Open it up . . .

It's been said that to judge a book by it's cover may lead to missing out on a great story. My story's not great.  The next person's story may not be great. However, there's always the chance that it actually may be . . . And to discount something or someone - their possibility, their potential, their story, based solely on outward appearance or 'cover', per se', can only put the skeptical at a disadvantage without delving in, at least a little. A book with a beautifully bound cover, intricate with artwork front and back, may be nothing more than that.  Empty of substance once cracking its spine, hollow.  In the same deceptive way, a worn and tattered novel may be opened to reveal magic, mystery, adventure, romance, emotion, insight.

How bold to believe one has the discernment of knowing what either tale holds without actually picking it up, flipping through its pages, reading an excerpt or two, and finding out what each has to offer actually based on its content, rather than its possible deluding cover.

Humanity, like books, comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors - with such a diverse variety of decoration, embellishments, tattered covers, spines and bindings.

It seems it can only be beneficial to investigate a bit, get a taste for what the story holds, before passing judgement as to the subject at hand.  Be it your next choice of reading material or a person you're only seeing from a distance, from the outside.  What the inside holds just may surprise you.

As for me, I fall into the somewhat worn and tattered collection.  (And by 'tattered', I mean 'tatted'.)  Look closer - There's more to most than what can only be seen with the eyes.

Plans . . .

There was a time I thought April 15th, 2004 may never be a monumental day for any other reason than to have taxes completed and sent off.  One morning, the previous July, I woke up feeling particularly queasy.  I brushed it off.  Of course I wasn't pregnant.  Again.  I had two amazing boys, 22 months apart, and my sweet little family of four was just as it should be.  Complete!  To be on the safe side, I was still taking 'birth control' (seems like 'pregnancy control', would be a more appropriate name for that, but, I digress . . . ) in attempts to keep my little family of four, just that.  However, a few days later, I woke up with the same feeling of an unsettled tummy.  And the day after that, and the day after that . . . So, a pregnancy test, I bought.  A two-pack, with a bonus third test.  (Are folks missing their aim when they pee on that stick?  Do they misplace a test or two?  Why three? Ovulation tests - I can understand the multi-packs, but it's not like bars of soap that I'm going to use up and need a new one . . . )  Either way, I nonchalantly mozied to the bathroom, peed on the stick (An attractive picture I'm painting here, I realize), and set it down, truly thinking I was being silly, had wasted twelve bucks on three pregnancy pee-sticks.  A few minutes later I picked it up to toss it and what do you know - two lines.  Two red lines.  One was not fainter than the other, like the pamphlet shows still means a positive pregnancy test.  There was a bright red 'equals' sign staring back at me.  Seriously?!  Seemed like I'd just had my eleven pound, second baby only weeks before.  At this point, I was extremely grateful for the multi-pack.  I immediately did a second test.  Two red lines.  So, I calmly walked to the kitchen and downed a gallon of water, knowing the tests were wrong, and hoping to confirm that upon one more time of tee-teeing on the last 'baby test', as I saw it called on a store brand box of them the other day. (Whoever came up with that generic name is clearly very creative.  'Baby Test'.  What are we testing the baby for, again?)  Ten minutes later, I'm standing over my bed looking a row of three positive pregnancy tests.  I flipped.  This was not the plan.  I said it over and over, crying at my parents' house.  This was not the plan!  I can't be pregnant again!  It's too hard on my body. My first baby was 9lbs 11oz nine days early.  My second was 11lbs even, ten days early.  I can't do pre-eclampsia again.  How can I handle three?  I'm all done having babies!  I came home, found Mike, and in-between sobs, tried to choke out the news, while shoving three 'baby tests' into his hands.  Now, if I was upset, I seriously dreaded Mike's reaction!  However, he was calm.  Collected. He hugged me, held me and said, "Bird - It's ok.  You're ok.  We're ok!".  I went to bed.

Of course, I adjusted to the idea, eventually, of another pregnancy, another baby, a family of five.  And by 'eventually', I mean I was at a functioning level again several weeks later and, although I wasn't looking forward to nine months of pregnancy and all the added el-bees that come with, I began to get excited about another addition.  The boys were too little to even understand the concept of a sibling on the way.  The surprise of it all wore off quickly, I began taking my pre-natal vitamins, gathered up my maternity clothes, books, sanity . . . and life carried on pretty much as usual.  

