Journeys–Trips with Falls

(with a nod to a friend who keeps prodding me to BLOG!)

Yes, today is Arizona Statehood Day…at least for a few more minutes. So, if you are tired of Valentine’s Day (which I am NOT) then celebrate Arizona Statehood Day! You can celebrate in any way you feel led–although, given this time of year in Arizona, something active and outdoorsy would be perfect! (Sorry to all of you in freeze conditions…we are having a great time here…check back in mid-summer and see how we’re doing!)

I have been away for quite a while…I know, I know! I never write; I never call–I have worried you sick, haven’t I? I am so very, truly sorry. I have been quite busy lately

******E*D*I*T************E*D*I*T************E*D*I*T************E*D*I*T************E*D*I*T************

****Hmmmm, interesting, and vaguely disturbing…I don’t know what happened here!  I had much more to this post and it VANISHED.  (Call in Columbo, pronto…I love that guy!  Or maybe Shawn Spenser–he’s funny on the previews, don’t know about the show, though.  I’ll stick with Columbo…pretend you are shlumpy and slow, then go in for the booking!)  So, I wrote another post to take the place of the missing piece…although it will never be gone from my heart…sniff, sniff.****

Now, back to your regularly scheduled blogramming….

Okay, I know this is probably horribly redundant, because everyone (or at least 7,374,803 people, approximately) has seen this youtube video, but I just HAD to post it.  I found it forever ago on *someone’s* blog I frequent.  I can’t remember whose blog it was, though.  I know Nan posts some great ones (like the freezing one I snagged a couple of days ago–sorry I didn’t credit you like I meant to!), but I didn’t find it on her site.  

Anyway, this is great men’s accapella group singing a…well, a holiday-type song.  Even though Christmas is past, this still is a great view.  Patience is not one of my claimed virtues, so I didn’t want to wait another 10 months to post this!  🙂

Thanks for watching!  Hope you enjoyed it!

American Heritage Dictionary eye·brow (ī’brou’) Pronunciation Key
n.

  1. The bony ridge extending over the eye.
  2. The arch of short hairs covering this ridge.

(Nod to dictionary.com for the eloquent definition found at my fingertips.)

Now that we are all on the same page, as it were, about eyebrows…you can see how utterly ridiculous and truly trivial functional eyebrows are. I mean functional…what function do eyebrows have? To keep miscellaneous fuzzballs and dandruff from toppling from our head/hair/forehead/brow into our eyes? Ahh, that’s why I must clean the debris from my eyebrows each night. Once, I retrieved a Yellow-Billed Loon from my right eyebrow. I was lucky it hadn’t been there long enough to establish residency, or my eyebrow would have been put on a protected list and where would I be now? Not writing this blog entry, I can tell you that! Another highlight for eyebrow-wearers (lame pun intended) is eyebrows remind you (and those around you) of your true hair color. No matter how you may try to go incognito, your eyebrows (and your hairdresser) always know the truth. (Okay, you can be all fancy-schmancy and have your hairdresser “help” you with your brows…but you may want to rethink your position once you finish reading this missive….)

I have earthen-like eyebrows. I like to leave them in their natural state as much as possible to help keep the earth green, world peace, fight plaque & gingivitis, that sort of thing. I am also against unnecessary pain as it relates to me. If others would like to rip fully-grown hairs from their follicles, then more power to ’em, but it’s just not for me.

Unfortunately, in a weak moment, I succumbed to the words and ideology of a dear friend with immaculately-shaped-eyebrows-and-a-stunning-glow-about-her. She confided in me that my eyebrows needed work and if I didn’t take care of them, she was going to take matters into her own hands–one tiny hair at a time. As I said, it was a weak moment, and I thought shaping my brows might work out for me. I didn’t have a unibrow working or a virtual eyebrow halo/headband going on, but they could use a little “training”. So, at my next hair appointment, I decided to go for the eyebrow wax. I won’t go into the mechanics of eyebrow waxing…the slathering, rubbing, and ripping…but suffice it to say, I was glowing by the time she was done. After the radiance subsided, I really appreciated the fine arch of my brow and the way all of the hairs went in the same direction. I liked the sleekness and coiffed look my freshly waxed brows gave me. So it began…waxing at the salon periodically, because I still was too gutless to pluck and too nervous to try the do-it-yourself-waxing-kit.

