Tienes un Amigo en Mi

Once again I find myself doing my movie ticket year-in-review far from the friends who began the tradition with me back in Philadelphia. This morning I pulled my ticket stubs out of my wallet and was shocked that I’d only seen five movies in 2010. While discussing that with a friend later in the day I realized I’d switched wallets midway through the year. A quick check of the old wallet yielded five more ticket stubs. So here are the 9 movies I saw in 2010.

January 1—Up in the Air. Ah, Clooney. Great film, definitely lived up to the hype and the Oscar buzz. And, again, Clooney. He never goes out of style. Up in the Air was the first movie I saw in my quest to see as many Oscar movies as I could.

February 14—Avatar. If it weren’t for the Oscar buzz, my deep love for Titanic, and the friend who got us in for free, I probably would’ve skipped this one. It was fathoms away from Titanic. My favorite critique of this movie called it Dances with Aliens.

February 20—Valentine’s Day. Gary Marshall directing lots of famous people, what’s not to like? Fluffy, forgettable, a fine way to pass a Saturday afternoon.

February 24—Crazy Heart. This is one of those movies that sent me right out to get the soundtrack. Jeff Bridges as a washed-up country star was absolutely deserving of his Oscar. My friend Katy had to point out Colin Farrell. Country music is the last place I look for smoldering Irishmen—and believe me, I do look for them.

May 28—Sex and the City 2. How could the creators of such a smart, funny, sharp series turn out such a rotten movie? My fingers are crossed that this was the “dark” film of the trilogy (like The Empire Strikes Back) and that there is a third installment that will restore Carrie and the girls to their usual class.

June 20—Toy Story 3. My family loved the Toy Story Mania ride in Disney World, so it seemed like a fitting way to celebrate Father’s Day, a trip to see Buzz and Woody on the big screen. There aren’t enough superlatives for this one. At one point, choking on my sobs, I turned to my brother and said, “This has to end!” It was that affecting and that darn good.

July 1—Eclipse. They tell me this is the best of the Twilight movies yet. I honestly couldn’t tell—all I could think about was how tired I was of seeing Rob and Kristen. Taylore Lautner’s abs never get old.

July 2—Toy Story 3. I accompanied my friend and her three-year-old this time. He had never been to a movie and we were very worried about how he’d do with the whole incinerator thing. Surprisingly, the things that upset him most were when Woody lost his hat, when Bullseye stayed behind in daycare and when it was over.

August 17—Inception. Did I understand it? No. Did I enjoy it? Yes. Have I missed Leo? Heck yeah (refer back to Titanic comments). I’m looking forward to a second look at this one on DVD. I also remember this as a sweet occasion—seeing a movie with my friend Anna the night before she left for college.

August 28—Eat Pray Love. My friend Michelle summed it up best: she went around the world to wind up back where she started—being defined by a relationship with a man. There were many things about Liz Gilbert’s story that resonated with me and Julia Roberts is such a movie star, so I did enjoy the movie. I’m just not ready to put Liz on a pedestal as so many other women have done.

Ten trips to the theater, nine movies—doesn’t seem anywhere near my usual total. I blame the Netflix.

Don't Leave Me This Way

Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing.

Yesterday, I bought my first "real" television--real, as in, it's the TV people watch when they come over to visit. I've managed to live into my mid-30's without buying a big TV, so I've never had to dispose of one. Once, I donated a TV to the church yard sale, but a good friend and a minivan took care of it pretty easily. Today I found myself stuck with a big TV.

First, I left it by the curb. Today is my neighborhood's bulk trash pick-up, so I figured my timing was excellent. As the trucks left and the TV remained, I realized I was in trouble.

I did what any smart girl would do--I Googled. Surely some charity would come pick up my television. Nope.

So I loaded the TV onto my passenger's seat and drove to Goodwill. There, an agreeable young man told me that Goodwill doesn't take TVs, but the Salvation Army does.

Onward to the Salvation Army, where another agreeable young man informed me they weren't taking wood-paneled TVs. (To clarify: this was not a console TV from the 70's, it was just old and happened to have a laminate coating.) When the gentleman at the Salvation Army told me he couldn't let me throw it in their dumpster, I asked if he knew where the city's bulk trash facility was.

Off I went. While in transit, I called my helpful friend Emily who Googled the city's trash facilities and found that none of them wanted my television.

So, donating was a bust. Trash was a bust. Riding around with it on my passenger's seat was not an option. So I did something I'm not proud of. I drove back uptown, less than a mile from my house, less than a mile from the Goodwill that rejected me, and went to my old apartment complex. There, I stopped in front of the dumpster and unloaded my unwanted TV. I don't feel great about it. I'm waiting for someone to run the license plate on my car so the city can send me a fine.

In the heat of the moment, I wasn't thinking about Freecycle. And I've since learned there is another city facility for hazardous trash that would've taken the TV. All I can hope is that it finds its way from the apartment dumpster to that facility and that the harm I did is outweighed by my attempts to do good.

Hail to the Chief

Last night I had the opportunity to hear former President Bill Clinton offer a lecture. Here are some of my reflections:
--instead of the charismatic, "swaggery" guy I remember from the '90s, he was a laid-back Southern gentleman
--he is really, REALLY smart. His ideas for how we could create jobs and get out of the recession made a lot of sense. Some of the other things he said were so far out of my league, I glazed over.
--he has long fingers
--people still love him. From the dude who yelled, "We love you, Bill!" in the crowd to a co-worker of mine who threatened to run off with him if the chance presented itself--he is still a favorite. I guess there's a statute of limitations on sleaze.

I don't think much about politics, and I especially don't think much about the recent political past. But I have always been fascinated by the presidency. Presidents can be such polarizing figures, but love them or hate them, their job is extremely hard. As I listened to Bill Clinton speaking, I was struck by how much he must love this country to sacrifice any sense of normalcy in exchange for being its Chief.

Listening to President Clinton speak was like a trip in a time machine back to the 90's. I remembered all the Lewinsky jokes (I even emailed a friend about wearing a Gap dress to the lecture). I remembered how much money I made at my first teaching job. I remembered a bizarre day in 1992 when my friend Nicole and I went door-to-door with Clinton/Gore campaign flyers--and were abandoned by the other campaign workers and had to take a bus back to the headquarters downtown.

Now I will remember a rainy night in North Carolina when I was in the same room as a US President. It was a large room, but still...

Papa Don't Preach

When Glee came on the air, I was completely smitten. A story of high school misfits finding community in their glee club? An hour of TV peppered with pop songs, Broadway anthems and a lot of silliness? I'm. So. There. If the show got too silly, too campy, there'd be a mash-up of Gary Puckett and the Police, and everything would be all right again.

To say I'm disappointed by the second season is an understatement. It's as if that misfit high school kid has now found himself sitting at the table with the popular kids and is using his platform to teach everyone a lesson. What was once escapist fun is now an after-school special with a random guest appearance by Britney Spears.

This season, instead of a fake pregnancy and an obsessive compulsive guidance counselor, we're getting schooled. God can't be trusted. The arts are undervalued. School administration lets bullying abound. Remember when Glee used to be joyful? Dare I say it, gleeful?

I see the change in the show's mood pretty clearly in Kurt. He's been my favorite from day one. His relationship with his dad moves me. But lately, he's been angry and bitter. He's been pushing away the people who love and accept him.

And that's what Glee is doing to me. It's pushing me away with its sermonizing and angsty story lines. I'm sad about it. All last year, I loved hearing my high school friends (the real ones, not the TV ones) singing Broadway tunes and old pop songs. They were being exposed to music I've known and loved for years. Suddenly, songs they skipped on my iPod were awesome (yes you, Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse of the Heart). Now, when we talk about the show, we sigh and grudgingly admit that it wasn't that great this week.

