Hand Me a Chainsaw...

My suitcase was so mangled last night, I couldn't get the zipper open. Thank goodness the wealth of the things I needed before going to sleep early this morning was in my other checked bag, whose zipper was uninhibited.

I headed back to the Bluegrass airport before work and USAir noted the sad state of my favorite khaki Eddie Bauer middle-sized suitcase before prying it open with a huge metal hook and having me file a claim. I hovered over the open bag, noting the FAA inspection paper (in every single bag I've checked since October there has appeared the calling card of the FAA, so they must think I'm trouble) as I transferred all of my stuff to the mammoth-sized khaki Eddie Bauer suitcase. I'm sure I was quite a sight, sneaking my unmentionables as discreetly as possible from one suitcase to the other on the floor in front of the line of passengers waiting to go to Charlotte. Yeah, I know, underwear is underwear, but there still is something creepy about 15 strangers seeing it and everything else in your bag.

I'm not complaining at all, seeming that I got my belongings and hundreds upon hundreds of others probably didn't have that luxury (as evidenced by the cordoned-off acre of parked baggage at the end of the airport and the reports I've seen on TV of that problem, magnified, in other cities). I just thought you might be amused at what can happen to a non-overstuffed bag, minding its own business on the way from RIC to LEX.

Christmas Goats, Knitting, and Racquetball

(Posted retrospectively due to travel lateness) Ah, the Charlotte airport again. This was the scene of major catastrophes over the Christmas holiday, from what I’ve heard and read. Looks like most of the mayhem has subsided, but the personnel look weary. I’m thinking that somewhere around here is the baggage processing center I heard so much about over the weekend. Apparently the three worst airports to be at during this Christmas were Charlotte, Richmond, and Cincinnati. Thankfully, I only had to hit the first two, and so far, the whereabouts of my baggage are still known.

Once again I’ve forgotten to charge my phone before heading off on a trip. The charger is conveniently in the front top pocket of my checked luggage. Therefore, my mobile phone is in its “off” position, as I must save its juice to give a phone call plea for retrieval upon my arrival to LEX. Thankfully, I remembered my chap stick. Priorities, priorities. ;-)

The holidays were really nice this year. Each year I get older, it feels less and less like a big deal—or the commercial aspect of Christmas, that is. I guess that’s a good sign that my heart is edging closer to the manger and away from the mall. This year I decided to shrug off my exuberant gift-giving tendencies and use a strict Christmas budget, gleaned from the pages of my favorite non-horse magazine, Real Simple. My smart-aleck brother tells me I could’ve done a budget just fine out of Quicken or Microsoft Money, but my printed PDF version worked just fine.

In addition to getting them each a small gift, I got my family a goat for Christmas. No, the goat was not added to the menagerie of four-legged creatures in the back 10 (goodness, we have enough already), but for a needy family sponsored by World Vision. Dad read the envelope that I left on the tree, and for some reason (maybe it was just anxiety released because I wasn’t sure if they were going to like the idea) I got misty-eyed. I don’t think anyone else did. I do tend to be the crier in the family. It probably was a bit of an anticlimax after the hour of gift-opening, but for once my normal feeling of, “Wow, I got everyone something perfect, but I’m going to be paying for it for the next three months,” wasn’t there. Instead I felt like we’d made a difference for someone, somewhere.

Everyone was grateful and serious for about two minutes. Because then that brought up the reality that a few years ago, my brother won a “beautiful black and white baby goat” in a 4-H raffle, and, “Your father wouldn’t let me bring it home.” Yes, I agree, I’m not much on goats for backyard decoration. The needy family can use it for milk and dairy products that they can use and sell in the marketplace. Goats here in the States are pretty obnoxious, I must agree. I clearly remember two goats galloping around noisily on the deck at my boss’ house three or four years back—6:30 am on a Saturday—while I was house-sitting and staying with her daughters. Let me tell you, those goats are lucky they survived the day.

