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Remember when I  broke my mirror and was automatically assigned seven years bad luck?  If not, read here.

I’m here to tell you, that is all bull hockey.  You can take it to the bank.

Because if I was having bad luck, I wouldn’t have this story to tell you.

Since breaking my mirror, I have looked high and low, far and wide for another one.  A pretty one.  Not a plastic one with a handle from the drugstore.

This past weekend, we went into a consignment shop, and I found this little treasure for $7.50!  You can’t beat that. 
The kicker is, it’s almost identical to my last one.

TAKE THAT, Superstition.

My niece called me.  She left the sweetest, most precious voicemail.

Before you hear more, I must tell you this.

“Mama” in the message works in bail bonds.  They were at the jail to bail someone out. Thankfully, not a member of the family…….this time.

My niece had been prostrate weeping and wailing for hours because her friend Pearla couldn’t come over after she had been planning it for a whole entire week.  She was devastated.

And lastly, Jesus is her homeboy.

Click on the play arrow below.  You must.  It’ll make you smile, I hope.

http://www.divshare.com/flash/playlist?myId=10255644-023

Authors Note:  It took me 17 hours, 904 online tutorials, and ten of my own dollars to learn how to post this to my blog.  I have yanked every hair from my head and am now forever changed, not to mention bald.  So it had better make you smile.

If for some highly likely reason, this audio clip does not work, here’s a transcription.

Me and my mama went to the jail, and I found a ten dollar bill laying on the floor and I think it’s because I was crying because of Pearla, and I think God felt sorry for me, so he laid that ten dollar bill right on the floor for me.  Anyway, thanks for listening.  Bye.

Today. 
It has arrived.
Hallelujah sings my soul.
It is January 21st.
Which means it is the final day of my 21 day Daniel fast.
21 days of only drinking water.
21 days of no meat or sugar or bread or milk or cheese or coffee for crying out loud.
21 days of oil and vinegar and alfalfa sprouts with more oil and vinegar.

It has been unenjoyable.
There has been wailing and gnashing of teeth.
I have longed to thrust my head in a big ole bowl of mashed potatoes with butter, yes butter, lots and lots of butter.

Tonight, oh the anticipation,  I just might set my alarm for 12:01. I just might rise from my sleeping slumber and gorge on chocolate and peanut butter pretzels.  I could if I want to.

But I won’t.  Because I desire sleep more than I desire food.  And it would probably give me a tummy ache.

Saturday, as soon as I suck down 2 cups of coffee with french vanilla creamer,  I am baking this, and nobody can stop me.  So don’t even try.  It’s the Pioneer Woman’s Perfect Pound Cake.

Do you know how much I love pound cake?  If you don’t, now you do. 
If we are ever on a game show like the Newlywed Game (which would be way weird) and you’re asked my favorite food.  Say pound cake. 
Or cereal. 
It’s a toss up.

I would love to bake it Friday immediately after work, but we have plans.  We’re dressing up, then we are having supper at a ritzy joint and afterwards attending a symphonic presentation.  It’s like a date.  Sorta.

I only hope my gastrointestinal system is up for it.

One day last April Jason stood in a pasture and watched his truck burn plumb up.

His one and only truck.

His one and only brand new truck that he has ever owned in all of his thirty some odd years.

His means of transportation and his form of livelihood.

He had been unrolling a bale of hay.  The pasture was soppy and muddy.  He was pushing the hay bale with the nose of the truck to unroll it when his tires fell into a rut formed from a sprinkler pivot.  He was stuck in a rut…..literally.  He was also high centered on the hay bale.  The catalytic converter got extremely hot, and hay is a highly flammable material.  When he saw the smoke, he grabbed a pitchfork from the bed of the truck and tried frantically to pitch the hay away, but it was all for naught.  The hay ignited and all he could do was stand there in a deserted pasture and watch the flames while he waited for the fire trucks to arrive.

 

which match his boots.

And believe me, he needs all the good luck he can get.

Hello.
My name is Angel.
And I’m a reality TV addict.

I’m in recovery now.  I haven’t watched a reality TV show for three seasons.  And it’s hard.  It’s real hard.  Especially when my friends on facebook talk about the American Idol theme song giving them chills and the girl from Tennessee, and the one who rode the Aeroplane.  It’s hard. 

Yeah, I’ve dabbled in them all.  Dancing with the Stars, American Idol, The Biggest Loser, Big Brother, but my show of choice would have to be Survivor.  I was hooked on Survivor for years.  Never missed a show.  Never.  I started pushing my family away because of it.  It was before DVR and I would tell them “Don’t call me or come around on Thursday nights from 7:00-8:00”.   Nothing, I mean nothing, was more important to me than Tribal Council.

One season, I was watching 3 reality shows at once.  Survivor, DWTS, and AI.  Hours and hours of my life spent living vicariously through other people.

Then I just gave it up.  Went cold turkey.  Something had to give.  With reality TV, my family wasn’t getting fed, laundry piled up, windows didn’t get scrubbed.  Oh, wait, that doesn’t happen still.

(hanging head in shame)  But today, I had a relapse.  I’d been hearing people talking about “Pants on the Ground”.  Everybody, all around me, that’s all I hear.  I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I had to know.  I HAD to experience it for myself.

http://www.youtube.com/v/cnsDeyLDTY8&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1

That’s my story…..it’s sad, but true.

God Grant Me the Ability
To Refrain from Reality TV Shows
Strength to change the channel
And to Get my Windows Scrubbed.

RTVA, I’m not only a member.
I’m also the President.