With Nicholas, my first born, I read as many books about pregnancy as I could get my hands on.  I looked at pregnancy calendars, daily, excited for the way my baby was growing and developing in my expanding tummy.  I counted kicks.  I could hardly wait for that 20 week visit, when I would find out the sex of my baby.  It was all so new,  fresh, and exciting!  There were hiccups along the way, but nothing too major. Pre-eclampsia during the last six weeks, lead to an early induction and on November 21st, 2000, Nicholas Alexander finally entered this world.  My world.  It was wonderful.

Twenty two months later, Connor Miles joined us, completing our 'perfect little family of four'.  We did it!  And we were all done.  Or, so we thought . . .

Summer turned into fall.  It was still warm, hot even.  Perfect for morning and evening walks, pushing the very stealth, and oh, so easy to navigate, double stroller. We went to the park, played in the sandbox, took scheduled daily naps - Life was laid back.  I was content and happy.   Sure, at the time, I thought it was tough with non-stop diaper changes,  crying, teething babies, sleepless nights, the permanent 'Mommy Badge' that was spit-up on either or both shoulders.  But, as a whole, life was good.

October arrived.  Leaves started turning various shades of reds, yellows and browns, before falling to the ground.  I was looking forward to a cozy holiday season.  I was definitely excited about baby #3 at this point.  I was already 16 weeks into the 40!  Not far from the half-way mark.  One Friday night, about the third week into the month, I'd showered and was getting dressed for a 'night out'.  Standing in the kitchen, just before leaving to take the boys to my parents' for the night, I felt the most unusual wave of pain pass over me from head to toe.  I say 'wave', because it literally washed over me, lasting only about 15 seconds and then it was gone.  However, it left me extremely dizzy.  Bizarre.  Whatever, I was already late.  Figured I should probably grab a bite to eat and I'd feel much better.  I loaded the boys up and we headed to my mom and dad's.  I felt completely fine, and really thought nothing of the very quick, coming and going, pain and dizziness.  Before I left their house, I scooped up little Connor and figured I'd give him one last feeding before I headed out for the night.  I stood up to put him back in his crib and as I did, the same wave of dizziness hit me hard this time.  I took two or three steps towards the door, looked down and realized I was soaking wet.  It was dark in the room.  I figured the bottle had leaked and I was wearing more milk than Connor actually drank.  As I walked into the hall and went to pull the door shut behind me, I saw that I wasn't covered in milk.  My jeans were soaked with blood.  The carpet was.  I had blood all over my hands.  I went into a 'calm panic'.  I couldn't take a step.  I called out to my dad to call 911.  He ran in and saw me and, bless his heart, flipped.  Calmly, but in freaking out mode, I barked, "Dad.  Call 911 now."  I lay down on the floor.  With every single tiny movement, breathing even, I was bleeding more and more.  Little Nicholas woke up, came out of his room and saw me.  Screamed and ran for me . . . My dad whisked him away and assured him Mama was ok.  The paramedics arrived, loaded me up, and off we went.  What was happening still hadn't really hit me yet.  But, upon examination at the hospital, I was told what my head already knew, but heart wasn't comprehending - I was miscarrying.  Several ultrasounds, a reverse catheterization (EXTREMELY comfortable), then one more ultrasound revealed no heartbeat.  The little baby, my baby, that I was initially so upset I was going to have, so ungrateful for, was no more.  I was all by myself for two hours.  Bleeding profusely.  Scared, confused, sad, but too shell-shocked to cry.  I replayed all the negative things I'd said about my pregnancy at the beginning.  Guilt plagued me for that.  I repented.  Again.  I prayed for a heartbeat with every ultrasound.  Nothing.  The doctors decided to transfer me to a bigger hospital in Atlanta.  If I didn't miscarry within a short time, I needed to be at a better hospital for the D&C.  As I was wheeled, on the stretcher, into the second hospital and up to the L&D floor, we hopped in an empty elevator to go up.  There was a lost helium balloon dancing on the ceiling, that I was staring straight up at.  "It's a girl!", it read in pink letters.  It hit me then.  I cried.  I sobbed.  Finally, after waiting in triage forever, I got a room.  First thing they wanted to do was look for the heartbeat via ultrasound again.  Nothing.  So, I was told to 'make myself comfortable' (you kidding me?!) and there was still time for me to miscarry to avoid the D&C.  I cried out to God all night . . . Save my baby.  Please.

