just do it

I cast my ballot yesterday.

because i had fun with the first one...

Tucker plots.

something different

Why? Well, because it's a Monday, and I feel like being silly.

what does 10 inches look like?

Something like this:


A large portion of my hair is now on its way to becoming a wig, and I have a new short 'do.

I still haven't decided if I love the new look, but it's growing on me (pun not actually intended there). I definitely used faaaaar too much shampoo this morning--it is always the first shampoo after a drastic haircut that makes you realize just how short it is.

On another note, I now have a whole lot of ponytail holders that are no longer useful to me, so if you need them, just let me know.

If you would like more information about donating your hair, check out Locks of Love or Wigs for Kids.

run-run-run-run-run-runaway...or, Fort Tucker

Well folks, it's official. Tucker has now figured out how to jump the 6+ foot fence that we built just a few months ago--the fence that we built really tall and with the "pretty" side facing in specifically so Tucker couldn't jump it. We knew it was coming, because we've caught him a couple of times just hanging from the top of the fence, his front paws barely holding onto the edge, his nose peeking out over the top, and the look in his eyes making it clear that he was thinking "just a little bit more...almost. there."

So, I think Todd is going to try to construct some type of overhang that will keep Tucker from being able to jump up and grab on to the top of the fence. Geez...our backyard really is going to start looking like a fort. Next thing you know, we'll be rolling out the high-security barbed wire (ok, we would never really do that--so don't go calling the humane association or anything).

Honestly, though, it wouldn't surprise me at all if Tucker eventually figures out how to get past the overhang as well.

Heck, it wouldn't surprise me at all if I look out the window one day to discover that Tucker has dragged Todd's climbing equipment out of the garage, and he is scaling the fence with Levi on belay.

That dog is crazy.

just keep going

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

Sometimes, during the really busy times, I have to remind myself of the basics.

But, there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and it's so close, I can feel its heat. Just a few thousand more breaths, and I'll be there.

when faith is beautiful

I don't talk a lot about my faith. Some of my friends appreciate this about me, and other friends would probably see it as a shortcoming. Because I am surrounded by a lot of people who believe differently than I do, I am very sensitive to and aware of the way that Christians are perceived. And it honestly doesn't surprise me--although it saddens me--that Christians are often derided or even despised, because, let's face it, there are a whole lot of Christians out there who aren't very Christ-like.

I will be one of the first people to admit that sometimes, faith produces ugly things. I have seen it often, where people of faith will push an idea or legislation that is hateful, basing it on a so-called "Christian" agenda. And it makes me cringe. It saddens and angers me. And it discourages me.

But then sometimes, I am reminded in amazing ways that faith can also be, and should be, beautiful. In its purest and truest forms, faith produces beautiful things. I found one of these reminders recently, and I thought I would share it, because it encouraged me.

In one of my blog-to-blog link clicking episodes, I stumbled upon a blog of a girl that I used to volunteer with at CCC. She now works for World Vision, where she helps secure sponsorships for children in Africa. She recently went through one of those introspective periods of contemplating "why do I do what I do?" and she blogged about one of the defining moments that helped her answer that question. I have copied her entry below, slightly edited for length.

"I remember a defining moment, my "This is what I want to dedicate my life to" epiphany. It was roughly 11 years ago. I had just moved to Nashville from Los Angeles to work full time with World Vision. Three days after arriving in Nashville, I climbed on a tour bus with a band called Big Tent Revival. We had 3 shows to do in 4 days, one of them being a 10:00am show for a Junior High Lock-In somewhere outside St. Paul, Minnesota.

I thought to my skeptical self... we aren't going to get one single sponsorship at this event. Now, don't get me wrong. I adore junior highers. I really do. And though I enjoy their energy and verve, I knew producing any results for my "job" was sketchy, at best.

[At the lock-in] I returned to my World Vision table set up, filled with a few dozen picture folders of kids' faces and stories. Already at my table was a young "lock-in" victim... apparently not interested in the festivities happening in the other room. Darla (she'd told me when I asked her name) had a wildly-matted mane of thick copper hair, shiny silver braces, chubby freckled cheeks with dense, coke-bottle glasses that wedged a permanent red crease into the crest of each plump apple. She was shy, quiet, awkward. But she stayed at the table... picking up each folder... reading each child's story... studying each of them closely.