Please, Glee, remember your old friends who loved you before you ruled the school. Broaden our musical horizons and remind us to be kind to the misfits without shoving us into an intellectual locker.

I Want to Go Home

Has anyone ever died from nostalgia? Were they so caught up in memories and reveries that they just burst open on the spot? I was driving along a particularly unattractive stretch of road that connects Harrisburg to the Pennsylvania Turnpike this morning and, I swear, it left me breathless. And not because of the tricky merge along that route, but because of the memories of driving home from Susquehanna and, a few years later, driving home from visiting my friend Ben. Something about seeing "Swatara" on an exit sign had me undone. (For the record, I've never been to Swatara.)

As I left the unpleasant road and proceeded east, I was driving through Pennsylvania farm country. The sights, the smells, and suddenly, I was missing my grandfather. (For the record, my grandfather was not a farmer.)

And so I found myself, as I often have lately, thinking about home. When I first moved to Carolina, it was still easy to call Philadelphia home. My parents were still there in the house where they'd raised us and I was able to make frequent visits. When my parents joined us in Carolina, the visits North became fewer, but it hasn't stopped feeling any less like home.

Which leads to the next series of thoughts...maybe I'm supposed to come back? And as soon as I think it, I'll see a face--Katie on a morning jog, Shannon in the classroom next door--and I'll think, "How could I leave?" Or I'll throw my Tim Keller book (that I'm studying in my awesome home group!) in my reusable bag (that I got at the State Fair with Emily!) and come into Panera to write a blog (that Tracey will read!).

I think my conflicted feelings about home are illustrating a spiritual lesson I need to learn. As Christians, we are called to hold dual citizenship: we belong here in the world, but we also belong in Heaven. As long as we are here, we aren't truly home. If I'm trying to find home in Philadelphia or North Carolina, I'm never going to be satisfied.

At the risk of sounding like a nerdy Presbyterian, I will quote C.S. Lewis, “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."

I suppose that means I should enjoy my weekend--the time with friends, the opportunity to buy Tastykakes, the memories that surface when I behold the mighty Susquehanna River. I should also be happy to go back to Carolina, to my comfortable house, to my circle of friends, to my overstimulating gym. What I must remember, though, is that neither of these places are where I'm ultimately meant to be and that my desire should be for something much bigger than an earthly home.

After One or Two False Starts

Laura and I are good planners, thus we are good travelers and even better travel partners. Both fed up with the structure and demands of our day-to-day lives, we decided to blow off some steam and head to the coast for a relaxing weekend at the beach. Our plans were set in sand, not so much in stone. So what happens when good planners cut loose?

Upon arriving in Carolina Beach we drove around to scope out restaurants. Finally settling on Havana’s, we got a table, opened the menus and realized we’d been had. High-top tables on a deck do not always mean casual dining. With nothing on the menu under $18.95, we scrambled out of the restaurant and back to the car before anyone could take our drink order.

A few laps around town later, we found The Dive. The help was not quite helpful when Laura asked what to do about getting a table, although our waitress really hustled once we were seated. A man with a banjo wandered through the place, picking aimlessly while his bluegrass band warmed up. The couple across the way had a rip-snorting fight while the cook shouted out to anyone who’d listen that he was working as hard as he could but there was no way he could keep up with the demand.

Bellies full, we proceeded to Carolina Beach State Park. Turns out “Park closes at 8” doesn’t just mean the staff goes home, it means the gate is locked. We parked outside the gate and walked along the entrance road a ways, wondering if it would be possible to get to our campsite on foot, but the empty darkness of it all was a little too scary for me. I was on Hotwire on my Blackberry before we made it back to the car. Too many Dateline pieces about hikers being lost/slayed in parks sent us back to Wilmington in search of a decent hotel deal.

Another 45 minutes of aimless driving passed until we happened into the Red Roof Inn that boasted “Great Last Minute Deals” on its sign. Great is probably something of an overstatement. The deal was mediocre, but it was 11:00 at night and we were done driving around with no destination.

On Saturday, we wanted to welcome the new day with a run on the beach. After making sure we got our free continental breakfast, we headed toward Wrightsville Beach where there was a triathlon in progress. So we sat in traffic, played “Don’t Stop Believin’” loudly to inspire the athletes riding/running alongside the car, and eventually arrived at a parking lot.

The next part of the day went very smoothly. We had a good run/walk, got back to the Red Roof for quick showers and checkout.


Next stop: the USS North Carolina in pursuit of Charlie the Alligator letterbox. No sign of Charlie, so we headed over to Oakdale Cemetery in Wilmington. We didn’t have a map to find our letterbox, but how hard could it be to find our way around a cemetery? Once Laura called her dad and had him looking at the map on his home computer, it wasn’t very hard at all. Mr. Eck helped us find the 400 unmarked graves of malaria victims, and from there we found a letterbox with a fun mosquito stamp. Since we were in the neighborhood, we also checked out David Brinkley’s gravesite.


From there, it was smooth sailing. We loved our lunch at the Front Street Brewery and took a lovely stroll along the river in Wilmington (just like Dawson and Joey). We logged a few late-afternoon hours on a Wrightsville beach, parked next to another Phillies fan/Susquehanna alum. After de-gritting ourselves from a windy day, we stopped at Rita’s where I enjoyed a Krimpets water ice. Three hours later, we were back in the ‘boro.

It was a fun weekend. It wasn’t as relaxing as I’d imagined, but it was good to be unplanned and unscheduled. It was good to think about things unrelated to my routines and to be on the road with Laura.



On our road trip playlist was the Jimmy Buffett song "Coast of Carolina" and we found these lyrics oddly appropriate:

From the bottom of my heart
Off the coast of Carolina
After one or two false starts
I believe we found our stride

And the walls that won't come down
We can decorate or climb
or find some way to get around

I, for One, Don't Turn My Cheek for Anyone

Dear marketers of toilet paper,

I am one person. I have one bottom. I am responsible for two bathrooms. I live in a relatively small house with limited storage. Given these qualities, it is completely unnecessary for me to invest in 24, 36, or 48 rolls of toilet paper at one time. I fondly recall the days when a single roll of toilet paper could be bought in a color to match one's bathroom.

Today, I found myself overwhelmed by the packages of toilet paper in my grocery store. The closet where I keep my toilet paper has a nook just the right size for an 8-roll package. Specifically, 8 normal-sized rolls of toilet paper. Not 8 double rolls (equivalent to 16!), not 8 mega rolls (enough to cover the Captiol Building!), not a 12-pack, not a fork-lift pallet of 96 rolls. So I abandoned hope at the grocery store and proceeded to Target. To my chagrin, the situation was no better. In order to use your coupon and save $1.00, I would have to buy 36 rolls of toilet paper.

Furthermore, while I like a little comfort in my toilet paper, I do not need anything soft or thick enough to substitute for a sweater. Surely there is a middle ground between chafing and feathery cherub's wings?

In the end (!), I wound up choosing toilet paper by the size of the package. I think there are 18 non-mega rolls of super-thin toilet paper now nestled in my closet. If there is one upside to this purchase, it is that, with 18 rolls on-hand, I will not have to buy toilet paper for quite a while.

As you consider future packaging for your products, let me remind you that there are still some Americans who have not super-sized. Please consider packages that can fit in a Honda Civic and that be stored in a townhouse. And, if it's not too much trouble, please mention this letter to your counterparts in the paper towel department. I'm afraid it's becoming impossible to buy both your products on the same day without making two trips.

Cordially,
JW

On the Coast of Somewhere Beautiful

I often joke with my friend Ben that he and I have two different memories of our shared experiences. Over the years we’ve shared several adventures, our most recent one being a long weekend in Costa Rica.





Ben’s the ultimate planner, organizer and harasser of customer service, so he remembers details. This weekend we had a debate about the color of the cape our friend Jerusha wore at her wedding. (Jerusha, feel free to sort us out in the comments!) I may not remember what the bride wore, but I remember what I was feeling that day. My memories are emotional and relational, with little emphasis on details.




