Like Granny Used to Make

My fingers are creaking. A return to Sweet Molasses after a nine month break. I'm excited. The reason for the layoff was a job that required my time, but due to the nature of my job, I can't write about any particulars of it, and if I did, you might never read this blog again.

So nine months in, I feel as though I am ready to come alive again, and that's a good feeling. I was in a dark place today. No outlet for the tension in my shoulders. Usually Sunday is a day where I am excited about the challenges for the week, but today I felt lost. No direction, unsure of where to focus, and incomplete work piling up.

I opened "The 4:8 Principle," written by Tommy Newberry, and read a passage that released me from the demons. The book is based off of Phillipians 4:8, which taken from The Message translation, says,

"Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies."

The Avett Brothers, excellent writing and thinking music, are executing some of these most excellent harmonies right now. I looked back at some of the older posts, and they could be so negative, cynical. It was election season and I was frustrated and out of work. I'm going to delete some of those. I don't want these posts to bring people down and make them angry. I'd rather encourage you so your biscuits of the day may be lighter. I can't tell you what I'll be writing about in the future, but I think I want to steer clear of the national commentary. I turn off the radio when I drive now at times, to escape the noise. You don't need more noise here.
If I were to guess, I would say that you will see more slice of life entries.

I've met some great people in Atlanta in 2009. I have to credit Chris Allen with starting the process of my writing again. His passion for technology and the creative change it could cause stirred something in me. I've been thinking for a month about the title of a new blog but today decided that Sweet Molasses said everything it needed to say.

Last week I completed my fourth half-marathon. I set a personal record, but I have yet to catch Whitney. She still has me by 3 minutes, meaning that I am signing up for her fastest course, the Atlanta ING half in March and will run it with her, until I pull away at the end. I am waking up tomorrow, fitting into my tights - yes, men can wear them - and running for the first time in a week in preparation for the next race. (Whitney ran her second marathon and dropped her time by 10 minutes. Drew, my brother-in-law, is the last remaining Seattle Supersonic, turning in a marathon of 3:25.)

Thank God life is not a sprint. I need encouragement along the way, energy bars, water, and perhaps a high-five from a cheerful bystander. May Sweet Molasses serve those purposes for you.

Peanutzilla

Presents are wonderful. I love receiving gifts as much as the next person. Open the box and out comes something special reminding you of how much you are loved, even more so if that is your love language.

But gifts have a dark side. No, I'm not describing the random turtle neck you got from your aunt, again. I'm talking about the packaging. More specifically, the innocuous styrofoam peanut.

You have seen it before. Curving more like the letter "S" than impersonating a peanut, they burst forth like Mount St. Helens upon opening, as if the inner chambers of the box had to release pressure to maintain equilibrium, leaving a light covering of white devils on all that is near.

My neighbor Bob and I have had two conversations. I know very little about Bob except that he yells at his doberman Rocko to be quiet after each episode of barking and does not seem to leave his house. I was a tad surprised when I saw him at my door.

"Did you have a box filled with peanuts?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, wondering why the trash had not been picked up yet.
"Would those be them?" Bob asked pointing to his yard, littered with scattered peanuts for 30 yards. A pack of them were gathered together attempting to raise a flag.

An hour and half later, I had picked up all the peanuts. For the first hour, I did not use a rake. I bent over and gathered the crunchy poof balls, placed them in my sack, then chased the ones that had jumped out when I bent over to collect their friends. I felt like the little kid who keeps putting ice cubes in his cup.

Sure enough, as I was beginning my task, the garbage truck came by. The driver looked at me, saw the box, saw the spilled contents, and laughed and drove away.

Oh, Friday. Happy birthday Wife!

Married and Holidays

I'll fill you in later. For the time being, if you want to know about the wedding, visit the wonderful wedding planner's blog, Mudlane.

Honeymoons rank above blogging on my importance list, viva la Mexico!
Thanks to all who came.

Bacon hung by the chimney with care

I do not want you to be stuck in a cynical mood, allowing the outside world to raise your blood pressure higher than holiday treats do normally, so read this post after you read Camels, Eye of Needle, Etc.

There are many good things going on in the world, we may just have to work a little bit harder to find them because they are not self-promoting actions. My friend and fellow TFA corps member James Bacon - Ladies, he looks as good as the real stuff tastes - is raising money to take our kids from Chicot County, Arkansas to Washington, DC, to expose them to the greater possibility within our nation. It is my hope that a trip like this will be life-changing and ignite a desire to learn and grow in those young men and women who are surrounded by hopeless elements. I applaud him for taking the intiative to organize a trip, because so often we, the general population, have great ideas that we never act on. Here's to you Bacon and your elves for acting on it. If you would like to learn more and donate, click here.