One Spring day as I went to my hairdresser’s for a before Easter cut-n-style. (She didn’t call it that–I just love hyphens![and parentheses!]) My eyebrows were becoming a bit unruly, so I asked if she had time for a wax. Of course she did! She always had time for whatever I needed!

Well, here’s a tip. Visit a bit with your hairdresser before you let her loose with, oh, say HOT WAX near your eyebrows. I mean, letting her loose with scissors snipping at your hair during a crisis can be horrifying, but eyebrows! My poor hairdresser had had a terrible week. Kids with marital problems, rude employees, holiday stress–you name it, she had it. I listened to her as she cut–and cut–and cut–my hair (but that is another post). After my cut-n-almost-style, she led me to the waxing station and slathered a third of my face with hot wax…rub…rip…. Then, the most terrifying words–words you never want to hear from your hairdresser or your plastic surgeon–were uttered. “Oh, no.” Looooong pause. “Oh, my.” P-a-u-s-e. “Okay, it’s okay. Yes, we can fix this. Not a problem–no worries. Yes, we’ll just fix this.”

“FIX THIS??? Fix what????” My mind was reeling with the possibilities. Was the wax so hot I didn’t realize it had melted part of my face?? Did a chunk of my face come off on the rubbing paper? Did the “fixing” involve wearing my hair down, like a shroud over my face?

She led me to yet another station, this one mirrorless, probably called the “fix-it” corner. She rummaged through a display area for a moment, then turned bearing a long, thin pencil and proceeded to DRAW on my face! “Oh, yes, this is nice. No one can tell the difference. No, you are perfect!” She stepped back, smiled, and gave me a hand-held mirror so I could admire her work. The lady had left me with one and one-half eyebrows! My left eyebrow in its entirety only existed in my memory. Now, it was art–a pencil sketch, if you will. As I sat in awe, she presented me with a gift–a token of goodwill–the pencil used to create the masterpiece I now wore above my eyes.

So, unless you fully trust your hairdresser, or you are comfortable with a rebel-type wax job, or perhaps your hairdresser is an emotionally stable kind of person that doesn’t let life get in the way of his or her styling responsibilities, I would have an in-depth talk with your hairdresser about their life and assess if you really want any drastic changes.

Take it from me.

Eyebrows…meh…do they really matter?

This prank looks just too cool!

Thought you would enjoy it!

My unwritten code for this blog has been sabotaged by the unwriter of it!  (Um, that would be me.)  You see, I had decided to keep a *daily* blog for all of my loyal readers (few we may be now–hi, mom!–but think of it! You are CHARTER MEMBERS!  That is exciting, yes?), and already I have failed you!  Failed myself!  Oh, the torment of it all!  I didn’t have any coffee today–does that count as penance?  I hope so, because it wasn’t pleasant for anyone involved.

Allrighty, enough of that and on to the real post, shall we?!?!?!  We shall!  There is something you may not know about me….I have untreated murophobia.  Yes, I know it is foolhardy to go about my business, ignoring the deep-rooted problem that lies within me.  My affliction, in layman’s terms, is EXTREME AND ABSOLUTE, UNDENIABLE AND UNEXPLAINABLE TERROR DURING AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER WITH A MOUSE (or rat), ESPECIALLY WITHIN A HUMAN-TYPE DWELLING.  I am all for looking fear in the face and all, but when that face has beady little eyes, a pointy nose, sharp protruding teeth, and can wrap a hairless tail around your finger…well, suffice it to say, there ain’t no therapy in the world that can release me from my little cage of horror.  Snakes and reptiles, I can handle–after all, they rid the world of disease-carrying rodents!  They are heroes!  Rodents?!?  ugh.

