On consecutive evenings I have watched, in no particular order
The Hunt for Red October
Intolerable Cruelty
McLintock
A Life Less Ordinary
Fievel Goes West
Fearlessly cutting through the reams of research necessary to compose a 4L paper with the daring-do of Alec Baldwin, the charm of George Clooney, the belly-up to danger attitude of John Wayne, the European suavity of Ewan MacGregor, and the overpowering physique of a two-dimensional rodent, Pete charges through the evening sans caffeine.
On threat of percolation, the adorable female of the species cutely, but sternly, questions “To stay up late tonight or get up early tomorrow morning?”
The male, sensing insubordination and logic within the ranks, quickly returns fire:
‘Don’t look at me in that tone of voice!’
The male, sensing self-stupidity, buttresses his position by quickly putting on his headphones and looking down at his computer.
Darn you George Clooney. The standard is too high.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The Benefit of the Pout
(Or my way of dealing with stupid policies)
Not being certain of what rouses you from deep and holy recesses of slumber is annoying. Realizing that (a) one’s alarm clock failed to peal forth glorious salutations of a new day and (b) had one known how awful one would have felt one would have entrenched oneself further into the safe recesses of one’s bed does not extend the already short list of reasons to rouse oneself to “urgent” or even “half-way convincing” status, and does nothing to light a fire under one’s tuckus.
6:45 a.m. and dark skies greeted me earlier this morning. One considered releasing one’s alarm clock from one’s employ ‘til one, ‘pon checking said device, was made to understand one had set said device (pink slip withdrawn) for 4 post meridian rather than 4 ante meridian. The refreshing wave known as knowledge and enlightenment was only slightly interfered with by the vague sensation of falling. Backwards, that is, into the washing machine to be precise. What brought on my sudden vertigo, I quickly discovered was that a night of hard partying (birthday chili spiced up by The Secret of Life of Walter Mitty and bed at 8:30) in honor of my birthday had left its mark on my nervous system. To put it quite more to the point, I was sick.
I truly do try not to complain about my health. My beloved’s medical history causes my thoroughly good health to quiver in shame at the prospect of admitting sickness. That being said, this morning I do believe I have topped my sick sensations. Kelly and I agreed to give ourselves the morning to get things in order. Having some urgent things to attend to at work (as a newly christened quarter-centenarian, that sounds so promisingly important), I opted to go into work for a few hours and, well, attend to them. After three hours in the office, I packed up shop and headed for home by way of one of the major commercial centers in the bustling metropolis of Purcellville (read Giant grocery store). The object of my pursuit was a bag of chips to accompany dinner.
As I parked and entered the store, I was struck with a sharp pain in my skull that usually accompanies thinking. A brilliant plan had erupted in my brain-thingie! Having many sundry items to transport home from work, and, in light of the fact that that skies released a chilly rain in porous fashion, I elected to purchase two bags of chips and procure two bags from the store. One bag would be utilized for the transportation of the chips, and one for the half dozen now-soaking other items in my car.
After concluding my transaction at the register I collected my pre-bagged now bagged chips and deftly snagged another plastic bag to accomplish my mission. As I prepared to exite the premises, my attention was arrested by a sharp, “Sir!” Trusting my solitude would only be interrupted in a grocery store by, say, having won a life time supply of cupcakes, I was surprised to discover that the origin of my interruption was a bag-lady. Now this bag lady was not importunate, at least not in any way I could, with my Wimsian powers, ascertain. She was however, fitted with that supreme mark of authoritarian sternness that marks all great grocery store bag ladies… she was short.
She continued. “Sir, you can’t take that.” I said nothing. In fact, during the entire exchange following, I said nothing.
Her eyes fell to the extra bag in my hand.
“You… have two bags.”
Her eyes remained steadfastly fixed on the bag, like a dog whose visual orbs lock onto a tennis ball. I briefly contemplated pitching the bag over my shoulder with the command to “Retrieve, Bruiser, KILL!” but let it lapse.
“If you have under six items you can only have one bag.”
‘Brilliant!’ I thought, ‘I’m going to go find the six largest items I can in the store and try to cram them into the bloody bag, SUING YOU NINCOMPOOPS when I injure myself. But again, I said nothing, reaching the stage of actual disbelief.
“It’s…it’s store policy.”
I looked over my shoulder outdoors, smiling internally that the gods had blessed me with a torrential downpour to provide natural embellishment to any story I could concoct for the necessity of two plastic bags. Need a canoe? Sure, I just have to grab my bags- oh, whoops, store policy forbids it!
My glance returned to the diminutive bag lady as I shifted my substantial bulk, squaring up… or as it were, pearing up <-- PLAY ON WORDS] to her.
Side note: My lovely and non-pear-shaped wife indicates that my above mentioned “Play on words” doesn’t make sense. I would like to remind readers of this post that Peter is writing, and therefore no sense is to be found anywhere. This should not be taken as a slight against dear Kelly, for I now she means well… I just wish that sometimes I had a point and could shoot back with something wittier than… well, this. Sighhh…
I again looked outside. The rain was falling so heavily, I could have sworn I saw a Cadillac float by the window. She tugged the bag from my hand and muttered something about how the “conversation is at an end” and “Don’t ask me why, etc.”
‘Don’t worry, fair maid!’ I nearly called after her, ‘Have no fear, I shall not ask from whose brilliant mental bowels this policy was expunged!’ But alas, I said nothing.
Not being certain of what rouses you from deep and holy recesses of slumber is annoying. Realizing that (a) one’s alarm clock failed to peal forth glorious salutations of a new day and (b) had one known how awful one would have felt one would have entrenched oneself further into the safe recesses of one’s bed does not extend the already short list of reasons to rouse oneself to “urgent” or even “half-way convincing” status, and does nothing to light a fire under one’s tuckus.
6:45 a.m. and dark skies greeted me earlier this morning. One considered releasing one’s alarm clock from one’s employ ‘til one, ‘pon checking said device, was made to understand one had set said device (pink slip withdrawn) for 4 post meridian rather than 4 ante meridian. The refreshing wave known as knowledge and enlightenment was only slightly interfered with by the vague sensation of falling. Backwards, that is, into the washing machine to be precise. What brought on my sudden vertigo, I quickly discovered was that a night of hard partying (birthday chili spiced up by The Secret of Life of Walter Mitty and bed at 8:30) in honor of my birthday had left its mark on my nervous system. To put it quite more to the point, I was sick.
I truly do try not to complain about my health. My beloved’s medical history causes my thoroughly good health to quiver in shame at the prospect of admitting sickness. That being said, this morning I do believe I have topped my sick sensations. Kelly and I agreed to give ourselves the morning to get things in order. Having some urgent things to attend to at work (as a newly christened quarter-centenarian, that sounds so promisingly important), I opted to go into work for a few hours and, well, attend to them. After three hours in the office, I packed up shop and headed for home by way of one of the major commercial centers in the bustling metropolis of Purcellville (read Giant grocery store). The object of my pursuit was a bag of chips to accompany dinner.
As I parked and entered the store, I was struck with a sharp pain in my skull that usually accompanies thinking. A brilliant plan had erupted in my brain-thingie! Having many sundry items to transport home from work, and, in light of the fact that that skies released a chilly rain in porous fashion, I elected to purchase two bags of chips and procure two bags from the store. One bag would be utilized for the transportation of the chips, and one for the half dozen now-soaking other items in my car.
