Character means everything. Unless you're the President of the United States??

“If you don’t have any fresh ideas, then you use stale tactics to scare the voters. 
If you don’t have a record to run on, then you paint your opponent as someone people should run from. Make an election about the small [insignificant, meaningless, distractful] things.” 

-President Barack Obama

Those who know me well know me to be a pretty good judge of character. Sometimes it's an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. I can't help but cringe at their smile and instinctively distrust everything they say. But for times when it's not so obvious, I defer to the combination of actions and words which make up that priceless thing called character.

"Everyone tries to define this thing called character. It's not hard. Character is doing what's right when nobody's looking." 

- J. C. Watts

Although I'm "technically" a Republican, I don't have it in my head that Democrats are bad people. I know many of my Democratic friends to be smart, objective, analytical people. Most of the closest and dearest friends I've ever had are Democrats. We're not that different. We all want the same things---we just believe in going about them in a very different way.

I implore those friends, and all Americans, to consider this:

The thought process behind someone's ethical beliefs (or lack of) tells you everything, everything, EVERYTHING about whether or not they're someone you should be rooting for. If I paid attention to someone's words alone, I'm likely to build an unrealistic opinion of that person. No presidential candidate has ever been close to perfect; truly, we'd be naive to deny that sometimes the reality of the situation is a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. But if we're objective---that is, if we're honest with ourselves (admittedly, the most difficult kind of honesty) and truly want what's best for the greater good---we can use our discernment to pick out the traits that comprise someone's character.

A good place to start is looking at someone's actions. Because as the old adage goes, "actions speak louder than words."

"I have always thought the actions of men the best interpreters of their thoughts." -John Locke

Do your own homework about the person you plan to vote for. What's their REAL history---the things the media has decided that you should overlook? What are the things they've said in the past that revealed their character before anyone was really paying attention to it? Do they take good care of their health, or do they allow their stress to manifest in unhealthy ways such as smoking? Do they maintain good relationships with others, or do they have immediate family in Africa who are reaching out to locals to help pay the medical bills for their child because their multi-millionaire brother has disowned them? (Ok, so it's obvious who I'm picking on a little bit! But don't shoot the messenger, do your own research.) Whether you like to admit that these things are indicators of character or not, they are. It doesn't mean they're a bad person, but it DOES mean you don't want them leading our nation.

Watch your thoughts...they become words.

Watch your words...they become actions.

Watch your actions...they become habits.

Watch your habits...they become character.

Watch your character...it controls your destiny. 

(Or, if you happen to be, like, the President of the United States, your character controls the nation's destiny.)

So many people these days say "eww! I don't deal with politics." If that's the case and we're being honest, can you please stop feeling special? An ostrich with its head in the sand is a worthless asset to society, but will be present and held accountable for its decisions nonetheless.

Character is everything. It's who that person really is. And like it or not, it WILL play a role in every decision they make.

Consider that this November.

Coi ponds, Batmans and power outages

Wow, so I've been running behind on things all week. The fact that it's Thursday and I'm just now blogging the week end is a pretty good example of that.

On Friday, Roberto found out where our next station may very possibly be. Nothing is certain with the military until it's certain, however, and even then that means nothing until we're there (should be early spring). Nonetheless, it threw a wrench in my day. Not much a sweet husband who gets home early, a fruity drink and good flick can't fix, though.

Saturday we drove a friend of Roberto's to the airport and, while we were in the area, tried to catch a showing of Batman III. But when you show up to buy tickets 15 minutes late on a Saturday afternoon to a popular movie that came out less than two weeks ago, there's not going to be any good seats left (who knew). Which made me soooooo sadddd (remember how I hate packed movie theaters???). So we took the snacks we grabbed at Walmart for the movie (shh) and found a gorgeous little park in downtown Grapevine.

