Catch-up

I did get that 12 page paper written, miracle of miracles. And since then I've written another 3-5 pager. And I'm currently working on my very last 3-5 pager.

Today, at long last, I began my research for my big final project. Long story, but it took a while to get final approval from the IRB. My research started well...I got stood up by my first group of participants. But I got to go ahead and survey another group instead, and I rescheduled the other for tomorrow. So I have my first batch of data.

We didn't win the Homecoming decorating contest. But neither did our rival, so....It's OK. Plus, we all know whose was the coolest. ;) (Side note: I thought it was interesting that each office's decorations reflected the office personality/culture.)

Since we are either super-incredible employees or just, as my dad would say, plumb crazy, in the same week we had the opening of Spring enrollment, Homecoming, and our annual college preview day. By the time we got to the tailgate party (still working, of course), we were worn flat out. And we still had 4 hours of basketball ahead of us!


Last weekend was our second annual Hoopin' for the Cure tournament. My dear friend's mother passed away with breast cancer about twelve years ago, and her aunt is a survivor. These are in their honor. (I like to think I'm real clever and hilarious...Tanti has a great sense of humor, so I had no qualms about being funny on her ribbon.)


Bekah had a fantastic week in Chicago last week, presenting her paper at a conference. First time to fly, first time in Chicago, first time at a conference, first time in a taxi, first time for...well...just about everything she did.

My house is pretty disgusting. At least I managed to do laundry over the weekend.

ESPN Live on Location

It's that time of year again...RSU Homecoming! And that means it's also Homecoming decoration contest time.

If you remember from last year, our office has been the winner of the contest for two years in a row...which happens to mean we are the ONLY winners. Knowing that what used to be one department is now three and that those who did almost all of the work in the years past are now in my department...we were under some self-inflicted pressure.

We decided to go with an ESPN theme, keeping it simple, clean, and classy.

All our decorations are hand-crafted, including the TV camera, gold ball trophy, signs, and silhouettes*. The only thing we didn't make ourselves is the ESPN video that features the Hillcats.

Here is a taste for your enjoyment...
(Click any picture to make bigger.)

While Coach works on strategy, Al takes the ball in...

Chris moves it down the court...

Abe gets to the other end...

Mo preps for an assist...

Spice goes up for the dunk...

And the crowd goes wild!

*Special thanks to my mom for allowing me to cut paper into tiny pieces when I was young. Without her support, I would not be the master cutter I am today.

And so it begins...

{i just want the shot}

When I was a little girl, I had strep throat several times a year. I always knew when it was strep because the symptoms were always the same. I would be sick to my stomach, and then a few hours later my throat would be hurting so much I could hardly swallow. But my doctor wasn't one who would just prescribe medicine (for which I am thankful), so mom would take me in for a visit.

I would sit on the table, he would put two sticks in my mouth, I would gag, sometimes he would have to try again, and after having a stick jabbed in the back of my throat, the pain would be even worse than before. He would say yes it is strep again and would then write me a prescription and tell me to drink lots of fluids.

Mom would take me home and immediately give me my first spoonful of that nasty, pink, chalky medicine. Three times a day, she would give it to me.

Three times a day it was a struggle.

I remember sitting on the bathroom counter holding a teaspoon full of medicine, mom having given up and left long ago. And I just sat there.

For an extraordinarily long time...

...My arm got tired of holding the spoon perfectly still...

...But take the medicine I could not.

(Even now, I'm gagging just looking at the picture.)

I knew all the benefits of swallowing that little bit of pink. I knew it would make me feel better. I knew I needed to be obedient. I knew I would stay sick if I didn't take it. I knew I could get worse and be hospitalized if I didn't take it.

In my brain, it was so easy.

But sometimes my brain could not make my teeth unclench or my hand move the spoon to my mouth.

Today I found a new medicine. It's called 12-page paper, and I cannot make myself write it.

I know it has to be done. No one else can do it, and it is only for myself that it needs to be completed. I know the benefits of writing it. I know the consequences of not. I know it's just 12 pages - no big deal.

But I have hit a wall, and I can't get around it.

My brain says, "Write. Swallow this pink stuff."

My body says no, I absolutely will not.

It's a strange, uncontrollable feeling. Never have I felt this way about anything...