After concluding my transaction at the register I collected my pre-bagged now bagged chips and deftly snagged another plastic bag to accomplish my mission. As I prepared to exite the premises, my attention was arrested by a sharp, “Sir!” Trusting my solitude would only be interrupted in a grocery store by, say, having won a life time supply of cupcakes, I was surprised to discover that the origin of my interruption was a bag-lady. Now this bag lady was not importunate, at least not in any way I could, with my Wimsian powers, ascertain. She was however, fitted with that supreme mark of authoritarian sternness that marks all great grocery store bag ladies… she was short.
She continued. “Sir, you can’t take that.” I said nothing. In fact, during the entire exchange following, I said nothing.
Her eyes fell to the extra bag in my hand.
“You… have two bags.”
Her eyes remained steadfastly fixed on the bag, like a dog whose visual orbs lock onto a tennis ball. I briefly contemplated pitching the bag over my shoulder with the command to “Retrieve, Bruiser, KILL!” but let it lapse.
“If you have under six items you can only have one bag.”
‘Brilliant!’ I thought, ‘I’m going to go find the six largest items I can in the store and try to cram them into the bloody bag, SUING YOU NINCOMPOOPS when I injure myself. But again, I said nothing, reaching the stage of actual disbelief.
“It’s…it’s store policy.”
I looked over my shoulder outdoors, smiling internally that the gods had blessed me with a torrential downpour to provide natural embellishment to any story I could concoct for the necessity of two plastic bags. Need a canoe? Sure, I just have to grab my bags- oh, whoops, store policy forbids it!
My glance returned to the diminutive bag lady as I shifted my substantial bulk, squaring up… or as it were, pearing up <-- PLAY ON WORDS] to her.
Side note: My lovely and non-pear-shaped wife indicates that my above mentioned “Play on words” doesn’t make sense. I would like to remind readers of this post that Peter is writing, and therefore no sense is to be found anywhere. This should not be taken as a slight against dear Kelly, for I now she means well… I just wish that sometimes I had a point and could shoot back with something wittier than… well, this. Sighhh…
I again looked outside. The rain was falling so heavily, I could have sworn I saw a Cadillac float by the window. She tugged the bag from my hand and muttered something about how the “conversation is at an end” and “Don’t ask me why, etc.”
‘Don’t worry, fair maid!’ I nearly called after her, ‘Have no fear, I shall not ask from whose brilliant mental bowels this policy was expunged!’ But alas, I said nothing.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Long Overdue
DISCLAIMER: This post is not a reflection of any of our current circumstances or situations. Its purpose is pure drivel and a lot of nonsense. But do enjoy.
Hey guys,
Seeing as how it’s been a while since I wrote a general e-mail to all of you, let me re-introduce how this works.
In the deep recesses of my cavernous (which means BIG but EMPTY) and strikingly addled brain, there dwells a creative force waiting to be released on an unsuspecting public. Unfortunately, I can’t figure out what it is yet. In consequence, I string together random thoughts and hope that there is a commonality in them that could be interpreted as a "Subject". When I stumble across this ‘subject’, I make a mental note to myself to compose a humorous vignette based on it. Of course, most of those mental notes lose their sticky backing, and fall off the mental refrigerator under the mental stove, as it were. There is rests with the mental dust balls and half-eaten mental Oreos until something important falls down behind the mental stove, and I have to pull it out to get to it. Then I am confronted with a pile of mental notes that would fuel Mongolia’s central heating system for a month.
Be fair, a week.
Honestly, a day and not less.
Ok ok, 7 seconds if you add 4 tons of coal, but you get the idea.
Touching on the subject matter at hand, it’s nippy up here. It’s downright cold, actually. This morning it was -5 degrees. Being a crustacean, I natura- …. Crustacean? That’s not right. Crusti- crust of bread, crost crutting measures… Crusty Nutmegger, there’s the soubriquet. Being a crusty Nutmegger, I don’t make it a habit of complaining about the weather though. You should notice, I am NOT complaining. I am merely pontificating my lack of satisfaction, on a purely subjective level, with the present meteorological conditions surrounding my domicile.
But I digress. The reason we don’t make a habit of complaining about the weather is twofold. First, in the summer it’s always hotter in Texas, and Texans (no apologies to the Texas delegation in the peanut gallery) have a perverse satisfaction in finding themselves hotter than 90% of the country. "The only way WE can cool down is by hopping in a freezer chest filled with liquid nitrogen, and sinking it in Lake Baikal Siberia! Shaddup, ya wimpy eastern ponce, before I whack you on the head with an armadillo in spurs!"
Second, in the winter it’s always colder someplace else, like Minnesota. Without going into extraneous details, they’ll tell us wimpy eastern ponces to shut up before they hit us over the head with a moose in a tutu. Incidentally, the way Minnesotans stay warm is by spending their winters in Texas. There are no, I repeat NO Minnesotans who actually live up there in the winter. How many Minnesotans have you actually seen in Minnesota in the winter? How many have you seen in Texas in the winter?
Though this research was not scientific, I think 4 out of 5 dentists would agree with me. There is, I have heard tell, a National Parks ranger who occupies a hunting lodge in southern Minnesota during 2 weeks in January. The only way he stays warm is by ripping the heating element out of his toaster and dipping it in his shorts. When he wakes up, he pops the hood of his pick-up and plays snuggle-bunnies with the engine block.
Anyway, so’s not to complain about the weather, I’ll explain how we wimpy northeastern ponces get through weeks like this. Here's the secret, are you ready?
We shamelessly exploit it in attempts to get sympathy. Remember, northeasterners are liberals, and essentially as narcissistic as… well, we produced Ted Kennedy, Howard Dean, John Kerry and gay civil unions, what more do you want?
To understand the mindset, let me take you through 3 quick, self-aggrandizing ways to make other people feel sorry for your plight.
First, insert the temperature into every conversation. Just make sure it's going to be a cold day, and then, as matter-of-factly as possible, say something like, "Hey Frank, I haven't spoken to you since college! I hear you're joining AARP next month. Say, it's -48 degrees right now!"
Now how did our not-so-subtle caller pin the thermometer at -48 degrees? Is it REALLY -48 degrees? Of course not, but I'll let you guys in on how all this work.
Tomorrow’s high is forecasted as 5 degrees. Veritably tropical. The low is forecasted to be –15, and the wind chill is forecasted at –20 to –40.
Upon hearing news like this, you must start out be sinking the temp 5 to 10 degrees to sound more impressive. For example, had the forecast been a high of 30 degrees, you would naturally say, "Did you hear it’ll be 20 tomorrow?" This in turn sets up that person to subtract another 5 to 10 degrees and so on and so forth, until the word Kelvin conjures images Rio De Janeiro and girls sensuously tangoing with fruit baskets on their heads. As it is, the best we can come up with are images of Finland and polar bears turkey trotting in City Hall.
Second, you must have proper respect to "highs" and "lows". This is simple. Highs project the warmer temperature, and therefore get less sympathy. Thus, you must only speak in terms of low temperatures. If the low is forecasted as 30 degrees, you must say, "Did you hear it’ll be 20 degrees tomorrow?" (remembering to subtract 5-10 degrees from the forecasted temperature of course). Again, this permits the sliding scale to continue until your non-New England family and/or friends naturally presume you’re living on Pluto.
Pluto, incidentally, is thought to be a toasty average of –378 to –396 degrees. NASA isn’t quite 100% sure on that, but hey, their guess is better than mine.
