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City of King Declares State of "Emergency"

On February 5th, Stokes County, NC was hit pretty hard by a snow and ice storm. Downed trees and widespread power outages plagued the county, but Cliff and I were looking forward to a primitive, powerless, technologyless weekend. Much to our chagrin, our power was restored after just 5 short hours of gas log heat, and hand cranked emergency radio listening.

 This morning, the sun shone brightly. The ice and snow which once covered cold branches and power lines began to slink back into the ground in a shimmery display of ice crystals and light. The weather was relatively warm, and pleasant - especially considering 12 short hours before it had been a cold, rainy, icy, snowy mess.

So. Needless to say, when we got a call from Cliff's brother, Chad, about a state of "emergency" being declared right down the road, we were shocked.

"WHAT?! ....... In STOKES county?........"

Evidently Chad and his family were out at the local Mexican food joint for an afternoon lunch in the small town of King, NC. Chad noticed the waitress posting signs about a "curfew" and not being "allowed to sell alcohol" until further notice. He learned that the City of King had sent law enforcement officials to local restaurants and business owners to inform them that no one was allowed to be out of their residential homes between the hours of 12:00am-5:00am, effective immediately.

"Part of our conditioning [is] to accept what the government believes to be in our best interest over our own common sense and burden of personal responsibility."

Now, you have to understand that Cliff and I have watched and learned over the past year, and we have both become very concerned about the degradation of our liberties, and the unconstitutional encroachments upon our freedoms courtesy of a tyrannical government that is growing at an ALARMING rate. So, when we hear things like, "police enforced curfew", and when we see businesses suffering at the hands of a government which has overstepped its bounds - we go into ACTION MODE.

We grabbed our cameras, and hit the road. Not really sure what we were looking to accomplish exactly, we visited a couple of restaurants with a video camera and asked managers and patrons what their thoughts were on the declaration of an alleged 'emergency' in King, NC. Initially, our efforts resulted in little success. Folks were glad to talk to us and discuss the problem off camera, but we couldn't find anyone willing to go on the record. So, Cliff made the suggestion that we head down to the police station and get information straight from the horse's...um... mouth.

We spoke to a few officers (who declined to go on record) about the curfew, and they explained that the emergency proclamation had been put into effect and signed by the Mayor of King, Jack Warren. As such "unless a member of a law enforcement agency or the emergency management program, every person who is located within the City of King is to be inside a house dwelling from the hours of 12am to 5am".  The officer informed us that anyone caught traveling around or through the city during those hours would be subject to questioning and arrest (note: they generously allow individuals working during those hours to travel freely during curfew).

The justification you ask? Power outages and bad weather. Concerned about the possibility of looting and "misdemeanoring", the mayor felt the need to proclaim a state of emergency, as such powers are delegated to him by means of general statute 14-288.12. Any person violating any provision of said ordinance or enacted proclamation is guilty of a Class 3 misdemeanor.

As I looked around at the cloudless sky, and the surrounding area being illuminated by street lights - powered by FULLY FUNCTIONING ELECTRICITY - I asked the officer whether he thought those measures might be a little extreme? He responded that there were more residential areas with power outages, and since the entire county of Stokes had been proclaimed to be in a state of emergency, the mayor followed suit. So, what if the county jumps off a bridge? *taps finger to chin*

That said,  it's interesting to note that although the county is under a state of emergency, Jack Warren is the only one flexing his municipal muscle to enact ordinances in response to the "emergency". It's business as usual in the rest of the county. But in King, NC he has imposed:

• 12:00am-5:00am curfew
• No sale, consumption, transportation, or possession of alcoholic beverages during the state of emergency in the City of King
• No firearms, ammunition, or explosives to be sold, purchased, or carried.
• Restricted access to areas as deemed appropriate by law enforcement officers and/or city officials.

The citizens we spoke with tonight were very concerned. How can an elected official arbitrarily restrict travel? Close down businesses? Prevent an individual from carrying a firearm? I believe that this is part of our training. Part of our conditioning to accept what the government believes to be in our best interest over our own common sense and burden of personal responsibility.