...except penicillin.

I don't know what I'm going to do.

I wish I could go get a shot in my rump and call it good.

. . . Pumpkin by the Door . . .

Last weekend, my mom and dad came to see me! It was a gorgeous autumn afternoon, and we had so much fun just bumming around town for a few hours. It isn't often that I get them to myself, so I soaked up the attention.

Because we both love fall so very much, my mom bought me a beautiful and perfect pumpkin to celebrate the season. Dad carefully placed it outside my door so when I pull into the parking lot I have a happy hello.




Sunday evening, I opened my door to head to a birthday party and . . . *gasp*
. . . My beautiful pumpkin had been turned into an ugly stack of phone books!


I immediately knew who had done this* and sent a text to the perpetrator. "Thought for the day: Thou shalt not steal," and received a return, "It was The Great Pumpkin Snatcher." Knowing the prank would eventually be reversed, I went to my party and thought nothing else of it.

Upon my return home, the phone books reminded me of the prank. Little did I know that a seemingly innocent prank was about to turn much . . .

much . . .

darker.


My racing heart jumped into my throat . . .


Unable to bear the shock, I quickly entered my home and locked myself in. How could anyone do such a thing?

I know evil exists. But never did I expect such a horrific event to happen to me.

No one ever does.

Pumpkinnapping . . . Ransom.**

These words were unfamiliar on my tongue.


Reality sank in.

My beautiful pumpkin, so perfect and happy just hours before, had been snatched.

I removed the note from my door, careful to preserve as much evidence as possible. In my kitchen, I dusted it for fingerprints and noted the athletic tape the Snatcher had used.


Convinced I had gathered as much evidence an amateur could, I did the only thing else I knew to do.

I complied with the Snatcher's demands.


The Lord truly is good, and He knows what we have need of before we even do. One week before the snatching, I had been craving homemade chocolate chip cookies. I made a batch, which I had not done in many months ~ possibly a year. Unable to eat the entire batch, I put some in the freezer. I believe this was the Lord's prompting, for without it . . .

But I must not think of that.


I knew I had to write a return note, and I sat out to do so. Somehow through my anger and grief, I captured the words that needed to be said.

(click to enlarge)

Early the next morning, I arose to make the drop.



My pumpkin was not returned that day. Never trust a thief.


With further negotiation, however, my pumpkin was returned safely to my doormat the following day.

Welcome home, sweet pumpkin. I love you.

*Every once in a while, phone books show up at our apartment complex. Two or three months ago, we had a massive phonebooking. We each had a thick Tulsa book at our doors one day, and a few days later we each had a smaller phone book on top of the mailboxes. Nobody uses phone books, so the mailbox books stayed where they were for a good month. One of my neighbors also still had his thick Tulsa book by his door a month later. These books withstood the rain extraordinarily well. And then one day all the mailbox books were mysteriously gone, stacked neatly in front of Kyle's door . . . All six of them, plus his Tulsa book. It may or may not have been me.

**Please take the time to calculate the value of one cookie.

How Many Times?

Q:

A.

Two Bags and a Bargin

Yesterday afternoon, a co-worker and I walked over to the campus bookstore to see what we could buy on sale. After walking through the clothing section and finding nothing to buy, I happened to see a shelf of books. On this shelf was a sign that said, "$1 Bargain Books." Taken individually, each of those three words could be a serious contender for my Top Twenty-five Word list. But combined? Oh, combined those three little words bring sweet euphoria.

My expectation for these $1 books was exceptionally low. You know...How to Choose the Perfect College Spring Break Destination or The Handbook of Secret French War Strategies. But the bottom shelf caught my eye...A nice hardback cookbook. Yet another. And, oh, look up here! And here!

An employee walked by and I asked if these books were really $1. He said yes, that's what he was told to sell them for. But just for me, he'd sell them for $2. My quick-witted reply? "Actually, I'll take them for 90 cents each with my staff discount."

Six thick books found their way to the counter.

I walked out with two green bags of books, each several pounds heavy.

And only...
...$5.89 less in my bank account!!

I must tell you how much I didn't spend.

Had I purchased my six books at actual retail price, I would have paid $230.70.

I saved a breathtaking $224.81!

