Thoughts While Taking Communion Yesterday

This is the body of Christ, broken for you.

Broken for me. Because I'm a sinner, and that's what it took to get me back into a right relationship with God.

And Lord KNOWS, I'm a sinner. These people who go around thinking, "I'm not so sinful -- my good outweighs my bad, so I'm safe on judgment day" . . . seriously? Have they read the Ten Commandments? Do they understand the standards here? Complete submission to God is a formidable challenge, and nothing less than complete submission counts.

I sin all the time. I sin sins that I know are sins even while I'm sinning them. I wake up saying I'm not going to do this, and I still do it. I hate what I do, and I do it anyway. Over and over. There are certain sins that I've stopped doing over the years, but I'm well aware that it wasn't me and my self-control that ended that behavior. It was an act of God. Praise Him.

The body of Christ, broken for me, because I can't take care of this myself. Thank you, Jesus.

And now, at Christmas, I'm happy to be reminded that your whole reason for coming to earth was for this body-breaking moment. Yes, it is good to hear your preaching . . . but most people didn't really listen and don't really listen. Yes, it was beneficial to see your example of righteous living . . . but most people weren't and aren't paying attention. All that was good, but if those were your sole purposes for coming to us, your mission was not very successful. But that wasn't your mission. Your mission was not to instruct my mind, or to inspire my spirit, but to save my soul.

PRAISE YOU. And thank you!

This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.

Shed to establish a new covenant. We've been learning about that in BSF. A covenant -- a commitment with a promise -- but stronger than those words imply.

An unconditional covenant . . . there's nothing I have to do (or can do) to earn the benefits of this covenant, except receive it. Thank you, Lord.

A one-sided covenant . . . God did all the promising. We just enjoy the things promised. Praise you, Jesus!

But I can't receive it unless I believe. Just like I can't "receive" my husband's love unless I believe that he really loves me. As long as I doubt his love, I have my guard up. I don't get to experience the benefits of his love for me without making myself vulnerable. I have to believe, and believe strongly enough to risk getting burned if I'm wrong. "There is no fear in love," James tells us.

And there is no unbelief in the covenant. Only faith. "The righteous shall live by faith." I believe, Lord; help thou my unbelief.

The blood of Christ, shed for me. To make a covenant with me before I even knew Him.

Thank you, Jesus.

Do this in remembrance of me.

Weekend Wonderings

And it's Monday morning again. And again, I don't know what to blog about.

We had a busy weekend, and I could tell you all about that, but frankly, I know most of you don't care. I mean, okay -- you care . . . you're not cold, heartless people. But you don't want to hear the details of our social life.

And you probably don't want to hear this, either. But what I'm going to write about is a couple little things I found myself wondering over the weekend.

We went to the Texas Renaissance Festival on Saturday, and I found myself wondering about the people who do this kind of thing on a regular basis. First of all, can you really make a living at this stuff, or is this a hobby that you support with a boring "real job" the rest of the year?

But also, what kind of person is willing to take on a persona like that and live that way every weekend? I mean, I'm an actress; I understand the fun of being a different person for a while. But some of these are odd folks, my friends. Have you been to a Renaissance Fair? Interesting, yes -- entertaining often -- but also pretty freaky.

I've thought before that my ideal retirement job would be to volunteer at a historical site somewhere, giving the tours and informational talks in character. I would love that. But were I to do that, I would not choose the type of character these folks were playing. This had nothing to do with history -- this had to do with having an excuse to be outrageous and outlandish and get legally paid to do so.

I also found myself wondering, if an actual person from the Renaissance jumped forward in time and showed up at one of these events, would they recognize anything? Would they be just as freaked out by the weirdos? Or was the Renaissance really as weird as all this?

And weren't knights and jousts from the middle ages? A few centuries before the Renaissance? Does anyone at these events really care about the timelines here?

Anyway. On to other wonderings from the weekend.

Yesterday, our school held a fall festival to raise money. Adding on the secondary school has proved rather costly (we have a new 9th grade class this year and will add classes as they move up). A high school is much more expensive than an elementary school. And a brand new high school needs to prove itself before it gets enough students enrolled to support the program through tuition. Thus the need for a lot of fund-raisers this year.