Third, a proper understanding of wind chill or wind chill factor is essential. Wind chill can be basically understood as follows:
Uh, my bad. It can’t be. However, I have, in the place of accurate meteorological theories, composed witty and not-at-all sensible poem:
Thirty days hath December,
Killing two birds I don’t remember.
Or were they pigs, who, when they loft,
Mount on wings of clouds so soft?
At-mos-phere thin, helps lift them boldly
To heights unknown by pigs. So coldly
Then those hams take flight and soar!
"It’s a bird! Or a plane!" No! It’s a boar!
Which brings in mind Bernoulli’s theorem,
Meaning wind must blow. So now I fear ‘em.
Those flying pigs, of course I mean,
Yep, frozen hams (Dr. Suesse's were green!).
So remember that when choosing diets
Stick with protein what gots suet.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of chicken—
Those cold flying pigs just keep on tickin’.
And that’s all you need to know about wind-chill right there. Of course, meteorologists would take issue with that line of reasoning, but then their jobs depend on the lies they weave. So who are you going to believe, some washed up actor with a rug who pretends he knows what he’s talking about or the meteorologist? Remember, 4 out of 5 dentists choose, uh, sixty percent of the lower working classes- er, tax cuts. Or something like that.
So having heard my deft explanations of how seriously we New Englanders take our weather, it come time for me to divulge how I would advise a visitor to deal with it.
If you recall your high school days, ponder for a moment the period known as "The Industrial Revolution". This is when Jesse Jackson and Louis Farrakhan said, "Don’t fire until you see the whites!" Now, during this time, Welsh miners found that when they descended into the coal veins to rip the ore from the bowels of the earth (proving once again that too many adjectives can be a very baaaad thing!) the presence of a canary was advantageous. This was because canaries have a (slightly) lower tolerance of carbon monoxide than do humans. Hence, when the canary shuffled off to Buffalo and tipped the scales towards Blighty the miners would know it was time to make reservations on a higher plane. Namely, get lead out of their knickers and skidaddle up out of the mine.
Likewise, New Englanders have their own sacrificial animal to toss outside during a cold spell. Cats usually suffice, but occasionally a Canadian or pigeon will suffice.
If the sacrificial animal quickly becomes statuesque, the assumption is made that it’s too cold to venture outside for all but the most necessary tasks. These tasks include rushing pregnant women to the hospital, emergency runs to the grocery store for more nachos during March Madness, or sitting outside for 4 hours at a Patriots game (may Indianapolis tap-dance on your spines and consume your jerseys for snacks!).
If you happen to be visiting during a cold spell, please bring your own cat. Or Canadian. Unless you’re from Canada. Then you must provide your own unwanted critter. Vermonters will suffice.
Now if you’ll all excuse me, I have to go get my monthly head-smacking from a tutu clad moose bearing Minnesotan.
T-t-t-t-toodles,
?ete
Hey guys,
Seeing as how it’s been a while since I wrote a general e-mail to all of you, let me re-introduce how this works.
In the deep recesses of my cavernous (which means BIG but EMPTY) and strikingly addled brain, there dwells a creative force waiting to be released on an unsuspecting public. Unfortunately, I can’t figure out what it is yet. In consequence, I string together random thoughts and hope that there is a commonality in them that could be interpreted as a "Subject". When I stumble across this ‘subject’, I make a mental note to myself to compose a humorous vignette based on it. Of course, most of those mental notes lose their sticky backing, and fall off the mental refrigerator under the mental stove, as it were. There is rests with the mental dust balls and half-eaten mental Oreos until something important falls down behind the mental stove, and I have to pull it out to get to it. Then I am confronted with a pile of mental notes that would fuel Mongolia’s central heating system for a month.
Be fair, a week.
Honestly, a day and not less.
Ok ok, 7 seconds if you add 4 tons of coal, but you get the idea.
Touching on the subject matter at hand, it’s nippy up here. It’s downright cold, actually. This morning it was -5 degrees. Being a crustacean, I natura- …. Crustacean? That’s not right. Crusti- crust of bread, crost crutting measures… Crusty Nutmegger, there’s the soubriquet. Being a crusty Nutmegger, I don’t make it a habit of complaining about the weather though. You should notice, I am NOT complaining. I am merely pontificating my lack of satisfaction, on a purely subjective level, with the present meteorological conditions surrounding my domicile.
But I digress. The reason we don’t make a habit of complaining about the weather is twofold. First, in the summer it’s always hotter in Texas, and Texans (no apologies to the Texas delegation in the peanut gallery) have a perverse satisfaction in finding themselves hotter than 90% of the country. "The only way WE can cool down is by hopping in a freezer chest filled with liquid nitrogen, and sinking it in Lake Baikal Siberia! Shaddup, ya wimpy eastern ponce, before I whack you on the head with an armadillo in spurs!"
Second, in the winter it’s always colder someplace else, like Minnesota. Without going into extraneous details, they’ll tell us wimpy eastern ponces to shut up before they hit us over the head with a moose in a tutu. Incidentally, the way Minnesotans stay warm is by spending their winters in Texas. There are no, I repeat NO Minnesotans who actually live up there in the winter. How many Minnesotans have you actually seen in Minnesota in the winter? How many have you seen in Texas in the winter?
Though this research was not scientific, I think 4 out of 5 dentists would agree with me. There is, I have heard tell, a National Parks ranger who occupies a hunting lodge in southern Minnesota during 2 weeks in January. The only way he stays warm is by ripping the heating element out of his toaster and dipping it in his shorts. When he wakes up, he pops the hood of his pick-up and plays snuggle-bunnies with the engine block.
Anyway, so’s not to complain about the weather, I’ll explain how we wimpy northeastern ponces get through weeks like this. Here's the secret, are you ready?
We shamelessly exploit it in attempts to get sympathy. Remember, northeasterners are liberals, and essentially as narcissistic as… well, we produced Ted Kennedy, Howard Dean, John Kerry and gay civil unions, what more do you want?
To understand the mindset, let me take you through 3 quick, self-aggrandizing ways to make other people feel sorry for your plight.
First, insert the temperature into every conversation. Just make sure it's going to be a cold day, and then, as matter-of-factly as possible, say something like, "Hey Frank, I haven't spoken to you since college! I hear you're joining AARP next month. Say, it's -48 degrees right now!"
Now how did our not-so-subtle caller pin the thermometer at -48 degrees? Is it REALLY -48 degrees? Of course not, but I'll let you guys in on how all this work.
Tomorrow’s high is forecasted as 5 degrees. Veritably tropical. The low is forecasted to be –15, and the wind chill is forecasted at –20 to –40.
Upon hearing news like this, you must start out be sinking the temp 5 to 10 degrees to sound more impressive. For example, had the forecast been a high of 30 degrees, you would naturally say, "Did you hear it’ll be 20 tomorrow?" This in turn sets up that person to subtract another 5 to 10 degrees and so on and so forth, until the word Kelvin conjures images Rio De Janeiro and girls sensuously tangoing with fruit baskets on their heads. As it is, the best we can come up with are images of Finland and polar bears turkey trotting in City Hall.
Second, you must have proper respect to "highs" and "lows". This is simple. Highs project the warmer temperature, and therefore get less sympathy. Thus, you must only speak in terms of low temperatures. If the low is forecasted as 30 degrees, you must say, "Did you hear it’ll be 20 degrees tomorrow?" (remembering to subtract 5-10 degrees from the forecasted temperature of course). Again, this permits the sliding scale to continue until your non-New England family and/or friends naturally presume you’re living on Pluto.
Pluto, incidentally, is thought to be a toasty average of –378 to –396 degrees. NASA isn’t quite 100% sure on that, but hey, their guess is better than mine.