I simply chalked it up to her boredom. Or needing something to do? Possibly she was friendless? Or simply uninterested in the activities? But suddenly, she picked up one of the folders she'd studied earlier and with great determination... handed it to me. "Here", Darla said. "This is the one I want".
"Ummm", I offered. "You know that to sponsor a child takes $30.00 a month."
"Yes", she said matter-of-factly. "Here, I have $30 right here". And she handed me several sticky, wadded up bills.
"But you know, it takes $30 every month to sponsor this child. Are you prepared to do that?" I asked somewhat condescendingly.
"Yes", Darla repeated patiently... as her chubby finger pushed her smudged, thick glasses back up her nose, only to magnify and bulge her pretty green eyes. "You see, I have $352.48 at home. I've been saving for a long time. But I guess my contact lenses will have to wait another year. I wanna help her instead [pointing to picture]. I think God would like that."

I was speechless. Tears flooded my eyes and my bottom lip started dong that quiver thing. I immediately felt shame for my quick judgment and assumptions. But as Darla proceeded to fill out the sponsorship paper work... a light went on inside me. A light that filled my soul to the very brim. This shy awkward girl had every reason to spend her hard-earned savings on herself... to boost her self-esteem... to bring about a more confident Darla. But she understood something I apparently was still figuring out. It's not about her. It's not about me. It's about our Great Father, and what He wants to do in us and through us and around us.

When I joined the BTR guys on the bus later that day... I told them the story. And five grown rockstars wept... and then took $400 out of their weekend's earnings... and sent Darla a gift certificate to LensCrafters.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. But it was also the launch of a deep, deep passion. Not just for getting kids in Africa (or anywhere) sponsored... but a passion to discover Christ in unexpected and unlikely places. In the face and story of a small child in Uganda. In the chubby-cheeked smile of Darla as she happily sacrificed for another. In the tears of a rock band moved to compassion and generosity."

Thanks, Debbie B., for the reminder.

for real?

In keeping with my new year's resolution to do a different service project every month, I have been utilizing the services of a local organization that specializes in matching up volunteers with non-profits that need volunteer help. They have a very handy calendar of volunteer opportunities on their website, and I have used it to sign up for a multitude of fun projects, discovering many wonderful non-profit programs in the process.

Today as I was browsing the calendar, one project titled "Cooking for the Coaches" caught my eye. I imagined that it might involve cooking brownies or some other treat for coaches of inner-city youth teams, or providing dinner for life coaches at a non-profit organization, or something along those lines. So, I clicked on the link to read the description.

"Description: Volunteers are needed to assist with preparing and serving an evening meal for the Titan coaches every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday from 1:30-4:30pm.
Impact Areas: Homelessness/Hunger: Meal Service"

Um, I'm sorry. Did it say that I would be cooking dinner for the Titan's coaches? Like, the pro-football team Tennessee Titans? Maybe I'm mistaken, but can't the Titans' coaches afford to buy or make their own dinners...probably even more so than I can???

The dinners are organized through 2nd Harvest Food Bank, which is a non-profit that serves the low-income and homeless community. I know that 2nd Harvest's offices and warehouse are just down the street from the Titans' practice facilities, so maybe they are trying to be good neighbors, but I severely hope that they aren't using the organization's resources to provide dinners three nights a week for pro-football coaches. I'm pretty sure they don't qualify as low-income or homeless.

I mean, dude, if you're a Titans football coach and feel a little hungry, get Vince Young to go buy you a burger.

Crazy.

opry observations

Observations from an evening backstage at the Opry:

*Keith Urban is a petite man.

*"Petite" doesn't even begin to describe Little Jimmy Dickens, who might just be two feet tall. He could stand on his own shoulders, and I think I would still be taller than he is.

*If I had worn rhinestones, I would have fit in much better. Sparkle was definitely the uniform for the evening.

*I don't think fans realize how crazy they look. There was a girl in the third row, holding up a big poster of Keith Urban towards the stage, and singing along very passionately to every song he performed. I don't quite understand the point of showing someone a poster of himself. I could understand if she was holding up a sign that said "I love you Keith!", but what kind of message was she trying to send by holding up the poster? "Hey, look Keith, I just bought some of your swag!" or "I pulled this off my ceiling and brought it with me tonight just to show you what a big fan I am!" or maybe "I'm totally going to stalk you after the concert to get you to sign this thing for me!" If I had been Keith, I definitely would have pointed her out to my bodyguards and said, "Ummm, keep an eye on that one for me, will ya?"