Here's what my husband suggested and what I keep thinking: there are some incredibly wealthy people out there. Lots of them, really. People who could give up the several thousand dollars it takes to run this secondary school for a year and never miss it. And some of those people have a real passion for education. Some of them have a real passion for the faith, and for young people being raised up and trained as warriors for the kingdom.

There is a person out there somewhere who would love nothing more than to pay the operating expenses for this school for a few years until the enrollment is such that it can support itself. We just don't know how to find that person. How do you find that person?

This I wonder.

Thoughts While Listening to the Christmas Music Station in the Car

- Who doesn't like Karen Carpenter's voice? Such a sweet, natural, pleasing tone. And we only hear it in December.

- "Mr. Grinch" = linguistic brilliance that could only have been written by Dr. Suess. And brilliantly performed.

- I know I should be okay with artists doing the traditional songs and giving them their own personal flare -- I mean, some of these interpretations are great, and they become the new classics.  But some are really awful. And most are hopelessly forgettable. I most get annoyed when they do a classic ("Let It Snow", anyone?) and don't make it their own -- when their version is orchestrated and paced and everything just like everyone else's.  They apparently think that their fabulous voice and their minor melody changes here and there make it better than what's been done before and worth the audience's time to listen to. Yeesh.

- And speaking of . . . I don't ever quite get over the sound of Hall & Oates singing "Sleigh Bells". It's just . . . odd to me.

- Now, there are a few artists that get it right. James Taylor on "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."  Whitney Houston on "Do You Hear What I Hear." (Oh, Whitney . . . seriously, the lady had pipes.)

- I know how many people love "Christmastime is Here", the Charlie Brown song. I don't. The vocals make me cringe. Call me Grinch. Your heart's a dead tomato squashed with moldy purple spots . . .

- My favorite this year (and for a few years now): "Christmas Eve/Sarajevo" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.  This is the one Christmas song right now that completely transports me, that I get totally lost in. I'm air-guitarring, air-pianoing, pounding out the drums on the steering wheel . . . I'm downright dangerous. I asked for the CD for Christmas so I can enjoy it in the safety of my own living room at home.

- Fascinating the many, many different styles of music we listen to during the holiday season that we would never deign to listen to in, say, July.

- I'm noticing something interesting this year: I find myself rather bored by the traditional mid-20th century crooners and their classics (Perry Como, Johnny Mathis, Bing -- you know, with the cheesy sounding choir in the background). But when Harry Connick Jr. does the same song in the same style, I'm enthralled. And I usually don't even know I'm listening to Harry Connick Jr. until the song's over. If I had the musical knowledge, I'd try to analyze exactly what it is he does differently that appeals to me. Gotta love Harry.

- I have yet to hear "O Holy Night" anywhere this year. I love that song.

- One of these years, I'm going to have to pick what I think are the definitive versions of each Christmas song and make my own personal Christmas CD. And to my surprise, I think one of those definitive versions would be Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You". The first time I think I heard that song was many years ago, during a morning newscast when they were showing her live giving a concert to troops overseas. She was singing with passion and gusto and blowing it away, and I was just flat out impressed.

- And for the umpteenth year in a row, I find my favorite Christmas hymn is "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing". The whole song. All the unfamiliar verses, too. Glorious in sound and glorious in sense. Just glorious.

Except when some uber-hip modern poser who has no sense at all of the meaning of the words just butchers it trying to "make it their own". Step away from the microphone, buddy.

Thoughts While Playing Bunko at the Neighbor's House Last Night

- How do you play bunko again?

- Dang, women are loud.

- The evening's theme is PJs and breakfast food. I think this is the first breakfast event I've been to in San Antonio that didn't include salsa.

- And I've never drunk wine with my breakfast, either, but that and water are the only beverages available this evening.  Oh, wait!  Someone just brought in a pitcher of orange juice.  Awesome!  I love orange juice.  Wait . . . this isn't just . . . sigh! Glad I walked here.

- I got a bunko and a boobie, both in the first round before I had any idea what I was doing and understood the significance of either.

- Our new neighborhood seems to have a nice mix of ages.  We haven't had opportunity to meet many folks yet, so this is nice to see. All lily-white, though -- which is surprising in a town where anglos are in the minority. And a little disappointing to me, because part of the appeal of coming to San Antonio was that I might hook up with someone willing to talk Spanish to me and help me learn (Panama is still in the back of our minds).