Third, a proper understanding of wind chill or wind chill factor is essential. Wind chill can be basically understood as follows:
Uh, my bad. It can’t be. However, I have, in the place of accurate meteorological theories, composed witty and not-at-all sensible poem:
Thirty days hath December,
Killing two birds I don’t remember.
Or were they pigs, who, when they loft,
Mount on wings of clouds so soft?
At-mos-phere thin, helps lift them boldly
To heights unknown by pigs. So coldly
Then those hams take flight and soar!
"It’s a bird! Or a plane!" No! It’s a boar!
Which brings in mind Bernoulli’s theorem,
Meaning wind must blow. So now I fear ‘em.
Those flying pigs, of course I mean,
Yep, frozen hams (Dr. Suesse's were green!).
So remember that when choosing diets
Stick with protein what gots suet.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of chicken—
Those cold flying pigs just keep on tickin’.
And that’s all you need to know about wind-chill right there. Of course, meteorologists would take issue with that line of reasoning, but then their jobs depend on the lies they weave. So who are you going to believe, some washed up actor with a rug who pretends he knows what he’s talking about or the meteorologist? Remember, 4 out of 5 dentists choose, uh, sixty percent of the lower working classes- er, tax cuts. Or something like that.
So having heard my deft explanations of how seriously we New Englanders take our weather, it come time for me to divulge how I would advise a visitor to deal with it.
If you recall your high school days, ponder for a moment the period known as "The Industrial Revolution". This is when Jesse Jackson and Louis Farrakhan said, "Don’t fire until you see the whites!" Now, during this time, Welsh miners found that when they descended into the coal veins to rip the ore from the bowels of the earth (proving once again that too many adjectives can be a very baaaad thing!) the presence of a canary was advantageous. This was because canaries have a (slightly) lower tolerance of carbon monoxide than do humans. Hence, when the canary shuffled off to Buffalo and tipped the scales towards Blighty the miners would know it was time to make reservations on a higher plane. Namely, get lead out of their knickers and skidaddle up out of the mine.
Likewise, New Englanders have their own sacrificial animal to toss outside during a cold spell. Cats usually suffice, but occasionally a Canadian or pigeon will suffice.
If the sacrificial animal quickly becomes statuesque, the assumption is made that it’s too cold to venture outside for all but the most necessary tasks. These tasks include rushing pregnant women to the hospital, emergency runs to the grocery store for more nachos during March Madness, or sitting outside for 4 hours at a Patriots game (may Indianapolis tap-dance on your spines and consume your jerseys for snacks!).
If you happen to be visiting during a cold spell, please bring your own cat. Or Canadian. Unless you’re from Canada. Then you must provide your own unwanted critter. Vermonters will suffice.
Now if you’ll all excuse me, I have to go get my monthly head-smacking from a tutu clad moose bearing Minnesotan.
T-t-t-t-toodles,
?ete
Monday, June 12, 2006
The Days Move On...
It's more than time for an update on the lives of Peter and Kelly. We've been so busy for the last couple of months, it's hard to find time to blog and keep the rest of you in the loop!
I shot my fourth wedding this year last weekend. I now have about 7,000 pictures to proof in the next two weeks, before my last one for the summer. Pete just got back from Connecticut on his third conference of the year (the first two have been in the last six weeks). We are ready for a break. And an update!
We celebrated our six-month anniversary in April with a short, intimate vow renewal on the beach (pictures to be posted at some point, I promise!) and a stroll down memory lane with a night at the bed and breakfast where I was staying the night I called Pete a year and a half ago.
Pete's sister Amy and her family have moved into Maryland, and we can't tell how much we're looking forward to spending more time with them when all this is over!
My brother Josh has gotten engaged to a sweet girl who reminds me so much of me that I'm just flattered at how much Josh actually liked me! We shall see how the Lord leads these two. Pete and I look at them and think how young they are to be getting married--19 and 21--and we have to keep reminding ourselves that God knows what He's doing and He doesn't give everyone what He gave to Pete and me at the beginning.
We've been doing so much traveling (we've been to Lynchburg, Florida, DC, OH, Philadelphia, and Connecticut in the last couple of weeks), we hardly know where home is anymore--oh wait! It's not really our home! We have a mouse who has moved in and appropriated Pete's sunflower seeds and my chocolate. Our landlords have also hired a ghost-painter to scare the soot-coated walls into hiding. We were blessed to receive a new fireplace to erase THAT particular problem.
The last two weeks, we have eaten at home ONCE, so our grocery bills have been going into eating out. Lately, I've been subsisting on hot dogs and pizza. Yes. I know this is not healthy. I cannot help hoping that I am gaining weight, however. When I do have a chance to cook at home, we have been enjoying a renovated Martha Stewart recipe for chicken with lemon and thyme. Pete loves it, and I'm drinking lemonade again this summer for the first time in several years. I forgot how much I liked it (though we quibble a bit about how watered down it should be!)
God has not stopped being faithful to us, and though we're perhaps not as close to Him relationally as we'd both like, His hand is evident not only in the work He is doing in our lives, but also in His provision for us as we have faced bills and car repairs and speeding tickets and tiredness.
One of the biggest examples of His hand on our lives occurred three weeks ago, when my best friend came in from out of town. She has a mental illness, and she had stopped taking her medication because she wanted to try a natural route for a physical problem she didn't have. Pete stayed home from his conference that weekend and we were brought to the end of ourselves as she slipped further down the slope of reality. God brought us closer together as we reached out to minister to her, finally making the hardest decision I've ever made in my life to get treatment for her. In the end, He comforted us both as we cried over the pain of her loss.
The house is finally starting to come back under control now, and I'm home sick today to try to catch up on some rest and correspondence.
My brother Joel is graduating in two weeks, so we'll be in Lynchburg for that, and then it's out to Kansas the next week for another graduation!
That is about all the news that is fit to report for the moment (or rather, all that I can think of to write about). Let us know how you all are doing!
I shot my fourth wedding this year last weekend. I now have about 7,000 pictures to proof in the next two weeks, before my last one for the summer. Pete just got back from Connecticut on his third conference of the year (the first two have been in the last six weeks). We are ready for a break. And an update!
We celebrated our six-month anniversary in April with a short, intimate vow renewal on the beach (pictures to be posted at some point, I promise!) and a stroll down memory lane with a night at the bed and breakfast where I was staying the night I called Pete a year and a half ago.
Pete's sister Amy and her family have moved into Maryland, and we can't tell how much we're looking forward to spending more time with them when all this is over!
My brother Josh has gotten engaged to a sweet girl who reminds me so much of me that I'm just flattered at how much Josh actually liked me! We shall see how the Lord leads these two. Pete and I look at them and think how young they are to be getting married--19 and 21--and we have to keep reminding ourselves that God knows what He's doing and He doesn't give everyone what He gave to Pete and me at the beginning.
We've been doing so much traveling (we've been to Lynchburg, Florida, DC, OH, Philadelphia, and Connecticut in the last couple of weeks), we hardly know where home is anymore--oh wait! It's not really our home! We have a mouse who has moved in and appropriated Pete's sunflower seeds and my chocolate. Our landlords have also hired a ghost-painter to scare the soot-coated walls into hiding. We were blessed to receive a new fireplace to erase THAT particular problem.
