Thursday, December 31, 2009

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

stuck on degrees

It often seems that having a run-in with something (an ideology, a certain word--it can be anything really) results in that thing showing up everywhere. Maybe it’s just that our mind gets stuck on it, and like a broken record, we see or hear the same few notes over and over again, in spite of the fact that this thing, whatever it is, hasn’t actually multiplied itself ten times over. Maybe that’s the explanation. But maybe it’s not. I rather hope it’s the latter because if it’s the prior, my mind is infatuated with other people’s school diplomas. (And this seems very odd, indeed.)

In the past month, I appear to have become the Queen of Degrees... those of the belong-to-someone-else variety. (I, myself, haven’t graduated from much of anything since college in 2008.) Several weeks ago on a morning walk with my hound, the same ivy patch I pass on foot at least twice a day presented me with a “gift”: a dirty, orphaned diploma.

Pepperell High School
Lindale, Georgia

James Brevard Sparks

Special Education Diploma

May 1998

It had not been there any day before, but now it was sitting half-exposed in the greenery. I curiously examined it before continuing on. When it was still there the next morning, I took it up proudly, like my dog when he finds the best stick, and carted it home. I have yet to decide why I have it and what exactly I plan on doing with it.

One diploma-not-my-own would seem treat enough--how often do random diplomas appear at your feet?--but this morning’s walk proved otherwise. Further down the street from the ivy, my eyes fell upon a small plastic card (slightly smaller than a driver’s license). In near disbelief I read it.

Gordon Central High School
Calhoun, Georgia

Nathaniel Kirk Townsend


June 1998

It, too, is now in my possession, keeping Mr. Sparks’ credentials company.

And for all this, I have little to say, save the solitary observation that 1998 must have been an especially bad year to get a degree. They seem to have a propensity for running off. So if you, reader, arrived at any point of mastery for which you received a diploma in 1998, please hold it tightly. I really don’t need any more for my growing collection.

Friday, December 25, 2009

digging my heels into history: men are like shoes

I considered it an epiphany when, back in college, I came to the realization that the two things a woman loves (and that can frequently lead to her downfall)--that is, men and shoes--could be combined into one glorious classification system. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense: Men are like shoes. (Granted, probably not like the ones pictured above.)

The stiletto | they hurt, but you tolerate them because they're cute

The running shoe | comfortable & great when you just want to play

The knee-high boot | sexy & hot, but if you have too many, you look like a hooker

The flip-flop | fun & simple, but only good for the summer

The pump| classy & sophisticated, but you've got to kick 'em off before dancing or having fun

The slipper | always the perfect fit, they go great with sweat pants & a t-shirt, they're what you cozy up by the fire with, and they make you feel warm & fuzzy inside

Back then, my ending sentiment was "So where are my slippers?" These days, I'm happy to say I've found them.

[Photo of those Roger Vivier £30,000 (or $47,886 USD) couture heels thanks to shoeblog.]

Thursday, December 24, 2009

love is a wet nose

My dog (the one in the top right corner) has the special gift of habitual behavior. (Don't we all?) His routine goes something like this: pay a visit to his water bowl then run directly to me (or George or any of his favorite humans) and strategically place a sopping-wet muzzle in my lap (and on occasion, my keyboard). He's mastered the art of a wet-nose greeting. I like to think he does this because he loves me. (Or at least because he selfishly wants my attention...because he loves me.) Maybe I'm being optimistic. Either way, I love dogs' faces. Nothing else quite says "I love you" as much (wet or dry).

oh, dear. what have i done?

After a drawn-out inner battle, one side of me (the resistant side) has capitulated to the other. You're reading the result: a blog. MY blog.

My life has recently exploded. In a good way, much like how a pot does when it boils over while cooking your next delicious entree. But "BOOM!" it has gone, just the same. That said, I don't promise consistent updates. But I'll try.

I've spent most of my life living in passions, being loyally devoted to one thing and frustratingly despising another. (That middle line of "ehh...ok" is an infrequent emotion for my heart.) So here it is: all in life I like, love & everything in-between.