Note to self: Work on Phone Skills

So, this was the weekend of phone faux pas. Let it be stated (before the following is read) that I am a horrible phone conversationalist. I don't like talking on the phone. I'm not good at it. I'm getting better (I used to pace psychotically and stammer), but I'm still not entirely comfortable with the phone.

Friday I worked with Drew. As soon as I dropped him off I picked up the phone to call Markus. (We had been playing phone tag all day.) Once again, I get his voice mail. Halfway through the message I get to a blind intersection. It always freaks me out, so I put myself on autopilot in my voice message so I could pull out safely. Unfortunately, autopilot me chooses to say, "Okay, honey, I love you bunches!" The real me suddenly hears autopilot me. Real me is shocked.

"Whoa chicken! I don't love you! I mean... of course I LIKE you. I like you a lot. I thought I was talking to my dad. I mean, I don't think you're my dad, but you know. Um, I'm driving. Actually, I probably shouldn't be talking and driving. I think I'll say goodbye now. Bye." **click**

Markus listened to it 4 times and called me laughing uncontrollably. He saved it. Many people have since heard it. This is why I never sing the "Humble me" songs in church. I'm afraid God will actually listen and do it.

The Littlest Blakeling

One year ago, today, my little sister, Julie Ann Blake, was officially (according to the Chinese powers that be) inducted into the Blake family. She refused to eat food, she was not even on the Chinese growth chart (and the Chinese are small!). She was terrified of toys, didn't know how to hug, and was a persistent head-banger. She couldn't walk or crawl and consistently engaged in autistic-like behavior.

Now, one year later she is, (to quote my mother) "most definitely a Blake." She loves to perform, she'll imitate walks, voices, conversations, and actions. She eats more than my teenage brother on pizza night, and is growing a nice little "Buddha belly." She says, "Wassup!" (with hand gestures), she jumps, squeals, and laughs. Her favorite items are pieces of costumes jewelry donated by various older women and some pink paisley sunglasses that she loves to slide down her nose and gaze over in disdain at whoever happens to be in her vicinity. She'll stand in front of the mirror and make herself laugh for as long as we let her. She has a "Mama," "Da," a "Cookie" and an "AlBoo," a "Ver" and an "Ka" who love her so very, very much. She's our joy, our delight, and our Friday night entertainment- our little Bops, Juju Bean, Boperoni, JuAnn, Jules.

She's my little sis.

HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY AS A BLAKE, LIL' BOPS!

God knew you'd be perfect for our family...

For the tougher day...

My heart is not proud, O Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. But I have stilled and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me. O Israel, put your hope in the Lord both now and forevermore.

(Psalm 131)

The Word of God is refreshing...

When my love of real estate and excess Spring Break time meet...

I think it would be fun to live here. I believe it was found under the Google search "Crazy Houses." Just think all the weird, wacky ways you could decorate- although my mother might need to take dramamine before coming over. It makes me dizzy just looking at it.

Okay, this little beauty came up under the search "condos in France." I think it should be noted that the lakeside view makes the $700,000 sticker price (of a one bedroom section of this beauty) quite reasonable.

Okay, so this one isn't the most convenient... I'd have to relocate to Ukraine, but I think I could manage... I'm telling you, lots of nobility in Europe must be moving. Just type in "Castles for Sale" and you'll see a zillion options. Although, if they have the address "West Virginia," I'm less inclined to believe they're actual castles...

My (almost!) Run-In with The Law

I'm terrified of police officers. Most authorities in my life I can develop a relationship with. I respect and fear them, but I also understand and (in many cases) love them. This sort of affinity cannot be developed for the police. As a result there is total authority and fear. No love. And I get freaked out.

For instance: Thursday (yesterday) I had an almost run-in with the law. Wednesday I had been cleaning (and consequently yowling at the top of my lungs to whatever happened to be in my CD player). I opened the door to take out some trash. Halfway out the door I realized that my music could probably be heard (due to the paper-thin nature of my apartment walls) for a three-block radius. Horrified, I dropped my trashbags, whirled around inside, and turned my music WAAAAY down. But coming back from the dumpster I saw a woman peeking her head around the door,

"Yes, yes, well, it's coming from apartment number -----." (No, I'm not putting my apartment number on the web....)

I started shaking. I was pretty sure she was talking to the police (or the landlords) regarding my illegal noise level. Every step on my porch startled me (I share it with my neighbors...). Every car that drove by I'd rush to the window to see the police officer who was coming to haul me off to the clinker.

Thursday I pulled into my apartment complex and there, parked right outside my apartment, was.... A POLICE CAR. My heart palpitating, I slowly climbed the steps to my apartment. I opened the door, calling, "Hello? Anyone here?" (I mean, they're the police, surely they have keys to every building in town.) For the next hour I waited in trembling anxiety- very sure that the officer would soon pound on my door.