The next morning, the doctor on call made his rounds.  During a quick chat, he nonchalantly mentioned that he need to 'check his schedule' as to when he could fit me in for the D&C procedure.  The whole situation was most surreal.  About four hours later, a nurse came in and had been instructed to do another ultrasound.  I was numb.  It was just one more time of watching, waiting, and not finding a life.  I didn't even look at the screen this time.  I wanted this to be over.  She took forever.  I was frustrated they didn't have someone more trained doing this - I wanted to be alone.  She finished, put everything away, and said, "I'll be back in a few minutes."  Great.  Almost as soon as she walked out, she walked right back in with my primary OB physician.  He began another ultrasound, with a very intense expression on his face and completely silent.  Time was passing too slowly and I was getting restless and annoyed.  He finished and pulled up a little stool on wheels and slid right up beside my bed.  He propped his arms on the bedrail, then reached out with his hand and rubbed my head.  What he said next, will echo in my ears forever and gives me chills even as I type. "Eryn, your baby GIRL has a heartbeat."  I sat up, totally perplexed, confused and not comprehending what he'd just said.  "What did you say?"  "The nurse thought she'd seen a heartbeat, but believed she was seeing it wrong, as none of us have detected one yet - Your baby is alive."  He grinned ear to ear, as if HE were the one carrying the child and hearing the miraculous news!  I was overwhelmed with emotions.  I laughed and cried.  I still wasn't sure if I should be hopeful.  He went on to explain that he'd also been able to clearly see about a 40-60 % placental abruption (http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/placental+abruption).  In a nutshell, this meant the placenta had separated from my uterus, like it does shortly after a baby is born.  I was explained that, because I was so early into my pregnancy, I was a great risk for it to happen again.  That, since the placenta provides any and all nutrients and oxygen the baby receives, and since it was around 50% unattached, IF the baby reached a point of sustaining life outside my womb, there was a definite chance of complications, undeveloped organs, and/or brain damage.  I was put on strict bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy - however long or short that may be.  'Strict' meant, no sitting upright.  No standing.  Sponge-baths.  Bedpans.  Fantastic.  And even if these instructions were followed to a T, the chance of the placenta separating further and/or completely was still high.  If all went perfectly, from there on out, a complete abruption was still possible during birth, resulting in a stillborn.  So, yes - there was a heartbeat, which gave me hope!  But, all was still very 'iffy' and nothing was guaranteed, as far as a happy, healthy outcome.  So, the long journey began.  I stayed in the hospital for about a week, being monitored closely, then was sent home.  To bed.  For four+ months, if all went well.  With a one and two year old.  And a full-time working husband.  I was blessed with so many people, taking turns keeping my boys daily.  Bringing meals.  Calling and stopping by with words of encouragement.  I made weekly trips to Piedmont for specialists visits, finding someone to drive me while I lay flat on my back in the car.  For a few weeks, everything showed the same.  Nothing better, nothing worse.  A month later, though, an ultrasound showed that I'd developed a blood-clot bigger than the baby.  The fear was that the blood clot would begin to pass, putting me into labor at 21 weeks.  Nothing could be done about it, so it was just a waiting game to see what would happen. 

Days were long, nights were long.  I was uncomfortable and sad.  I'd been on my back, in bed, for nearly 15 weeks.  At this point, I was 'allowed' to get up for the restroom, a glass of water, but then back to bed.  It was February.  The magic month was March.  If I could make it to March, she'd have a fair chance at survival.  It wasn't ideal, but it was a lot further along than October!  I was in bed, the boys were with my mom, and I was bored and down.  If I thought the pregnancy wasn't 'my plan', THIS surely wasn't my plan!  I'm not a TV watcher so, other than that, there wasn't a lot to do flat on my back or on my side, as I was able to do now.  One morning, in early February, I woke up incredibly down, sad, depressed.  All this time in bed, doing everything in my power that could be done to sustain this life inside me, and at any minute, I could have a full placental abruption and this daughter I was already bonding with would be lost.  I rolled over and saw my Bible was on my nightstand.  I reached and wearily pulled it over to me.  It flopped open to Jeremiah and I just started reading.  My eyes fell on these words, "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart . . .".  Wait, what?  That seriously never happens.  I've heard tale of someone's Bible falling open to the exact scripture that they 'needed to read' and been a bit skeptical.  I read it again.  "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart . . .".  I rolled over on my back, closed my eyes and was positive beyond a shadow of a doubt, I would meet and know this baby.