I suspect the Costa Rica trip will go down similarly in history because there is something about being in another country, stripped of my Blackberry, that leaves me a lot of time for thinking. One of the things that I thought about this weekend was my Thursday night girlfriends and how deeply their influence goes into my life.






One night, out on the town of Manuel Antonio, I was wearing Michelle’s ring, Katie’s bangle and Emily’s purse—all acquired at one of our group’s accessory swaps. While I was gone, I had no worries about my house and my cat because I knew Beth had it under control. When I packed my backpack for the trip, and as we passed a few hostels, I was wishing Laura was there like she was the last time I wore a backpack in another country. Ben and his partner Stuart were talking about how much they loved their recent trip to Charleston and I so badly wanted to text Melanye and ask her for the name of the beach she camped on in the Charleston area for Melanye is always just a text away! The wine we drank, the Spanish we attempted to speak—they would’ve been right up Hannah’s alley.




It was wonderful to be in Costa Rica. It was wonderful to laugh and sightsee with these dear guys, but it was a pleasant surprise to remember just how good I have it at home.

There's Only One Place They Call Me One of Their Own

This summer, instead of renting a house near Myrtle Beach, my family decided to make use of our family’s shore house in New Jersey. My Carolina friends often ask me what the beaches in New Jersey are like and so, throughout our week, I found myself making mental lists.

Down the Shore



--Everything’s all right (couldn’t pass up a Springsteen reference, sorry).
--Boardwalks offer an evening activity. Rides, unique foods, all the t-shirts and beach stuff you might want to buy. Southern friends, think State Fair meets Wings/Waves/Eagles.



--Phillies shirts outnumber Carolina shirts 500:1.
--You pay for lots of things: parking your car, a pass to get on the beach, tolls on bridges and highways.
--Seagulls prowl the beaches relentlessly in search of discarded Cheetos. What they cannot find, they will steal from your unsuspecting hand.
--It’s crowded. New Jersey is the most densely populated state, and when you add in the vacationing Philadelphians, New Yorkers, and Canadians, it gets a little tight.
--You’re only 90 minutes away from Philadelphia, so you can get a decent cheesesteak or a water ice. You can also drive up to the city and catch a Phillies game.



--For me, it will always be a second home. The house my grandfather built all those years ago is not a beach-front palace, it’s not even air-conditioned. Inside its walls are many happy memories from childhood and young adulthood. The people in New Jersey are familiar, I know their culture, and I can speak with their accent. When I am down the shore, I have favorite places to go—a state park, a beach where I like to run, a pizza place I can’t refuse, a roadside stand that sells Jersey peaches.

At the Beach
--There’s plenty of room. Running on Carolina beaches is wonderful, low tide means lots of wide, flat sand for the exercise enthusiast.
--We can walk to the beach from wherever we rent. In New Jersey, we drive to the beach. If you forget something in Carolina, no big deal, you walk back and get it.
--There’s less hustle and bustle. Our Carolina beach vacations are opportunities for us to play the Wii, put together jigsaw puzzles, solve crosswords and read piles of books.
--The houses are bigger and renter-friendly.
--Seagulls go about their business peacefully. I have not known them to steal Pringles from my hand.
--If there was a famine, I still would not stop by the side of the road for a sandhill peach.
--Two words: outlet shopping!
--We are still finding favorite places to eat and visit. Even after several trips, it remains unfamiliar. We rely on websites and coupon books to recommend restaurants. We join the throngs at Broadway at the Beach because we haven’t figured out what else there is to do on a Tuesday night.

I’ve loved the beach for my entire life. If it’s got sand and salt water, odds are I will be happy there. But, I must confess a preference for the shores of New Jersey. If I spent the next 30 summers in the Myrtle Beach area, I would probably learn my way around and develop attachments to restaurants and parks. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to. It’s like Reese Witherspoon says in Sweet Home Alabama, “The truth is, I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back.”

Something's Missing and I Don't Know How to Fix It

Today we interred the remains of my grandmother who passed away in March. Joining my aunt and uncle for the trip from Baltimore to the Philadelphia cemetery was my cousin Debbie.

Blonde and spirited, Debbie is a nurse and a mother of three. She was with my grandmother when she died and she was indispensable to us when we traveled to Maryland for the funeral in March. It is hard to be around her and not get the sense that family is her top priority. There are two Debbies in my memory—the present version and the hip, young beauty with a huge poster of Journey lead-singer Steve Perry above her bed. At some point, the Journey tour bus was exchanged for a mini-van, but I’m not sure when.

Meanwhile, on Facebook, my cousin Alison’s status is something like, “I need a ride to Philly area this weekend. Will pay gas and tolls. I will sleep a lot.” She is trying to head east from Pittsburgh so that she can join us for my parents’ 40th anniversary party. After graduating from Carnegie Mellon, she stayed on it Pittsburgh to do some intellectual job at some company. I don’t know the specifics.

I love my cousins, but there is a disconnect, and it bothers me.

When I am around my cousins, I have a great time. They’re funny, they have interesting jobs, they travel to fascinating places and, I like to think, if we didn’t live so far away, we could be great friends.

When my friends talk about going on vacation with their cousins, or casually getting together with their cousins, I admit, I’m jealous. Geography is one reason my cousins and I never got close as kids, age is another. Six of my cousins are significantly older than me. Three are much younger.

For the most part, though, we are all adults now. Age shouldn’t matter. We have Facebook and cell phones, so distance shouldn’t matter. So the question is…how do I pursue closer relationships with my cousins?

With Bill and Laurie—the amazing PTA parents and outdoor enthusiasts.
With Mike—who loves all the Philadelphia sports teams.
With Linda and Derrick—whose motorcycle adventures surely must bring them close to North Carolina from time to time.
With Alison—who has been known to read this blog and who was the first baby I remember holding (if only she’d been the last!).
With Kate—who is So. Much. Fun.
With Adam—who is the same age as some of my favorite people (see previous post).
With June and Louis—June with her stories of life in England.
With Debbie and Joe—who love family so much.
With Allen and Dawn—fellow Parrotheads.

There’s someplace to start with each of them, but where do I go from here? Comment away!

Isn't She Lovely

Four years ago, I started working with the high school students at my church. Like a freshman, I was awkward, unsure who to sit with and how to initiate a conversation with the students around me. My first year, I kept a pretty low profile, but as time passed and I spent more time with the students, I began to feel like part of the crowd. Now I enter the room with the swagger of a senior.

As a high school student myself, I had many friends and participated in a variety of activities. Reflecting on those days, though, I remember being insecure and immature and always somewhere just short of fitting in. The high school girls I work with now will probably describe themselves the same way in 20 years, but to my eyes, they are wise beyond their years and in many ways, stunningly beautiful.



Anna is the tenacious athlete. Yesterday I watched her learning to wakeboard behind a boat, face scrunched in determination, hands thrown up in frustration, leg muscles impressively bulging when she finally caught on. Inside her athletic frame beats a leader’s heart. She corrals the high school students into Nerf wars and birthday pranks.

Allison is a gifted musician, always singing something from Broadway or Glee. She disappears on Sunday nights to play the piano. When she speaks, she is hilarious. Dark and dry, her sense of humor betrays an old soul hiding in a teenage body.

Hannah is usually harmonizing with Allison. She, too, is always singing. I knew that if I wanted her to stay awake on the car ride home from the lake last night, all I had to do was put on some music she could sing along to. Tall and lovely, she is a natural in the spotlight, never scared to be goofy in a skit.

Marlena has the beauty of an Italian move star and the manners of English royalty. Always polite, always kind, she surprised us all by enlisting in the Marines after high school. She knows you have to work hard for what you want, so if getting to college means going through boot camp first, she will get to the end of the obstacle course.

