Caught in the Mean Reds

I've got a case of the Mean Reds today and I don't know why. Watch "Breakfast at Tiffanys" with Audrey Hepburn and you'll find out what they are. I think it's just another term for depression. Mean Reds, depression, whatever you want to call it cuts like a knife and you can't find enough bandaids to stanch the blood.

I have absolutely no reason to be depressed. I have a family that loves me, sons that are second to none, who love their mother and their daddy and Jesus, a husband who loves me in spite of my lack of being an everyday, normal kind of wife. I'm not normal. I hate housework, I don't cook, I don't enjoy doing anything domestic. Where is my passion? I wish I could say that my passion is "God" but even that isn't true all the time. I'm not even that sure how God puts up with me sometimes. Only a merciful One would because I certainly don't give Him what He demands, or at least most of the time. I try. I try hard, well, no that's a lie because I don't even try hard all the time. I know that I am saved and that I am a child of God but at times I feel like the prodigal daughter that keeps running away to live with the pigs.

I am looking for passion in my life. No, I don't mean the "bent back over the staircase , bosom heaving in its jealous corset seeking to contain the primal screams within" kind of passion. I am looking for the kind of passion that makes me want to get up every day out of bed and to do something obedient. I want to be on fire. I long for the fire. I know where the wood is. I know where the matches are. So why don't I want to pick either up and create a blaze? Please, God, show me the passion, kill this depression, give me a reason.

One of my biggest fears is to be 6 feet under at Jefferson Memorial Gardens and have absolutely no one or nothing to show for the life that I've lived other than my family. I want to leave something behind for others to read or experience that has my signature on it that will change lives. I don't want the praise of man, don't get me wrong. I want to be obedient to God. I just want to know that I mattered.

I buy supplies. I love supplies. I have spent probably $1000 at Michael's and Walmart and a scrapbook store that I found in Foley, Alabama, just to make scrapbooks and greeting cards. But have I made one? Well, I have done 1 or 2 cards but that's it. I't's the buying of supplies that I love and crave. I know that if I am to be passionate about this that I've got to use the supplies that I've bought.

I think that must be one of the answers...I have the supplies...I've been to the store and purchased what I need. I've just got to use them. God has given me the answers, the supplies, He has purchased everything that I need. Now it is time for me to clean out the supply room and organize. My life needs passion and organization. That's it--let's try to organize. I'll attempt to blog further on my attempts at passion and organization and see what happens. I can't do it on my own, God please help me to be better than I am. Mean Reds are not cool.

Never Judge a Biker by his Tatoos

I'll admit it, I have a certain amount of long-standing prejudice about Harley riders. I can't help it. They've always been portrayed and have even welcomed the mantle of two-wheeled outlaws, answering to nobody on four wheels, at least not willingly. Even their leathers scare me. As a matter of fact that entire persona of bad-dudeness has always given me something to think about when one pulls up by me at the red light.

Now I'm not talking of today's new breed of Harley riders which probably make Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda cringe, doctors, lawyers, Indian Chiefs, dentists and accountants who ride on the weekends and leave the beemer in the garage. No, I'm talking about the real ones that look like they could strike a match on their jawbone, could donate hair twice over to Locks of Love and still have a decent pony tail left and those little bitty helmets that barely cover their heads. I've always been afraid one would look over at me and kill me with his death-ray eyes as he passed me on the interstate singing "Born to be Wild" at the top of his lungs.

But the other day I was headed home from work and dead ahead in the center lane looking tough as nails and with a waist length pony tail switching and twitching in the wind like a rattlesnake on a jackhammer was one fierce Harley Davidson biker. I almost didn't want to pass him, yet, I felt like it would be ok because this bad looking dude was actually obeying the speed limit. I pulled on up closer and was determined to stare at him just to take in the entire picture, tattoos and all. For once in my life I was going to take a chance and stare death in the eye (taking my eyes off the road in front of me was pretty much achieving that all though I'd made sure that everything up ahead was clear) and see a sure-fire real Harley biker up close. After all, I don't guess I'd ever been up close to one before since somehow I just don't see them frequenting Walmart or those white-bread establishments that I find myself in most often. So I did it, I looked over at him and sure enough he turned those deadly eyes toward me and I gave him a big smile, looking like a big ole doofus. He had the roughest, road ravaged face and clothes that I've seen in a long time but no death ray eyes anywhere to be seen. They were the prettiest shade of blue. And then he actually gave me a full nod of his head like "yo mama, back atcha" and off I drove feeling as giggly as a high school senior after graduation.

You know, Harley riders aren't so bad...I'll bet if I'd had a chance to look a little closer that one of those tattoos probably said "mother".

Putting a toe in the water

I've never blogged before so this is my proverbial introduction to it; I'm putting my toes in it now and I suppose the more I blog the deeper I'll venture. If this turns out to be something that I truly enjoy then I don't really care if the swimsuit looks awful! I have now reached a point in my life where I don't care if I go to WalMart without makeup on. I have a pretty good handle on who I am and when I forget I always have God right there to help me get back in line, whereever the line happens to be at that particular time.

I love odd things...I don't want something if everyone else has it--no Home Interiors here. I love things created to be one of a kind just like people have been. One of my greatest blessings is to have close friends who are not like me at all but yet love me for just being me. They are domestic divas and I'm a domestic ignorer I guess. But I have the most interesting house I think. You can definitely come in and take your shoes off and feel comfortable.

Last one in is a rotten egg.