- I love breakfast food. I wish my tummy wasn't acting up so much. What did I eat for lunch that's coming back to haunt me . . . ?

- Bunko's an interesting phenomenon. A friend in Sioux City invited me to a bunko night, so this is my second go at it. The game seems to be created simply as an excuse to mingle and chit chat. Frankly, it almost feels like speed dating.

- Dang, women drinking wine are LOUD.

- And these drinking women are not fond of Obamacare. One lady just found out their insurance is being cancelled -- the suggested replacement policy will have an $8000 higher deductible and cost them $3000 more a year.  Three women in the group work in healthcare (one's an occupational therapist, don't remember about the other two, if they said). They all say they knew this was coming from the moment Obamacare started being discussed. And they all say they are losing doctors at their places of employment (I want to ask if those doctors quit or were let go, but I'm not drinking enough wine to be loud enough to get a word in).

- Finally starting to remember how this game works. Not that it matters -- there's no skill involved whatsoever. But at least I can keep up with the competitive ladies who are really into this, of which there are a couple.

- A former first grade teacher in the group (who's expecting her third son in a couple months) and a mom of a first grader are talking about money and math. The mom's daughter is anxious to learn how to count money, but the first grade teacher tells her she won't learn that until second grade. That was her biggest frustration teaching, she says; she had some kids who were ready to move on to counting money and beyond, and then other kids who couldn't even name the coins. So many levels she had to accommodate . . . and the ESL kids mixed among them.  Yep. We give public school teachers an almost impossible job.

- And the hostess decides she's done with bunko after eleven rounds; time to stop and just drink. (These women aren't drunk or anything, I should clarify; it's just clear that some of them are really only here for the wine and the talk -- maybe they had rough days.) So, I end the night with six wins, five losses, one bunko and one boobie. Which wins me nothing out of the $5-a-lady pot. Oh, well. I didn't come to win money. Or to drink wine.

I came to meet my neighbors. And that's why I'll be back in December . . . with a $15 white elephant and a plate of hors d'oeuvres. Maybe I'll bring the salsa this time.

The Races

Our family went to the car races in Jefferson, SD, last night.  We did this last year, too -- same weekend.  Last year, it was the night we met our eldest's new boyfriend whom she ended up dating her entire sophomore year.  Not quite as momentous occasion this time around.

Anyway, we went to the car races.  We didn't know anybody racing, so to make it interesting, I bought some M&Ms at the snack stand and whoever picked the winning car in each heat got an M&M.  The snack bar also had food half-price (last race of the year -- getting rid of stuff, I imagine) . . . and we stopped for ice cream on the way home.  A rather fattening night, on the whole (although I'm proud to say I resisted food AND ice cream -- but not M&Ms).

So, anyway, we went to the car races.  And two thoughts kept going through my head.  No, three.  No, FOUR.

1) Dang, this is LOUD.

2) I wish we'd remembered to bring in our stadium seats.  My butt hurts.

3) There are a lot of tattoos in these stands.  Seriously, why is that?  There are definitely more large, prominent tattoos here per capita than you would see at, say, the movie theater or the grocery store.  What's the correlation between people who enjoy watching cars race around a dirt track and people who enjoy carving permanent decorations into their skin?  These are the questions that keep me up at night . . .

4) My best friend in high school drove a race car.  Actually, her family is still into racing today, but I was always amazed at the fact that, in high school, she actually drove a race car.  In real car races, like this, at real race tracks.  She always wanted me to come to the races with her and I never did.  Looking back now, I'm thinking I was a pretty lousy friend.  When something's important to someone you love, you make it important to you.  Or at the very least, you make it a point to attend once or twice.  Forgive me, Julie.

And so, as I was saying, we went to the car races.  Last night.  And I expect we'll go again sometime.  Cheap entertainment, good chili cheese fries, and a great excuse to indulge in M&Ms.

Thoughts While Watching the Municipal Band Concert on my Anniversary

The Grandview Park Bandshell.  Lots of folks sitting
behind us and to either side of us.