Karen has learned to wait for things: a car, a cell phone, a laptop. Delayed gratification has made her more appreciative than her high school peers. God is using her to bring light to the restaurant where she works and soon He will send her into the mountains of western North Carolina to be a light on her college campus. There is no doubt she will be successful there because, in addition to being a good student, Karen is able to fit in with any group of people.

Claire is the all-American girl. Blonde and lovely, she is always busy with sports and clubs and friends. But she is no stereotype. Claire is a nurturing older sister and a devoted friend.

Kelly is the girl people flock to. She too is a busy athlete with many friends. Instead of letting popularity go to her head, Kelly steps back and trusts her parents’ advice. Her heart is tender. When she went to Africa, her mother’s greatest fear was not snakes or malaria, but that Kelly would become too attached to the orphans she worked with.

Alice is the thinker, the reader and the grown-up of the bunch. Tall and delicate, she carries herself with grace and maturity beyond her years. She enjoyed high school, but I get the feeling that Alice will really love the deep conversations and rousing discussions that await her at college this fall.

Abby is the fairy princess. Ethereal and silly, she can also be surprisingly grounded. Talk to her about the severe car accident that left her hospitalized for weeks and you will hear the voice of a godly, mature young woman. Talk to her about Mr. Darcy and you will meet a very funny girl.

Jersey Girl

Here’s another two-for-one special, because these two ladies are forever linked in my memory and in my heart.

I was working in my first classroom when Trish came in. She was wearing a t-shirt and some Adidas soccer shorts. I need to be clear, this is the first, last and only time I ever saw her dressed so casually. We were in a tiny school in New Jersey and, in a district where jobs were tough to get, Trish and I had both been hired that summer. She would be starting in third grade and I would be in fourth. Trish took me through the halls to meet another new teacher, Lynne, who was a special ed. teacher working with emotionally troubled students.

Since the staff was so small, we quickly formed friendships with everyone there, but our common newness bonded Lynne, Trish and me in a unique way. We ate lunch together every day and quickly became woven into each other’s worlds. Trish and Lynne, along with Sue and Heather (two other young teachers at our school), were my first adult friends. I didn’t know them growing up and we weren’t in college together. We met, and connected, as adults. We hung out at TGI Friday’s happy hour and went to Flyers games and concerts together. Tangent: Heather was my accomplice in paying my boss’s “ticket guy” $375 in cash to see N’Sync. For the record, it was worth every shady penny!

But we were also there for the grown-up milestones in each other’s lives. When Trish came to school wearing a beautiful diamond engagement ring, Lynne and I screeched and cheered in my classroom. When Lynne’s first pregnancy gave her a craving for Ding Dongs, she brought in enough to share with all of us and when her precious daughter arrived, wild horses could not keep us away from the hospital. When I decided to leave these dear friends and move to North Carolina, Trish threw the best party anyone has ever thrown for me.

This week marks my seventh year in North Carolina, y’all. I had six years with Trish and Lynne in New Jersey. Even though I’ve lived away from them longer than I lived with them, these ladies are still good friends. In a couple weeks I will be with them again and I can’t wait. I can’t wait for the warm welcome, the rowdy laughter, the good-natured teasing, and the bittersweet tang of confronting what I left behind.

Looking for Adventure, and Whatever Comes Our Way

It is not always easy to travel with someone. People move at different paces and appreciate different aspects of their surroundings. When surroundings are unfamiliar, fuses get shorter and the fatigue that accompanies a day’s travel can quickly set alight a short fuse.

Knowing this, it was risky to travel to Ireland with Laura two years ago. We were a part of the same Bible study and shared many friends, but we’d never spent much time hanging out without a group of buffers. The first sign that things would go well was when we each took some time to do independent research and came up with a list of places we wanted to visit. When we got together, our lists were very similar. The planning stages of itineraries, maps, and online hostel reservations made us both giddy with anticipation.

Arriving in Ireland, I was anxious. What would it be like to have only Laura with me for two weeks? Would we tire of each other? There was no need to worry, because traveling with Laura was easy. Both teachers, we understood in the importance of going to the bathroom whenever one was available. Neither wanted to spend a lot of money, so breakfast and lunch foods were bought at grocery stores when we had the chance. Instead of letting exhaustion and frustration turn us against each other, we acknowledged them, vented, got some sleep and moved on. As a result, I remember my trip to Ireland not only for the spectacular sights, but also for the thoughtful conversations that were had on buses and DART trains.

Two years later, Laura is married and settled in a lovely home. She has a thriving garden (complete with homemade topsy-turvy planters) and a screened-in porch that is perfect for hosting pot-luck dinners and lively conversations. In her home, it is typical to find her engaged in a project (experimenting with a recipe or painting a room), but you’re also just as likely to find her curled up with warm coffee and a good book.

It’s the contrast that makes Laura someone I love to be around. She is completely at ease in her home or climbing over a fallen tree on a hike. She will cook a whole chicken for her friends, or drain a pint in a Galway pub with equal grace.

Just this morning she and I headed off for an adventure*. It’s great to have someone who enjoys traveling and stomping around in the woods with me. But I also love the intellectual adventures we share: a women’s book club, and a subscription to our town’s theater. Whether our adventures are intercontinental or cerebral, we always seem to keep in step with each other. No matter how far we travel, I am always at home with her.

*Addendum: Laura and I were turned on to letterboxing by a friend of Emily’s last week. This morning we headed into the wilds of the Uwharrie National Forest in search of a letter box, along with another near the Pisgah Covered Bridge in Randolph County.

Thanks to Wikipedia: "Letterboxing is an outdoor hobby that combines elements of orienteering, art, and puzzle solving. Letterboxers hide small, weatherproof boxes in publicly-accessible places (like parks) and distribute clues to finding the box in printed catalogs, on one of several web sites, or by word of mouth. Individual letterboxes usually contain a notebook and a rubber stamp. Finders make an imprint of the letterbox's stamp, either on their personal notebook or on a postcard, and leave an impression of their personal stamp on the letterbox's "visitors' book" or "logbook" — as proof of having found the box and letting subsequent letterboxers see who have visited. Many letterboxers keep careful track of their "find count"."

Hey Soul Sister

When our rented van pulled into the EPCOT Center parking lot in November, whoops and cheers filled the air. We didn’t have an eight-year-old in the van, nor a troop of Brownies. The creator of the joyful noises was my sister-in-law Christine. The last time she visited Disney World, there was no EPCOT, so she was pumped—to say the least.

Christine’s week in Orlando was filled with childlike wonder. She seized every opportunity to have a photo op with the characters and took in every parade or show she could manage. When I was auditioning for the American Idol experience, it was her hand that shot up when asked who wanted to accompany me through the process.



Surely someone who lives with such joy and wonder must have had a charmed life, right?

Not even close. Surgeries, sicknesses, and heart-breaking losses have marked her life from an early age. Which leads one to wonder, how has she survived, let alone thrived?

At the core of my sister-in-law is an unshakable faith. When she talks about the children she has lost, she speaks with calm and peace. It’s not denial or false optimism that holds her—it is her Savior. Christine has accepted her suffering without losing hope. She is confident that God is in control and that, whatever the outcome, He will be glorified in the family she and Dave have.

Many people talk about trusting God, but it hits me so much harder when Christine shares nuggets of her faith with me. She has been to the abyss. She has carried an unbearable burden. Because she hasn’t carried it alone, because she has rested in her Savior, He has given her joy that is as deep and profound as her sorrows have been.

What a blessing God gave to our family on July 5 seven years ago. I love you, sister!

Might Be a Quarter-Life Crisis

I've been off-task this week (blame the free chicken), so here's a 2-for-1 special.

My friend Tabitha has determined that she is going through her quarter-life crisis. Every day of her summer vacation has been a chance for her to gain some new insight or a draw a new conclusion. Tonight we were having a “conversation” via Blackberry Messenger and I told her about a decision I was chewing on. Her response was a long time coming, but when it appeared on my phone, it was mature and wise. I had to ask, “Who ARE you?”

