Christmas Memories

My earliest Christmas memories are pretty blurry. I do remember being fascinated by it all - the sparkle and lights - the colors, vivid and bright; staring at my distorted reflection in the colored glass balls that hung on our tree. I recall touching the lights - feeling the warmth and seeing how my finger tip glowed red.

Santa didn't come to our house, but Mom and Dad made sure we didn't miss him. Mom still made a stocking for me, I guess around the time I was born. Hanging off of it were little felt ornaments accented with sequence. It had my name "Teresa Maria" spelled out in cursive in shiny gold cording. I loved it. Mom and I would sing "Away in a Manger" and I would often crying for little baby Jesus because he had no crib for a bed.

My sister, Jenny and I looked forward to all the Christmas specials on TV. We would sip hot chocolate with loads of marshmallows and cuddle up on the couch together to watch Frosty the Snowman, Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Grinch that Stole Christmas and of course Charlie Brown's Christmas. White Christmas with Danny Kay and Bing Crosby was also one of our favorites. Jen and I loved to do the "Sisters" number together.

When we got a bit older, my dad would take us down the street to the tree lot the day after Thanksgiving to hunt for the most beautiful tree would could find. Often we would come home with what mom called a "Charlie Brown Christmas tree", but we still thought is was perfect.

We helped mom decorate the tree while Amy Grant's "A Christmas Album" would spin on the record player. I don't know what crackled more, the fire or the LP. Unwrapping all the ornaments we had collected over the years was like re-discovering lost treasure. We'd search out for the perfect spot to hang each one. A few of them we had made ourselves either at school or church. We carefully draped the shiny silver tinsel over the branches and over each other as the static cling made it stick. When we were done, Jenny and I would lay up under the tree close to the trunk and stare up at it through the branches. We'd lay there for a while, just soaking it all in. The smell was strong and the glow was stunning from that perspective.

I recall spending snow days making Christmas treats for friends and neighbors. Decorating and delivering them was a day long process. Jenny often made intricate gingerbread houses complete with icing icicles and melted blue candy pond. One year we came home and our black lab had gotten a hold of it and ate the whole thing.

Mom and Dad would bundle us up to go for rides around town to see Christmas lights. We sat huddled under blanket and marvel at the displays through the foggy car windows.

The very last Christmas we spent in Tulsa, was also the last Christmas we spent in the house we grew up in. I think it was 1999 and we got snowed in. We were all together and it was the most wonderful Christmas I can remember. I'm so glad I have that memory to hold onto forever.

These days Christmas has taken on a whole new joy. Now that we have children, we are busy creating memories for them to cherish for the rest of their lives. Seeing their excitement takes me back to those early days and rekindles that childlike wonder.

This truly is a special time of year. When else can you hear songs about Jesus coming through the load speakers at the grocery store? That in itself makes it amazing. And while all these other things make the season festive, it doesn't compare to the real glory behind Christmas. Jesus come to earth so that we might be made right with God. When you think about that, it truly is something to celebrate. God with us, in us and for us - as my mother-in-law, Judy, put it so beautifully as we celebrated Christmas Eve tonight with the Lickliters.

As I finish typing this, Christmas day is 8 minutes away. I looked forward to it all year long and it soon will be gone as quickly as it came. The floors will be covered with the tattered, torn discards of Christmas wrap, crumbs from the Christmas cookies will litter the counter tops, embers in the fireplace will burn down low and the warmth of all the memories made will comfort us as we turn out the lights on another Christmas season.

Mom

Today my mom celebrated her 57th birthday. She's not the type that would care about me sharing that information. That's one of the things I love about her - she's real. What you see is what you get.

She's not out to impress, but she definitely leaves an impression. Her laugh endears her to everyone who hears it. She's beautiful and has a great sense of style. Her joyful, fun-loving spirit is infectious. Her strong sense of conviction and justice are unwavering. She lives and loves with extraordinary passion. She's as gentle as a lamb and as fierce as a lion. She's amazing, she's my mom...

Born on December 23rd, 1950 in Cuba, she had what most people would consider, a fairytale childhood. That is until the age of 12 when Communism tore it all away - her home, her family, her innocence. She was sent away to live here in the states where she endured ridicule, loneliness, poverty and abuse - things that would have caused a lesser person to loose their mind.