 Do I need to go anywhere between the hours of 12:00am and 5:00am? Probably not. Could I just drive to the next town over to buy alcohol or ammunition? Yes. But what about the small businesses and restaurant owners who lose that revenue? And what if I was without electricity and needed to seek shelter during restricted curfew hours? And what about all those folks without electricity? How will they be informed that they can't leave their houses, and that they have to leave their gun at home?

So, you've got a petty curfew, and you can't buy a beer at the Mexican restaurant. 

So, what? 

Try to look beyond the barricades, and the 24 hour business having to be shut-down for a few hours. One day it could be an after-dark curfew enforced with UN officers showing up at your home to confiscate your guns, and the National Guard coming to immunize your children. I'm not fear mongering, people! Just trying to point out that we have been lured by the warmth and comfort of an ordinance enacted to keep us safe, and by the time you realize you're boiling - you're already cooked.

"Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both." 

- Benjamin Franklin

How to Eat an Elephant

SCENE 1: The Bachelorette

I am a notoriously bad housekeeper. By nature, I am a messy person. And I know some might say, "Oh that's a load of stinky bologna past its expiration date that's been sitting out in the sun and growing mold for the past week!!! EVERY one is inclined toward disorder." 

To which I would say, "You're wrong."

I know people who are very fastidious.... clean.... orderly.... neat. And it just comes... naturally. My mother-in-law is one. And evidently my husband has inherited the trait. I think my friends Dana and Cathie Jo are that way too. For these types, a knot forms in the pit of their stomach at the sight of smutz on the stove, and they vomit a little in their mouths at the sight of a bathtub that hasn't been cleaned in 2 months (ok ok, 5?). 

So, alright. I'm not the tidiest person in the world, and I have never FULLY understood the logic behind making a bed that you're just going to mess up again in a few hours. So sue me. As a single person, I would leave dishes in the sink for weeks. WEEKS! And I never made the bed. EVER! And I was fine with my system of pilfering through a pile of ambiguously clean clothes strewn across the floor to throw together an outfit to wear for the day. FINE! In my squirrelly little brain, life was too short to be bothered with things like shower curtain mildew and putting my shoes back where they belonged. So, I wasn't. And I didn't. 

SCENE 2: Married and Loving It

Then along came Cliff. My soul mate. My partner in crime. My best friend. My shnooblonshked. He grew up in a culture where his mom would wake up at 5:00am to vacuum the entire house before the boys woke up to start their day. Ha. Haha. Hahahahaha. HAHAHAHAHA. Yeah. There was never a dish in the sink, and the shoes were always taken off at the door. And Cliff, being his mother's child, has inherited those traits to a degree.

So when the cute boy saw my bachelorette pad at its worst, he was a little bewildered. And for good reason! Cups and forks don't belong in the floor, evidently. Or so I'm told. Now... Cliff loving me in spite of my shortcomings, and coming along side to help me because of them has been one of the most rewarding and gratifying experiences of my life. Have I undergone an Extreme Housekeeping Makeover? Heh. Well. Not exactly.

SCENE 3: A Spoonful of Sugar

Fortunately for me, my husband makes the bed. And does a BEAUTIFUL job at it! We also share the task of doing the laundry (he washes and dries; I fold and put away). So, the kitchen is my biggest disaster zone. Before Cliff introduced me into his little bachelor pad, he would make soup and sandwiches for lunch, and would wash the little knife and plate and bowl by hand, put everything away, and be done with it. 

And then he got himself a wife.

Spatulas, and spices, and whisks, and plates, and little bits of lettuce are left quaking in the wake of my culinary whirlwind of fury. I LOVE to cook, but to say that I'm not "neat" would be an understatement. I get so caught up in making sure whatever is on the stove doesn't spontaneously combust, that I don't stop to think that I am on my fourth butter knife, and the other three are strewn haphazardly across the counter top. I get too busy with perfecting the sauce to care about the entrails dripping down the front of the stove.

The first day that Cliff had to wake up and deal with a messy kitchen plastered in what he calls "food boogers"? That was not a good day. And I felt, pretty much, like the worst human being alive. He is a business owner, and works from home - so the mess that I left in the kitchen would have been the equivalent of him smearing feces in my cubicle and telling me I either had to clean it myself or work around the poo. Yeah, yeah - ok, so it wasn't thaaaaaaat bad, but nevertheless, I made a silent vow to make a better effort at keeping the kitchen disaster to a minimum. Sure, I still make an awful mess!!!! I mean, it is what it is. But I have been making a conscious effort to either clean the mess up right after, before bed, or before I leave for work in the morning.

