Pity’s Party — Table For Zero, Please.

It came down to a decision. When does it ever not, right? In a single year, you will make over three point seven billion decisions. Did you know that? No – I completely made that up, but the figure sounded feasible.

Everything from waking up in the morning and deciding whether or not to make your bed now, later or never, to stopping to pet the dog on the way into the kitchen, is a decision you do or do not make. Life: a sequence of choices and decisions.

I thought seriously about shaving my head this morning.

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Endangered Art

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A very appreciative thank you to all of our service men and women, to all those who have sacrificed time with their families so we could safely enjoy ours. And to the ones who have fallen, you are never forgotten.

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I was raised with a certain regard toward etiquette and decorum. I have my step-mother to thank for this. My father, though a cultured and refined man, is a born and bred Missouri boy, and he likely wouldn’t haven’t instilled the more urbane principles as a part of his child’s upbringing. It was my step-mother who, by way of example and instruction, taught me that a lady knows which side of the plate the knife and spoon belongs; that when hosting a gathering, she will wait until every single one of her guests have been served and seated before taking a bite of food. And should the occasion merit gifts, she always shows her appreciation and gratitude by sending out hand-written note. no more than a week later.

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A Writer and her Psychologist

It began in October of 2002, with tender embraces and lingering caresses; the way we held each other during the incipient stage, is how the branches cleave to their blooms in the autumn.

Don’t let go, they seem to say. Hold on tighter. Just a few days more.

We couldn’t bear to be away from one another, and because of that, often spent countless hours — not to mention tanks of gas — commuting back and forth from Orange to Dana Point, roughly 35 miles separating us.

The nights Michael arrived on my doorstep, well after he should have gone on home to bed, and after a 10 hour shift at On The Border (a Mexican restaurant where he waited tables), were some of the most exhilarating nights of my life.

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A Great Big Smooch!

This morning, my husband comes into our bedroom and says in an immediately suspicious tone, “Check your email when you have a minute.” So of course I do, and what do I find? This:

From: “Storenvy.com” <noreply@storenvy.com>
Date: May 20, 2012 8:03:56 AM PDT
To: “mrolsen333@gmail.com” <mrolsen333@gmail.com>
Subject: You’ve made a sale! <———    <———  <———

I made a sale!

Let me tell you, I was pretty darn excited. In lieu of editing the book, crafting has been put on the back burner, and it’s been quite a while since I’ve made or sold something.

If you are not familiar with Crafting Water and you would like to know what it is and how it came to be, on the home page of this blog, up at the very top in the header, there you will find a link for both Crafting Water and Living Water International.

In short, however, I make homemade items — home-decor and hair accessories — and when something is sold, I keep enough to cover the cost of supplies and shipping, and give the remaining proceeds to Living Water International. This charity is phenomenal. Their efforts are widespread, but great attention is put toward getting clean drinking water to those forced to seek hydration from ponds and swamps infested with malaria. If interested, you can learn more about getting involved with this organization through the link at the top.

Anyhow  . . .

When I looked to see just who was this wonderful person who had purchased an item, I saw it was none other than Lori! In case you don’t know Lori, which I suggest you rectify immediately, she can be found here: http://blessyourhippieheart.wordpress.com/

Lori and I met here on WordPress. She is one of the relationships that are rare, that go beyond the norm, and one I will forever be grateful for having in my life. Lori, for lack of a better word, is delicious. Yes, an odd choice of adjective, but it’s fitting and I’m keeping it. She is cinnamon and sugar and molasses and caramel. I adore Lori.

In my excitement, I didn’t even pay attention to what item she had purchased. When I saw it was the Antique Ivory Wreath, I was grinning from ear to ear.

One of my favorites, this wreath took me weeks to make. Every circle is hand cut. It was most definitely labor, and I wanted someone very special to have it. Knowing where it’s going, I couldn’t have imagined a better owner for my labor of love.

To show my gratitude and appreciation to Lori, what I really wanted to do was give her a great big hug and a kiss; but seeing how she lives in Texas, I quickly realized this wasn’t going to happen.

Or was it . . .

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Kenya Bound

This morning, my best friend is on my mind . . .

She leaves for Kenya in roughly a month and a half, and will be gone for a whole year. I am bursting at the seams with pride. This woman, this impassioned follower of Christ, is giving up every comfort she knows to lay down her will before His, and serve His people among a third-world country. I will also admit now that, selfishly, I don’t want her to leave. I will miss her greatly. While we do not see one another as often as I would like, Amanda is like the extra rich canister of cocoa you keep in the back of your pantry; you don’t drink it every day, but should you be in need of something satisfying and restorative, it’s there waiting for you. I am thrusting my selfish heart to the floor, zip-locking my sadness, and focusing on the Good and Light, both of which are Amanda and God’s call for her life.

Kenya, in itself, is a beautiful country; the people, the landscape, the culture — it’s brimming with life and vitality. There are pockets of this wild and unindustrialized land that are prospering and thriving. The people are healthy. The children are being educated. Lives are being changed for the better. These advancements have much to do with people, missionaires like Amanda, who generously and selflessly give of themselves . . . for free.

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