Well over the holiday, I learned two very exciting new things. Knitting and racquetball. They are on opposite ends of the heart rate-raising activity scale, but both are pretty awesome. I did knit when I was about 11, but it’s been awhile, and my ever-creative sister and mom helped me cast-on and start knitting a somewhat pathetic-looking blue scarf. Well, the end looks rough, but the rest of it is looking pretty good, now that I have the hang of it. Rest assured, people, my knitting needles are in my checked baggage—I won’t be poking anyone’s eyes out tonight.

My brother and I went to the gym today and he taught me the rules of racquetball. We played three games and I basically stank at it, but it was so much fun. Occasionally I would perform an unintentional kill which would allow me much celebration (and the echoing/reverberation of sound in a racquetball court is too cool). I only got smacked in the face by the ball once (no mark left) and Travis and I were in stitches with our occasional Dodgeball-isms that we added to the mix.

I’m guessing that this screaming child that is running around at the gate is probably on my flight! Hang on folks, it’s going to be an interesting night.

Silent Nights

Pure, blissful, quiet.

This is one of the only places where I can hear absolutely nothing…and to think it was once my bedroom for many, many years and I never really valued the quiet. Back then I craved sound. It’s funny how you can grow to love the silence again. Keep in mind, this is coming from someone who sings non-stop in the car, shower, or in her head, and always has something playing in the background (except at work) even if it’s XM Classics.

The walls are repainted, the rows and rows of colorful rosettes are packed away in boxes, and the décor is much more grown-up, but it’s still my old room, and I love it. The “dusty rose” carpet was rolled out earlier this year and beige moved in. Mom has pictures of Sarah and me each on “Pacer” at ages 9-12ish, me on “Ginger” at 14, Sarah on “Sue” in her early teens, and Sarah and I each on “Icy” from age 15 and on. We have been blessed with a long line of trusty steeds that have fostered our love for horses and riding. Let's see, what else has changed. My old spool bed that used to be in here and then followed me out to Kentucky is in the bedroom at the Chatham house now, and two twin beds have taken its place in here. I still have to bundle up to sleep here. This room has never been warm in the winter, but it’s nothing that a warm quilt cannot fix.

I still painstakingly close the blinds on all three panels of the big bay window. Not that anyone ever climbs the hill in the middle of the night, but I was always freaked out as a kid about having something stare in at me! My old cat, O.J., used to stare in at me and meow until I would sneak him in the window. I would snuggle up with him and pet him in the window seat. That was back when cats weren’t allowed in the house. Mom has since broken that rule with the acquisition of Edelweiss, who is the strangest cat I’ve ever met. She acts offended that I look at her, most of the time, so you can imagine how she takes me talking to her.

Travis just came down the hall and surprised me as I was brushing my teeth so I’ve now seen everyone. The other ¾ of them met me at the airport. The past two hours or so were spent catching up, swapping stories, and sharing photos. I have enjoyed telling them about my new friends from Southland and updating them on my Colorado adventures. It’s only been a few weeks since the Thanksgiving visit, but a lot of stories get lost in the translation over the phone. Hand motions and facial expressions add so much to a crazy story.

Gosh, I’m being so serious. Ok, so I’ll tray and lighten the mood. I was stranded at LEX for a few hours tonight but wireless internet and IMing with my sister kept me occupied. When I get into an airport I want to move along and get to my destination, as most do, and tonight I just wasn’t digging camping out for long. I missed my connecting flight in Charlotte (land of the potted trees, rocking chairs, and one-way mirrors) and caught a later one to Richmond. A lady beside me in the cabin was looking over my shoulder at my crossword puzzle from the airline's Attache magazine, and I could tell she was ultra-talkative (I’m ultra-quiet and keep to myself generally on a plane unless provoked—and by this I mean that the person starts talking to me about some topic that I find pretty interesting.). I humored her for a few minutes and apparently she’d been stranded in Charlotte since 10am because a plane ran off the runway in Richmond and got stuck in the mud, effectively shutting down two runways. It made CNN (I heard it on the TV, but couldn't find it on their site). My seat neighbor was less excited about it than the news anchors were, that’s for sure!