We didn't know about it until we stumbled upon it (21st century definition of stumbling = searching in the Maps app). But I love that we found it. Because I'm always looking for hidden gems just around the corner. I rarely find them, but I always believe they're there----it's just a treasure hunt, and the key is not to settle. For example, we almost awkwardly ate our lunch on a bench that sat about 30ft from a downtown curb----if it wasn't for my belief that there was something waiting for us nearby that was perfect.

We traded a bum hotspot for shaded cobblestone walkways, trail bridges, sunny courtyards and ponds teaming with coi. We ate our snacks under a canopy of trees at the peak of a miniature hill overlooking a nice area of the park surrounding a water fountain. It was like the park was made just for us.

As if I wasn't already as happy as a kid in a candy shop, Roberto pushed me on the swings and bought me froyo. Yeeaaaaap, it was my kinda Saturday afternoon.

Sunday we grabbed some snacks at Whole Foods after church before heading to the first matinee (empty!) showing of Batman III. And can I JUST SAY that Katie Holmes in the first Batman was a very confused look, tilt-of-the-head "seriously?" Maggie Gylenhaal in Batman II was an "I don't know how this happened, but I don't know where to begin." But when Anne Hathaway appeared on the screen, I thought insanity had turned to torture. Oh NO, I have to put up with THIS chick for the next two and a half hours?! But she actually fit her role quite well. I will say, though, that I'm not amused by the glamorization of shootings and bombings throughout the entire movie. Bad guy is featured as an ultimate bad-ass, shoots up a place, camera pans to close-ups of people in horror at his mercy, flashes to news casts and talk shows revolving solely around him. Even if the majority of human beings weren't as impressionable as children, they'd do a lot less for that kind of attention. Couldn't really get passed my overwhelming dislike of Hollywood and the general stupidity of society to be impressed with that movie. 

Annnnd Roberto longs for the day of simple answers when he asks me what I thought of a movie on the way out to the car.

Afterwards we went to Sweet Tomatoes!! Courtesy of a gift card I had received in the mail the day before from a sweet friend who obviously knows me well. Cause I love me some Sweet Tomatoes. 

Later that evening we woke up from a nap to orange light shining through our blinds and the sound of tornado sirens. We frantically began emptying the stairwell underneath the stairs when we lost power...

The storm passed quickly, but the house was dark and HOT for the next 28 hours. Night time was miserable but during the day we used the excuse to do some of our fave things. Our time was spent hopping between restaurants, shops and bookstores in an effort to avoid being at home, where our only option was to lay still. We for sure made the best of it though!

Thank God for the books, AC and the free wifi of B&N!

Don't you hate when the power goes out?

We lovvve Buca di Beppo. Their veggie pizza, which is thin crust, practically no cheese, chunky sauce, fresh veggies and breaded eggplant, is officially my FAVE. By the way, that pizza made at least four amazing meals.

Yea know, life treats me pretty good.

Letter to me

If I could write a letter to me

and take it back in time to myself at 17...

Roberto and I were talking the other day when he brought up in passing the fact that 2007 was five years ago.

I don't recall what he was talking about, but I can tell you that my attention froze right there.

I can do basic math, so this should have been of no surprise. And yet I had never stopped to count. Has it really been five years since I was 17? Five years.

Years since my old bestie and I spent our evenings in abandoned parking lots working on our skateboard skills (well, utter lack of) just to have something to talk about with the boy from school.

Yeah I know you really liked her, and it just don't seem fair

But all I can say is pain like that is fast, and it's rare...

Years since weekends of speeding through the streets of our neighborhoods blasting The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Years since a curly haired boy with a natural tan asked if he could sit with us at lunch. Years since I wondered if he would ever ask me to prom.

Um.. yeah.

Each and every time you have a fight

Just assume you're wrong, and dad is right...

Years since I got my first car, an old Nissan Sentra which smelled of cigars but made me feel bad-a as I ran to Walmart to pick up last minute things for my mom that rainy Thanksgiving---because it was mine. Years since I navigated the corridors of my high school with my fellow classmates to the sound of Pomp and Circumstance in my rebelliously floral heels.