I didn't know these things about my mom until I became an adult. She never subjected us to her painful past because it didn't define her. It's not her story. It's only a small part of the story. Her story is still being written and it's a story about God's faithfulness. If you don't believe there is a God, my mom is living proof. Grace is her crowning glory. Hope is seen in her smile. Love is felt through her comforting embrace. People are drawn to her - well really they are drawn to Jesus, who is so alive in her.

It's appropriate that her birthday is around Christmas time, because my mom is a gift. She's a gift to those of us who are blessed to have her in our lives. I'm so glad that I was chosen to be her daughter and that my kids get to be her grandchildren. What a legacy she is passing down! I could go on forever because I honestly can't say enough about her, but I'll stop here for now. I love you mom...

~Yleana~

God had a purpose
On the day of her birth
A warrior I’m sending
To move heaven and earth

Evil tried to stop her
Through much heartache and pain
But all to God’s glory
Her strength it became

Now she gives of herself
To each soul in need
Sharing the love of Jesus
Through word and through deed

A woman of great substance
and adoration for her Lord
Someday with great honor
She’ll receive her reward

But today she is honored
By those she holds dear
For her light shines even brighter
With every passing year

If You Want My Opinion...

Just ask Jason and he'll tell you - I have an opinion about everything. So much so that I once even considered writing a book about nothing but my opinions. From politics to what brand of toilet paper works best, I would cover all the ins and outs. That was until I came to my senses and realized what an arrogant idea it was and that no one would care enough to buy it in the first place.

I'm always curious as to why a complete stranger would stop and ask for my opinion on which color of shirt her son would like best. Umm...why does it really matter what I think? But I always give an answer and feel a surprising sense of ownership about it. Almost as if she didn't go with my choice, she would be making a huge mistake and her son would be cheated out of looking his best. This all seems so silly to be but it does lead me to wonder what is an "opinion" anyway?

The dictionary defines it as "a belief or judgment that rests on grounds insufficient to produce complete certainty." Here is where it all breaks down. Opinion means nothing. Nothing! Anything you can not say with complete certainty should not be given much relevance in our society. So why are there hundreds of TV shows, radio programs, magazine and newspapers dedicated to nothing but a bunch of opinions? Everybody is out to influence somebody with their opinion on the issues of the day.

That's where an opinion can become a menace. When we start to believe ourselves so much that opinion becomes blurred with fact. I'm a black and white thinker, shades of gray leave me feeling vulnerable. In a world beginning to put it's faith in relativism, I have a hunger for absolutes. But there's only one place to find this - God. His word is the way to find real truth - something that really matters.

I've started to learn - slowly- that the things I can feel so impassioned about, fight so strongly for, get so bent out of shape over, might ultimately mean nothing. That's not an easy thing for me, but it does help me understand the value of putting my efforts towards things that do matter, that do have eternal value, that change our world for the better, that transform or save a live, that preserve our heritage of faith.

So maybe instead of writing a letter to the newspaper protesting the treatment of Republican candidates or calling Frisco city hall about the timing of street lights, I'll write to congress about keeping the Ten Commandments posted in the court houses or emailing a new station in thanks for a positive story they aired about keeping Christ in Christmas.

For the sake of having something to say on this blog, I won't keep all my meaningless opinions to myself. So which toilet paper is best? Glad you asked...the cheapest!

Thoughts of Autumn

Pumpkins, hey rides, bonfires, hot apple cider, mums - Christmas may be "the most wonderful time of the year" but for me, autumn runs a very close second. My birthday is in October so it's already got one merit in its favor. There is just something about this season that causes me to get lost in wistful nostalgia.

The kaleidoscope of warm colors that dress the landscapes, the smell of cotton candy and funnel cakes at the fair, the sounds of whistles, cheers and marching bands at college football games, the cozy comfort of your favorite knit sweater, the cool breeze that blows the scent of chimney smoke passed your nose - it's all such a welcome relief from the blistering heat of summer.

Growing up, I recall it being a very raining season. For several years in a row I saw a rainbow on my birthday. It was a sweet sign to me that God was celebrating the day too. I also remember long Saturday afternoons raking up endless piles of leaves with my dad. At the end of the day he would toss me and my sister into the piles and let us burrow our way through them. I would often go out into the yard just to hunt for the most brilliantly colored leaves. I was fascinated by them.