My original due date was at the beginning of May. March arrived - I'd made it!  Sure, she wasn't full term, but this was a great milestone to have arrived. I had an amniocentesis performed to check the baby's lung development.  Simultaneously, I immediate went into labor and was told her lungs weren't developed enough. I freaked.  But, over the next 24 hours, I was given meds to stop the labor, it worked and no further abruption occurred.  Also, the blood clot that was once larger than the baby had dissolved to a very small clot.  I was sent home a few days later to let her cook for a couple more restless weeks.  Upon, what would be, my final ultrasound, the first week of April, the decision was made to induce.  

Early the morning of April 15th, 2004 I arrived at Piedmont Hospital for admission.  My IV was started, pitocen streamed through my veins, resulting in a fairly speedy labor.  I was terrified.  I clung the the verse I'd read months before, but was still afraid.  The main concern at this point was that, as contractions increased, became more regular and intense, the placenta would pull away prematurely.  I was monitored closely.  In the back of my mind I knew that, even if this baby was born with no L&D complications, there was still a chance of undeveloped lungs and possible brain damage due to the lack of oxygen she received after that wretched night in October.  My blood pressure soared, thanks to pre-eclampsia and fear.  Pain meds were administered, the anesthesiologist started my epidural, and I relaxed.  Several hours later, although numb from my ribs down, I knew it was time.  I called the nurse and she quickly gathered another and my doctor.  Twenty minutes later, Estella Grace was born.  As soon as my doctor held her up for me to see, a bloody mess, I began to laugh!  Out of sheer joy!  Her Apgar score was high.  I heard the little 'duck-quack' sound that is a cry of a newborn.  She was bundled up and placed in my arms.  She was perfect.  Absolutely.  I was in complete awe . . . 

The first few months passed and every doctor's exam showed nothing less than a perfectly healthy baby.  As she grew, it was apparent and clear that there was no brain damage that was a great fear and possibility at one time.  She was the picture of health.

Stella's first birthday was an emotional one for me.  Thinking back on the long days, that turned into weeks that turned into months,  lying flat on my back, scared, sad, and worrying - I couldn't even imagine celebrating a 'first birthday' for this baby.  But, here she was - the most beautiful, happy and healthy baby girl grabbing fist-fulls of birthday cake, making an insane mess.  What a perfectly beautiful mess . . . 

Today, my Stella turns seven.  Seven years I've had with this miraculous girl.  This girl that I thought I may never know.  This girl that defied the odds.  This girl that I was promised that morning in February, after reading Jeremiah 1:5.  As gross as I know it sounds, the placenta was sent off for testing after Stella was born.  I learned that the placenta didn't necessarily 'heal' back, but 'sealed', 'reattached', rather.  My doctor was boggled.  Said it didn't 'add up' for Stella to have had no complications with only 50-70% of the nutrients and oxygen she needed to fully develop healthy.  She said I was 'lucky'.  I said Stella is a miracle.

I remember lying in bed one morning when Stella was about a month old, thinking, 'For this baby girl to not be 'my plan', I absolutely don't know what I would do without her now'.  And it suddenly hit me - When was it ever 'my plan'?  A third pregnancy, complications, months of bed rest and uncertainty - I didn't 'plan' that.  A beautiful baby girl sleeping peacefully beside me, I didn't plan her.  It was never my 'plan'!  The pieces of the puzzle, I thought I'd already figured out, came together at that moment.  "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.  Before you were born, I set you apart".  That wasn't me.  That was never me.  It was never my plan . . . It was His.

The joy this precious girl brings me on a daily basis, I could never fully describe.  If you know her, you're fortunate.  The term, 'God-send', takes on an entirely new meaning when describing my Stella.  She's one of the most amazing things to ever happen to me.  She's beyond beautiful, inside and out.  She's my baby girl and always will be.  She's my miracle.

Happy seventh birthday, my sweet Stella Grace . . . A day doesn't pass that I don't thank God for his mercy, grace, and gift - that is you.  As your Grandmama and Granddaddy used to tell me when I was little, "You'll never know how much I love you".  However, at this point, I think I have a pretty good idea of how much they actually do . . .

Replace The Chaos . . .