- This is a PERFECT night for an outdoor concert!  It's the last concert of the year, and I bet it's the first concert they've had this summer where the temperature was under 90.  So glad hubby suggested this.

- A mother is sitting on a blanket right by us with the most adorable little baby.  Probably just under a year old.  Almost makes me miss the baby years . . . or look forward to the grandma years.

- I'm looking at the program -- I don't recognize a single song until the "Ultimate Patriotic Sing-along" at the end. Hmm.  Maybe I'll recognize them when I hear them.

- A couple just rode up in front of us on their bikes.  They lay their bikes down, got out their folding chairs, and the woman took off her shoes.  She's walking around in the grass in her socks.  I'm not sure why that seems odd to me.

- And speaking of that grass, it is so dead.  I'm grateful tonight for our sprinkler system, or we'd be trying to sell our house in the near future with a dead, brown lawn.

- I still don't know any of the music. It's all good music, but I don't know it.  And that baby is still dang adorable.

- I love this bandshell.  Everytime I'm here, I think about how awesome it would be to go to a Shakespeare in the Park production here.  Or to be in one.  A couple summers ago, I was in a Shakespeare in the Park evening in the Rose Garden, right behind this bandshell.  That was cool.  This would be cooler.

- Some poor lady behind us is having a coughing fit that won't quit.  I hope she's okay.  I wonder if I need to offer her a mint or something.

- My knees hurt.  I must be getting old if I can't sit through an hour long concert without my knees hurting.



The results of drought in Iowa.

- Aha -- a medley of movie music.  I know most of these.

- The host, Dave Madsen, told a Sven and Olie joke.  I think he tells at least one at every concert.  Until these concerts, I'd never heard a Sven and Olie joke outside of Lindsborg.

- The fountains spouting out of the front of the stage are very soothing.  A fen shui thing, I guess.  Maybe we need to invest in one of those little inside fountain things.  And oh my gosh, this baby is too adorable to stand!!!

- The Ultimate Patriotic Sing-Along ends with "God Bless the U.S.A.".  One image always pops into my head when I hear this song.  The gulf war started the last day of the first semester of my first year of teaching.  The next day was a teacher work day.  Everybody was listening to their radios, watching TVs, talking about the war while we finished our grades and got them in.  I vividly remember walking into a fellow teacher's quiet, empty room where she was sitting at her desk with the radio on beside her.  This song was playing.  And she was crying.  It's hard not to cry when I hear this song.

- And the concert's over.  This is a darn good group of musicians for a volunteer municipal band in a not-terribly-big city.  An enjoyable evening . . . a nice way to celebrate 23 years of marriage.

Thoughts On Being Sick

- I hate being sick.

- I probably shouldn't complain.  At least I don't have the pukey stomach flu stuff.  Actually, it's been a long time since I've had pukey stomach flu stuff.  I wonder what I'm doing right to keep it away.

- Puffs Plus tissue is quite a concept.  I wonder how they do that, putting lotion in the tissue? They're too expensive for regular daily use, but they're a Godsend when you're blowing your nose all day.

- Noah, the trombonist in my play Friday, is apparently sick, too.  We were very worried about him yesterday because he had the sore throat like me but also stomach problems.  His mom and I were thinking, "Strep!  Oh, no!"  Turns out the stomach part was part of a migraine.  An unusual form of migraine for him, but a migraine nonetheless.  The clincher?  Their family dog had a seizure last night, and mom says about 98% of the time, Noah's migraines and the dog's seizures happen on the same day.  How freakish is that?  Something to do with barometric pressure, she thinks . . .

- I took Nyquil the other night -- the first time I've taken sleep-inducing medication since the year started.  I was a little worried. Like the alcoholic risking a glass of wine at a party.  I think it probably helped me sleep some, but I still didn't sleep well.

- So far, this seems to be one of my typical cold cycles.  It starts with a sore throat.  Within a couple days, that wanes and I get really congested and have to blow my nose all day.  Eventually, that fades into a wicked cough.  And ultimately, the cough sticks in my chest for weeks and won't go away until the doctor gives me some heavy medication.  That's the part of this I dread.  I've got to do some research on this ahead of time and see if there's something I can do to prevent that.