Thank you, Barnes and Noble Bookstore. You made me smile.

Sweet Saturday

The Cupbearer

My life seems to have gotten harder by degree over this two year span of time.

Gradually harder.

Gradually heavier.

A few months ago I read an illustration that describes this very well. A man had a meeting with an important executive. When he walked into the executive's office, the executive handed him an empty coffee cup and said, "Is this heavy?" "No, not at all," the man replied. "Please keep holding it out....Is it heavy now?" "No, not really...Well, heavier than before...OK, getting heavier..." The longer the man held out the cup, the heavier it got. After several minutes, the man's arm was beginning to shake and he was ready to put down the cup. Had the man continued to hold out that small cup, his muscles would have eventually begun to spasm. Had he continued to hold it out too long, he would have required serious medical attention. The executive explained that this is how the stress of life can be. Taken one thing at a time, it is not bad. The longer you hold onto it, though, the heavier it gets.

I have been holding this cup for a long time, and my arm is going numb.

My fear is that at the end of this season of cup-holding, my arm will be dead, and I will just want to amputate. I don't know how many more days I can be stifled, burned.

Hope deferred.

Again.

Every day I pick up this cup and walk around. And it is heavy because it is not my cup. My cup sits on the desk, full of promise, ready to be drained. Some days I lean over and sip from it. Whet my thirst, gain some life. But this cup in my hand remains a heavy burden. And still I carry it.

If I drop it, its contents must go to a cup someone else is holding. But they don't hold their own cups, either. We all hold these mismatched cups.

Sunday we took communion.

As I stood holding my wafer and juice, praying for His life, His blood to once again consume me, I looked at my wafer. On it was an indention - a lamb.

Lord, I need the Lamb. I need His gentleness and peace.

Empty juice cup in hand, a logistical question flitted through my mind - I am on the stage, so at what point do I set down this cup?

This cup . . .

this cup.

This is the cup I want to hold.

This cup full of life-giving drink; this cup that never runs dry. For this cup is easy, and this cup is light. This cup renews and restores. This cup brings hope that does not disappoint.

This is the cup I want to hold, Lord.

This cup only.

Short Stories

If you want a fun read today, jump over here.

This Is Blog-worthy

You could call me loyal.

Two, maybe three, years ago, I starting using a specific mechanical pencil at work. I grew attached to this pencil, even to the point of using it for a year after it broke. It was the perfect pencil.

I endured much persecution for my decision to continue using it despite its condition.

You've probably heard the story.

By the time we had money in our budget that we could use for pencils, the pencils were no longer made. I faced the daunting task of picking out a new pencil. It proved to be too challenging, both intellectually and emotionally, and I finally told KB that she'd just have to order something for me.

She agonized over the decision. What if I didn't like the pencils? What if my work quality declined because she ordered less-than-acceptible pencils? Would it change the way I looked at her? Would it change my entire personality?

No one knew.

The moment arrived when the new pencils were brought to me. The birds stopped chirping; the wind ceased its blowing; all was quiet; all was still.

Verdict?

I liked the pencils.

And now...

You could call me loyal.

I taped my name to my pencil. KB ordered reserves. Considering how long I use the same pencil, I now have approximately 10 years worth of pencils sitting in my drawer.

There are times when a pen is more appropriate than a pencil. What to do??

You could call me loyal.

There is a specific type of pen that I like. I have a few of them in different colors, but I have a favorite among them. I taped my name to my pen. I had one on reserve, but its ink was low and it just sat in my drawer.

Enter Nancy.

Nancy is my new work-neighbor. She's fantastic.

Two days ago, Nancy was in my office and needed to sign something. So I let her borrow my pen. The pen.

She commented on the pen, "Oh, this is nice."

What did I do?

I took my pen back from her, of course.

But then I opened my drawer, took out my spare, and gave it to her. I also gave her my spare ink.

I must like Nancy.

And I do still have the broken pencil in my drawer. Just in case.

One Letter Makes All the Difference

This morning I saw a quote:

"And what is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not been discovered."
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson


I, however, read it as:

"And what is weed? A plant whose virtues have not been discovered."
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson


Never underestimate the power of one letter.

The End Is Near

* * * Breaking News * * *

I just enrolled in my last Master's class!