It's important to my man. So, it's important to me. And in serving and loving each other, I find that spritzing a little cleaner on the stove and wiping up the grease has become an extremely gratifying experience. You can't imagine how grateful and appreciative this man is of not having to clean food boogers out of the sink!!!! A seemingly simple task pays off big time (whispers: big time).

SCENE 4: Why IS there a sock lodged... there?

The kitchen has been my biggest battle. BY. FAR. And now that I've gotten the hang of using the dishwasher and... well... soap - I've begun to titalize the idea of possibly... maybe... kinda... NOT throwing my clothes on the floor after I undress. Cliff says it looks like I've sloughed off a layer of skin, because the clothes lay in piles and look as though the human has been miraculously extracted, leaving a pile of crumpled fibers in the floor. So, evidently they make these things called DRESSERS with DRAWERS that can house CLEAN and FOLDED clothing. Oooo, oooo, and they can be organized! Like, by clothing type, and stuff. FOR EXAMPLE! The pajamas can romp and play in a drawer all to themselves, while my long sleeved t-shirts can hang out in the drawer above and rub elbows (heh) with my band t-shirts. I really can make the choice to not shuffle through a drawer of pants to find my pink bra. Each. Drawer. Has. A. Purpose.

It's genius, really.

Oh oh oh! And? The drawers can be CLOSED. Like, they don't have to hang half-open and stuff. When neatly closed and retracted into their holes, the drawers actually allow for EASY ACCESS to any clothing article of my choosing. 

Wild.

SCENE 5: Mmmmm, meaty.

So, while I cannot claim to be a Master Guru Homemaker Extroidinaire, I CAN say that I have begun to master the art of consuming the elephant. You know the old saying? "How DO you eat an Elephant? Well. One bite at a time!" See, one should never try to shove an entire African beast down ones throat. NO, I SAY! Eat your trunked creature morsel by tasty morsel. And though it's tough and chewy and a little gross - the singular accomplishment of a clean dish is oddly satisfying.

SUHNNNNOW!!!!!!

Snow is miraculous. I'm sorry, but... it just is. Molecular ice nuclei freezing, and refreezing within a chaotic atmospheric collision of moist air trying to dislodge an arctic air mass causing radical changes in the design of each flake - making it nearly impossible to encounter any two snowflakes which are identical?

Yes. Miraculous.

And growing up in the south, I can really only remember a handful of instances when we got snow. Like, REALLY got snow. You know, the snow that sticks around for weeks. The snow that allows you to stomp out into the yard with a bowl and a large spoon to collect large quantities for snow cream - without fear of collecting grass and dirt as well. The kind of snow that causes typically easy-going-I-ain't-got-no-where-to-be-so-I'll-drive-9-mph-on-my-tractor-to-go-see-Ed-the-next-county-over kind of southerners to LOSE THEIR MINDS and stand in mile-long lines waiting to purchase eggs and bread and milk. Because we are CONVINCED that we will SURELY PERISH if there is snow on the ground, and only half a loaf of bread in the cabinet. The kind of snow that compels full-grown adults to sled down hills, and into the street with nothing but a thin piece of metal between their butts and a certain icy death.

So, when I was a kid - snow was trumped up to be a big deal. Because here? It IS a big deal. My mom would dress me up in 32 layers, then cover my feet and hands in old bread bags, and then shove several pairs of socks onto my appendages. My inability to walk or stand upright never deterred me from having a good time, though. We had the perfect hill in the front of our house for sledding, and I remember one year it snowed so much that my dad dug a TRENCH to create a sort of an icy shoot that sent us down the hill, over the driveway, and to the other side of the property. Heh, or at least that's what it seemed like, anyway. And our entire perspectives on life itself seemed to shift. Everything had the prefix 'snow': Snowmen, snowballs, snowcream, snowangels, snowwalks, snowdays, snowmusic, snowfood, snowdriving, snowpoopinginthetoilet, snowbirds, snowplay...