The older I get, the more moved I become by autumn's melancholy persuasion. For me, it's a time of reflection over the year that's quickly coming to an end and a time of anticipation for the wonderful memories we'll be making over the holidays to come. I don't know if it's because Thanksgiving is in the fall or if it's just happens to be observed at the perfect time, but thankfulness seems to embody the sentiment of the season. I certainly have an abundant harvest of things to be thankful for this year.

Fall brings to me a sense of connectedness to God - as if He's saying Come and cuddle up in the palm of my hand. I'll hold you and keep you through whatever may come. In many ways fall is an ending and a beginning - it brings a bit of sadness and a lot of joy -a bittersweet time of year. That's what autumn is for me. The only drawback I know of is the loss of a few extra hours of day light, but I guess it's worth the trade off.

What Tammy Taught Me

She was an awkward girl, to put it mildly. Average height, for an eighth grader, her pear-shaped frame was accented by legs that reminded me of baseball bats; they had practically no shape as they narrowed their way down into what looked to be the latest in granny style shoes. Her long, greasy hair and coke-bottle glasses only sealed the deal for Tammy as your stereo typical "total dork".

It was obvious she was painfully aware of her title as she hardly ever uttered a word to anyone in our class. Her only friend, that I knew of, was an equally homely girl who was a few grades above her. I never considered myself to be the kind of person who would judge someone according to their appearance, but I wouldn't want to be seen talking to her either. I had my own insecurities that kept me from forging any kind of friendship with Tammy.

Boys will be boys and eighth grade boys have got to be the worst. Tammy never stood a chance. I don't remember a day going by when her books weren't knocked off her desk or the back of her chair wasn't kicked or something unkind wasn't said to her. She would try her best to defend herself but even that she couldn't do very proficiently. I always felt bad for her but never enough to say or do anything about it. Even as a Christian in a Christian school, my concern over my reputation as one of the "cool" kids outweighed my concern for Tammy as a human being.

It was the middle of Thanksgiving break when I got a phone call from a fellow classmate, Mike. The somber tone of his voice told me this wasn't a social call. "Tammy was on the way to her grandmother's house for Thanksgiving with her parents and brother" he said "when their car slid off the road and flipped, ejecting Tammy then landing on her. She's dead, Tammy's dead."

As his words came across the phone line, my mind played out the scenario in vivid detail. I saw her mother holding her in her arms, stoking her long blond hair and crying out for her baby; her father, trying desperately to free her from under the car, but only dropping into the snow in exhaustion and in surrender. My only solace was knowing that she slipped from one pair of loving arms into another.

They say that hindsight is 20/20. If I could have gone back, I would have. If only I would have known. If only we would have known. The truth was that Tammy, as unlovely as she seemed to us, was very loved by her Creator. He knit her together in her mother's womb. He intricately wove His glory into every fiber of her being and fashioned her into His majestic image. He knew her, he chose her, he loved her. He made her just who she needed to be - fearfully and wonderfully made.

Our entire class went to Tammy's funeral. The boys who had tormented her were there; now tormented with the guilt they would probably never be able to escape. They didn't get the chance to make amends and fix the cracks they caused in Tammy's broken heart. I was there and had a bit of guilt of my own, not for what I did but for what I didn't do.

We are all so quick to judge a book by its cover, to determine who does and who doesn't deserve our time and attention. But what Tammy taught me is that every person on this planet - red, yellow, black, white or purple, for that matter - is a person of value, a person of great worth because they were lovingly created by the hands of God. I think all of us have known a Tammy or two - I hope that someday, when my children meet their "Tammy", that they will be able to see what a true beauty she is.

The lyrics to a song I wrote:

Tammy Tell Me True

Your momma knew you were beautiful
with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen
Too bad we didn't see it
You know kids can be so mean

We only saw our differences
So much for the golden rule
Even if we didn't mean it
You know kids can be so cruel

Tammy tell me true
How bad did those words hurt you
Tell me how they made you feel
Did those wounds ever really heal
So awkward, so shy
Your daddy held you when you cried
You asked why, oh why...why

Was it really worth the hurt we caused
to get the crowd to laugh
No we can't fix the damage done
No we can't take back the past

The shocking news that you were gone
Hit like a ton of lead
It's too late to learn a lesson
When I'm sorry can't be said

Tammy tell me true
How bad did those words hurt you
Tell me how they made you feel
Did those wounds ever really heal
So awkward, so shy
Your daddy held you when you died
I ask why, oh why...why

Smiley Kylie

They were the cutest little pair of Nike tennis shoes I'd ever seen. Pregnant with my second child, I picked them up with high hopes of the day I would fill them with the ten precious little toes of my new baby boy. I always wanted to have boys. Girls just always seemed so high maintenance - prissy, whiny and caddy. Nothing about them had much appeal to me, well, other than the fact that they have better clothes.