Oh, you got so much goin' for ya, goin' right

But I know at 17 it's hard to see past Friday night

Tonight's the bonfire rally, but you're staying home instead

Because if you fail algebra, your mom and dad will kill ya dead

But trust me, you'll squeak by and get a C

You're still around to write this letter to me

Years since we danced on the beach that night he asked me to marry him. Years since I got on a plane to Paris, absolutely certain I would die. Years since we moved only 6 hours north of our family----and yet a part of me felt we had taken on the world.
Years.

I wish you'd study spanish, wish you'd take a typing class

I wish you wouldn't worry, and let it be

Have a little faith, and you'll see...

Honing my skateboarding "skills"

I love listening to Brad Paisley's If I Could Write A Letter To Me. I can relate to pretty much every line (except that part about the playboy and the skoal can... honest). I feel I've done an ok job at keeping the mistakes in my life to a minimum----and still oh, if I could write a letter to me.

I might say that high school didn't matter. Grades weren't everything. Athletics teach you more about life than you'll ever learn in a classroom. No friends are better than bad ones. Life is short. Some things can wait. Don't give up Photo for more OJT. Family is more important. Be sweet to your parents, they want what's best and they know what they're talking about. Follow your gut. Don't worry. And believe it or not, despite the fun you're having now, these really aren't the best years of your life.

It makes me wonder, as I sit here, slowly freaking out as it becomes obvious that our next duty station will only take us farther from my scholarship and home, what wisdom I would impart to my 22-year-old self five quick years from now. Oh, if I could expedite that letter to me.

You've got so much up ahead

You'll make new friends

And you should see your kids and wife

Then I'd end by sayin, have no fear

These are nowhere near the best years of your life.

If I could write a letter to me...

March 2012

Happy.

I like to dwell on things that make me happy.

I found a hair at the bottom of my cup of tea thismorning. That makes me not happy. I was tempted to dwell on it. In fact, to torture myself, I raised it from its watery acai-infused grave for a close and thorough inspection. How could a hair end up in my tea? My tea? A cup that I washed in my dishwasher and put away into my cupboard? I don't have hairy cupboards. Or so I thought? D:

What kind of hair could this be? I'd like to divert your attention from the fact that such a gross incident occurred in my home by blaming on those responsible for the tea. Yes, certainly it was the nose hair of a Brazilian berry picker. No, stop. I'm throwing up a little. Honestly, I think it was a little Lacy hair. That makes me feel a bit better (somehow?). Still, how did my dog's fur end up in my cup of tea? That stuff happens to the people featured on Animal Hoarders, not the OCD owner of a 5lb 7" short-haired dog----right? Clearly I'm over thinking the matter----which brings me to my point that it's all too easy to dwell on things we don't like. Rather we should make an attempt to reflect on the things we do like. The things that make us smile.

Tea makes me smile. The more hairless the cup, the better. Seriously though, I get a kick out of selecting, brewing and drinking tea. I could spend 20 minutes shopping for a box of tea at the health food store. For years I boycotted tea because of its effects on my teeth. But now, I let both hot and iced tea----and the occasional latte----make me smile. In the words of Rascal Flatts, I'd like to have the time I lost, and give it back to tea (<my version). It's enriched my life on a minuscule scale. I'm happier, alert, and infused with antioxidants, and stuff like that. I've even recently made the upgrade from Lipton to The Republic of Tea. I know I know----pure FRIVOLITY. But that's how much I love my tea.

It doesn't need to be chilly & rainy for me to put a kettle on. But when it is, it makes me happy....

I could probably list hundreds of things right here and now that tend to brighten my every day. But instead, I think I'll let it give me something to blog about. I'll blog every week about something that makes me happy. Maybe every Thursday, because (topic spoiler) Thursdays are my fave(!!!!) and they make me happy. And I'm all about bein apropo.

I gotta say, my brand new background makes me happy! How can yellow chevrons NOT MAKE YOU HAPPY.