Ah winter…dry skin, chapped lips....and combatting both. I visited The Body Shop in the Charlotte airport and slathered my hands with some great smelling lotion. Then I remembered how anti-scent my mother is. If I am going out while at my parents,’ I literally have to go outside and spray perfume and then get out of there as fast as I can. I had to ask the lady tonight for something to wipe off the lavender scent and for some unscented lotion. Well, go figure, she gave me the exact lotion that my massage therapist uses. So my nose was confused for the next few hours, because my olfactory sense was telling me I’d just gotten a massage, but my muscles were saying, “nope, you just need one.” So while my nose remained confused, my lips were happy, as I treated them to three new exciting, flavorful, nourishing lip balms. Well, one of the three for now. Hmm, includes beeswax from Zambia (furrows brow...interesting!). Well, anyway, forgetting your chap stick isn’t always a bad thing.

Well, now for eight hours or more of wonderful sleep. Sydney the Lab won't be kicking me, and that 80-lb. ice-coated branch won't be scraping and smacking against the skylight...well, within earshot at least. Needless to say, sleet on a flat tin roof and the skylight in the adjacent bathroom provided for some interesting sleeping acoustics last night.

Here's to savoring the silence. Rest well, everyone, and Merry Christmas Eve!

Christmas Wishes

Well, my blog for today really was quite grand but it disappeared into oblivion and now the moment is gone (as is the creativity and motivation), so I will just say a Merry Christmas to my friends. Have a safe weekend and I hope you don't end up like Tom Hanks--brushing your teeth in an airport--on account of this insane weather. I'm hoping that the airport personnel are out there running hair dryers on the ice-covered runway, 'cause I haven't missed a Christmas with my family, ever, and this isn't the year to break the tradition!

Mocha & Me in 2001, after an under saddle training session.

I will leave you with a couple of photos of my dear Mocha, who we sold today. It is bittersweet, because I raised her, but she really needed a new home. This is totally a God thing, because He let me run into someone who values Mocha's bloodlines and wants a mare to breed, and the offer just rolled off of my tongue before I had time to really think about what I was saying. But I am certain that the meeting God-prompted. Wow, I wish I could be that aware of His will like that in every situation. But, anyway, this is the perfect situation for her, and she's going to have quite the good life as a dressage horse and mom, even though my sister and I will miss her very much.
Mocha & Me in 2000, in Versailles, Ky.

Christmas Card Excuses

Every year, I always end up running late on my Christmas cards. They make it to the post office on Dec. 24, sometimes even later. Usually it’s procrastination and just the general chaos of the holiday season that hampers my progress on them. But this year it’s not my fault.

In early November, I ordered some extremely appropriate Christmas return address labels, anticipating that they’d be here in plenty of time—I’ve been prompted by my PDA to send my Christmas cards since Dec. 11, and every day I “snooze” the reminder until the next, because like Charlie Brown in his Christmas special, my trips to the mailbox these last several days have been disappointing. (Just because of the label aspect—everyone’s cards have been wonderful!) As you probably have already noticed, the date is 12/21. My Christmas cards are still nestled in their pretty shrink wrapped boxes.

It took tons of courage to order those labels in the first place. After all, anytime I have ordered “specialty” return address labels in the past five years, it has been the kiss of death--I’ve had to move shortly thereafter, usually because a roommate is getting married and I have had to find a new living situation. (For those of you unfamiliar with the phenomenon, I am the lucky roommate--ladies meet their future husbands while they live with me.) If I make boring return address labels at home, I never have to move. Go figure. I decided that I was being borderline superstitious, which was ridiculous, so I bit the bullet and ordered my groovy little return address labels adorned with holiday-looking horses, only to still have it bite me in the rear. J Dad dubbed me “Last-Minute Stephanie” at an early age (my second nickname after “Blondie”) and I was really trying hard not to live up to that nickname this year.

Why a big deal out of this and not just slap my boring self-made address labels on the envelopes, you ask? Because I’m bound and determined to use those labels-THIS YEAR--and stubbornness runs in my blood. So I’m hoping that I will find a nice little envelope today from colorfulimages.com, and perhaps everyone on my list will get their neatly labeled, smartly sealed Christmas cards before Valentine’s Day.