I am a total idiot. Mr. Policeman must have had friends in the complex. He left wthout any door-banging or clincker-hauling, and I started breathing again. (Then I slapped myself upside the head for rampant, unfounded paranoia.)

This would be why I'm dating a guy who is almost antagonistic in his reaction to police enforcement. Markus was pulled over for rolling through a stop sign. (In his defense, trains don't even use that track any more...) But at the next stop sign (with the police officer still behind him), my dear boyfriend stopped. And stayed stopped. For many, many seconds.

Case-and-point: opposites attract.

And the police still haven't shown up to rebuke my overly enthusiastic Christian Contemporary music.

Lee Morrison once said a very profound, life-impacting thing to me. I have never forgotten it.

"Courtney," he said, "People who wear sweatpants in public have officially given up on life."

I was humbled. I was rebuked. I was at a movie night with Leah clad in my men's XL Purdue sweats. I was comfy. But I was chastened.

Others have been similarly confronted: Leah, Bev, Sarah... the list goes on.

Well, to those humbled, rebuked, and chastened in their comfort- I think you should know:

Lee wore sweats. In public. On stage. Last night.

Apparently he's given up on life. Just thought you should know...

My Supervisor: What culture do we celebrate on St. Patrick's Day?
Christian: The culture of the leprechaun!
Jasmine: The culture of pointy-eared people!
Melissa: Umm... I don't know, but they must like green.

From my students...

"Luis, what's all that goop in your hair?"

"Aww! Miss Blake! It's not goop! It's fancy stuff." (Luis, age 8)
******

"Miss Blake, your babies will be very, VERY white." (Yarla, age 9)

******

"Jaelyn and I are pretty much tied, Ms. Blake, 'cause she's getting a new brother and I'm getting two dogs." (Lauren, age 8)

******

"I don't speak SPANISH. I speak MEXICAN." (Christian, age 6)

******

After reading about Albert Einstein: "I don't care HOW smart he was. He married his COUSIN. Ew." (Amanda, age 10)

YAY!

I just officially submitted my acceptance to Purdue University's offer of study in the Graduate Department of Speech, Language, and Hearing Sciences.

However, prayers would be appreciated as I try to decide what to do monetarily and how Indiana University and Vanderbilt's offers figure into this whole equation.

GOD IS GOOD!

To whom it may concern on the TSC school board:

Dear Sirs,

I feel compelled to voice my concern over your education and fine arts policy at Klondike Elementary. It has come to my attention that your students only attend and/or participate in plays, convocations, and other various guest performances and events on a bi-weekly basis. The other three days a week are completely devoid of such musical gems as "Stone Soup" and "The ABC's with Dr. Seuss." Now, I have been told that of those remaining three days two of them are used for field trips to dairy farms and dentist offices, but what about that one vacant day each week? What is being done with that day? Are these students actually sitting in a classroom learning, reading, and memorizing meaningless information (such as the differences between a pronoun and preposition, and how many presidents there have been in the U.S. of A.)? I must tell you I am deeply concerned, and I suggest remedial action be taken ASAP. This day can not long remain productive. To leave it as such would be a travesty.

Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,

C. E. Blake

And for our last dish... Humble Pie!

So I messed up.

It happens a lot. I let one little thing (or sometimes a conglomeration of little things) become larger and larger in my mind. And then I go into camouflage mode. For some reason I think this is a good thing... (still not sure how I arrived at this brilliant deduction), but I labor (erroneously) under the delusion that I should cover up or not address the issue. I think that by doing so I'm maintaining control and not harming anyone around me- not blowing things out of proportion unnecessarily. However, sooner or later those little things add up to straws that break the camel's back, and I'm done. Finished. I completely lose it.

Sometimes I go off the deep end and buy throw pillows ( I love buying pillows). Other times I write volatile, fiery blog and journal entries. Or I'll curl up on the couch and escape through a chick-flick, and there are some days when I'll pull out my bread pans and begin punching some dough.

And sometimes I hurt someone else.

Then I have to lay it all out there. All my horrible, entangling (wrong!) thought patterns. All the convoluted pathways that led me to my emotional outburst. All the sin that I've indulged in (sometimes consciously, sometimes not).

And what hurts the most is not the huge slice of humility that I am forced to imbibe, but rather the knowledge that my lack of self-control has caused pain for those around me. It's after those episodes that I'm grateful for verses such as Ephesians 1:7.

In HIM we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace.

NOTE TO SELF: Vote the WalMart store manager to city council...

Since the WalMart parking lots were plowed before the roads.

Ouch.