Tea, Thursdays, and yellow chevrons = :) :) :)

A margined life

Time. It's the one thing in the world of which we share an equal amount every day. The one currency in which we're neither rich or poor. The intangible value that ever escapes us. Some of us have been blessed with the prerogative to manage it to our liking more than most. At this point in my life, I'm fortunate to be able to. Although I consider it a great responsibility, I will never take for granted the priviledge I currently possess of managing and using my time at my own discretion. And yet somehow, I still find myself pressed for time.

I doubt I'm the only person who suffers from this self-inflicted syndrome. I know I have no one to blame but myself. For example: if it's 5:30am and I have somewhere to be in three hours, I really and truly believe that I have enough time to squeeze in a workout (1hr 20 minutes), take a shower (30 minutes), scarf breakfast (who wants to scarf breakfast?!), find something to wear, walk the dog, do my hair and makeup (let's just say it takes more than an hour, mk), and leave room for driving time (average is 30 minutes in Texas) plus traffic (at least 10, although I never do). This is how I live my life. BEST possible case scenario? I'm not late to where I'm going, I arrive alive and hopefully speeding ticket free, and my life goes by way faster than it needs to.

In short, I'm learning the value of margin.

Margin is defined as an edge or a border. In a Word document, it's the extra inch on every side. In life, it's the space that allows room to breathe. It's the brink that makes all the difference between falling off a cliff and standing on it. It permits for inevitable hiccups and valuable reflection. It decreases the stress in our lives and improves the quality. It's smelling the roses. To deny yourself the option of doing so is decidedly no way to live.

I'm by no means a fatalist. I'm a firm believer that our lives are direct outcomes of the choices we make, and that if we aren't proud or happy with our life, we can only do something by taking it up with the one person who has the power to change it (ourselves). But as someone with a personality which has a tendency to control, I've had to accept there's few things I have direct influence over in my daily life.

One is my reactions. The other is my time.

So today, I traded a workout and makeup for an extra hour of needed sleep, which I considered an investment not only for the day but for the rest of the week. I watched the Olympics for a record time of five whole minutes while I ate my breakfast. I had time to brew water for tea before I headed out the door. I arrived where I was going on time. It may not sound like THE LIFE, but if the present is the only life we have, then I improved the quality of it in the capacity that I was able to. And what a better life it is.


Makeup free but happy.



Gyros, recaps, and creepers

I have trouble hating Mondays. Yes, I couldn't fall asleep last night until 1am because Roberto and I ritually annihilate any sleep routine we may have developed by the time Friday night rolls around. Yes, I had to wake up at 4:50am because it was a weekday. And yes, I've already driven two hours, procrastinated the gym, fought (well, fighting) the urge to take a nap, have no idea what I'm making for dinner, and still have errands to run in a 130* car whose AC is flirting very intimately with me wanting to punch it in its face. Ya know, Monday stuff. But I'm realizing that if you play your weekend right, it's all ok.

Ahh Monday.

Until recently, I've spent the majority of every weekend trying to "get ahead"... Come to think of it, I guess that's how I've always kinda been. Editing, replying to emails, improving the website, finally cleaning the tile in the shower which had been staring holes into my head all week----you name it. But when Roberto started working 60+ hour workweeks, I let his off-time become a little more sacred----without realizing how much I would benefit. By the time Sunday night rolls around, I am ready to take on the world. I'm about to do a face-plant on the keyboard, but mentally, I'm ready to take on the world.

Friday night, we saw the Hunger Games.
Correction: Friday night, we finally saw the Hunger Games.
The three month delay was for a few of reasons:
--I don't like big, crowded movie theaters. The more popular the movie, the more people, the more likely I am to avoid it. The recent Colorado shooting has nothing to do with it----though I believe it's lead Roberto to share this preference.
--Not to be an annoying contrarian, but I usually assume a movie that the general populous finds fascinating to be a mind-vegetating waste of time. Unless it sounds like something we BOTH could find remotely interesting, which in that case it's a goldmine. Which is why we saw the Hunger Games.
--Once a movie hits "the cheapseats" as my family calls them, it's $2 for an evening showing in a cute little theater. You know, the ones with checkered tile floors and old red carpet that smells like 30 years of overpriced popcorn. Who can beat it? No one. No one can beat it.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, my fave part of the movie had to be when the guy said "I watched you walk home every day after school"----and the word CREEPER resounded in whispers throughout the theater. Made me smile...