*I don't do the celebrity ga-ga thing very well. I met Marty Stuart, and I was standing less than 2 feet from Keith Urban and Dierks Bentley, and I met a lot of the other Opry legends. I had my camera in my purse the whole time, and how many pictures did I get? Zero. I feel like the biggest cheeseball in the entire world asking someone like that for his/her picture. Honestly, I'd rather just ask the girl in the third row if I could photograph her poster...

why i love working in a school

Because kids are very entertaining, particularly when they don't even mean to be.

Now that my office is at the high school, I miss out on a lot of the adorable, funny antics of the little ones, but fortunately I have co-workers that are willing to share some of the gems.

For example, a second grade class was asked to write thank you letters to a couple of musicians that had performed a concert for them. They took great care to decorate their construction paper cards, and one little boy decided to draw a guitar on the front of his card.

To see his drawing of the guitar, click here.

I think it's a perfectly lovely picture of a, ummm...guitar, don't you?

gas-x

Aaaarrrrrggh.

I realize that I am a little late for Talk Like a Pirate Day, but aaarrrgh. I'm frustrated.

Why? Because I am tired of talking about gas, thinking about gas, hearing about gas, watching stories about gas on tv, driving by insane lines at the gas station and watching people freak out over gas, and worrying about how much gas I have left in the car, because once it's gone, I have to join those insane lines of gas-crazy people.

It. is. ridiculous.

People, chill. Stop acting crazy and hoarding gas like there's no tomorrow. If you have a half tank of gas or more, you should not be sitting in those lines. If you are taking time to fill up multiple gas cans at the pump, I hope that you intend to go out and help stranded motorists with your stockpile and that you aren't just hoarding it for the gas apocalypse that you seem to think is happening.

If you're so worried, stop contributing to the problem and think about ways not to use gas. Ride your bike. Take a bus (yes, I realize that public transit in Nashville is terribly sub-par, but it's there). Carpool. Eliminate unnecessary trips. Walk.

Just don't go idling your half-full SUV in the middle of Harding Pike because you're waiting in line to get into the gas station a mile down the street, so you can fill up your car and three extra gas cans "just in case". Because if that's you, you're an idiot, and you totally deserve to have the gas pump run dry while the guy in front of you is using it.

Please.

not unfounded

Not long ago, I blogged about some habits I have that could be filed under the heading of "Signs that Tiffany is a Slightly Neurotic Scaredy-Cat".

My fears are not totally unfounded, though. Today, I went to the restroom, and hanging out by the wall, not even 12 inches from the toilet, was a very alive, very scary-looking brown recluse spider. I kid you not. And he looked hungry for flesh. Not that I could blame him, because it was about three in the afternoon, and I always feel the need to snack around that time, too. But still. That's waaaay too close to comfort for me.

So yes, I will continue to check under the toilet seat every time I use the restroom at work. And I won't feel the slightest bit silly for doing it.

a matter of tayst

What I should have said to the snobbish waiter at tayst the other night:"Just so you know, your simultaneously patronizing and dismissive attitude has sufficiently tainted my experience to the point that I will likely--almost certainly--not be returning. I would think that during a time like Restaurant Week, you would attempt to put your best foot forward, as you are wooing many new customers in the hopes that they will become repeat customers, but you have instead accomplished quite the opposite. Our group of friends would normally tip in the 25%+ range for good service, but we are struggling even to justify 15%. So here's your tip--how about you do yourself, the restaurant, and future diners a favor and find a job that doesn't require you to engage in customer service."

What I actually said to the snobbish waiter at tayst:
"Thank you."

Sigh. I'm a wuss.

I would write about our entire experience at tayst, but one of my friends has already penned a much better review than I could even hope to write, so I will defer to her.

The verdict, I believe, for most of our group: tayst left a slightly bitter taste in our mouths.

balance

Things that make me smile on a Friday morning: Watching two old bearded guys roll by in a convertible Chrysler...with a pink license tag on the front that says "NANA".

Things that make me not smile on a Friday morning: Watching the weather forecast and seeing rain predicted for Monday, meaning that this could be the third year in a row that our golf tournament gets rained out. Sigh.

too many, too soon

Death has been far too familiar around these parts.

First, my uncle George died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Then, Grandmother Bratton succumbed to old age. Not long after, it was Clifford. And then Uncle Don passed on. And today, I received word that cancer took Uncle Gene. They had given him a year to live, but just one month later, he is gone.

It's too much. And even for those that were expected, it's still too soon.