The last two weeks, we have eaten at home ONCE, so our grocery bills have been going into eating out. Lately, I've been subsisting on hot dogs and pizza. Yes. I know this is not healthy. I cannot help hoping that I am gaining weight, however. When I do have a chance to cook at home, we have been enjoying a renovated Martha Stewart recipe for chicken with lemon and thyme. Pete loves it, and I'm drinking lemonade again this summer for the first time in several years. I forgot how much I liked it (though we quibble a bit about how watered down it should be!)
God has not stopped being faithful to us, and though we're perhaps not as close to Him relationally as we'd both like, His hand is evident not only in the work He is doing in our lives, but also in His provision for us as we have faced bills and car repairs and speeding tickets and tiredness.
One of the biggest examples of His hand on our lives occurred three weeks ago, when my best friend came in from out of town. She has a mental illness, and she had stopped taking her medication because she wanted to try a natural route for a physical problem she didn't have. Pete stayed home from his conference that weekend and we were brought to the end of ourselves as she slipped further down the slope of reality. God brought us closer together as we reached out to minister to her, finally making the hardest decision I've ever made in my life to get treatment for her. In the end, He comforted us both as we cried over the pain of her loss.
The house is finally starting to come back under control now, and I'm home sick today to try to catch up on some rest and correspondence.
My brother Joel is graduating in two weeks, so we'll be in Lynchburg for that, and then it's out to Kansas the next week for another graduation!
That is about all the news that is fit to report for the moment (or rather, all that I can think of to write about). Let us know how you all are doing!
Friday, March 10, 2006
Sudden Spring Update
Pete and Kelly got married in October. They've been learning and growing and getting to love each other better. It's been a good and tough first few months of marriage. But, they made it through the winter, in spite of their soot-encrusted apartment (gotta love the gas sometimes--we can't even get it off the porcelain in the bathroom) and the cold outside. They are thankful for a shortish, mildish winter, even though Pete is from Connecticut.
Pete and Kelly are having fun setting up house and starting a photography business. Pete is studying for school again, and Kelly is letting him. Kelly has been going to sleep abnormally early, and Pete has been getting up abnormally early. But, we enjoy the time we have together during the days.
Pete just got his topic for his senior seminar paper, and he is quite excited about it. Kelly is a bit clueless about the law of the thing, but wondering what kind of cracks Pete can come up with for "Legal Criteria for Protecting the Right to Life of Incompetent People."
Today, Pete and Kelly drove to Leesburg and South Street Under for lunch, and then drove back by way of a little-known country road. We saw running horses in a pasture beside the country road. It was pretty.
Pete and Kelly are excited because they will soon have Pete's sister Amy and brother-in-law David in Maryland, along with two of our nices and nephlets! We're looking forward to visiting, photographing, gifting, and getting to know them a bit better--provided God doesn't send US out to California when Pete passes the Bar next year. Because he will.
Pete and Kelly are getting ready for a fun secret that happens on a Tuesday. :-D You know we'll post some pictures when it happens!
So here is our update for a sudden spring day.
And here are a couple of new favorite pictures. Enjoy!
Pete and Kelly are having fun setting up house and starting a photography business. Pete is studying for school again, and Kelly is letting him. Kelly has been going to sleep abnormally early, and Pete has been getting up abnormally early. But, we enjoy the time we have together during the days.
Pete just got his topic for his senior seminar paper, and he is quite excited about it. Kelly is a bit clueless about the law of the thing, but wondering what kind of cracks Pete can come up with for "Legal Criteria for Protecting the Right to Life of Incompetent People."
Today, Pete and Kelly drove to Leesburg and South Street Under for lunch, and then drove back by way of a little-known country road. We saw running horses in a pasture beside the country road. It was pretty.
Pete and Kelly are excited because they will soon have Pete's sister Amy and brother-in-law David in Maryland, along with two of our nices and nephlets! We're looking forward to visiting, photographing, gifting, and getting to know them a bit better--provided God doesn't send US out to California when Pete passes the Bar next year. Because he will.
Pete and Kelly are getting ready for a fun secret that happens on a Tuesday. :-D You know we'll post some pictures when it happens!
So here is our update for a sudden spring day.
And here are a couple of new favorite pictures. Enjoy!
Thursday, February 23, 2006
WHAAA???
I occasionally check a blog that has a lot of interesting articles about married life, but today's post just about floored me!
The topic was raising our boys to be men and our women to be women. Which I'm okay with to a point, but people will be people, and that is an inevitable fact. Creating gender roles is not a good way for dealing with life.
Anyway, the post linked to an "insightful" (insightful? Good grief, do these people just get together and pat each other on the back for their ideas all the time?) post from the leader of a religious organization that shall, for the purposes of this post, remain anonymous.
The insight given in the post?
...This reminded me of a rule I want us to adopt for our blog. No smiley faces allowed! Real men do not use smiley faces on e-mails! This is fine for the ladies, but not the men. Real men communicate humor effectively without having to use a smiley face and real men can discern the presence of genuine humor without seeing a smiley face. So let our blog be free from all wimp-like communication!
Excuse me while I check my gender again and make sure I have landed in the *right* role...
:-)
;-)
:-P
:-D
The topic was raising our boys to be men and our women to be women. Which I'm okay with to a point, but people will be people, and that is an inevitable fact. Creating gender roles is not a good way for dealing with life.
Anyway, the post linked to an "insightful" (insightful? Good grief, do these people just get together and pat each other on the back for their ideas all the time?) post from the leader of a religious organization that shall, for the purposes of this post, remain anonymous.
The insight given in the post?
...This reminded me of a rule I want us to adopt for our blog. No smiley faces allowed! Real men do not use smiley faces on e-mails! This is fine for the ladies, but not the men. Real men communicate humor effectively without having to use a smiley face and real men can discern the presence of genuine humor without seeing a smiley face. So let our blog be free from all wimp-like communication!
Excuse me while I check my gender again and make sure I have landed in the *right* role...
:-)
;-)
:-P
:-D
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Valentine's Week Report
Valentine's Day fell inconveniently prior to payday this year, but since it was our first V-Day after getting married, we weren't about to let it slide. Instead, we created something that could become a tradition: a Valentine's Week. Instead of choosing one day to look forward to and risk spending a ton of money (because everything is expensive for Valentine's Day), we gave each other a whole week of surprises and fun!
On Monday, I officially commenced my Valentine's Week blogging at my personal blog with a collection of rememberies, quotes, and love-related stuff.
On Tuesday, Pete was resigned to going home, watching a movie, and spending a normal evening. He didn't know I had spent some time compiling love quotes, romantic pictures, and short passages from Song of Solomon to combine into a 10-card evening for him. We stopped for pizza and a bit of sparkling blush on our way home, and had a very special night as I gave him the cards throughout the evening.
Wednesday, I had scheduled emails with a love quote or poem to arrive for him every half-hour during the day, culminating in a love letter at the end of the day. His email for noon? Two of my packages arrived for him: a little stuffed llama from an old memory, and the Mansfield Park soundtrack from a new memory! (We had just watched the movie on Saturday, and Pete had really enjoyed the soundtrack.) On Wednesday evening, we went out for Japanese together, joining two apologetic couples who were out with their rather noisy young children at a table for eight.
By Thursday, I was running a bit short on ideas, but Pete was just getting started. When we went grocery shopping on Thursday evening, he disappeared on the pretense of hitting the restroom. I didn't suspect a thing, though I wondered a bit if he was okay, because he was sure taking his time in there! When we got to the car after we finished shopping, Pete had me open the back to find three bouquets of spray roses waiting for me. The sneak! I quickly moved them out of the way to put in the passenger back so we could load the groceries, and then went to the front seat to start the car, since I was driving. There was another bouquet of flowers on the driver's seat--"Kelly, you ditz! You meant to put those in the back--oh wow..." It was a NEW bouquet of fragrant, long-stemmed red roses. Extravagant!