Saturday evening was spent driving around the metroplex in search for gyros. We had a mutual craving; I was even prepared to temporarily abandon my vegetarianism (I later paid for this with a headache). Finally we found a place that didn't close at 6pm, wasn't a gross fast food restaurant that embodied why health inspections exist, and would allow you to step out of your car without being bum rushed by panhandlers because you were in the ghetto. We had read that it was a Mediterranean grill, however it took the entire customer experience + wondering aloud why it tasted nothing like any Greek food we've had before + a couple of hours to slowly realize that what we assumed to be Greek was actually more generally Middle Eastern (specifically Arab, I believe). Annnnd then we accepted the prize for being culturally-rounded geniuses. All in all, we found gyros that weren't handed to you in a bag dripping with grease, landed free parking downtown on a Saturday night, and tried something entirely new = a fun and exciting success. :)

Sunday was spent being bums, skyping my parents, and watching some of the oldest, oddest movies that Netflix has to offer. But, what else is new.

I think I'm going to use every Monday to recap the weekend. It guarantees something for me to write about. And anyways we always find something to do worth recapping... :)

The road. You know, the one not taken.

Like most Americans, I have a tendency to be an opinionated person. However, the years have taught me two important things...

No one asked, &

it's not my job to change the world.

These sobering realizations have turned many this-is-what-I-have-to-say's into what I call fish-lip motions: the mouth opens wide to speak, only to be followed by the lower lip quickly re-meeting and pulling down on the other, as if all I had intended to do was let out a few bubbles of air. The more I immerse myself into the unforgiving professional world, the more I realize how much these fish-lip motions make my life easier. No colleague, friend, relative, acquaintance, or potential client wants to hear my attempts to, oh say, expose the media's bias agenda. I get that.

Earnest people who care more about things that matter than they do social status lose friends, credibility, and favor. Totally makes sense. Again, get it.

Those who attempt to bring what they believe to be truth to the surface get less blog hits and Facebook likes (#endoftheworld). I get that, too.

But

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." 

- MLK

I see statuses on Facebook receiving tens of likes for taking stances of neutrality. It's what's in. Be cool and instantaneously rewarded with acceptance for not ruffling our feathers. Congratulations, they'll say you were "nice" at your funeral. But I remember a wise person once telling me that popularity is directly correlated with ineffectivity. And honestly, I could not agree more.

I love to hear people smugly boast, "I leave my politics off of Facebook." Politics are the vehicle of which we enact what we believe and enable the average person to help make a difference in the world, and let's face it, Facebook is the biggest audience you'll ever have. But you're right, you're doing far more with your voice and finite time here on earth by telling us you're heading to the food trucks for lunch.

I care SO MUCH MORE about things that matter than I do about whether or not someone's going to defriend me, post a status saying something in rebuttal to mine because they lacked the hootspa to shoot me a message or make a comment on mine, or shake their head. Cause people shaking their head are on the sidelines. Sorry, but in order to respect what you think I have to respect you.

MLK couldn't have hit the nail more on the head. If you stand for nothing, what won't you fall for? If life doesn't have meaning, what are we doing here? If it does, what good are your neutral stances doing for it? 

There's a huge line between "you're a BAD PERSON if you don't think how I do" and "I care enough about the direction of society to use what voice I have to occasionally make them question why they think what they think".
Huge.

It was so inspiring to see the nonstop droves of people pour through the door every hour at Chickfila. For them, it wasn't about being "anti-gay". (Puhlease. I was the one who waited in that line; I'll tell ya what it was about.) Rather, it was about standing up for free-speech. About being an American. About saying enough is enough. Millions of other Americans have laid down their lives in defense of our constitution, I think I can wait twenty minutes for dinner.