So, now as an adult - I LOSE MY MIND, and twitch, and convulse, and morph into this snow-obsessed woman-child... running to the window every 5 minutes to see how much more snowfall has accumulated. I become an expert meteorologist, checking the doplar radar on the hour to determine whether or not that moist gulf air is going to gain enough momentum to collide with the stream of northern arctic air at JUST THE RIGHT MOMENT to give us the massive snowfall amounts that I've always dreamed of. I run out into the snow in my pajamas and do a jig in the front yard. If I was a dog, and could run in fast spastic circles around and around and around and dig my nose in the snow and pant and roll around in it and make yellow snow and then run around again in fast spastic circles around and around and around - and NOT get sent to a mental institution and/or arrested? Then, I totally would.

Therefore, when there was a fart in the house earlier this morning (I won't tell you who it was, but suffice it to say - it wasn't the rabbit) and I excitedly announced, "Ooooo. Snowfart!" I think that's when Cliff realized that I have officially morphed, and there is no dealing with me now.

 First thing I did when I woke up this morning was run to the window. I always go to the back door, because I think it's so cool to see how much snow accumulated on the banisters. I saw that thick blanket of fresh powdery snow stacked up several inches high, and nearly wet myself. It's so BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!

So, in recognition of the snow, I would like to make the following snowday suggestions:

• Play lots of classical music. It's the perfect soundtrack for watching snowflakes drift to the ground.
• Make snowcream. I'm sorry. You can't have snow without snowcream. You just can't.
• Build a snowman. But only if you're really super committed to having the best snowman ever. Little half-done-willy-nilly snow creatures will NOT suffice. I don't care if you ARE only 5 years old. Work those tiny arms and build something to be proud of.
• Take lots and lots and lots of pictures. You'll want to look back and remember this one day. I've already taken my first one this morning!
• Snuggle up with another human being on a soft surface and just gaze out the window. Roaring fire optional.
• Create snowday food concoctions: Snow Pancakes, Snow Soup, Snow Cookies, Snow Coffee, etc...
• Take advantage of cancellations at your hair stylist and venture out into the snow for a haircut and a fresh coat of paint. Fortunately, in our area there is no lack of 4-wheel drive vehicles with over-sized tires. So, we're good.

Or maybe............

• Just do nothing. Allow yourself to be stranded. Slow down. Quit your busy work, and take a break from the worries of life. Let a fresh, white, snowy blanket of mercy engulf your icy yesterdays in warmth. Wrap yourself up in the clean grace that is given so freely by the Father, and look out onto that snowy landscape knowing that the love that is offered to you is no less miraculous.

And that's when I realized I had forgotten to breathe.

Here's the thing. Whether you're a chick or a dude, chances are at some point or another you have been effected by the raging, chocolately, confusing wrath of a tearful woman in the throes of Pre-Menstrual Syndrome (better known as PMS). Here are a few things that I learned this past cycle that I feel would be helpful for the masses.

Things You Should Never Do While PMS'ing

1. Try on that pair of jeans. You know, THAT pair of jeans. The pair of jeans that was folded up and crammed into the back corner of the bottom drawer. They're there for a reason, people. The WORST (worst) time to try on the barely-fit pants is when you're bloated and delusional. You already feel resolved to a life of watching Fitness TV while laying half naked on the couch eating Dorito's; talking to Richard Simmons while a construction crew tears down a wall in your house so that you can be transferred to an assisted living home, where your bottom will be wiped, and you'll have someone scheduled to come turn you over every few hours or so. NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO TRY ON PANTS!!! Unless they have an elastic band and are ENORMOUS. In the eternally wise words of Nacho Libre:

"Chancho. When you are a man, sometimes you wear stretchy pants in your room. It's for fun." -Nacho Libre

2. Pick up that long lost crafting project. You will want to shoot things and make old ladies cry. I don't know why. But it will happen. There is a noose hidden amongst the yarn. Best to steer clear.

3. Read page 153 from Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. Thanks a lot for making me cry, Don. Thanks a lot, you jerk face... brilliant... writing... butt-head.. person.