Lake Night

Someone once said that if you want to get to know someone, work with them. And that is true. There is something about laboring with people, day in and day out, through the good and the bad, that forms deep relationships. And we truly have been through the best and the worst. We've laughed; we've cried. We've ranted; we've encouraged. We've survived; we've grown. When one is down, another is up. When one is 'done', another helps. And, though most of us were fast friends, our friendships have been strengthened. We share an unspoken desire to protect each other, to carry each others' burdens.

A few months ago, amid the great stress of work, several of us decided we should start doing things together after-hours. It started out as a goodbye party for one of us...I can't remember who left first. But we had so much fun we decided to make it a regular gig. So far, we've 'celebrated' someone's departure every single time. (Yes, we really have had that many people leave, for one reason or another.) But we love our outings. They give us a common ground other than work. And they remind us how much we really enjoy each other.

Thursday night we had the best outing to date. After work we all met in Pryor, then headed to Hudson Lake, where we loaded up in Lindsay and Travis's boat. It was like salve on a wounded soul. Being out on the lake with friends, all things quiet and serene...

Travis drove us around for a while, then to a lakeside restaurant where we sat on the deck to eat. So much laughter.

Leeboy...Burned-down trailers...Hugs in intersections...Nine-Fingers...Dixey Dill...

On our way back to the dock, the sunset was pink, the water smooth glass, the air strong, the conversation sweet. Absolute beauty.

We went to Lindsay's house for a while. I loved getting to know Lindsay, my dear friend, in that capacity. Some people have learned how to be hospitable, while others have the gift of hospitality. Lindsay has the gift.

I'm thankful for the quietude of the Lord's creation. And for the blessing of friends.

. . . Tune My Heart to Sing Thy Grace . . .

Come, thou Fount of every blessing, 
tune my heart to sing thy grace; 
streams of mercy, never ceasing, 
call for songs of loudest praise. 
Teach me some melodious sonnet, 
sung by flaming tongues above. 
Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it, 
mount of thy redeeming love. 

Here I raise mine Ebenezer; 
hither by thy help I'm come; 
and I hope, by thy good pleasure, 
safely to arrive at home. 
Jesus sought me when a stranger, 
wandering from the fold of God; 
he, to rescue me from danger, 
interposed his precious blood. 

O to grace how great a debtor 
daily I'm constrained to be! 
Let thy goodness, like a fetter, 
bind my wandering heart to thee. 
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, 
prone to leave the God I love; 
here's my heart, O take and seal it, 
seal it for thy courts above. 


Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing
  words by Robert Robinson

Caps, Gowns, and Tassels

Laura and I began on the same day - a hot August morning in 2004. She was new to a career in Higher Ed; I was new to this area of the state. Neither of us knew much about RSU, just enough to get the job. Four hours after starting, we were left on our own. We became skilled at winging it and had to learn fast.

The first year was one of the best. Everything was new; everything was a challenge.

It's in Claremore. That's by Tulsa.

If I said it one time per day, I said it twenty.

Somehow during that year of following paw printed roads to high schools, packing lunches for all-day trips, asking for directions, and using gas station restrooms, we figured it all out.

That year was the also beginning of two scholarship programs - Honors and PLC. We recruiters beat the ground looking for excellent students to fill the interviews. We could not have been prouder of the students - our students - who were chosen.

In four years, some of that original class have moved on to other schools, other lives. Many, though, are still around. The same, only different. One, so timid and nervous at his PLC interview, gave an address at Commencement; another, from four hours away, has studied abroad and is headed to law school; another, who we originally thought was too squirly, is preparing for med school; the list goes on.

These are my kids. I claim them.

My first students graduated a couple weekends ago. It was very special and yes, emotional, for me. It was their accomplishment, but I secretly claim the tiniest portion.

All I did was ask them to come. All I did was offer them an opportunity that changed their lives.

Four years can make a man. Four years can make a woman.


This is why I love my job.


Congratulations to the Class of 2009...You will always be special to me.

First Graduating Class of Honors & PLC

Sarah, my first Prague recruit
to walk across the RSU stage

Life Just Keeps Getting Wetter

This evening I was curled up in my chair, peacefully reading a book, when a quiet noise tickled my mind. It sounded like the old days of bathroom ceiling water drips.