My husband, however, is a strong man.  He is The Mighty Hunter and will Protect his Cringing Wife from every threatening side.  Mice? Rats?  They are no match for my husband’s swiftness and cunning.  Now, he doesn’t quite *get* my irrational fear of something so small….  Case in point.  This happened a few years ago, but it is still etched upon my mind in severe clarity….

One night, about 1 am, I woke up from a sound sleep, slightly uncomfortable. No matter which way I turned I couldn’t snuggle back into that warm slumber. No question about it–nature was calling and my kidneys were aching in surrender. I gingerly got up, careful not to shake the bed or make too much noise–don’t want to wake anyone, you know!–and tiptoed my way into the master bathroom. I didn’t bother with the light. I knew my way around and it would only disturb my husband.

When I got within a step and a half from the toilet, I heard a “scritch, scritch” from the magazine holder near the toilet. (Our bathroom doubles as a library.) I froze, not knowing if I wanted to turn and run (known fact to all rodent-phobics that a mouse can run faster than any human being and they live to jump on your face with their extend-o-claws) or to stand and face this noise like a woman.  Realizing if I ran, the scritcher would sense my fear, thus expediting my demise, I decided to stand my ground and inspect the area.  I grabbed a wayward paperback book (there are practical reasons for the bathroom/library combination) and threw it across the room–aiming for the toilet/vanity area.  Nothing.  Then, I leaned as far over as I could, while staying firmly planted a safe eighteen inches away (gymnastics really paid off!), and flicked the toilet seat down with a thunk. Listen. Nothing. Okay.  Breathe easy, brave sister! It’s clear! You did it!  Safe to go in now.

I took a step toward my goal of the commode and simultaneously I hear and feel another frantic rustle and tiny claws (just starting to extend!) running over my left foot. Now, my conscious body leaves any and all choices laying on that floor (except my bladder did stay intact, amazingly) and my autonomic reflexes take over. I scream like I have never screamed before! I scream like I am on the wildest roller coaster ride in the world and I have forgotten to buckle my safety harness. I scream like a child when she discovers her favorite dessert just got eaten by the neighbor’s dog. I scream like I am about to be devoured by a rodent the size of Milwaukee…

Meanwhile, in the other part of the suite, my husband jolts awake from a sound sleep with my piercing screams interspersed with his name spouting from my lips. He is trying to decide whether to go for a weapon of any kind to defend me from this burly, dangerous intruder or just get him with the element of surprise and adrenalin. He opts for the latter. Rushing in with a guttural yell and a blinding flash of florescent light comes my champion. I didn’t stop screaming, but my spouse quickly found what the source of my terror was.

“You screamed for a MOUSE?! For a two-inch pest you can stop with one stomp? My heart is pounding for a MOUSE?!” My husband doesn’t share my irrational quirks.

I calmed somewhat–if not internally, by decibels–until my husband strode forward with purpose and pounded the wrinkle in the bath mat that I happened to be straddling. My feet pranced in a memory of elementary tap and jazz lessons while my arms flailed and head wagged like my teenage slam-dancing episodes.  I was quite impressed with my dynamics and the command of range my voice possessed, although I may be responsible for the high-tone hearing loss my husband now has.

“Stop, Jenn, STOP! There isn’t anything there. Calm down, would you?”

Well, after that kind of help from my husband, I decided to leave my love to tear apart the bathroom to find the thief of his sleep. I leaped back to bed in three loooong tiptoe bounds. I sat cross-legged on the bed with a safe mattress perimeter all around me, waiting for the triumphant hunter to emerge. He came in empty-handed, grumbling about his thumping heart and how he would never get to sleep again and was I SURE it was a mouse and not just a gecko??

We both crawled under the covers and I switched off the light. As I cuddled next to my husband, ready to force sleep upon myself, my eyes flew open.  I forgot to go to the bathroom!  I stayed where I was with the safe rodent-free-mattress-perimeter-zone until sunrise.  And now I never go into a dark bathroom.  I turn on the light and count to ten before I enter and make LOTS of noise as I do. 

Do you have an irrational fear of something?  How do you feel about hairless rodent tails??