"I didn't want his words to mean anything. I didn't want to need his affirmation. But part of our selves is spirit, and our spirits are thirsty, and my father's words went into my spirit like water." -Donald Miller / A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

4. Decide that it's a good idea to reorganize your underwear drawer. It's not. That's not a good idea when your hormones aren't crying out for human flesh, much less when they are. You will not finish this project. Your panties will begin to breed and multiply, taking up residence on the ceiling fan and in the waste basket. Their offspring will spawn into mutated giraffe-caterpillar people and chase you around the house demanding to snack on your toenail clippings.

5. Turn on lights. Don't. Just... don't. Low-to-no light is best.

6. Pop the pimple that is growing in the crevice between your nostril and your face. You'll believe that by extracting the puss and infection from the festering growth that you are somehow extracting the puss and infectious nature of your festering attitude - and you'd be wrong. All you'll have is an oozing hole in your face, surrounded by redness and shame. Leave it alone. See #5.

---

I did those things, forgot to breathe, and went crazy for about 7 minutes while I ranted about how my life had become a consecutive series of waiting for computer applications to open, and then stormed to the bedroom, slammed the door, and called Cliff (who was sitting in the office) from the house phone on his cellphone phone and asked the he rescue me from the giraffe-caterpillar people chasing me around trying to eat my toenail clippings.

Whether it was the PMS or the oxygen depravation, I'm not sure. Probably both. Learn from my mistakes!!! Breathe. And don't pop the light in your underwear drawer that's on page 153 of the crafting project while going around... pants... less.

Thursday Thinkerly Thought Thump

• Pickles are an extremely polarizing entity. Whether on your burger, or your overpriced Chick-Fil-A sandwich... to eat the pickle, discard the pickle, or shun the pickle? THAT is the question. Personally - I like the pickle. But I'm very persnickety about the types of pickles I fellowship with in my belly. I enjoy a cold, crisp pickle - fresh out of the refrigerated jar. Sour... sweet... dill? I love me some cold crispy pickle. Warm chip-sliced pickle? Gross. They taste like garbage. Literally, like there was a cucumber that fell into the bottom of the dumpster, and it laid there for so long that it pickled, and then someone from a restaurant was all "Hey, let's use this!" and then they were all "I'm slicing a pickle and I'm going to put it on some sandwiches!" and then they were all "I'm so smart, look at me, I'm using rotten fermented vegetable matter that grew out of the ground and then got all hot and mushy laying in the bottom of the dumpster." And then they were all, "Yay, me." And then I was all "I'll take no part in your over-priced pickle ruse. Garbage, I say. GARBAGE!!!"

• How does a car get dusty? There are large vents circulating the air at all times, and a window open for those other times. I don't understand how dust even has a chance to SETTLE! I have a thick coating of dust that has settled on the dash of my Beetle bug. I don't understand this. I know that I have skin, and that there is dust that is probably stirred whenever I sit in the cloth covered seats... but the entire vehicle is in a CONSTANT state of motion. How? Why? When? What?

• Scrubs confuse me. They're like regular clothes. But.... snazzy. They're reserved specifically for those who work in the medical industry. As if the fibers are somehow more sanitary and clean than those of other types of clothing. But they're not. They're just clothes. And you wash them. And you put them on one crazy patterned pant leg at a time. Scrubs look comfy. I think I'll switch to a wardrobe made up completely of scrubs. Heart scrubs. Polka dotted scrubs. Squiggly lined scrubs. Black scrubs. Rainbow scattered scrubs. Woodstock scrubs. Scrubs: both confusing, and jolly fun.

• Signature stamps are neat. It's like your signature - in a stamp. I have been playing with Cliff's signature stamp, and now several spots on my body are emblazoned with a flashy "Cliffffff-squiggleline-Mmmmuncyyyy". Neat.

• This chair smells like a fart.

Turkey, and Muncy, and Foliage. OH MY!

Welcome Home

The mayhem and preparations and general runningaroundfreakingout has subsided. Everyone is sleeping, coffee is brewing, and my mind is RACING but I keep having to convince myself that it's over and I don't have anything to DO. The leftovers are neatly organized into their disposable containers and the kitchen is sparkly clean. There is no turkey to brine, no pies to prepare, no mantels to dust, no freaking out left to do over who will sit where, no showers to scrub. Just a refrigerator filled with leftovers and a heart filled with lots of warm, happy memories.