Five months had gone by since my "Clear Blue Easy" announced he was coming. I'd told Cannon all about his new baby brother and how much fun they were going to have playing ball together. Everything was going to be perfect - I can even reuse Cannon's old clothes - that will save us money, I assured myself. Completely content with the picture I had painted of my future family, I was quick to quiet anyone who even suggested that the baby would be anything other than the little Cannon carbon copy I had ordered. I was absolutely, 100% positive it was another boy, so much so that I had a name and was already dropping it.

Finally, after so many long months of anticipation and expectation, I was being jellied up for my sonogram. Jason was sitting by my side with Cannon on his lap. My heart started picking up the pace as the sonographer began making circles on my belly with his Doppler. I couldn't wait to see how my little guy was doing. Then there he was on the screen - heart beating, legs kicking, arms flailing. "There he is, Cannon, do you see him?" Jason asked. Cannon just sat there with a confused expression trying to decipher what it was he was supposed to see. "Look, there's his hand." I said hoping he would recognize it. "Why do you keep saying 'he'?" the sonographer asked, "Have we already done this?" "No, I just know that's what I it is." I responded confidently. "Well, it's not." He replied.

WHAT?!? You've got to be kidding me! - the words didn't actually come out of my mouth, but I was screaming them on the inside. I was numb...shocked...confused...angry. I felt like I had lost the baby I had already gotten to know. As the nurse pointed out the parts for me, I squeezed the sides of my seat trying to hold back the tears. "I guess you're going to have a little sister." Jason said to Cannon cautiously, knowing the revelation had hit me hard.

The car ride home was a quiet one. My mind was racing with questions, some to God, some to myself. I cried a lot over the next few days. I didn't know what to do with the news I had been given. For Heaven's sake, get over yourself. You still have a healthy baby who needs you to want her. So just snap out of it! I wasn't easy on myself, but I wasn't ready to let go of this other baby I had already loved either.

The day was rainy, just like it had been for months before it seemed. Jason put my bags in the car and made sure we had the cameras, pillows and carseat. I still hadn't been convinced completely that this baby was a girl - I wouldn't be until the moment it was born. When my doctor met me on the operating table she asked "So, do you still think it might be a boy?" "I don't know, we'll see in a few minutes." I replied with a strained smile.

I took a deep breath and prayed. God, I just want what you want for me. You know better than I do what I need so I give my hopes and dreams over to you. With that I found a joyous peace come over me (and no it wasn't the drugs). Jason stroked my hair from where he sat directly behind me. "You're doing so great." He would whisper in my ear.

Then I heard it - the most beautiful, melodic, dainty cry I had ever heard. "Oh, yeah, it's definitely a girl!" the doctor announced excitedly. I looked over and saw her - my precious baby girl. Elation poured over me from the top of my head all the way down to my numb toes. The nurse wrapped her up and brought her over to me. She was perfect, beautiful...mine. I named her Kylie. Kylie Reign...for the rain that fell on the day of her birth and the rule she had over my heart. I couldn't have dreamed up a more amazing child in all my life.

God certainly knew what He was it doing when He sent Kylie my way. It seems like she has been smiling since the day she was born. I know I have. It's funny how sometimes we think we know what we need and when we don't get it our world is turned upside down, but then God comes along and says, "I do know what you need and in spite of you, I'm going to give it to you. " And so the little Nike tennis shoes still sit in the closet, to remind me. Thank you, God, for Kylie, thank you.