- Doctors always say that the best treatment for a cold is rest and fluids.  Do you know anyone who rests when they have a cold?  I don't.  A cold lasts for a week or so -- who can take a week to rest?  And would a week of rest really make the cold go away any faster?  Or would it just make your life more pleasant during the cold?  Reminds me of the Beverly Hillbillies episode where Granny claims to have the cure to the common cold.  Do this, this and this, and your cold will be gone within seven days.  Yup.

- I'm doing the rest and fluids thing this week, though.  Friday is play day.  Tomorrow is dress rehearsal.  I need to be as healthy and rested up as I can be.

Brick and Stone

Just got back from another one of my wimpy jogs (but I jogged! Yay, me!). I sat on the front steps for a little while when I was done to cool down cuz it's so nice out this morning. I was looking around my neighborhood and thanking God for the blessing of living in a place where I see beauty when I look outside. Planned and manicured beauty, yes, but that's still beauty -- art -- an act of creation in the image of God.

I was looking at our and the neighbors' mailboxes. Theirs is red brick. Ours is whitish and grayish stones. And I was wondering why they made our mailboxes look so different when they sit so relatively close together on our relatively isolated end of the cul de sac.

Then I looked at the neighbors' house and realized it's made of red brick. And I turned around to glance at ours and saw . . . wait for it . . . whitish and grayish stone. (At least at the bottom -- I don't know what to call the material the main part of the house is made of, nor its color -- taupe, maybe?).

This is one of those things about me that makes my husband shake his head in disbelief. We've lived here almost three years now, but if you'd asked me what material the house was made of, I'd be hard pressed to picture it in my head to even describe to you. And I'd have no hope of describing the Lapkes' place to you. Red brick! Who knew.

I think it odd now, too, that looking from the perspective of my front steps, I was thinking of the mailboxes as a unit, as connected. But from the perspective of the street, clearly each mailbox is connected with its house. Duh.

I'm not sure there's a point to be made here. Something about perspective? Attention to detail? Unity in diversity? I don't know -- I just jogged and I'm tired. Find your own insight today. :)

Thoughts While Getting a Massage

- Ooo . . her hands are warm. Good deal.

- This is a student massage at the massage school in South Sioux. She seems to be doing a good job so far. Very friendly. Too friendly. I wish she'd stop trying to engage me in conversation and let me relax.

- I remember the first massage I ever got. At a resort on a vacation. The masseur was a man, and I was a little anxious about the whole thing. Then he sat down before he started working on me and asked if I would mind if he prayed first. Would I mind? Wow!

- Ouch. Why do my forearm muscles hurt so much? Too much computer time?

- So, who gave you the gift certificate for the massage, she asks. My family, for Christmas -- four massages for throughout the year, through October. Well, that's better than a diamond necklace, isn't it, she says. The gift that keeps on giving! Yes, it is. But I still wish you'd stop talking to me.

- I'm amazed at how commonplace massages have become in some circles. There are an awful lot of people I know -- and not wealthy ones -- who, from the way they talk, get massages on a pretty regular basis. They used to be a luxury, right? When did they become regular healthcare maintenance? I only get them when they are given to me as gifts.

- Time to turn over . . and out comes the padded horseshoe for my face. It always looks more comfortable than it is.

- I wonder what all goes into the training to be a masseuse. Do they learn the detailed structure of our muscles? Do they do exercises to strengthen their hands and forearms? This girl would probably tell me if I asked, but that would just start up a conversation, and she seems to have caught on to the fact that I prefer the silence.

- Always interesting the parts of my body where they find knots that hurt the most . . . my left shoulder, my forearms, the insteps of my feet, certains spots around my shoulder blades -- and the very bottom of my lower back. What up with that?

- I should look more into what are supposed to be the health benefits of massages. I always hear about it getting rid of toxins or something like that. I don't even know what that means.

- And . . it's over. Bummer. It's always so hard to get up from the table. Yeah, I should do this more often.

Thoughts While Standing in Line for a Funnelcake at the Sunnybrook Family Fun Night

- Wow. This is a long line. Do I really want a funnelcake?

- The lines going up the hill for the huge waterslide are just about as long, but they're moving faster. When did I get so old that sliding down a huge, wet hill into a trough of muddy water doesn't look the least bit entertaining? But the kids are sure having fun.