Friday was our planned date night for Valentine's Week. I knew we were going out, and it was going to be late, but Pete didn't tell me until we were almost to the Metro Station that he was taking me to see the Disney Ice Princesses production at the MCI Center in D.C. I was thrilled! I had decided not to watch the Olympic ice skating this year (Michelle Kwan's withdrawal was QUITE a bummer), so Pete had found a way for me to see ice skating anyway! On our way to the MCI center, I presented Pete with his last two gifts, a little stuffed walrus (from another old memory) and the soundtrack to the new Pride and Prejudice, which we listened to on the way.
Pete promised one more surprise as we arrived at the last minute, and as we raced to our seats, I found my eyes growing wider and wider as we approached the front. Three rows back, two rows back... *gulp* "You bought us seats in the FRONT row?" It was an incredibly fun experience! I can be such a little kid sometimes: I didn't stop smiling the whole night! My guy is so wonderful!
Saturday evening brought the end of our Valentine's week. Pete surprised me with chocolate-dipped strawberries that he'd dipped himself, and I had a little fun with roses and candles after our crockpot dinner of corned beef and cabbage... (*chuckle* We were celebrating a bit early for St. Patrick's Day?)
We have enjoyed so much of our relationship in the comfort of our friendship, but Valentine's Week let us go a bit beyond friendship to the more daring, romantic end of things. All in all, it was a very special week, and one that we'll both probably treasure for a long time. It gave us both an opportunity to invest in each other, and learn more about what makes the other feel loved.
On Monday, I officially commenced my Valentine's Week blogging at my personal blog with a collection of rememberies, quotes, and love-related stuff.
On Tuesday, Pete was resigned to going home, watching a movie, and spending a normal evening. He didn't know I had spent some time compiling love quotes, romantic pictures, and short passages from Song of Solomon to combine into a 10-card evening for him. We stopped for pizza and a bit of sparkling blush on our way home, and had a very special night as I gave him the cards throughout the evening.
Wednesday, I had scheduled emails with a love quote or poem to arrive for him every half-hour during the day, culminating in a love letter at the end of the day. His email for noon? Two of my packages arrived for him: a little stuffed llama from an old memory, and the Mansfield Park soundtrack from a new memory! (We had just watched the movie on Saturday, and Pete had really enjoyed the soundtrack.) On Wednesday evening, we went out for Japanese together, joining two apologetic couples who were out with their rather noisy young children at a table for eight.
By Thursday, I was running a bit short on ideas, but Pete was just getting started. When we went grocery shopping on Thursday evening, he disappeared on the pretense of hitting the restroom. I didn't suspect a thing, though I wondered a bit if he was okay, because he was sure taking his time in there! When we got to the car after we finished shopping, Pete had me open the back to find three bouquets of spray roses waiting for me. The sneak! I quickly moved them out of the way to put in the passenger back so we could load the groceries, and then went to the front seat to start the car, since I was driving. There was another bouquet of flowers on the driver's seat--"Kelly, you ditz! You meant to put those in the back--oh wow..." It was a NEW bouquet of fragrant, long-stemmed red roses. Extravagant!
Friday was our planned date night for Valentine's Week. I knew we were going out, and it was going to be late, but Pete didn't tell me until we were almost to the Metro Station that he was taking me to see the Disney Ice Princesses production at the MCI Center in D.C. I was thrilled! I had decided not to watch the Olympic ice skating this year (Michelle Kwan's withdrawal was QUITE a bummer), so Pete had found a way for me to see ice skating anyway! On our way to the MCI center, I presented Pete with his last two gifts, a little stuffed walrus (from another old memory) and the soundtrack to the new Pride and Prejudice, which we listened to on the way.
Pete promised one more surprise as we arrived at the last minute, and as we raced to our seats, I found my eyes growing wider and wider as we approached the front. Three rows back, two rows back... *gulp* "You bought us seats in the FRONT row?" It was an incredibly fun experience! I can be such a little kid sometimes: I didn't stop smiling the whole night! My guy is so wonderful!
Saturday evening brought the end of our Valentine's week. Pete surprised me with chocolate-dipped strawberries that he'd dipped himself, and I had a little fun with roses and candles after our crockpot dinner of corned beef and cabbage... (*chuckle* We were celebrating a bit early for St. Patrick's Day?)
We have enjoyed so much of our relationship in the comfort of our friendship, but Valentine's Week let us go a bit beyond friendship to the more daring, romantic end of things. All in all, it was a very special week, and one that we'll both probably treasure for a long time. It gave us both an opportunity to invest in each other, and learn more about what makes the other feel loved.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Date Remembery #2
Our first Valentine's Day remembery, about the evils of not obtaining full disclosure, can be found here.Do enjoy!
Monday, February 13, 2006
Saturday Fun
Pete and I finally did something I have always dreamed of doing...We went ice skating on Saturday, in the snow at the outdoor rink at the sculpture garden in Washington DC. It was about as romantic as I'd always dreamed! We skated with a few friends, and generally enjoyed our time together, with a rather interesting finish to the evening on our way home over the treacherous roads.
Have I mentioned that people in Northern Virginia have no concept of how to drive in snow?
Well, that particular factor was the cause of my first, reportedly inevitable, minor car accident. We are thanking God that no one was hurt and that the damage was minimal.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Email Fun
I was going back through some old emails yesterday, and found a few priceless exchanges from when Pete and I first met. It's always fun to find after the fact how completely attractive someone was--you just didn't know it...
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 01:17PM >>>
You have an AIM handle?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 01:19PM >>>
I was in the process of writing you the same thing. Copycat :p
I'm "Wasserzapfen".
Don't ask.
If you do, don't expect a serious reply.
If you do, be prepared to roll your eyes and groan.
Sort of like a sick walrus does when he has a bad stomach ache...
Toodles,
?ete
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 01:24PM >>>
copycat, huh?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 01:26PM >>>
Well, it sounded better than copy-Striped Zambian Whooping Yak...
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 01:27PM >>>
Uh, right.
Have you ever thought of writing a children's book about strange creatures?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 01:29PM >>>
I have, it's a shadow-author piece called, 'It Takes a Village', under the pen-name Hillary Clinton. Strange creatures, sister, veeeerrrry strange.
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 01:39PM >>>
WHAA???
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 04:43PM >>>
"I've run rings 'round you logically!"
Seriously, I don't know what I'm saying, so don't waste your valuable time trying to figure it out yourself!!!
Toodles,
?ete
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 04:44PM >>>
If there had been more than one email with the WHAA??? in it, it would have been valuable time.
Do I *look* like I've been trying to figure it out?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 04:50PM >>>
Well, that's 2 e-mails with "WHAA???" in it, so we're gettin' there ;)
Incidentally, I can't see you, so I don't know what you look like. Except you've got brown hair, I DO know that.
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 04:53PM >>>
VERY perceptive.
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 04:59PM >>>
No no, I'm a Baptist by upbringing...
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 05:00PM >>>
Now I *know* I missed something...
What does that have to do with the price of rotten tomatoes to throw at very little dorks who get sore Kellys very dizzy?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 05:05PM >>>
Pragmatism never works like it's supposed to...
