I have a new business.

Ok, so, the other day I was listening to the radio (to David Tennant and Catherine Tate from Doctor Who from their boxing day hosting of BBC 2), and they were playing this game called “I have a new business.” It goes something like this:

1^st person:          I have a new business.

2^nd person:          What’s your business?

1^st person:          Business of choice… Example: I’m a yoga instructor.

2^nd person:          And how’s business?

1^st person:          Punch line… Example: It’s a bit of a stretch.

And last night my brain went a bit crazy and while I was trying to get to sleep I kept thinking of new businesses. In order to get to sleep, I started to write them down, and was cracking myself up. So, here they are. I’m going to write them in short hand to save space.

I’m in ear wax removal… It’s building up.

I’m selling vacuums door-to-door… It sucks.

I’m a rare coin dealer… I don’t have two pennies to rub together.

I have anti-gravity hovercraft dealership… It’s driving me up a wall.

I’m an urban pig farmer… I’m bringing home the bacon.

I’m run an alligator refuge… I’m swamped.

I teach debt consolidation… It’s paying off.

I’ve started a pyramid scheme to sell double windows… Most people see right through it.

I sell ink for fountain pens… It’s all in the black.

I sell urine samples to pass drug tests… It’s going.

I’m an airplane designer for Orville and Wilber… It’s moving right along.

I sell electric blankets… It’s heating up.

I offer hot air balloon trips over Poland… The polls say I’m up.

I’ve invented mountain climbing rope made of recycled shoelaces... I’m pulling myself up by my bootstraps.

I have a lawn care service… I’m raking it in.

I’m selling souvenirs in the former Soviet Union… Everyone’s rushin’ to buy them.

I’m teaching shark-inspired relaxation methods to stressed insomniacs… I’m sleeping with one eye open.

I’ve become an indecisive judge… I can’t give a verdict.

I’m an insurance claims adjuster… It’s declining.

I’m making ignition systems for rockets… It’s taking off.

I’m a temporary pothole leveler… I’m just filling in.

I’ve become a corn farmer… The stocks are up.

I’ve been hired to water the grass in the early morning… I’m making due.

I drive subway trains… It’s going down the tubes.

I give Botox treatments… It’s decreasing.

I paint and sell geometric artwork… There’s always a line.

And last but not least, I have two just for the UK (where they call a supermarket line: a queue).

I sing the alphabet for money on the street… There’s always a queue.

I’m selling billiard tables and paraphernalia… I’ve always got a queue.

I'm back!

I haven't written anything (excluding papers and school-ish stuff, which I don't think counts really) for quite a while. And I miss it. I find in writing, especially in writing something intended to be shared with others (don't worry I have no delusions that people will actually read what I'm writing here)... where was I? Oh, yes, anyway, I find in writing out my thoughts I am far more capable of crystallizing my views and opinions and far more articulate and graceful in presenting them. Also, I can use my vocabulary without people laughing at me (at least where I can hear it). As dull as it sounds, I have missed blogging. If I am forced, I'd have to admit that, despite my pension to make fun of those who journal, I quite enjoy and find clarity and permanence in this form of journal. But I am not being forced, so disregard that previous statement if you wish.

Ok, what do I have to say? In honesty, very little. I guess I will record for posterity a report of the worst Christmas week ever. Ok, let’s start with the fact that I was sick with a tissue-wasting, sniffling-snuffling, mouth-breathing, sleep-stealing cold. Next, add feet of snow fall, a veritable and in fact verifiable blizzard. The next ingredient in this horrible week was the fact that because of the combination of the first two ingredients I have spent the last four days since Christmas Eve evening all alone trapped in my apartment missing several plans of Christmas times with family including a Christmas Eve Hors D 'oeuvres meal and Christmas dinner with my Aunt, Uncle, cousins and maternal Grandparents here in Omaha and a cross-country (or technically cross-state) trip with my sister and shall we say pre-Brother-in-law to join my parents and paternal grandparents for a post-Christmas Christmas celebration in Illinois. And thus I spent most of my Christmas weekend lying on the couch, blowing my nose into toilet paper (used up about four rolls of the blessed stuff), popping cold medicine, eating chips and salsa, raisins, and left over Tege Dege Na (a Malian dish, translated: peanut butter gravy) and alternately watching the twinkle lights on the Christmas tree and watching Doctor Who reruns on my computer.