- Great band. Keith would like them. One of these years, he has to schedule his business trips around Family Fun Night so he can witness this.

- Twenty minutes in line now. Apparently, funnelcakes are the new cotton candy at Sunnybrook.

- Kids keep waving at me and saying, "Hi, Mirror!" Kinda sweet. Signing everyone's shirts this morning, I started to feel like a rock star or something. I wonder, in five years, if they'll look at that shirt and wonder, "Mirror? Who was that? Was she in my volleyball clinic?"

- The sun is starting to go down behind the hill, thankfully. And no mosquitoes torturing us, more thankfully. Apparently, the bugs were a big issue all week at the outdoor Skill School clinics.

- Forty-five minutes in line now. These had better be darn good funnelcakes. At least it gives me something to do while the girls are running around.

- An exhausting but satisfying week. My clinic kids did well with their skits in the closing program tonight, even with two kids missing and having to be covered for. Amazing what we can pull together in four hours -- well, two hours of teaching and two hours of rehearsal. I do this for the kids, but I get as much personal growth out of it as they do. A good reminder of how "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

- And all things includes ad-libbing through the morning dramas on stage in front of 700 kids. Way out of my comfort zone. But I've decided I need to do more of this. A good metaphor for life. We don't often have a script for our lives. God says, "Yeah, we're kind of going to head in this direction . . I've got the plan, you just play it by ear as you go . . and trust me."

- A hour and fifteen minutes. I will not give up on this line. I will get a funnelcake for my efforts.

- One daughter is running around out there soaked to the bone, going back and forth between the inflatables and the waterslide. The other is having water fights with her friends. We should have brought more towels.

- I kind of feel guilty that we're not staying to help clean up . . . but we're leaving in the morning for KC . . . let go of the guilt . . . you already did a lot this week . . .

- One hour and a half -- and I have a cinnamon and sugar funnelcake in my hand! Woo hoo! People congratulate me as I walk around nibbling on it. A fine accomplishment for the evening. And a fine end to the week.

And now the weekend begins -- off to Kansas City!

Thoughts While Driving the Garden State Parkway to the Tappan Zee

- Holy crap!!! This is a ten-lane highway!!!! Why did nobody tell me this is a ten-lane highway???

- There's a toll booth ahead. Didn't think about that. Scrounging through my billfold for quarters . . . one, two, three, four . . . in the basket, down the chute . . . and, nothing. Isn't the screen there supposed to tell me to go? Oh, well.

"What do you do at those tolls if you run out of change?" Leslie asks.

Hmmm . . . I'm . . not . . sure . .

- Listening to the High School Musical 3 CD: "Sixteen . . sixteen . . sixteen more minutes gotta get it done . . "

- Speed limit is 55. I check my speedometer -- I'm somewhere between 65 and 70, and cars are all passing me by. If I drove the speed limit, I would probably cause a wreck. Just what would a cop do if he were here? He can't stop them all. Instead of setting up a situation that obligates every NJ driver to break the law to spare their own lives, why don't they just change the speed limit?

- The GPS is recalculating for the 10th time, and I'm trying hard to ignore it. Reviewing my travel route last night, the Ellises talked me into altering it. "I promise you, you do not want to take the George Washington Bridge. OR the Holland Tunnel," Andy said. "Take the Garden State Parkway to the Tappan Zee." Debi nodded soberly.

I trust my friends more than the GPS. I think. There just better be a big, clear sign on this road saying, "This way to the Tappan Zee."

- "Can I have this da-a-ance . . can I have this dance?" (This is my new favorite song.)

- Another toll. The red sign says, "Cash -- Receipts -- EZPass". Is that where I go when I'm out of change? It's like calling the cable company: somebody PLEASE tell me how to find a human being!!!

- Tappan Zee . . Tappan Zee . . there had better be a sign . . .

- "I want it all!!! . . I want it . . I want it . . I want it . . " Go, girl. I love this song.

- Flashback: I think I drove a ten-lane highway driving into St. Louis once when we lived there. I remember sweaty palms and short, panicky breaths. Well, maybe New Jersey driving has made me more confident behind the wheel, at least. Or maybe just more stupid.