Isn’t that the glorious thing about our mid-20’s? During this season of life, we do the hard work of finding out who we are—separate from our parents and from the identities of groups to which we belonged in school.

I don’t mean to imply that Tabitha wasn’t wise or mature before this summer, but it is clear to me that she is moving forward into adulthood with confidence, swagger, and—a Tabitha MUST—humor.

A short history lesson: I met Tabitha through our church’s adopt-a-college-student ministry. We were paired up in 2005 or 2006. The way the ministry is explained, a family will share a meal with their college student once a month, but Tabitha and I were more likely to go for smoothies and walk through Target. Our friendship continued and when she tired of dorm life and took up temporary residence in my house’s second bedroom. Temporary residence became full-time residence before she began student teaching.

Life with Tabitha was fun, raucous and—very important for roommate dynamics—easy. We watched a lot of reality TV, ate a lot of Taco Bell, and became Wii tennis champions. We laughed a lot at the kind of inside jokes that roommates have that no one else really gets, so I’ll spare you.

It wasn’t all fun and games. Sometimes there were serious conversations about jobs, taxes, and relationships. What I learned about Tabitha from these conversations and from watching her develop as a new teacher is that she doesn’t settle for second-rate. If Tabitha sets her mind to doing something, she will work hard and become great at it. This is why I have no doubt that she will emerge from her quarter-life crisis a confident, competent and comical young woman.

And since I’m on the subject of friends and quarter-life crises, I’m going to go ahead and be Debbie Downer and talk about another friend of mine. You might think of her as the one who got away.

When I was a young buck (doe?) in my mid-20’s, I had a really strong friendship with a girl I’d met in sixth grade. After graduating from college, we were in similar places in our lives—living back home, working with high school youth groups, adjusting to our first jobs.

During this season, I was working out how my faith would influence my life: the choices I would make, the friends I would pursue, the future I would envision. God was doing a lot of work in me and He used this friend of mine to help me along.

We did Bible studies together over the phone because she lived in another town. We used our new cell phones to have long, deep conversations about boys and unmet desires and finding fulfillment. Of course we had fun, too. We would spend Saturdays in Manhattan, seeing Broadway shows, or we’d visit friends in Maryland for a weekend. One summer we even went “on tour” visiting friends throughout the mid-Atlantic region.

Unfortunately, there were signs that this friendship wasn’t healthy, that one of us needed the other a little too much. It seemed like the only way to fix that was by putting some space between us. I can’t remember the last conversation we had. Surely if it had been angry or heated, I would remember it, right? By the time I got to North Carolina, we had lost touch completely.

A while back, I sent her a message on Facebook and we had a good exchange going, until the replies stopped coming. I hate having unfinished business (this is why I don’t leave dirty dishes in the sink), and this friendship is unresolved. Or maybe, like an art-house film, this friendship ended quietly and awkwardly, leaving me wondering what it had been about.

What a Wonderful World

I'm borrowing pictures from Tabitha's facebook album. To get the full view of larger photos, click on them. Enjoy!

It’s 11:00 on a Wednesday night. A DJ is playing beach music and 80’s classics. As the theme from Footloose is cranking, games of wall ball, four square and corn hole are being played. People are milling about, some are sitting in tents, while yet others read.

Tabitha has just returned from brushing her teeth with her finger. I was interrupted while writing this to participate in the Cupid Shuffle.

Kara got her picture taken with an elderly gentleman in a cow hat. We’ve been together since before 5 this morning.

We are waiting for a new Chick-fil-A to open. Kara and Tabitha were randomly chosen to be one of the first 100 people to dine here, a distinction that will provide them with 52 coupons for a free #1 combo, a t-shirt, and a great story to tell about the day we spent in the parking lot.


Tabitha’s friend Beth (aka Guest of #30) and I (aka Guest of #41) have been treated equally well by the new restaurant crew.

We’ve all enjoyed free meals (a chicken biscuit, a Chick-fil-A sandwich, and a dinner of our choice). We took a behind-the-scenes tour—during the frenzied dinner hour—and we’ve played a few games organized by the marketing team.

A police offer is patrolling, Styrofoam cup in hand, making sure that no one without a wristband is lurking. Interlopers are sent away with a coupon for a free sandwich. Throughout the day, others have wandered the parking lot. At one point, the young employees came out and chatted with us, along with several managers and owners. Truett Cathy’s son Dan was here, and of course, there has been a cow on the premises.

My mother just called to tell me they saw me dancing on the evening news.

As summer days go, this has been exceptional. Three free meals, plus an ice cream sundae. Good conversation and a fun, safe atmosphere. I’m already wondering when I can do this again and hoping my brother will be able to join—he would love this. Anyone would love this.

It's been my pleasure.

Paperback Writer

To be completely honest, I don’t need to blog. I’m not taking you through a Julia Child cookbook with me, or reviewing the books I read. I’m just running my mouth, well…my fingers, for your reading pleasure. If there is such a thing as someone needing to blog, then it is my friend Nicole.

Nicole’s life has produced some of the wildest, funniest stories. Her husband and her father are slowly remodeling her house, one room at a time. Every day is filled with dry wall dust and the frustration of not being able to entertain properly in a living room with three walls, or a kitchen with no countertops. In her e-mails, she vents with a well-honed sense of humor and wry descriptions.

Also providing fodder for great story telling are her three sons. There are seven-year-old twins and an almost five-year-old. I so regret not hanging on to some of the e-mails Nicole sent me when her boys were younger. There were tales of a trip to Sea World that led one boy to a deep fear of dolphins, the misadventures of potty-training boys in a bathroom with shag carpet, and trying to get all three looking and smiling at the camera for the annual Christmas photo. Again, each story was told with dry wit tempered by a mother’s love. Not only did she leave me laughing, but shaking my head in wonder.

The thing is, Nicole has always been an excellent writer. Going back to middle school where we met, writing has always been part of our friendship. Nicole’s mother, who was our language arts teacher in seventh and eighth grade, always encouraged us to write because she loved to write. (Another classic story involves a teenage Nicole staging a coup and wresting creative control of the family Christmas letter from her mother).

With a love of writing drilled into us, and with our ability to write encouraged, Nicole and I attempted to write novels during summer vacation. During our first few years in high school, we channeled our energies into writing each other notes to be dropped into lockers or handed off to mutual friends. Even in those notes, Nicole’s dark humor is evident.

There is no doubt in my mind that, one day, when her boys are grown and her house is finally remodeled, Nicole and her husband will find (and remodel) their dream house in Maine. It will be there that she will finally put some of her ideas down on paper and a much larger audience will figure out what I’ve known for 20 years—this lady is an amazing writer.

Running Just as Fast as We Can

Over on her blog, Katie has been sharing some wisdom from her grandmother. I suggested that Katie begin recording her own wise thoughts and sayings, but as she is a busy lady with a charming little son, I will go ahead and start the list for her. Here are some things Katie has said that have stuck with me, be it for their wisdom, their truth, or their humor.

On Sunday jogging: “We will start by running downhill. After all, it is a day of rest.”

On Philadelphia: “People in Philadelphia like baseball. I remember flying overhead thinking, ‘Man, that’s a lot of baseball fields.’” Special note: In October 2008, as I sat on my couch crying tears of joy for the World Champion Phillies, it was Katie who ran to my house, grabbed me in a hug and said, “I’m just so happy for you.”

Borrowed from her grandmother: “If you have the truth, you don’t need tricks.”

On motherhood: “I figure, if you’re not going to do it for the second kid, why do it for the first?”

On pastors: “We need to pray that our pastors would sense what we need from them.”