During a math workshop, I learned a couple of facts about Albert Einstein. 
1.  He was divorced.
2.  He had developmental problems and language delays.

My curiosity was piqued with these newly attained tidbits, so I went to the library.  I believe in books you know. 

I checked out a big fat biography on Einstein. I’m going to lap it up and then bore you with my knowledge of relativity and quantum theory (as soon as I find out what that is).

Then I’ll use big words like antidisestablishmentarianism.
Maybe I’ll hang his portrait in my house.

Just you wait.

Remember that cute little romantic comedy called I.Q.?  Walter Mathau, Tim Robbins and Meg Ryan……great movie.  Walter Mathau plays Einstein.  Go rent it if you haven’t seen it.  It’s delightful.

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.”

Guess who said that.

Tonight I conclude Day #13 in a 21 day partial fast known as the Daniel Fast.  We’re doing it in my church as a way of giving God our first:  the first 21 days of 2010.
It’s been a tough day.  I am craving peanut butter and chocolate.  I plan on blogging about it when it is completely over.  And I’ve decided I look pretty good in sackcloth.

“I’m tired of apples.  Give me pound cake!”

Guess who said that.

I have a fear.

It’s a legitimate fear.

It’s not the kind that keeps me up at night, but it’s real all the same.

I’m afraid books are going to go away.

In our time of ever advancing technology, is it possible that in my lifetime, there will no longer be books? I shudder.

On my red, rubbermaid tub of a nightstand is a basket full of books that I’m currently reading, want to read, or have started and abandoned.  Here’s a sampling:

1.  French Women Don’t Get Fat—Mireille Guiliano (a diet book)
2.  Bird by Bird—Anne Lamone (a writing book)
3.  Breaking Free—Beth Moore (a spiritual book)
4.  Best Friends—Martha Moody (a bestselling book)
5.  The Beck Diet Solution—Judith S. Beck (a diet book)
6.  Eat, Pray, Love—-Elizabeth Gilbert (a spiritual book)
7.  A Cup of Comfort for Writers—various authors (a writing book)

There’s kind of a pattern there.  Eating and writing—two fun things in my life.  Spirituality—a necessity for me.

I’ve had a couple friends tell me I should get an Amazon Kindle or the Barnes and Noble reader called The Nook.  But I don’t want to.  Because I’m an old fashioned girl that’s why.  And once upon a time I swore I’d never wear capri pants either, and they’re all that’s in my spring/summer wardrobe now.  And while we’re on the subject of fashion, I don’t want to tuck my jeans in my boots. I think it’s a fad. That’s what I thought about capris too, and now five years later I’m still wearing them.  I hope you other ladies are too, or I suddenly feel really foolish and out of date.  Quick!  Sign me up for What Not To Wear.

I hope Kindles and Nooks are fads too.   I’m afraid they’re not.

I adore books. 
I like turning pages of books.
I appreciate the cracking sound of a brand new hardback book when it’s first opened.
I savor the smell of a new book.
I relish sitting in my classroom with second graders at my feet and a book in my hand showing the pictures and talking about stories.
I enjoy the sound of Bible pages turning.  Someone, perhaps Beth Moore, once said it’s probably the same sound as the angel’s wings.

The thought of not having those simple pleasures saddens me.

{somebody please hand me a tissue}

To think that everyone will just be pushing buttons on electronic devices in church someday.  Can you picture that?

It’s just wrong. 

Maybe I’ll start a crusade.

Maybe I’ll protest.

I’ve secretly always wanted to be a hippie.

Buy more books,
Angel

P.S.  I found these delicious cookies I blogged about here at World Market.  Buy yourself some and let me know if they make you dream of your grandmother.

My husband has a dream.  Not the Martin Luther King Jr. kind either.  His dream is to be a drummer.  He is always banging on something.  The steering wheel, the kitchen counter, my head. 

For Christmas I splurged and got him some Under Armour for those freezing days of feeding cattle.  Or for those freezing nights when it the windchill is -2, like right now.  He’s so cute in his long, red underwear with the butt flap that I hated to upgrade, but he requested them, so I complied. 

 As I was heading back home, I passed a music store.  And the thought occurred to me, what if? 
What if I got him some drums? 
I knew they cost a pretty penny, so I pulled in to do a quick price check, just a price check. 

I was greeted by a ditzy college girl and asked how I may be helped.  I mentioned I’d like to price some drums.  She directed me to a dark room in the back where guitars hung from the ceiling and a couple of pierced, tattooed guys sat restringing guitars.  I felt like Shirley Temple in a XXX store.  Timidly, I stated what I’d like look at and began to feel even more out of place when Tattoo asked,   “Are these for yourself?”

Uh…..no.

Tattoo showed me the best drum set for a beginner drummer and informed me of a lay-away plan.  I eagerly signed up. 

I got a catalog, dog-eared the page, and quickly left. When I got home,  I laid the catalog in the box beneath the long-handles and wrapped it up nice.  I could hardly restrain myself from telling Jason as soon as he got home, but it was still  several days until Christmas.

We exchanged gifts a couple of days before Christmas, mostly due to my incessant nagging for my own present. 

Jason was thrilled when he found the catalog

Jason was able to wait about 2 weeks before he went to the music store and paid the rest of the balance himself to get them sooner.  So now, there are drums in my living room and earplugs in my ears.   Jason has banged on them, watched DVD’s, and has had two guys over to tune them and give him some quickie lessons.   I’ve even sat at the piano and played a couple of songs with him. 
 
The only problem is, I suck.

If you live next door to us, I apologize right now.   But my little drummer man is in hog heaven.