But surely that couldn't be the case. That issue has been resolved. As I flipped through mental pictures of my bathroom ceiling, I came up with no water spots, no potential signs of a leak.

I could not deny, however, the distinct sound coming from that area of my apartment, a sound that was becoming louder and faster. I laid down my book and stood. Louder and faster, still. I rushed to hallway and was met by a water drip on my head. I can still feel it, even now. By the time I made it another four steps to the bathroom, water was pouring through my ceiling, through my bathroom light fixture, through my hallway ceiling tiles. Literally pouring. I grabbed my bucket - the infamous bucket that lived wedged between my toilet and tub for months and more recently under my bathroom sink when the pipes clogged - threw it on the floor under the most prominent stream of water (how to decide?), grabbed my phone to call Landlady, and rushed up to ask Upstairs Neighbors to turn off their water.

Rang the doorbell. Waited. Finally, an answer.

Hi, I have water pouring through my ceiling.

He turned and high-tailed it to the back of his apartment. (Him...) I left the water running! (Her...) Michael! You left the water running?!? Michael! Two inches in the bathroom?!?

Back to my apartment, where I was met by Landlady, Maintenance Dad, and Maintenance Son #2.

Maintenance Dad and Son #2 took a quick look, MD ran upstairs then to get a shopvac. As they were vac-ing upstairs, I sat in my chair, listening to the inside-rain, and catching bits of outside conversation.

{Interesting thing I found out tonight...When they fixed the leak a few months ago, they finally decided the upstairs overflow valve was the problem. So instead of going into the wall and actually fixing it, Plumber decided to save money and caulk the valve closed. Caulk. The valve. Closed. This works fine until 1) New Upstairs Neighbors move in (which will happen sometime this summer) and don't know to be careful, or 2) Current Upstairs Neighbors forget to turn off the water.}

Eventually Maintenance Dad and Son #2 returned. As they vac-ed my hallway and bathroom, poked holes in my hallway ceiling tiles so water could drain out, sat a fan in the hall, and promised to return in the morning, what could I do but

curl up in my chair, peacefully read a book, while a quiet noise tickled my mind. It sounded like the old days of bathroom ceiling water drips.

Let's Move Together

For my Leadership Dynamics class this semester, we were required to complete a group project. Historically, I have not enjoyed group projects. But this semester was awesome! I had a great group. After my first group defected (literally, I am the only one out of four still in the class), I got to join another group. Funny, the group I ended up in is the one I would have picked if I'd had the guts to do so when original groups were picked. Why? Simply because they made intelligent comments in the first class period and seemed like people I could click with. Anyway, I had a great experience this semester.

We picked the Arthritis Foundation as our not-for-profit to help, and the project centered around the Tulsa Arthritis Walk. The Walk (a whoppin' 1K) was today...so much fun! Before we started the Walk, we had a warm-up...Jazzercise! Haha, no joke. About half-way through, we decided to get us on video so we can use it in our presentation on Tuesday. As soon as Jazzercise was over, we looked up and saw our prof and his family walking toward us. It really meant a lot that he came...We hadn't even asked him to come, he just came on his own. He'd given us money, too. I love it when profs actually care about their students.

All-told, we raised around $800 for the AF!

Goofin' Before the Walk... (with our AF contact)

Favorite Jazzercise Move...

With Mr. Frazier...

At the Start Line...

And, yes, I did both buy and wear an OSU shirt...

Teamwork? Count me out.

Last week, I saw this motivational poster.
Unfortunately I can't find a better picture than
the one above, so allow me describe it.


The photo is a gorgeous view of the Great Wall of China.
Below the picture is one word: TEAMWORK.
Finally is a phrase: Many hands. Many minds. One goal.


Please contemplate.

Oklahoma Rocks

Buffalo. Scissor-tailed flycatcher. Sand bass. Mistletoe. Fiddle. Collared lizard. "Oklahoma!" Watermelon. "Do You Realize?" Rose rock. Redbu...Wait, back up. "Do You Realize?"