On humility (taken from our other blog): “And then, King Ahab, the one that Kings describes as the most evil man ever, humbled himself in the sight of the Lord. He turned his laughter to mourning and his joy to gloom and God saw and He changed his mind.”

On anger (also taken from the other blog and the book of James): “My sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.”

I hesitate to post this tonight because Katie and I are going running in the morning and I'm sure I'll come away with some new gem from her. It is a beautiful thing to see how knowing God's Word and loving God's Word have grounded her in godly wisdom.

We're Better Together

In the past seven years, at least 19 teachers have passed through fourth and fifth grade classrooms at my school. I say “at least” because I honestly can’t remember who was in some of those classrooms back in 2005 or 2006. The important thing to note is that two teachers have never left their positions. One is, obviously, me. The other is my dear friend, Shannon.

I’ve always known that Shannon and I have a great relationship—in and out of the school building—but when I look at it statistically, I’m amazed. How is it, when so many people have come and gone, that the two of us have lasted?

Believe me, it’s not because we’re so similar. Shannon is a storyteller and a nurturer. I’m businesslike and direct (I save my stories for the blog). Organization is more my thing than hers (those who know us are laughing because this is such an understatement). While one of us is early, the other is last-minute. We balance each other out, and this is one reason we’ve been successful.

Another reason we’ve been able to survive some rough years is because we’ve survived them together. The best mornings are those when we can keep the door that connects our classrooms open. We’ll stand in the back of our rooms, maybe eating Cajun chicken biscuits, and we’ll catch up. I imagine this is what neighbor ladies who talk over the fences in their backyards do. Sometimes there are stories to tell about her precious sons, or I need to vent about some of the drama that inevitably comes with a tightly-knit group of girlfriends. Sometimes we’re forced to talk about matters at-hand: whose parents have a conference today or last-minute plans for a science lesson. We’ve often joked about doing away with the wall that divides our classroom. We are quite comfortable bursting in and out of each other’s rooms. If I’m being honest, I enjoy Shannon’s interruptions. Other people interrupt me all day, but only Shannon makes me laugh every time.

In the seven years since we started working together, Shannon has transformed from a single girl with a little dog and big purse collection to a minivan-driving, home-cooking wife and mother. You would think that transformation would cause our friendship to change, and it has. Shannon’s journey as a wife and mother brought her to know the Lord, and that has only made our friendship stronger.

Gotta Spend Just a Little More Time with You

There’s a woman in my church who opens her mouth and says insightful things. When men are leading debates at congregational meetings, she will stand up and speak with wisdom and compassion from a heart that is beautifully feminine. For years I admired her from a distance, until one day she called me and invited me to breakfast.

Having breakfast with Debbie would have been enough, but during our meal, she offered me compliments! She wanted me to know that she knew it must be hard to be single in our church, but that she saw me doing it gloriously. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. Since that morning, I’ve met Debbie at her office (Panera Bread) many more times and I have been richly blessed by her example.

Whenever I’m meeting a woman with children, I assume five minutes of lateness per child (ex. a woman with two kids is usually ten minutes late). Debbie, though entitled to 25 minutes of late-grace, is always early for our meetings. Her five children are wonderful, but I have been particularly blessed to get to know her oldest who are in the youth group at church. They are polite, well-rounded, inquisitive and helpful. Her youngest only knows me as someone who visits her mother. When she saw me at VBS last week she told me, “My mommy’s not here.”

Debbie’s spiritual mothering extends to refugees in our community and to the women she mentors. It was Debbie who gave me the image of always having one hand reaching forward and one reaching behind—being a disciple-making disciple. This simple principle has really informed my vision for women’s ministry.

She is always busy, and yet somehow always at rest. Others are drawn to her. You may have to wait your turn to talk to her on a Sunday morning, or schedule a Panera appointment a few weeks in advance, but I assure you, a conversation with Debbie is well-worth the wait.

'Cause I Live and Breathe this Philadelphia Freedom

I’ve been posting about people I love recently, along with my friend Hannah. She posted about her dog the other day, which gives me the freedom to post about a place I love: my hometown, Philadelphia.

Since moving away seven years ago, I’ve told people Philadelphia looks good in my rear-view mirror. This is not to say I only love it when I leave, but to say that I love it more now that I’m not there all the time. Perhaps this is the case with anywhere you live and leave, but having only ever lived in two places, I’m no expert.

What do I love about the city that loves you back?

First on the list would have to be the food. You can find a “Philly cheesesteak” on the menu just about anywhere (here’s a photo from Galway, Ireland), but you can only find the real deal in the greater Philadelphia area. The secret is the bread and its minimalist beauty. Acceptable toppings are cheese, onions, tomato sauce, and ketchup. Please don’t put mayo on it and, for the love of Pete, don’t call it a sandwich. Having devoted so much energy to the cheesesteak, I will whip through the other foods I seek out when I get back for a visit. Water ice, Tastykakes (now available in many NC Wal-Marts), hoagies, and soft pretzels.


I love the pride my fellow Philadelphians display. To be of this city is to be proud of something. For some it is their ethnic heritage, for some it is a sports team, for others it is a family member in the military or serving in law enforcement, and for many it is a combination of all the above. The house where I grew up sat catty-corner from a “tap room” called Fatheads. When the Flyers scored a goal, I sat on my couch and cheered along with the guys in the bar. I seriously missed this while I watched Flyers games in Carolina this spring. I also miss hearing last names like Tagliaferro and Kasperowicz.

The Sheetz vs. Wawa debate has raged on around me for years. To that argument, I offer this: Sheetz does not provide fee-free ATMs, nor do you leave smelling distinctly of coffee, cigarettes, and the freezer case. All Wawas have the same marvelous smell and, throughout my adult life in Philadelphia, they were the only place where people consistently held the door open for one another. So, there you go, another thing to love about Philadelphia is Wawa.

Philadelphia is the perfect distance from the beach. It is far enough away that you feel like you’re getting away, but close enough that you can still stop at the Wawa, use the ATM and head out to get a proper cheesesteak.

There are drive-through beer distributors and elevated trains. You can drive over at least four bridges to get to New Jersey and you can buy clothes without paying sales tax. Local news anchors are celebrities. It is the only place to be on the fourth of July and it is the home of some of my dearest friends and fondest memories.

Baby, I'm Amazed

December mornings are cold here in Carolina. Heading out at 5 in the morning, there's probably a layer of frost on your windshield that has to be dealt with before you make your way to the gym. It's dark, most of the town is still asleep, but you're committed to exercising, and so off you go. Sounds pretty rough, right? Now, imagine doing all those things and being in the early stages of pregnancy.

When I found out Emily was pregnant, we had been doing 5 AM gym trips for months. I was certain that her baby would not be able to endure all the weight lifting and high-kicking we'd been doing. Either that, or he would come out fabulously sculpted. It is a joyful thing for me to report that Emily's baby arrived in fine condition early this morning--just in time for a run on the treadmill.

I haven't known Emily for too long, but most of the things I know about her reveal a tremendous inner strength. From her summer in Chicago last year, to her endurance of some awful teaching situations, Emily has shown us a spine of steel.

In a large group, Emily will come across as quiet and laidback. While I'm working hard to keep the spotlight on myself, she's working just as hard to avoid it. In the one-to-one conversations, though, she opens up and is full of fun stories. Trips to Europe and South America, childhood adventures in Maine, dogs who conspire to break one another out of the invisible fence. Adventure seems to follow her, or perhaps she has been following it all these years.

Today, with the arrival of her little guy, I suspect the greatest adventure of all has found her.

Come What May

Dear Little Girl on the Right,

You sure are cute, standing their holding that little guy’s hand. If you’ll permit me, I’d like to tell you what will happen if you choose to hang on to him for the next 30-some years. You might want to sit down, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Literally. You will be riding shotgun when he gets in a wreck. On another occasion, you’ll be in the back of a cab careening through midtown Manhattan, and your boy there will roll down his window and say something condescending to the driver of the car beside you. The cabbie and the other driver will exchange angry words, but you will arrive safely, albeit shaken, to your hotel.