Can I Just Hit "Pause?"

Another perfect weekend flies by...I wish I could hit an "insert another day here" button, or at least "pause." I have plenty on which to expound right now, but I'm determined to get eight hours of sleep before starting one of the busiest weeks I'll experience this year. Hopefully Sydney (the yellow Lab that I am pet sitting along with his house) will not be dreaming of chasing rabbits, or whatever it is he was "running" after in his sleep, because he kept me up with his perpetual kicking last night. Crazy dog!

Yesterday was just plain awesome. Between the party preparation, catching up with my close friend and sister in Christ Emilie (formerly known as my "twin tower," but re-dubbed my "twin spire" for obvious reasons after 9/11), finishing up decorating, and spending time with friends, old and new, I just felt so incredibly blessed. I couldn't have designed a better day, except maybe inserting a little more time to just relax and rest. But let's not get picky now here, Steph.

DRT had an incredible message today in church that I will try and touch on tomorrow. Christine sang "Untitled Hymn," which had me scrambling for the tissues and thankful for whoever invented waterproof mascara. There is something about the pure surrender of that song that gets me every time.

I treated myself to my first massage in several months, and it was sorely needed after all the standing (while cooking/baking, hoofing it all over Denver, and singing in Christmas programs) wreaked havoc on my back. I fell asleep 15 minutes into the massage, and awoke feeling groggy, relaxed, breathing only unilaterally (who knows why that happens) through my nose and wearing funky patterns on my face from the massage table. However, I was wonderfully calm and pliable and my massage therapist said all my worry lines were gone. :-)

Syd and I took a walk in the snow this afternoon and I think the temperature dropped 10 degrees en route. It is 11 degrees outside right now. It dropped from 23 to 13 while I was singing Handel's Messiah tonight. This is one of those nights where people would've bragged about having streaked across the quad (well, Averett's equivalent of a quad which was this half-acre ampitheater-like area visible from three inter-connected dorms). I never quite understood the novelty of such an experience. Nope, not me...I'm a huge wuss about below-freezing temps and you'd find me camped out by a fireplace tonight if I had one. Nights like these make me thankful for down comforters, warm PJs, and a working thermostat.

Baking Frenzy

Somehow I convinced myself tonight that baking six dozen cut-out sugar cookies was going to make me feel extremely productive after a day that wasn't so bad, but could've gone better. Four-and-a-half hours later, and after only two dozen of the little shapes have been iced and decorated, I am wondering what I was thinking! And tomorrow morning I will rise early to make the famous artichoke dip for the potluck lunch. Yeah, I need my head examined, right? Well all I can say is that I didn't burn a single batch, and those cookies are delectable. I even got to listen to the Thomas Crowne Affair while I scurried around the kitchen. I finally got to see the Ferrero Rocher chocolate commercial with the doorbells singing a Christmas carol. Nifty.

Honestly, the baking and cooking are bliss for me...it's just the mound of dishes that lurks at the end of the task that makes me cringe. I got it out of the way tonight, but that means that I still have 48 naked cookies waiting to be painted at some point before Thursday.

On Clean Slates and Clean Socks

All day I’ve had the urge to clean house. I’m not sure what inspired me, whether it’s the time of year, promptings by things happening around me, or just the inability to sit still when I know this is the busiest time of the year, but something needed to be sorted, consolidated, or purged. Rarely when I have the urge to “clean house” do I mean it in the literal sense—my roommate can vouch for my disdain of doing the dishes, and when it comes to floor cleaning, well, that’s why God made the Swiffer Wetjet, right?

So after kicking on Schubert’s Mass and pairing all my freshly laundered socks (well, except for two loners whose matches I haven’t seen in awhile), hanging up three skirts and starting another load of laundry, and still not feeling truly fulfilled in a clean house kind of way, I spotted my mobile phone. Somehow, before tonight, I had only figured out how to delete numbers and not entries. So occasionally I’d be flipping through the numbers and would see a name that I’d tried to delete but only had been able to purge the number. Tonight I started scrolling and whaddaya know, there’s an overall delete prompt in there! Typically I pride myself on technological prowess, but apparently I fall short in the mobile phone department.