So, Death...how 'bout you just hang up your hoodie and scythe, and take the rest of the year off, mkay?

You've reaped enough this year.

the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad puppy owners

I like to be nice. I do.

And I try not to say hateful things about others, or call other people out publicly on my blog, because that's just not my style.

But I'm angry.

I have lived in my home for just over three years, and in that time, I have watched three puppies die under the care (or carelessness) of my neighbors. Three lovely little dogs who never had a chance, because they were adopted by people who think it is perfectly acceptable to leave a dog chained in the yard all day, regardless of the weather, with little or no access to water or shade.

One of their puppies--a sweet, pure-bred yellow labrador--died of Parvo within just a few months of moving into their home. The other two dogs died of mysterious "poisonings". The only dog that has managed to live longer than a couple of years there spends most of his time trying to escape their backyard, where he is a penned up prisoner.

I was hoping, praying even, that after the death of the aptly named Underdog, they might realize that they weren't cut out to be dog owners--that maybe they just needed to focus on keeping their four little children alive. But then, a couple of months ago, they adopted another puppy, Buster. My heart sank when I saw him, because I knew that giving a dog to the Tanners was as good as issuing a death sentence to the dog.

But for Buster's sake, I hoped for the best. And when they asked us to watch Buster over the recent holiday weekend, we agreed--only after Todd confirmed with them that Buster was current on his vaccinations. They said yes. I'm afraid they lied.

Because this morning, we get news from our neighbors that Buster is sick. He is lethargic, he is losing weight quickly--both potential signs of Parvo. A highly contagious, deadly disease. And even though I know that Levi is current on his vaccinations, I worry, because he is still a puppy, and for some reason, black and tan breeds are more susceptible to the virus.

So help me God, if anything happens to Levi because of our idiotic, negligent dog owners next door, I will be beyond livid. I honestly don't know what I will do, but I can promise it won't be pretty.

Some people should not be allowed to own dogs. Period.

These people should be required to walk around with warning labels on their heads.

Danger: Puppy Killers.

toss. turn. repeat.

Welcome to day 3 of insomnia. I just wrote that sentence, and then stared at the computer screen for about 10 minutes before continuing, because I couldn't think of what to write next--that's how well my mind is working at this point. I have reverted to operating off of artificial energy, in the form of quadruple lattes (and the fact that a quadruple latte is actually listed on the regular menu at Portland Brew makes me think that I'm not the only one with a problem). I'm pretty sure that I could be mistaken as one of the extras in Shaun of the Dead. I'm just proud that I managed to pull together an outfit that matched this morning.

as a bee

Life is busy right now. Hyper-busy. The kind of busy where you're so busy that you feel guilty sleeping, because it seems like you're wasting time in which you could otherwise be productive. Things should slow down around the end of October, and I'm very much looking forward to that.

In the meantime, I probably won't be blogging too much, unless it's one of those nights where it is 3am and I can't sleep, or the stress builds up to a point where a public catharsis is necessary.

But, I have updated the other blog, and I figure that is probably enough soul baring to cover the next month and a half, anyway.

And now, back to work...

mourning the end of summer

Events of the day so far:

*woke up at 3 a.m. and couldn't fall back to sleep because I was too busy worrying about all of the things that need to be accomplished this week
*finally got out of bed at 6 a.m., showered quickly, begrudgingly put on dressy clothes and heels, and scarfed down a piece of pizza on my way out the door, in order to make it to work by 7 a.m. and prep for a morning meeting
*got stuck in terrible traffic between campuses
*had 190 emails that I had to process and respond to (due to my previous week off)
*scheduled three more meetings for the week, bringing the weekly total to 7 meetings
*was informed that scheduling has changed, and now things that I thought I had at least 6 weeks to finish now have to be done in 2 to 3 weeks
*realized that I triple-booked myself on Wednesday, without figuring out how to be 3 places at once

Yep, school is definitely back in session, and I can already tell it's gonna be an interesting year...

out of office auto reply

If I should seem particularly absent from blogging this week, it's because my friend Mary and I have escaped to the beach for a week of sleeping in, lounging on the white sands with good books and gossip mags, eating lots of fresh seafood, drinking fruity cocktails we would never order at the Edge, dancing to steel drum bands, outlet shopping, and sipping wine by the pool as the sun goes down.

We just finished our first balmy, 80-degree morning sitting by the pier and watching the waves roll in and are now off to a lunch of fresh, briny Apalachicola oysters.

As my niece would say, "Yay beach!"