Have a great rest-of-the-weekend! Tomorrow (Sunday’s) post will be either late or non-existing, since I am at church most of the day.  Don’t give up on me, though!  I would LOVE repeat visitors that aren’t related or have some embarrassing secret about me to lord over my head….

Thanks for all of your comments and support!  I really do enjoy this!  I am still trying to figure everything out…the mechanics of it all.  Any tips are welcome.  One question…I like to reply to the comments…should I reply on *my* blog or go to the commenter’s blog.  I have been doing the latter.  Maybe I should do both, so others can see the replies?  Just wondering what others do!

Thanks again!

Jenn

I am thinking of everything coffee…iced lattes, coffee beans at the fragrance counter (sometimes the coffee is the best fragrance there!), relatively hot peppermint mochas, Mocha Almond Fudge ice cream, Starbucks, Tully’s, my BIG round mug FILLED with strong java….

Okay, I admit it, I am a coffee fiend. But, it wasn’t always so. I loved the aroma of coffee. Sometimes, I would even brew a pot of coffee, just to fill my home with its aura. Then, dump it down the drain. I had tried spiking it with everything known to man, short of alcohol, to no avail. Each sip was culinary torture. Until I took a trip to Seattle, and there my java history began in earnest! I had been mixing too much in to the pure bean concoction. I found I needed the pure coffee–well, a bit sweetened with a touch of liquid cream (no powder, thank you…I avoid floating clumps in my refreshments).

Ahhhh, and so it began. First with the Mr. Coffee drip, drip, drip; then the occasional visits to Seattle’s Best Coffee; then a coffee maker with a grinder!! (wooooooo!); and the (more than occasional) visits to Starbucks or Tully’s. For the first month, I felt a lot like this…though I tried to act cool.

Ohhh, wait a minute while I wipe the tears from my eyes. That’s great! I don’t bother with the tall stuff, myself. Go straight for the VENTI, baby! Only a month ago, I could go without guilt to my local Starbucks drive thru and order any one of my VENTI faves, pay the barista, and drive off, sipping the delectable nectar of the bean. Now, an insidious creature has crept into my life and the lives of my family, disrupting our comfort and blissful state FOREVER…. It is called “The Budget”–specifically from the Dave Ramsey variety of viruses. Oh yes, this should help us to be financially worry free in a few DECADES (did I mention I am prone to exaggeration?), but until then I have to PLAN my impromptu Starbucks visits (yeah, that’s fun) into my budget, thus cutting them waaaaaay back. I have noticed a comfy full feeling in my purse that I don’t mind getting used to. In between times, I’ll just chew on a coffee bean to get by. Oh, and I am ordering grande now; ain’t that grand?

Hi, everyone!

I did it. Against my better judgment, I did it. Where is my willpower, I ask you?? I survived high school and past without succumbing, but here I am, giving in. I gave in to…to…PEER PRESSURE. What was I supposed to do, really? I mean, I have been dieing to post a link to *my* blog each time I comment on someone else’s! So, here I am. Pretty much selfishly. Yep, I’m laying it all on the line here. I just want to be with the cool kids, so here I am!

In addition to being a spineless-blog-reader-who-just-wants-a-blog-to-call-her-own kinda person, I also have hopes and dreams–yea, aspirations for this blog. I enjoy writing–writing humorous can-you-believe-what-happened-to-me type stories. (I also LOVE dashes, ellipses, and parenthetical phrases, so get used to it, okay? I thought about joining a self-help group, but this is easier.) I am hoping there are people out there (hi, mom!) who enjoy reading these kinds of things. If not, I will cry in my Fruity Pebbles and come back for more (blogging, that is–not Fruity Pebbles–unless I am really hungry).

About me…I am a wife of a minister and firefighter (one guy-two hats; he’s a hat guy), mom to three great kids (two teens and a tween), homeschooler (love it, mostly, talk to me tomorrow…), photographer (get ready!), Christian (highest priority), and a magnet for unexplainable events. Really. Truly.

I grew up in the Midwest and graduated from high school when perms were popular and leg warmers were a fashion must. Lots of fodder, there, hmmmm?

I am looking forward to a long blogging relationship. And hopefully better posts.

December 2020
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