- Another toll?!? Good grief!! You'd think they could fix the stupid bumps on 73 by Shoprite with all this dough they're raking in.

- Where in the world did the name "Tappan Zee" come from? And of course, I can't say "the Tappan Zee Bridge" -- just "the Tappan Zee". Otherwise, people will stare at me like I'm from Iowa or something.

- "Walk - walk - walk away . . walk-away, walk-away, YEAH" . . .

- Stop for gas. I don't know which side of the rental car the gas tank is on. And of course, I guess wrong. Stop for lunch, too, and nobody will voice an opinion on where to eat. "Well, girls, you can't get Nathan's in Sioux City I don't think -- let's do that."

- I just remembered getting a ticket in the mail from the state of Delaware. They said I ran a tollbooth there, traced my tag, and mailed me a ticket. (I know I didn't run a tollbooth -- I had a friend in the car who confirmed that. But what do you do?) Does NJ do that? Are they going to mail me a ticket because my change didn't register in that first tollbooth? Where do they send the ticket when you're in a rental car? I think it may have been worth it to get the EZPass just for this trip.

- "I want my own dream . . so bad I wanna scream!" I feel your pain, Zac . . .

- There's a sign! The Tappan Zee! Whew. Wait . . another toll?? Five bucks?!?!?

Yeesh. I gotta find a cash machine.

A Show of Class -- and Showing Up the Lack of It

As my "faithful readers" know, I have refrained from speaking on political matters except for a few brief general comments on Election Day. And in particular, I have refrained from getting "personal" about "political matters". But I've been watching the Inaugural proceedings this morning with my girls and can't resist a few comments.

- Once again, I am grateful to live in a country where a transfer of power can happen in such a peaceful and even amiable manner. We forget how blessed we are.

- The size of the crowd was amazing. And I don't begrudge them their enthusiasm. But when I heard a black woman yelling, "Thank you, Obama!! Thank you!!" I had to wonder, thank you for what? He hasn't done anything yet. Give him a chance to prove himself first.

- You gotta feel for poor Dick having to endure the whole thing in a wheelchair -- especially knowing that there are thousands of people in this country who hate his guts and are laughing in jubilee at the sight (which is much to their disgrace).

- Those Obama girls are adorable. I hope their parents are able to protect them from getting screwed up by this whole experience. It's got to be hell growing up in the White House.

- I think Rick Warren did very well under the pressure. He was in a most unenviable position. I'm sure there's nothing he could have said that would have appeased his enemies today, but he spoke his heart and he spoke with grace.

- I know how many of my friends hate Bush. I know how much of the country hates Bush. But good heavens--I would hope that at least some of them can have the objectivity to separate the decision-maker from the decisions and acknowledge that the man has class. By all accounts, even from his retractors and opponents, he treats every person he encounters and works with with genuine respect and goodwill--even those who would have his head on a platter. The farewell moment between the Bushes and the Obamas was downright moving to me. And LORD KNOWS, Mr. Bush's low-key private meeting with his supporters on his way out of town is a far cry from the obnoxious and totally inappropriate Clinton rally we saw in January 2001 on his way out of town. It's Obama's day, and W. gave it to him -- with grace and dignity. Good for him.

- As much as I am unsure of the direction President Obama wants to take the country, I have to acknowledge that he, too, seems to be a man of grace and class. In fact, the best thing about today was seeing all the major players on different sides of "the aisle" behaving so civilly, and even affectionately, toward each other. The spirit of it all was a great thing to see. Would that our new president can encourage that kind of class among his supporters (such as the thousands in the mall this morning who boo'ed their outgoing president when he entered -- again, much to their disgrace).

- And despite the fact that Obama was not my choice for this office, I couldn't help but be moved, and moved deeply, by the power of this historical moment. We have a black president. A black president! How far our nation has come! Most of my friends were probably NOT watching the Fox News coverage of the day, but Juan Williams, a liberal black commentator on the network, had a moment when he was speaking about Joe Lowry, the minister who delivered the benediction, and how amazing it was for this powerhouse of the civil rights movement to see this moment -- and Juan began to choke up. I did, too.

Of course, as Malia Obama reportedly told her daddy, "First African-American President. Hmm. Better be good!" Spoken as only his daughter could.