similar. Mostly soft and fluffy, with some current events and my reflections on the world to add flavor.
But first, we should meet. I used to live here.