So there I went, through the list of names, some with last names, some with last name initials, and some without last names at all. I knew most everyone in there, but there were a couple entries where I had to ask Christy how in the world so-and-so’s number ended up in my phone. I can’t for the life of me figure out to whom some of the names without last names belong. But this is all beside my point here. I found great freedom in purging my phone list.

A little while back I had a good conversation with someone about clean slates. Very rarely am I asked to further explain my metaphors (“…She was given to fits of semi-precious metaphors” ~Benny and Joon), however cliché they may be, but occasionally someone will cause me to stop and consider why I began using the phrase in the first place. A clean slate for me is a great big deep breath after which I am able to have peace that all things are new. I have a feeling of deep, tranquil comfort that God has a grip on me and that tomorrow, something I like to have a death grip on usually, is in His control. Usually this realization is one of those “duh” moments where I hand the reins over and say--“Ok, so I botched that one up in a major way. Once again, I realize that You are a much better determinant of my future than I am.”

Realizing you have a clean slate is wonderfully freeing, but often it is paired with pain. Slate blanching represents growth—whether it’s abandoning a bad habit, closing the book on a destructive relationship--romantic or platonic--or just simply moving on to a different stage in life…all things that can be taxing on the mind and body. Cleaning slate can be kicked off by the actions of others, or it just might be a burden on our hearts to pray and begin again--the erasure might or might not be preceded by repentance, but it is a determination to move forward in God's grace. And of course it isn’t always a bad thing that moves us to erasing our slate—I know that in the past I have clung to good memories that in my recollecting them, they have nearly eclipsed good memories that are being made right now. But my continual attachment to those good times even have held me back in my trusting the Lord to move me forward in my relationship with Him and following His blueprint (yeah, I know, there I go with those crazy metaphors again).

Hey, there is nothing wrong with looking in the rearview because so many memories are precious, but we can’t let them delay our growth, either. I can’t dwell on what the evil one might be trying to convince me was a missed opportunity or a dreadful mistake, but at the same time, I must realize whatever the experience was, there was a time for it, and it makes up a part of me today. I know that the lines appearing around my eyes are mostly from laughter, but some are from strain and concern to understand things that God didn’t intend for me to decipher. I tumbled them around in my mind and heart until they were shiny and smooth, but to tell you the truth, they’re still just honkin’ heavy rocks. He wants us to hand over the rocks, those burdens--however much they might look like gems from so much handling and concern--and feel the lightness of forgiveness and renewal, and delight in His plan.

So, back to the phone. Something about removing some names and associations was healing. Selecting delete made me proud of myself for letting go of some entries. Erasing Granny’s number was hard, since that’s when it hit me that I won’t hear that Southern drawl again until the other side of the pearly gates. I also know that if Dad ever called me from her house before it sells, I might have one of those stomach-drop “huh??” moments that would make me wish I’d deleted the number! Yes, I do believe that would be a spooky scenario not for the faint of heart.

Well, it’s time to sign off, and whoever’s reading this probably has had enough of my wanderings. Since it’s a balmy 26 degrees outside, bundle up and don’t forget your gloves, kids. ;-) Tomorrow is definitely a pants day—again, the skirt was a bad plan today!

I pray that you would have a day where you have a quiet confidence that the slate of your heart is clean and that God can scribble in it new, exciting drawings in red crayon or whichever color He prefers. :-)

And the one sitting on the throne said, "Look, I am making all things new!" And then he said to me, "Write this down, for what I tell you is trustworthy and true." Rev. 21:5, NLT

A Foot of Snow and the Peppermint Room

This past week has been CRAZY. But I've loved it! I successfully navigated the roads of my sixth American Association of Equine Practitioners Annual Convention. You wouldn't believe the sleep deprivation that results from days spent taking notes, evenings out for dinners with sources and advertisers, and that general "oh-boy-my-body's-not-used-to this" feeling that comes with living in a hotel for a week and pulling such insane hours (you have no idea how much I missed my Tempur-pedic mattress). There's a reason we do this only once a year...everyone is spent! Anyway, I loved Denver. It was the perfect blend of scenery and culture, and I will have to return so I can see and experience more of its charms.