Enjoy your family, be merry, open gifts, share stories, love each other, have yourself a merry little Christmas night, and help this Bacon out if you can. Look at that face.

Hopeful Sunday

60 Minutes just did a profile on Pete Carroll, USC Head Football Coach, and his involvement in leading inner-city youth peace initiatives. He meets with former gang members in the middle of the night to offer hope.

Hope is a powerful notion. We elect presidents based on hope. We seek mentors and leaders who instill hope. We want someone to say that they believe in us, that we are capable of greatness. Too often, we listen to the doubters, those who stop trying and seek to convince others of a failed, dismal reality.

I am a rat of the Pied Piper of those promising a vision and a hope. I don't even care about the cheese, just place the belief of a slice at the end. I want a real, practical hope, and the persistence bolstering courage. This is why I like Wendy Kopp, TFA Founder, Caroline Rhee, DC School Chancellor, Vaclev Havel, John Selph, my fellow TFA alumni and corps members, the show Secret Millionaire showing selfless people in impoverished areas, dad-gum tear-jerker Extreme Home Makeover, Liberty Mutual commercials, and thousands of others working to make the world better. The success of these people and their causes comes from their ability to inspire, the trickle-down, pay-it-forward notion of helping others and seeing Good come alive and change lives.

We are closing in on 2009 and a chance to begin again. Burdens of yesterday should stay in yesterday's grave. Allow yourself the chance to reevaluate priorities. The easiest way to stop selfishness is to give. Melts away like butter.

Three bottles of wine

Again, I apologize for not writing as much. I have been on that search for a job. Of course, 100% commission hires these days. Why the H-E- double hockey stocks not?

I will be working for Aflac, taking orders from the duck. I have discovered throughout this process that companies hire via paradox. They want experience but no employer offers experience. Therefore they hire someone but no one.

So tonight ended up as a date night, "When Harry Met Sally" and bride to be has fallen asleep on the couch. I noticed Crystal has a swing and the 80's seem like a great time to live in New York. That's all for now, I wanted the loyal readers to have something. Thank you loyal reader.

Honey-Do List

Self-reliant. Independent. Individual. Call me "Old-fashioned," but I like these attributes. They remind me of what Man, or Woman, is supposed to be. Life being a relationship between you and the Creator, without government interference. Why am I discussing these topics today? Because I hooked up a washer and dryer.

True, it may not seem like such a large accomplishment, but I tally it in the point-for-Chilly column. You, dear reader, may point out that I did not build the washer and dryer. I performed no mining, smelting, or assembling, on such claims I concede. I did, however, hook the duo up.

After spending multiple hours, and multiple dollars, at the laundry mat over the past several months, we lucked into a washer and dryer. Bride to be was thankful as was I. It was an older set, so a little know-how was needed to hook them up. Plus, trying to save money here, I had a buddy with a truck help move them and then I was left to set up the arrangement.

I had to change a three prong wire on the dryer to a four-prong. You might not even know what I'm talking about, thus all the more reason to be proud of my accomplishment. On the back of the dryer, there is a flap of metal closed by a screw. You unscrew the screw to find the wiring, where you have to connect the wires from the cord. Then, you have to ground the green wire with the white wire in the middle section. That's right, the middle section. The Georgia Bulldogs wires, red and black, can go on either side of the white wire. Plug it in without shocking yourself and success, a working dryer blowing Sahara winds all across you towels.

Then onto the washer, where you connect the tubes to the spigots for hot and cold. The hardest thing is remembering which spigot feeds the hot water and which spigot holds the cold, energy saving water. Check, the hardest thing is screwing in old tubes and getting sprayed in the face, not once, but twice, then emptying drain water onto your Nikes. Self-discovery leads to a trip to Lowe's, where you buy new tubes and then hook them up. Currently, I am running my first load.
I won't bore you with the details of what channel lock pliers are, how to lift with your legs, and which friend to select.

For a completely different topic, here are a few random thoughts.

I think we should go back to hanging pirates. I wonder what a sect of militant gays looks like. The government is a mess. ( I watched CSPAN yesterday and they were discussing speculators getting home loans with no intent of repaying them.) If you give a mouse a cookie, or billions of dollars, they are going to ask for some milk. Last, did the druids invent the snuggie, a fleece blanket with sleeves? Fun for the whole family!