"For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord..." Jer. 29:11

Like Father, Like Daughter

"You are not wearing that." If I had a dollar for every time I heard that growing up...well you know boundaries of good taste with some of our ensembles and probably should have been grateful that we weren't allowed to walk out of the house sporting some of our self-expressive fashion statements. When I would ask Dad why he cared so much about what we wore, he always gave us the same answer. "Because it's a reflection on me. You represent how I'm doing as your dad." That answer wasn't sufficient for me at the time. I didn't understand how wearing a diamond stud in one ear and a dangling cross in the other was a reflection on my dad.
how the saying goes. I will say, my sister, Jenny and I did often push the

Growing up in a Christian home, Jesus was a constant in my life. Receiving salvation at the tender age of 4 set me on the course to discovering what it means to be a Child of God. One poignant moment on that journey came early in my marriage. I was learning how to forge ahead on my own personal walk with God after letting go of the guiding hands of my mom and dad. I remember sitting at our small dining room table doing a lesson in the Beth Moore Bible study I had joined. I don't remember what I was reading about but I felt overwhelmed with the love of Jesus and how I would never want to be without Him. In emotion of the moment, I asked Him the question, "Why doesn't everyone want You in their lives?
His unexpected response came quickly and clearly -

"Because my children misrepresent me."It was the first time that I had ever heard Him speak to me in such a tangible way.

When the words hit, it caused me to ask myself, how many times have I been given the opportunity to be His representative and failed? Like when I should have shown love - I showed anger; when I should have been at peace - I had discontent; when I should have been moved - I was indifferent; when I could have given a helping hand - I gave a cold shoulder. The list could go on forever. I've heard it said that we are the only "Jesus" some people might ever see. That can be a scary thought. It reminds me of why I don't put one of those Christian fish symbols on my car. I don't want to drive under that kind of pressure! But in all seriousness, when the world sees those who publicly claim the name of Jesus, abusing it because of something like loving the almighty dollar more than the Almighty God, what does that say? It's no wonder that the masses don't come running and that cynicism is one of the deadliest plagues of our time.

Now that I've lived a little bit of life, I look back on those days when my dad and I didn't see eye to eye on the virtues of "daisy dukes" and understand more clearly his adamancy. I know what my father meant now, because it's the same with my heavenly Father. He wants people to see Him for who He really is and doesn't want either of us to look like a fool. At that, I pose myself the question, "when people look at me, who do they see?"

Angel with a Gun

At 18 I was the manager of a family friend's gift shop. I would often open and close the store alone. I was fairly oblivious to the obvious dangers that situation posed. Being alone had never been an issue of safety; it was more an issue of boredom. I remember days when only one or two people would come in. I did a lot of arranging and re-arranging to pass the time. There were a few faces that I would recognize as repeat customers. One was a stately older woman who was always well dressed and seemed a bit aloof. On her last visit, she came in with a young man dressed in a suit and tie who looked to be in his early twenties. I bet that's her son I concluded. I asked if they need any help and got the usual "no, just looking". I recognized the smile her son gave me as a flirtatious one. I was dating Jason at the time and wasn't interested. Eventually they moved on.

The next weekend I was again at the shop alone. Working on something in the back room, I heard the familiar sound of the bell on the door - alerting me to someone coming in. I walked out to find the same young man, again dressed in a blazer and tie, wandering in the store. I gave him the standard greeting and he explained that he was looking for something for his mother. He asked me a couple of questions about something and then paused. Turning to me he asked if I would like to go to dinner with him sometime. "Oh, it's nice of you to ask, but I'm in a relationship with someone." I hoped the response would be the end of that conversation. It was and the end of his visit.

The shopping center that I worked in was really nothing more than a glorified strip-mall. It was on the outskirts of town, not a place with a lot of traffic. The management certainly didn't have the means to pay for a security guard; we didn't even have an alarm system. On this day, I was standing behind the counter near the front of the store, again alone and without many customers to wait on. It had been quiet in the store for a while when I heard the door bell jingle again. I looked up to see about five or six, plainly dressed twenty something men filing in. Then as the door closed I saw him. He looked different almost shabby. The way he stared at me with a sinister gin as they walked passed made me uneasy. Something inside me sensed danger. My heart started pounding in my chest. Why was he here with all these guys? Men only come in here with women. Just as the question threatened to ignite my imagination it was interrupted by the jingle of the bell again. A tall, slender man in a security uniform complete with badges and gun came walking in. He made his way over to me, smiled and simply said hello. His friendly disposition and the gentle tone in his voice calmed the wild palpations of my heart. He turned and stood next to me in silence. A bit stunned and relieved, I just stood there like before he came in. From my vantage point I couldn't see the men or what they were doing. About five or so minutes passed when they finally left the store. And with that the security guard turned, smiled and said "have a nice day, miss" then left the store just as he came.