There will be happy times, though. If you choose to take him to your junior prom (and I highly recommend that you do), he will make you dance. Not for one or two songs, no, this guy will have you on your feet all night. You will snorkel in St. Lucia and watch Madonna ride a mechanical bull in Las Vegas. You will spend countless hours sitting beside him on the Cape May beach, alternately engaging in deep conversation and swimsuit critiques. Your high school friends will love him, your college friends will swoon, and your co-workers will be charmed. The guy is social club soda; he mixes well with everyone.

He looks pretty harmless now, but you will have some of the most gut-wrenching, agonized conversations of your life with him during a long weekend in Jamaica. Your friendship will be so broken it will be a couple years before you talk, or at least until you talk about anything that matters. A time will come, though, when God changes your heart and when you miss him so badly that you will drive six hours to have another hard conversation. You will seek restoration and you will find it.

And then the fun will begin anew. There will be more weekends in New York and more time on the beach. You will see how easy it is to love the person he loves best, and a few times a month when you answer your phone, he will be there, saying, “Yeah, how you doin’?”

So, little girl, you have a big decision to make. Will you hold on to this guy? I promise, if you do, God will use this little boy, in his little blue shorts, to teach you big lessons about forgiveness, reconciliation, and love.

Best wishes,
Joy

P.S. Your mother believes your present look is the only hairstyle that will ever truly work for you.

You Cannot Lose My Love

This morning I sang a solo at church. After the service, many people stopped me and let me know they appreciated the song, but the person whose compliment mattered most was my dad’s. As he was getting ready to drive away, he rolled down his car window and said, “Great job, of course.”

For me, it has always been this way. There is no one whose favor I want, or whose disappointment I dread, more than my dad’s. I suppose all girls are hard-wired to desire their fathers’ good opinion. It speaks to our deeper nature, the one that desires our Heavenly Father’s approval most of all.

If a girl is truly lucky, and this one is, she has an earthly father who is a walking, talking reminder of her Heavenly Father’s love.



Expressing our love for each other in words is not something that comes easily to my family—I think we’re still figuring out how to do it well. But we have always known how to show our love to each other. Some examples:

After the Christmas Eve service, I would wait for my dad to close up the church and then he would drive us home by way of Jackson Street, the street known throughout the city for its over-the-top decorations.

Although he worked full-time at a car dealership and was the pastor of our church, my dad was still available to coach our soccer teams. I wonder if he regrets all those times he told me to be more aggressive…

When I was little, he would read to me from the Children’s Story Bible before bed.

When I was grown-up, my dad left his church, his job, his friends, and the city he’d called home for 50-plus years to join his children in North Carolina.

You Gotta Get a Little Mud on the Tires

Just outside the Philadelphia city limits beats the heart of a country girl. I don’t know if she’s ever ridden a horse, and I am certain she’s never roped a steer, but if you want to go country line-dancing or grab a bucket of peanuts at the Texas Roadhouse, Heather is your girl. Back when there were few, if any, cross-over country acts, Heather was dragging me to the Pennsauken Mart (may it rest in peace) to get tickets to the country radio station’s anniversary concert.

My feelings about country music have changed over the years, but Heather has been a near-constant since our childhoods in Philadelphia (refer to yesterday’s photo). I don’t know anyone more circumspect with her Facebook friends. She wonders, “How many is too many? Should I accept this person? How do I hide this person’s updates? Will it hurt their feelings if I do?” For Heather, you see, it’s about quality, never quantity. She is a friend and teacher who invests deeply.

I have a nickname for her: Nana Heather. Like a doting Nana, she will send me clippings from TV Guide that she thinks I will enjoy (Yoga with Bob Harper? Yes, please!) and she is quick to send cards for any number of occasions. She is a passionate supporter of Philadelphia sports and, one of these days, so help me, we are going to a championship parade down Broad Street.

Heather has been caring for me in small things like texts, greeting cards and magazine clippings since I moved to North Carolina. For those closer to home, she is the friend who will travel great distances to meet you, who will sit with you while you’re on bed-rest. She is the teacher who will stay late to watch your game, or who will spend her weekend on IM or e-mail helping you study for an exam. She gives out of a deep love for her Heavenly Father, and I am thankful to be her friend—Facebook and otherwise.

She Thanks Her Jesus for the Daisies and the Roses

Deciding to join Hannah’s blogging project was easy. Deciding where to begin—not so much. Very recently I’ve written posts about my mom and my brother and, with Father’s Day on the horizon, I’ll get to my dad this weekend. So where to begin?

Starting with the friend I’ve had the longest is not as cut-and-dry as one would expect. I am blessed that three of my best friends have been in my life since we were toddlers. I’ve spoken to each of them in the past couple days, but only one has recently had surgery, so she wins and gets to go first.


For her recent birthday, I wrote Judy a list of things I love about her—one for every year she’s been alive. There were items from every season of our friendship on the list. Some stories are family legend and neither of us remembering them happening, like the time we ate soap and then threw it up all over the dining room table at a Mother’s Day dinner. When we were in middle school, Judy would write me letters—like real letters with stamps—and when we were in high school we took water aerobics classes and lowered the average student age by about 40 years.

Our biggest adventure, by far, was moving to North Carolina in 2003. Deciding it was time for a change, Judy accompanied me and made the difficult process of adjusting to a new town much more bearable. It was wonderful for me to watch her find friendships and community here, all the while enjoying a roommate who was a great cook and who appreciated a tidy apartment as much as I did. It was heart-breaking for me when she moved back to Philadelphia, although knowing her family and how close they are, I understood. On the bright side, I can get Tastykakes pretty often and I always have a couch to sleep on when I return to the big city.

Judy and I have grown up together—literally and spiritually. After so many years, we have earned the right to speak unflinching truth to each other. Sometimes our struggles are really similar and we’re both flailing. Sometimes one of us is standing on the dock throwing the life preserver. It is a precious thing to have a friend who can enter my present circumstances, recall my history, and point me to the God we both know and serve.

About the photo: It was taken at the playground across the street from the house where I grew up. At the top of the slide is Judy's sister Heather (tune in tomorrow for her), Judy is in the middle and that's little ol' me at the bottom. Judy and I were probably 3 in this picture, Heather about 5.

So Many Faces in and out of My Life

This week, my friend Hannah set off on an admirable project--writing a blog post each day about someone she admires. When I first read about her project, I was dismayed someone in my circle had beaten me to the punch--for this is an idea I've often considered.

Being the generous sort, Hannah encouraged me to join the fun because we could "keep each other on track and talk about it." It seems like a good time for me to take on such a project. First of all, it's summer and I have time to blog. Second of all, I have committed to writing every day this summer in some form or fashion. Next, it will help the guests for my 40th birthday bash begin to get acquainted. And, finally, I will be pleasantly challenged to come up with song lyrics to match the wonderful people in my life.

Diggin' the Dancing Queen

I don't generally use this space for movie reviews, but seriously, run--don't walk--to the Redbox and check out The Young Victoria. The costumes are to-die-for and the story is engaging, but what really got me was (spoiler!) how this film portrayed Queen Victoria's courtship and eventual marriage to Prince Albert.

I love that the movie didn't make Queen Victoria a total 21st-century feminist icon. We get to see the queen's vulnerability--her desire to do good versus her inexperience. And I really love that the movie didn't reduce Prince Albert to a simpering yes-man. So many movies portray men as weak comic foils, or as raging tyrants, but this rendering of Prince Albert was...dreamy--for this girl, anyway. He respected his wife's role, but he was sure of his own role as husband and father. Part of the couple's journey was figuring out how to balance authority and leadership in the palace and in their relationship. I'm so thankful the film-makers didn't shy away from these issues and didn't try to mold the characters into our culture (like all those folks who keep trying to liberate poor Jane Austen).