Ah, the joys of a wife's first Thanksgiving hosted at her house.

We bequeathed unto Saturday the noble distinction of Muncy Thanksgiving Feast Day, and it had been determined that everyone should converge on the tiny home of Cliff and Sara. And I seriously could not have been more thrilled or honored!!! But as the guest list grew, so did my stress level. I've moved into Cliff's house, which is less than 1000 square feet, built some time around the turn of the 20th century, and cozy enough for two. The Old Girl starts to feel her age and smallness when we have lots of guests over. But as invitations morphed into including my sister, brother-in-law, and my dad and his wife - the concept of 'I'm sorry, we don't have enough room!' never entered my mind. Not once.

It's the way I was raised. My mom is the Grand Poobah of hospitality, parties, and making folks feel like they're... home. During my formative years, we had a constant flow of people in and out of our house. And not just on the holidays! My sisters and I were homeschooled, as were several other families within our social circle, and sometimes the come-over-for-coffee-and-a-teacher's-conference invitation that had been extended to one neighbor and her children would grow into dozens adult and child bodies converging at our little home. It always seemed like our lives were bursting at the seams with activity, coffee, and laughter.

So, when a house perfect for two became party central for a guest list of sixteen - it really didn't phase me. Sure there was a moment of panic when I couldn't track down an extra card table, and I was sure that I had botched the turkey - but everything fell into place. My mother-in-law's fiance let us borrow his card table, and the turkey was delightfully moist. More importantly, at the end of the day, I hope (and think) that everyone felt... at home.

 

Small Space - Small Budget

Nostalgia, warm fuzzies, and moist turkey aside - how did we pull it off? With such a small space, and a teeny tiny budget, you really have to get creative. Here are a few tips from the wiry efforts of your local Saradactyl:

• Preparation is KING. Whether you're having a couple of folks over for dinner, or you're hosting a full blown holiday gathering for 72 of your close-to-distant relatives - I can't say 
  

  

  enough about the value preparation. I am the WORST procrastinator in the world, so don't think that there haven't been times when I pulled a tablescape out of my ass. As a matter of fact, more times than not - that's the way I usually roll. But there is SO MUCH to be said for doing whatever you can the day before. Side-dishes prepped and chilled, glasses washed, serving dishes set out, coffee ground, etc... etc..  The very small task of cleaning and chopping the veggies the day before saved me a tremendous amount of stress! That was one less mess, one less knife, one less cutting board that I had to clean up on the day OF. Consequently, it afforded me the opportunity to stand on the counter and take this photo. If I had been scrambling at the last minute there is no way I would have even considered stopping to take a picture.
  

• Make the most of your space. We have a tiny eat-in-kitchen, that spills over into the living room. Which posed three problems: 1.) There was no way in hell everyone could eat in the kitchen at the same table. 2.) We didn't have enough serving bowls to distribute between three tables. 3.) With limited counter space, it made setting up a buffet line near-to-impossible. SOLUTION:
• • Divide and conquer. By setting up two additional card tables (one in the living room and one off to the side of the kitchen) it gave ample space for folks to spread out.

  • Beautify. Because we couldn't put the serving bowls ON the tables, it gave me space to create three unique 'tablescapes' that were warm and inviting.
    

    

     
    

  • Get creative. With limited counter space, you realize just how much room your kitchen sink takes up. So Molly, my baby sister, had a stroke of genius: use that space. We took a small TV tray (the size that fits in your lap), and covered it with a blanket which disguised the sink and spread to both sides of the counter. This allowed for one continuous buffet line and gave us a TON of extra space!

• Use what you have on hand. I didn't have money to go out and buy candles, or table cloths, or greenery for decor. I barely had enough money to buy the bird! These are
  

  

   moments when your creativity is really put to the test. The tablecloth I had intended to use for the main table wound up being too short, and I had NOTHING to cover the card tables with. So, in the true spirit of my mother, I went outside the box. Literally. In the backyard I found fall leaves, and remnants of the spruce trees that had been pruned earlier last week. I arranged everything on the long table, and used it as inspiration for the other tables. I had a "special helper" who made good use of two of our pillow shams (which happened to coordinate with the color scheme) as the coverings for the other tables. Tree parts and colorful leaves were dispersed throughout!!! Small oil lanterns that we already had on hand, and candles gathered from around the house were strategically nestled into the bosom of the tablescapes, which had a dual purpose: it helped thangs look real purdy like, and also gave folks some extra light to help distinguish between their corn pudding and the sweet potato casserole.
  