My final day and a half in Colorado was spent traversing the roads between Breckenridge and Denver, and then to Boulder with my awesome sister in Christ, Jen. I have lots of fun stories, but I do "need my beauty sleep" as Mom would say, so I will have to hit on those stories later. Quick summary of memories: Jen braved the roads in our rented Chrysler Pacifica as the snow fell and tractor trailer drivers put chains on their tires. I learned that carry-on luggage sized tumbleweed (but is it true tumbleweed? Hmm, not sure) will roll right into your path at any given moment, even if snow is falling. Very strange. I discovered that cabernet sauvignon and pizza go nicely together and the rugged, good-looking, outdoorsy men are fun to spot. Ok, yeah...I already knew that part. I was struck by how many of these men were in this little ski town!

I found out that I like fresh pears (yes, I'd only eaten them before out of a can) and how well they go on a salad with walnuts, walnut viniagrette, and gorgonzola at the Wynkoop Brewing Co. On Friday, I learned how tea is decaffeinated (and how South African rooibos tea plants don't have to be) and that the peppermint that is in storage at the Celestial Seasonings plant has to be isolated or it will contaminate the flavor and scent of all the other waiting herbs. Let me tell you, the "peppermint room" can excavate the cranial cavities of the worst sinus season sufferer. My eyes were watering from the menthol and my airways burned with the strong scent. It was revealed that the locals come to visit the peppermint room when they have sinus trouble. I don't blame them.

We saw real, live prairie dogs that weren't zoo-kept (I have a faint recollection of seeing them at a zoo when I was a kid. I think that was the same trip as when a goat almost ate my dress through a fence too. Traumatic.). Prairie dogs probably are considered vermin to be reckoned with in Colorado, but I think they are cool little creatures worthy of slamming on the brakes and pulling out a camera. A suitemate in college had a prairie dog named Arthur for a pet (yes, contraband pets--there also lived a python and a ferret in the suite too. It made for interesting animal drama.). Arthur was a hoot--he'd run across the room and bark when you called his name. He bit the stuffing out of his owner's finger once, though, and I steered clear of him after that.

What was that about beauty sleep? Ugg, it's almost 11:30, and I'm still typing. Today, I sang solos in two programs at church. I don't think I did too terribly, although I know my knees were visibly knocking in the first program. I was thinking to myself how perhaps the skirt was a dumb move. Anyway, I loved every minute of the programs, and after I did some deep breathing and sang the ol' Rich Mullins tune in my head ("Hold me, Jesus, 'cause I'm shakin' like a leaf...you have been my King of glory, won't you be my Prince of Peace"), I felt much calmer when the time came for my solo. I sang for God and for Granny ('cause I figure God said it would be ok for her to listen in).

Last night Sabrina (my cat, for all you guys who haven't had the pleasure of meeting the crazy little black and white furball) sat in my lap as I played the piano and rehearsed some of today's songs. She was gazing up at me as if to say, "Oh, you're singing for me! How kind of you." I am blessed with a truly appreciative cat (rolls eyes).

This afternoon was Asbury's presentation of the Messiah, which I enjoyed immensely. I nearly piped in at times, since we're rehearsing Handel for next week's Chamber Singers performance. It was fun to get back in step with friends back here in Lexington after being gone for awhile between the travels--both planned and unplanned--in November and then Denver. I saw the infamous and well-decorated 9-foot tree in the Peter-Matt-Kyle-Jason house, in all its evergreen freshness. What fun. I adore this time of year. Sometimes I wish the Christmas season would stretch out over several months. With exception of its effect on Nicholasville Road traffic. ;-)

More on Colorado, etc., soon...