It's hard. It's frowned open. In a world where acceptance is our green light, a lack of warm teddy-bear feelings seems like a death sentence. I get that (no. I don't.), I do. Sometimes you'll be wrong; none of us are perfect. But the truth sets us free. 

Life is short. Do you wanna spend it keeping your head down? Cadavers keep their head down. I wanna make a difference. I'd rather set the world free.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

and that has made all the difference.

Moth and rust destroy

Last night I had a dream that Roberto and I were hanging around the house when suddenly I realized it wasn't ours. I received my first clue when I bumped into various chimes made of glass and brass that hung over a table with light brown fake wood venere with a wraparound bench. The smell of no-name brand oreo cookies and the sounds of grandfather clocks and twangy country music couldn't have made it any more clear.

I was at my granny's.

I was somehow then aware of the situation: Roberto and I were stationed in Pensacola, and apparently my granny had a house there (more like a huge and unusually shaped trailer) that she had offered to let us stay in (as long as we paid her rent...). The house had many rooms, most of which we were instructed not to touch. We had known this and respected it without question, and yet all of the sudden it was beyond me why she would make this request---and why I had never challenged it. All at once, inquisition and a delinquent disregard got the better of me (isn't it funny how entire thought processes occur all at once in dreams?), and I waltzed over to the closest forbidden room, I lunged over strings of caution tape and into the satisfaction of my curiosity.

A queen bed adorned with heaps of throw pillows sat in the middle of a room tastefully decorated and teaming with valuable items. The bed in particular is what caught my attention. At the head, there were presents scattered between the throw pillows addressed to different people. I was pretty certain there was one for me; in fact, it would be my rationale for trespassing if she ever found me out. Sure enough, I found one. I tore at the paper of the little package with excitement. What important heirloom was it that granny was waiting to give me?! Upon opening the box, some old and half-eaten chocolates fell out. It seemed of no importance to me, but after waking up I had to laugh. (Kind of an old and not-so-funny inside joke.) At the foot of the bed lay a gun. In no way did I find this odd; it seemed perfectly normally that granny would have a gun. Its extreme accessibility would be her savior from suffering fates like the victims from the Dateline Marathon she'd undoubtedly watched before going to bed. Roberto looked on with angst from the door as I flipped the gun back and forth on its butt, getting a real thrill out of being a (albeit, 22-year-old) grandkid messing around with forbidden things in a forbidden place.

Exploring the rest of the house lead us to similar situations (minus the obviously placed firearms). Bedroom after bedroom with beautiful, immaculate oversized bathrooms with jacuzzi tubs. The backyard also had a jacuzzi, a large pool, a waterfront view, and miscellaneous valuables, including multiple RV's. We couldn't believe that the whole time we'd lived there, all of this was just a wall away! She hadn't been there for years---in fact, I'm not sure if she'd ever been there. But one thing was certain: she had no intention of ever living there. It was just a gem. A treasure trove. A nice placed filled with things that mattered to her enough to buy a house to store them in and never tell anyone else about.

And then the people started to appear. They showed up in the backyard as if there was one of those "GARAGE SALE" signs my granny would drift her car like something out of the Fast and the Furious just to follow. Before we knew it, the jacuzzi had been plucked away and was being toted off to the flatbed of someone's truck. Even the garden gnomes became a dying breed. My uncle appeared out of no where and started kicking the tires on the RV's. The waterfront view turned into an ocean tsunami which threatened to wash everything away. Before I knew it, a tidal wave came, went, and took the pool with it. The entire yard was obliterated. Strangers---more like looters---had made their way into the house and were staking their claims. My granny herself finally appeared onto the scene, snatching things out of people's hands---including my own. (I should have known better; I already had chocolate.)

I don't know why my granny played such a role in this dream, except that I suppose she's always been frugal and somewhat mysterious. But I do know that it reminded me an awful lot of the scripture that our pastor preached on last Sunday---

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be, also." Matthew 6:20-21