Were there mishaps? Yes. 

Was it perfect? No. 

Do I have a lot to be thankful for? Words can't even express.

Hey good lookin'. Whatcha got cookin'?

Social networking has led to the ultimate demise of blogging regularity. Why carve out 30-45 minutes in my day to share some interesting tid bit with the masses, when I can compose a text in approximately 30 seconds and publish it to 190 of my 'closest' friends? My Tweets automatically interface directly with my Facebook, and my Qik instantly synchs with both my Twitter and my Facebook. And once I publish this blog? It will be spoon-fed to the masses via Twitter update... which will update my Facebook as well.

The tight connectivity of it all frightens me a little bit, and oddly compels me to buck the neat compartments wherein everything snuggles-in all neat and tidy-like. Like an old man who refuses to acquiesce to the convenience of a bank safe made of steel, and instead prefers to spread his treasure in the backyard - meticulously mapping the coordinates for the holes in which he's buried it.

But for all of its frightening potential, I am the first to admit that I enjoy a good banter over the instantaneous stream of information available via these social networking sites, and spent nearly my entire Saturday this past weekend catching up with everyone... commenting... posting... etc..

However, for all the writing and sharing that I spend my time doing - it's only in these little sound byte clips that shoot like sparks from the flint of my brain. Even though the world awaits these with breathless anticipation (*plants tongue firmly in cheek*), it's made me a bit lazy. Mediocre. Lethargic. Microwave Meals for the brain - because you still get the nutrition (such as it is), but without all the messy clean-up and prep time.

Cliff likes to proudly announce from time to time that I PUNISH the kitchen. Admittedly, cooking is something that I'm pretty good at, and something that I LOVE to do. I am always anxious to get in there and get my hands (and everything else) dirty - experiment with new recipes and ingredients... filling the house with aromas of warm spices and cold butter hitting a hot pan. 

Last night, the kitchen punished me. 

I had grandiose ideas of succulent pork chops with creamy mushroom gravy, and tart apples sauteed in butter and combined with freshly shredded cabbage and red onion, sprinkled ever so lightly with sugar and light and love. 

*laughs*

EVERY. SINGLE. SURFACE. of the kitchen was marked with some kind of food-like disaster. Flour spilled over there, milk dripping from the edge of the counter, cutting boards, and knives, and somehow the garlic powder container wound up in the sink buddying it up with the dirty dishes? I would not have been surprised had, at one point, the discarded apple peels been carried off by wild rabbits. It was all so surreal. 

Which unfortunately, did NOT contribute to the delectable nature of our fantastic feast. The oral processing of the pork chops had to be carefully navigated through seas of fat and grizzle and shards of bone. My apple cabbage concoction had too much onion, and turned out a soggy, sloppy mess. When all was said and done, my kitchen looked like a battlefield riddled with the bodies of culinary tragedy, and shrouded by thin blankets of my pride. And we were still hungry.

This is a good picture of what I fear the most in nearly every area of my life: that the time, effort, and energy poured into any one task or goal will not be worth the sullen failure that may ultimately result. 

Love.

Career.

Relationships.

Pork roast.

Knitting.

Writing.

Photographing.

Bathing. 

(heh - kidding)

(kinda)

But the fact is that out of every 2 or 3 colossal failures, I have another 5 to 6 really cool successes. I'm starting to learn that the mere act of trying should never be hindered by one's fears of what the result may or may not be. So, sure. I could settle for writing little sound byte micro blogs to amuse my friends and myself. But I could also step outside of what's comfortable and explore a new recipe. If I wrote a book - would it flop? Probably. If I took up photography full time - would I totally screw up a gig? Inevitably. If I take a risk on a volatile friendship - would I get burned? *shrugs* Could be. Should that stop me from trying? Nope.

So, if you'll excuse me... I have to go make dinner now.