It wasn't until months later when I thought back about that day that it occurred to me; there had never been a security guard at that shopping center before and that I had not seen him since. When I asked if they had hired one I was told no. The realization of a guardian angel gave me chills and thrilled me. I now had a story to tell, a memory that would bring peace when fear would manifest. I don't know what might have transpired that day had things not gone the way they did. I don't really want to think about it. But I do know one thing - they are out there, guardian angels - sometimes we see them, most the time we don't and sometimes they carry guns.

"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;" Ps 91:11

God Calling

I was, what would be considered in this day and age, a child-bride. But at 21, I knew what I wanted - to be with the most amazing, handsome man I knew - Jason. We met in high school and after he graduated, he moved to Dallas to study at the Art Institute. The 4 years we spent in a long distance relationship were not easy on us. Jason would make the 3 and a half hour drive back to Tulsa every weekend so we could spend some time together. I was living at home with my parents and sister. In those 21 years, I don't remember spending more than a few weeks away from them at any given time. They were my life and up until Jason entered the picture, nothing had meant enough to draw me away.

On April 19th, 1997, Jason and I were married. The day after returning to Tulsa from our honeymoon, we packed up the car and prepared to drive away to our new life in Dallas. I sat in the passenger seat and as Jason closed his door, I looked out the window to see my mom, dad, sister and grandparents standing there. Their sadness poorly veiled behind forced smiles. I waved goodbye the entire length of the long circle drive in front of the house where I grew up. We drove down the beautiful tree-lined street leading away from my home and everything I had ever known. The tears started streaming down my face in a continuous flow. I turned my head and stared hard out the side window so Jason wouldn't see.

This began a pattern for the next few months or so of our young married life. Jason actually thought he was going to have to return me and get his money back. I cried almost every night. I was with the man I loved, but so lonely for what was familiar that it completely outweighed the fleeting moments of marital bliss. At some point during that time, I discovered a book I had been given titled God Calling. It was a book written by two women in the 1930's who wrote down the things they would hear from God. It was assembled in daily devotional form and I would read it every now and then. This particular day, Jason had left for work as usual and I found myself feeling desperately lonely again. From our third floor apartment window I watched the other residents enjoying themselves at the pool just below me. I was a shy person and didn't want to venture out to make friends with complete strangers, but I longed to know someone, anyone who might make me feel like I had a connection to this place.

Overwhelmed with sadness I threw myself on the bed in our guest room. "God, I just want a friend" I cried, "I just need a friend." Through blurry eyes I saw the book lying next to me. I turned it to the day's reading - June 25th. The title for that day was "God's Companionship" and it opened with the words "I am your friend." With that a rushing flood of joyful tears filled my eyes, drowning the loneliness and leaving in it's wake a refreshing, calming peace.

I had known Jesus as Lord since the age of 4, but I was now entering into a new time in my life where I would get to know Him as friend. What an amazing time that was. A time of discovering who I am and who God is. Learning daily how to depend on Him to meet the desires of my heart and developing a love affair that far out ways anything this life has to offer.

What a friend we have in Jesus...

Link: God Calling

Inspiration

I got inspired the other day by a book I'm reading to write about my life...my thoughts, my feeling, my opinions, my experiences. It kind of sounds presumptuous and self-indulgent to me, but like the person who inspired me, I will deem it worthy for the sake of my children. It's not that mine is a story that will make a difference in the world, but it might in theirs.

My inspiration is a book written by and about one person. It is simply a collection of stories, thoughts and poems about things that are important to them. Not everyone would find this person's life of interest but I do. Since I was a child this person has made a big impact on my life. This book is just the latest way that I've been inspired through her to do something positive. She thought her children would want to know their mother a bit better, maybe mine will someday too.

I've always been interested in the experiences of other. I guess that's why I frequently watch entertainment or "tabloid" shows on TV, another reason I'm drawn to "reality" shows. But you don't have to be famous to get my attention. I find myself watching people, even at the grocery store, just to see what they put in their carts. "Why did they choose that brand?" I might think to myself, or "I wonder what they are going to make with that?". It's a curiosity thing, I guess...like why anyone would be interested in reading this blog in the first place.

So here I am typing my first of many ramblings about things most people will probably never care to read about, but I will write anyway. Because you never know who might find inspiration from something I find inspired to write about.