What time tomorrow does the hoopla begin? Why is the sky blue? What is the sound of one hand striking another? Come to think of it, what is the sound of one cane swatting Peter's pate? Let's stop whilst I'm ahead. Or not too far behind. Or at least not too far back...
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 01:17PM >>>
You have an AIM handle?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 01:19PM >>>
I was in the process of writing you the same thing. Copycat :p
I'm "Wasserzapfen".
Don't ask.
If you do, don't expect a serious reply.
If you do, be prepared to roll your eyes and groan.
Sort of like a sick walrus does when he has a bad stomach ache...
Toodles,
?ete
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 01:24PM >>>
copycat, huh?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 01:26PM >>>
Well, it sounded better than copy-Striped Zambian Whooping Yak...
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 01:27PM >>>
Uh, right.
Have you ever thought of writing a children's book about strange creatures?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 01:29PM >>>
I have, it's a shadow-author piece called, 'It Takes a Village', under the pen-name Hillary Clinton. Strange creatures, sister, veeeerrrry strange.
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 01:39PM >>>
WHAA???
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 04:43PM >>>
"I've run rings 'round you logically!"
Seriously, I don't know what I'm saying, so don't waste your valuable time trying to figure it out yourself!!!
Toodles,
?ete
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 04:44PM >>>
If there had been more than one email with the WHAA??? in it, it would have been valuable time.
Do I *look* like I've been trying to figure it out?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 04:50PM >>>
Well, that's 2 e-mails with "WHAA???" in it, so we're gettin' there ;)
Incidentally, I can't see you, so I don't know what you look like. Except you've got brown hair, I DO know that.
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 04:53PM >>>
VERY perceptive.
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 04:59PM >>>
No no, I'm a Baptist by upbringing...
>>> Kelly Langner 06/02/04 05:00PM >>>
Now I *know* I missed something...
What does that have to do with the price of rotten tomatoes to throw at very little dorks who get sore Kellys very dizzy?
>>> Peter Sauer 06/02/04 05:05PM >>>
Pragmatism never works like it's supposed to...
What time tomorrow does the hoopla begin? Why is the sky blue? What is the sound of one hand striking another? Come to think of it, what is the sound of one cane swatting Peter's pate? Let's stop whilst I'm ahead. Or not too far behind. Or at least not too far back...
Monday, February 06, 2006
Date Remembery #1
I decided that for my own reference (because I'm forgetful) and for general recognition of how romantic Pete can be, I should post some of my favorite dates.
For my first date remembery shall be the date that I remember as being our first evening when we were truly "together" for the first time.
For Christmas in 2004, before Pete and I became a couple, I had given myself a four-day stay in a bed and breakfast in Tappahannock, Virginia (actually, Pete had paid for about half of my stay as his Christmas present to me). My plan was to get away, just me and God, and refresh my tired soul with another foray into Scripture, as I had done the year before.
God, it seemed, had other plans.
Instead of sending me into Scripture, God started quizzing me about my feelings. He had been running a theme over Christmas about acknowledging Him in all my ways, and He seemed rather insistent at this point about the "all" part. "All" included emotions, He reminded me.
So I was suddenly faced with the prospect of continuing to stuff the growing feelings in my heart for Pete and lie to a God who knew what was going on anyway, or being honest with God and actually facing the feelings that I was pretty sure at that point were beyond friendship.
I'm sure you can guess how that dilemma played out. After two days of trying to avoid the issue, I was out of ideas on avoiding God. So we talked about it. I was terrified. I couldn't believe what I was thinking. I mean, I knew Pete was in love with me, but when a guy is faced with the actual prospect of marriage...
Then I called Pete. "Um, Pete, what if God isn't telling me to get as far away from you as possible?"
"I don't understand what you're saying."
"Um, I think I'm falling in love with you..."
And we talked about it. Until 4:00 in the morning we talked about it. Did he ever want it. He told me that on his way home for Christmas, he had told God he wanted to marry me.
*soft laugh* We must have solved the problems of the world that night, we talked so long. We covered our dreams about the future, things we had only thought about each other, how many children we wanted, and what we hoped our relationship could be. We talked about procedure, and our families, and what God wanted for us. A good part of the conversation consisted of "I can't believe this is happening..." I told Pete that I had worn my blue dress for him the night of the Christmas banquet, and he finally told me what he'd thought--I was breathtaking.
We were miles apart, but I had never felt so close to someone in my whole life. I knew that whatever came, we'd be in it together. At the end of the conversation, for the first time in my life, I heard a man who loved me tell me I was loved as I went to sleep.
It was the nicest, safest feeling in the world.
For my first date remembery shall be the date that I remember as being our first evening when we were truly "together" for the first time.
For Christmas in 2004, before Pete and I became a couple, I had given myself a four-day stay in a bed and breakfast in Tappahannock, Virginia (actually, Pete had paid for about half of my stay as his Christmas present to me). My plan was to get away, just me and God, and refresh my tired soul with another foray into Scripture, as I had done the year before.
God, it seemed, had other plans.
Instead of sending me into Scripture, God started quizzing me about my feelings. He had been running a theme over Christmas about acknowledging Him in all my ways, and He seemed rather insistent at this point about the "all" part. "All" included emotions, He reminded me.
So I was suddenly faced with the prospect of continuing to stuff the growing feelings in my heart for Pete and lie to a God who knew what was going on anyway, or being honest with God and actually facing the feelings that I was pretty sure at that point were beyond friendship.
I'm sure you can guess how that dilemma played out. After two days of trying to avoid the issue, I was out of ideas on avoiding God. So we talked about it. I was terrified. I couldn't believe what I was thinking. I mean, I knew Pete was in love with me, but when a guy is faced with the actual prospect of marriage...
Then I called Pete. "Um, Pete, what if God isn't telling me to get as far away from you as possible?"
"I don't understand what you're saying."
"Um, I think I'm falling in love with you..."
And we talked about it. Until 4:00 in the morning we talked about it. Did he ever want it. He told me that on his way home for Christmas, he had told God he wanted to marry me.
*soft laugh* We must have solved the problems of the world that night, we talked so long. We covered our dreams about the future, things we had only thought about each other, how many children we wanted, and what we hoped our relationship could be. We talked about procedure, and our families, and what God wanted for us. A good part of the conversation consisted of "I can't believe this is happening..." I told Pete that I had worn my blue dress for him the night of the Christmas banquet, and he finally told me what he'd thought--I was breathtaking.
We were miles apart, but I had never felt so close to someone in my whole life. I knew that whatever came, we'd be in it together. At the end of the conversation, for the first time in my life, I heard a man who loved me tell me I was loved as I went to sleep.
It was the nicest, safest feeling in the world.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Update on the Sauers
Hello, Everyone! I thought it was time to post a bit of an update on our post-wedding life.
While I've been working at getting my photography studio off the ground, Pete has been gearing up for another year of school: his last. Next year at this time, he'll be studying like mad for his last finals. We're working at planning in together time and vacation around the two photography trips we'll be making this summer for a couple of weddings.
We've also been reading through a couple of books together, the latest being "The Five Love Languages," and I'm getting to enjoy Pete's Jeeves and Wooster. We're nearly finished moving into the house--we just got some free comfy chairs this weekend (granted, they need a little maintenance, but that's okay. They will be SO cool in our living room!), and most of the wedding clutter has now been stowed. The study is still a work in progress, but it's progressing. It's not like we don't have time...
This last weekend, we went to my parents' new home, which is also still in progress, but much more together than it was when we saw it over Christmas. Mom has a new little mop of a dog she has named Sadie Rose--breaking the J/K pattern for her baby-naming. Lucky dog. She is not potty-trained yet, and the gates are back up. *wry grin* Some things, it seems, never change.