Oklahoma has a new "official" something, or will very soon. We have an official state rock song, which is pretty cool, if you ask me. Not everyone knows it, but Oklahoma has a rich history in rock music. For example, did you know that an Oklahoma schoolteacher wrote Elvis's "Heartbreak Hotel"? Or that Hoyt Axton, who wrote for Three Dog Night, was from Oklahoma? Or that Wanda Jackson, known as the Queen of Rockabilly, is an Oklahoman? Or that Pryor boasts the premier '80s rockfest (Rocklahoma) in the nation and draws about 25,000 people every year?

(Note: I actually did know about Wanda Jackson because she's related to one of my best friends from college. I met her once. She used to date Elvis.)

Last year began a campaign to choose an official rock song for the state. Why not? After all, we have an official song, an official folk song, and an official country and western song. So it only made sense to have an official rock song, as well. Nominations poured in, and voting began. I had no idea. I wish I had.

Today, it seems, Oklahoma has made the national news because of this. Turns out that the winning song was "Do You Realize?" by The Flaming Lips, who got their start in Norman. I'll get to that in a minute. Today we're in the news because, though the public voted on the song, the state legislature voted against the Resolution to sign it into law. Interesting, right? Why did they vote down the public? Because of two things. One, when The Flaming Lips were recognized at a christening event for Flaming Lips Alley in Bricktown, one of them used an expletive. And two, when they visited the State Capitol last month, one of them wore a red t-shirt with a yellow hammer and sickle on it.

I agree that neither expletives nor communism are how we want our state to be represented. However, is it possible to find a rock band that has pure morals and 100% of their brain cells? No, it is not. That is kind of the whole point of rock music. So how can we agree to have a state rock song, but then deny a band the privilege of earning the title simply because they are rock stars? There is more. Governor Henry has now announced that, despite the vote in the legislature, he will sign an executive order declaring The Flaming Lips' "Do You Realize?" our official state rock song. How did this turn into politics??

Back to the song choice. I don't live in a complete hole in the ground, but I had no idea there was a vote for this. As a matter of fact, one of the members of the advisory board (yes, advisory board) is a professor at RSU, and I had no idea there was a vote for this. I live 20 minutes from Rocklahoma, and I had no idea there was a vote for this. That's fine...Maybe I really do live in a hole, I don't know. But I would have loved to vote on it.

When I read the article on Fox today, I immediately thought, "Official rock song of Oklahoma? Three Dog Night's 'Never Been to Spain.' Obviously." And then I saw it wasn't, so I checked out "Do You Realize?" Fell asleep about three lines into it. Who picked this?? 51% of the 7,200 people who voted, apparently. I wonder who voted. Can I just make a case for "Never Been to Spain"? "Well, I've never been to Heaven, but I've been to Oklahoma. They tell me I was born there, but I really don't remember." Has a nice beat. Starts out as a ballad, then rocks out later. Great to sing with. Can it get any better? (It did make the top 10, by the way, but I can't seem to find where it finally ranked.)

I'm conducting my own poll. Head-to-head, "Do You Realize?" versus "Never Been to Spain."

Let me know.

Musty pages

Books, like friends, should be few and well chosen. Like friends, too, we should return to them again and again for, like true friends, they will never fail us - never cease to instruct - never cloy.

~Charles Caleb Colton

This morning I was particularly cranky, so when Chelley invited me to walk to the library with her, I left my paper-strewn desk and email-laden computer without a second thought. What a beautiful day today was! Campus was alive with student life, the sun beating down on spring games, and it felt good to stretch my too-seldom-used legs.

We climbed to the third floor, in search of On the Road by Jack Kerouac and of The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. Neither of us confident of our Dewey Decimal skills, we half-joked that we might end up getting lost. After only a couple minutes, though, in a far and quiet corner of the library, we found our row of shelves. And that is where we remained for the next twenty minutes, reading titles, wondering what those famous stories are about, gently opening old books and drinking in their musty pages. The bottom row of shelves drew us to the floor and conversation.

Finally back to the circulation desk, to check out books, we went. The librarian, in the midst of daily chores and answering questions from stressed-out students, came alive with the selection of Kerouac and Steinbeck. In a moment we saw a transformation. We saw her passion for books and her comraderie with another book-lover.

Stacks of books.

A good friend.

Thank You, Lord, for the quiet moments of life.