All too often, characters in books and movies fall into archetypes: the cold-as-ice woman who demands perfection, the blundering father who can't do anything right, the trophy wife, the "Cat's in the Cradle" workaholic. Entertaining they may be, but very rarely do we connect with them. In this film, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were far more nuanced and I found myself relating to the queen until I had tears in my eyes.

A Pirate Looks at 40

At lunch this afternoon, I was showing my friend Tonya something on my phone. Noticing my phone's wallpaper she asked, "Who are those pretty people?" to which I replied, "That's my friend, Lynne, and that's the Phillies center fielder."

Driving away from the restaurant, I began thinking how amazing it would be to introduce Tonya, my special-ed teacher friend in North Carolina to Lynne, my special-ed teacher friend in New Jersey. If only there was an occasion for me to bring them together. In fact, wouldn't it be wonderful to get all my girlfriends together? And so I decided, as I drove home this afternoon, that I will throw myself a 40th birthday fete and I will invite all the women who've been part of the journey.

Judy and Tabitha, who share a birthday and the experience of living with me, can share a few laughs. Jerusha and Tracey can talk IT and blogging. Emily will lead us all in Zumba dances and will bond with Jessica over Red Sox baseball and collegiate life in central PA. Amy and Kristen, the pastors wives, can swap stories while everyone named Heather gets acquainted. Liberty can put faces to names of all the Thursday night ladies. I could go on and on because, in the friendship department, my cup has been running over for years.

It would be exciting for me to have friends from different seasons of my life under the same roof. I wonder if it would be as much fun for them--hopefully we'll find out in a few years.

How Do You Measure, Measure a Year?

At the beginning of the school year, when Target rolled out its shiny, fun school supplies, I treated myself to a $1 pack of Diet Coke pencils. I kept one of those Diet Coke pencils on my homework clipboard and I used it every day when I checked homework. It lost its pencil-cap eraser and it got shorter, but it hung in there for 174 days.

Yesterday, a student forgot to bring a pencil to class, stole my homework pencil and lost it. I think that sums up the kind of school year it's been.

Shower the People You Love

A few of you have commented that I haven't been blogging much recently. Since some of my favorite bloggers are mothers with four children, it seems trite to say that I've been too busy for blogging.

All the same, this month has been pretty full and, for the most part, it's been full of good things. One good thing was hosting a baby shower for Emily yesterday. At the beginning of the week I prayed that I would never become so stressed or overwhelmed that I couldn't enjoy what I was doing. God was so good in answering that prayer, and in giving me time throughout the week to make little preparations for the shower.

He also provided me some wonderful helpers, Beth, Katie, Seth, and my mom. This picture sums up all the help I received: table and flora by Seth, cake by Beth, Hungry Caterpillar from Katie, favors by Mom.



During the preparations and clean-up, I was showered with the blessing of friendship and the necessary reminder that I am not on this journey alone. The rest of the day belonged to Emily and a baby I cannot wait to know.

Today Was a Fairy Tale

Last Thursday night my Facebook status read: "Today was awesome. I don't want to go to bed." Perhaps you are wondering what makes an awesome birthday.

If you must wake up at 4:30AM and head to the gym for some early cardio on your birthday, this is an awesome thing to see as you get into your car.


While driving to work, my carpool buddy said, "Today calls for special drinks." Though the bars weren't open at 6:30, we did stop by Starbucks for a round.

Since there was end of grade testing going on, my students were quiet for a long period of time in the morning.

My teaching partner and good friend gave me a Tervis tumbler and a gift certificate to the hottest frozen yogurt joint in town. We ordered lunch--a rare treat in a rural school--and had it delivered to us on the playground. The students played together relatively nicely and blew off the stress of testing all afternoon.

I received my annual phone call--with singing--from two lovely ladies (and their Mom Mom) in Philadelphia.

My family gathered for dinner at a delightful, landmark restaurant. I received a Phillies beach towel--a reminder that the pool and the beach are not too far away.

Then my parents and I went to see Jerry Seinfeld perform and we laughed and laughed.

Crazy high school girls, thoughtful co-workers, friends near-and-far, and a close-knit family--they made it an awesome birthday. As one of those friends pointed out, it was a reminder that I am "vibrantly loved."

He's Not Heavy, He's My Brother

Here is a recent photo, taken in the aftermath of some family celebrating. We had a wonderful time honoring my mom for Mother's Day while my aunt and uncle passed through town on their way from Florida to Pennsylvania.



We do a lot of celebrating during this time of year and with good reason. Not only is my mom a star, but today is my brother's birthday. He's not the sort to celebrate himself, so permit me to do it for him.

Some reasons to celebrate my brother Dave...

He is a gifted, godly leader.

He is very useful in the kitchen. Around this time of year, he will head to the fields, pick scads of berries and then begin experimenting with various recipes. Depending on the success of his experiments, he may deliver some of his confections to friends and family.

Though the only family member who does not earn a living by teaching, he is a talented Bible teacher.

He married an awesome woman.

He has an amazing memory for statistics. Dave can probably tell you the date when Mike Schmidt hit his 548th home run and the batting average of the shortstop on Guilford College's softball team. Unfortunately, he probably can't tell you much about his childhood travels to Rome, Paris or Greece.

Some really difficult things have happened to him and, though challenged, he and his wife have managed to say, "Blessed be the name of the Lord."

It frustrates me that Dave could probably go out and run 5 miles tonight, even though he hasn't worked out recently. For all my devotion to treadmills and ellipticals, I couldn't even come close to that. Nevermind, I'm not sure that's worth celebrating...

All this to say, I am so thankful for my brother and the way God is moving in his life. Happy birthday, Dave!

She Loves Me Like a Rock

My mom is a star. I’m only beginning to see how profoundly she’s influenced me. Here’s a short list of ways I’ve been affected by my mom.

As a teacher:
My first observation as a teacher was a disaster: 29 recommendations, 6 commendations. My post-observation conference with the supervisor was such a disaster that the superintendents and the union became aware of it. The supervisor was told to do another observation. My mom sat with me at the dining room table and helped me plan a lesson sure to dazzle a supervisor with something to prove.

As a friend:
When my heart got broken, my mom sat at the kitchen table with me while I poured out my heart and its many, many layers of brokenness. She told me a similar story about how a friendship of hers had ended. But all she ever said about the mean boy who broke my heart was that she always liked him. Fast-forward nine years, and the mean boy is still one of my best friends. I know the reconciliation he and I experienced was from God, but He used my mom to plant the seed that grew into forgiveness.

As a believer:
The soundtrack of my childhood was not Adventures in Odyssey or Amy Grant. Thank you, Mom, for introducing me to Paul Simon, Billy Joel and Elton John. I can’t hear Goodbye Yellow Brick Road without being transported to the hot, vinyl seats of a ’69 Chevy. I learned that faith is manifested in how you treat people and in how you handle adversity—it’s not a bumper sticker or a Janette Oke novel.

As a wife, maybe…:
My mother’s advice has always been, “Marry your best friend.” She and her best friend have been having fun for the past 40 years. My mother’s entire adult life has been spent with my dad. My adult life could not be more different. And even though the life she knows has been such a good one, she doesn’t pressure me to get married. One reason I can live so confidently and freely as a single woman is because my mother isn’t hurrying me.



All of us women have moments when we realize we’ve become our mothers. Here is one from my week.

When I was in elementary school, my mom sat with me at the kitchen table while I worked on book reports. My instinct was always to sloppily scrawl something across the cover, but she would slow me down with a ruler and an exhortation to “do it in pencil first.” This week my students were doing flow charts about hurricanes and I reminded them to “do it in pencil first.”

There are so many things I want to do and be in my life. At the top of the list is my desire to be a woman of influence—a woman like my mother.