General prayer requests:
My health seems to be taking a slight downward turn since the wedding, and I've a sense it may turn more drastically this time than I would like. I'm looking into a new doctor to see if we can try something different. I would appreciate prayer for strength.
Please pray that Pete and I will grow closer to each other and in the Lord as we try to make the time for his schoolwork and my photography. Marriage so far has been a bumpy experience (we have some fun personality differences), but it is also worthwhile to know that we have been open with each other from the beginning. God is working in both of us in ways I think we cannot fathom. He has given us both the sense that He is giving us comfort that we will be able to share with others someday.
Pray for our job situation. We're seeking God about where He would have us go, or even if He would have us go after Pete's two-year commitment is complete at HSLDA. There's a world of opportunities in front of us at this point, and we're wondering where God will take us.
Wow, it appears we may have some more changes coming... My husband just asked me if I want to put highlights in my hair tonight. Um... Poll, anyone?
While I've been working at getting my photography studio off the ground, Pete has been gearing up for another year of school: his last. Next year at this time, he'll be studying like mad for his last finals. We're working at planning in together time and vacation around the two photography trips we'll be making this summer for a couple of weddings.
We've also been reading through a couple of books together, the latest being "The Five Love Languages," and I'm getting to enjoy Pete's Jeeves and Wooster. We're nearly finished moving into the house--we just got some free comfy chairs this weekend (granted, they need a little maintenance, but that's okay. They will be SO cool in our living room!), and most of the wedding clutter has now been stowed. The study is still a work in progress, but it's progressing. It's not like we don't have time...
This last weekend, we went to my parents' new home, which is also still in progress, but much more together than it was when we saw it over Christmas. Mom has a new little mop of a dog she has named Sadie Rose--breaking the J/K pattern for her baby-naming. Lucky dog. She is not potty-trained yet, and the gates are back up. *wry grin* Some things, it seems, never change.
General prayer requests:
My health seems to be taking a slight downward turn since the wedding, and I've a sense it may turn more drastically this time than I would like. I'm looking into a new doctor to see if we can try something different. I would appreciate prayer for strength.
Please pray that Pete and I will grow closer to each other and in the Lord as we try to make the time for his schoolwork and my photography. Marriage so far has been a bumpy experience (we have some fun personality differences), but it is also worthwhile to know that we have been open with each other from the beginning. God is working in both of us in ways I think we cannot fathom. He has given us both the sense that He is giving us comfort that we will be able to share with others someday.
Pray for our job situation. We're seeking God about where He would have us go, or even if He would have us go after Pete's two-year commitment is complete at HSLDA. There's a world of opportunities in front of us at this point, and we're wondering where God will take us.
Wow, it appears we may have some more changes coming... My husband just asked me if I want to put highlights in my hair tonight. Um... Poll, anyone?
Thursday, January 26, 2006
One Little Nice
I suppose this begs the question of whether Emilie actually *ate* anything at all...
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Fun Things
Today over lunch, my wonderfully romantic husband (well, he doesn't think he's romantic, but when he puts his mind to it--wow! I nearly cried!) re-worked an old rhyme just for me!
"Something old..."
He supplied me with my leftover tuna.
"Something new..."
He had picked up a warm apple cider.
"Something borrowed... (only you probably won't give them back...)"
He had given me pickles to go with my lunch.
"And something red."
He set a bouquet of bright red tulips near my desk.
So now I have food in my tummy, warmth in my heart, "Sauer" in my puss, and spring in my office.
It was a cool surprise.
"Something old..."
He supplied me with my leftover tuna.
"Something new..."
He had picked up a warm apple cider.
"Something borrowed... (only you probably won't give them back...)"
He had given me pickles to go with my lunch.
"And something red."
He set a bouquet of bright red tulips near my desk.
So now I have food in my tummy, warmth in my heart, "Sauer" in my puss, and spring in my office.
It was a cool surprise.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Friday, January 13, 2006
Twelfth Night: Custody of "The Platter"
On Monday night, Pete and I hosted our first annual Twelfth Night party. Being newly married, we understand the importance of creating our own family traditions, and since all of our other holidays were booked, we decided to create a Twelfth Night celebration--a few days late.
For more information about this hilarious evening, click here.
For more information about this hilarious evening, click here.
Friday, January 06, 2006
A Pandemic of Pangrams
My darling wife gave me my Christmas present yesterday, Schott’s Original Miscellany, a delightful amphigory compiled in a small tome of a mere 160 pages. Amongst its treasured leaves I found the following pangrams:
First, there's the fact that "Jackdaws love my big sphinx of quartz!"
This leads one to muse over the wisdom of exhibiting one's quartz sphinx's in full view of Jackdaws. The ethics of this may be investigated in a later post.
Second, we get athletic and "Jump by vow of quick, lazy strength in Oxford." I'm sure Cambridge grads everywhere heave a huge sigh of relief upon receipt of this intelligence.
Third, “Sixty zippers were quickly picked from the woven jute bag.”
I can’t think of anything to add…
Fourth, “We promptly judged antique ivory buckles for the next prize.”
This is a pickle. What are the criteria for judging antique ivory buckles? How would you award a prize and what would be awarded? What experience did the judges have and most importantly… how can Pat Robertson spin this to sound like God will strike down people who disagree with him (Rev. Robertson, that is)? Careful, response to this post may single you out for an attack of halitosis.
Fifth, “How piqued gymnasts can level six jumping razorback frogs.”
Evidently, piqued gymnasts can also engage in mass idiocy.
Sixth, we have “Waltz, bad nymph, for quick jigs vex.”
Vexing as it may be, it’s also extremely interesting to watch.
Lastly, of course, our beloved “quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” The fox, of course represents … something deep and esoteric. I am the dog. Jumping is a metaphor for eating and brown is a blatant advertising attempt by UPS to usurp this post.
Bold.
Striking
Poignant.
My work here is done. Thank you, Ben Schott, for giving us Schott's Original Mischellany
First, there's the fact that "Jackdaws love my big sphinx of quartz!"
This leads one to muse over the wisdom of exhibiting one's quartz sphinx's in full view of Jackdaws. The ethics of this may be investigated in a later post.
Second, we get athletic and "Jump by vow of quick, lazy strength in Oxford." I'm sure Cambridge grads everywhere heave a huge sigh of relief upon receipt of this intelligence.
Third, “Sixty zippers were quickly picked from the woven jute bag.”
I can’t think of anything to add…
Fourth, “We promptly judged antique ivory buckles for the next prize.”
This is a pickle. What are the criteria for judging antique ivory buckles? How would you award a prize and what would be awarded? What experience did the judges have and most importantly… how can Pat Robertson spin this to sound like God will strike down people who disagree with him (Rev. Robertson, that is)? Careful, response to this post may single you out for an attack of halitosis.
Fifth, “How piqued gymnasts can level six jumping razorback frogs.”
Evidently, piqued gymnasts can also engage in mass idiocy.
Sixth, we have “Waltz, bad nymph, for quick jigs vex.”
Vexing as it may be, it’s also extremely interesting to watch.
Lastly, of course, our beloved “quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” The fox, of course represents … something deep and esoteric. I am the dog. Jumping is a metaphor for eating and brown is a blatant advertising attempt by UPS to usurp this post.
Bold.
Striking
Poignant.
My work here is done. Thank you, Ben Schott, for giving us Schott's Original Mischellany
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