There were two highlights: The multiple calls from family members and dear friends which made it feel like I had a bit of human contact during my isolated-desert-island style Christmas and, number two, the Doctor Who Christmas Special. I must admit the special was initially disappointing as it was the first half of a two-parter which always frustrates me to no end, leaving me shaking my fist in futility at the ceiling and croaking (froggy voice from the cold, you know), "Why?!" Also, the really big stuff is coming in the next episode. This one is more of a set up which left me waiting breathlessly for a sequel which won’t come until after New Years. Grr, I can hardly wait!

Adam and Eve

He is lonely

Though he doesn’t know the meaning of the word

He lies awake at night

There must be more to life then this work

He opens up his eyes

To see a face, to hear a voice he’s never heard

She is beautiful

He would do anything for her

Eternity finds it’s beginnings in this place

Love is lost and found and twisted

She is hungry

She tells herself as she undoes all his work

She knows its temptation

But it all just feels so good to her

Voices are whispering

She takes a bite, he looks imploringly at her

He is beautiful

But his is not the voice she heard

Everything is new in a plot as old as time

Life is lost and found and twisted

He is tired

He gave them life; he gave them choice and passion

He looks at them

The ones he loves, his life, his children

They do not see his pain

Their betrayal has torn the heart right out of him

They are still beautiful

He will do everything for them

Eternity finds it’s beginnings in this place

Life and love are given

Tattoo

I heard someone on the TV the other day explaining her belief system. She said that instead of God she believed in Love and that Fear is the equivalent of the Devil. At the time I thought that there was a seed of truth in her beliefs and I pitied her that she doesn't know the rest of the truth. One part she got right, Love in its purest form is synonymous with God. It comes form him and can only be fully recognized in him. I wish that humans had more of the pure, unconditional, inescapable love of God. It would be a lot easier to trust people if you knew that they loved you despite your faults and deepest secret sins. I wish fear was less prevalent in the human life style and I think that love, love like God's, is the only way to banish fear. When you know that there will be love for you, unconditional, irrevocable, never changing, consistent love, no matter what you do or say, or how badly you screwed up; when you know that, you can attempt anything. Like I said, I wish people were more capable of that, or more aware of it's availability in God. I know a lot of people who need it, myself included. Actually, I think everyone is searching for that love and acceptance in some way. If only we, the church, could help them find it. That, I think, is a noble and worthwhile goal, the only goal really. To bring knowledge of God's love, typified in the person of Christ, to those who don't know it. Yes, that is what I want to do.

Today I was a rock.

Today I was a rock... for about ten minutes. Yes, I know that is a weird statement, I'll explain. Today, after mowing my aunt's lawn for two hours (they have a couple-or maybe a few-acres) without incident (thank God, and you'll have to ask me for that story sometime), I went swimming with my little cousins for a while. My Grandma has a little pool for them in the back yard. It's about an eight food diameter and a foot and a half deep. So, there we are swimming, or in my case sitting, laying, occasionally splashing and tickling, and generally relaxing, and Avery, my four-year-old little cousin, says to me, "Lindsey, you be the rock." Naturally, I am at first a tad bit confused. Up to that point I had been a mermaid, a sea horse, a tickle monster, a bridge, and Snow White, rock had somehow been overlooked. I had been told to swim away, turn left, go like this, hold your breath, watch me, shoot Aidan with a water gun, put your hair over your face, and let me tickle you, but not yet to assume the identity of a inanimate, geological object. How was I to do such a thing? I was quickly filled in on the fact that, "Rocks don't laugh, Lindsey!" which was soon followed by, "Don't open your eyes." I soon came to learn that rocks sit cross-legged in the water with their faces turned upward, eyes closed and jaw jutting out in look both stoic and yet defiant. And so I sat, for ten minutes, while the little mermaid (for that is what Avery was) posed in my lap, lounging in various mermaid-ly positions with little ankles crossed to form a tail. Once she darted away to fight a shark (six-year-old brother Aidan), once to dance with a prince (Aidan again), and once she proclaimed that she and I were both "Stone Mermaids"-though that lasted only as long as she could sit still and silent, about ten seconds. Overall, though I am rarely one to sit quietly especially when ordered to do so, I think that that ten minutes were some of the most enjoyable of my summer. While I can confidently say that this is the first time I have been a rock for this little girl, I hope it will not be the last.