First of all, I want to preface this with the fact that I am in NO way on any kind of a 'high horse' here, that I'm not being judgemental - to any degree, and that I'm only just typing this up because I woke up with these thoughts weighing heavily on me.  So, I suppose I'm really writing/journaling this for me . . . Putting my thoughts on 'paper' sometimes helps when I need reminding of certain things, a kick in the behind, or a refresher course of what was once on my mind, for a brief time, that I've since forgotten.


So, I woke up this morning with an earworm making its way through my brain over and over, round and round - a somewhat gross analogy, I know, but it happens ~ especially to those of us with a delightful touch of OCD.  Often and usually pretty annoying.  Just can't seem either 'switch' to another tune or drop it all together.  This one, however, isn't bothering me today, rather 'reminding' me.  Even as I type, the words are playing thorough my mind . . .  "Create in me a clean heart . . . "

Keith Green, a Zach Galifianakis look-alike, was a fairly well know Christian singer during the 70's and early 80's.  He was of Jewish heritage and raised in Christian Science.  Later in life, he stated that "God has broken through my calloused heart" and then began his journey with Christ - A Jewish believer in Jesus the Messiah.  He was a humble man.  He wrote and sang songs about love, grace and beauty - Including 'Create In Me', which comes from Psalm 51:10 ~ "Create in me a clean heart, oh God, and renew a right spirit within me."  The Message translates it like this, "God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life."  Shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life.  What a cord this strikes in me.  

A friend of mine had to study, dissect, and handle the heart of a sheep earlier this week.  Gross.  Though, I can't help to wonder what my heart would look like if the same were done to mine on a spiritual level.  I'm guessing pretty UN-clean.  Greedy, maybe.  Impatient, some.  Judgemental.  Not content with what I have (how MUCH I already have).  Unthankful and selfish.  What a shame.  Really.  Shameful.  


So, I'm in need of a heart-cleanser.  And, like my car, it's not going to clean itself - I have to be the one to do it.  And I can do it.  But, it's going to take patience - with others.  Giving of myself.  Selflessness.  Discipline.  Contentment.  Thankfulness.  


Before Keith Green, and two of his children, were tragically killed in a plane crash on July 28, 1982, there was a song he sang that contained the lyrics, "How can I see, if my eyes are on me?" The answer, I think, is that one can't.  I can't see others in need.  I can't see others hurting.  I can't see how truly fortunate and how blessed I am if I have 'me blinders' on.  I've gotta get rid of these 'me blinders' - They're blocking my view of so much that I am, I have, I can be, I can do, I need to do . . . .


Mother Theresa said, "At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, what riches we have, how many great things we have done.  We will be judged by "I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me. I was homeless, and you took me in."  (Eyes off me, here!)


I think it's time I work on cleaning this heart of mine.  It's going to take a lot of scrubbing, but I want my spirit made right and renewed . . . And no pain, no gain, right? I've got to give up some of the things and ideas that I think will bring me happiness and joy, but are actually only band-aids that temporarily soothe me before I want for more again. I want the chaos of my life replaced with peace, contentment, thankfulness, and a caring, giving self.

"Happiness isn't something that depends on our surroundings...It's something we make inside ourselves." 
— Corrie ten Boom,  Messianic Jew Holocaust survivor

Deja Blue

So, fall is here.  Kind of.  I mean, technically we're in the 'fall season', but it's still 85 degrees in the afternoon here.  I'm wearing sweaters, leggings, and boots because that's what you wear in the fall.  But about 2:30ish every day, I nearly die of a heat stroke, usually give in and change to shorts and a tank top.  It smells like fall.  But, that could just be all the pumpkin, cinnamon, and 'harvest' candles I've lit around my house in efforts to trick my mind into believing the cozy, Autumn season has arrived.  The AC is also on.  Sort of puts a damper on my tactics . . .


October is a weird month.  My grandmother died at such a young age on October 30th a lot of years ago.  Trick-or-treating wasn't fun that year.  I didn't really get what was going on.  I knew my sweet Grandmama was dying.  Cancer is mean.  Her last words were to her grandchildren.  I'm the oldest, so I suppose I remember it more than the others. She woke up a bit from her in-and-out coma and our parents gathered us around her bed.  She smiled and mustered up the strength to utter a few kind words to us before fading off again.  It wasn't much longer before her soul left her body and moved from this earth to Heaven.  The adults were sad and us kids didn't quite understand it all.  We were shuffled out and a neighbor took us, dressed up, door to door asking for candy from strangers - which I still think is a bit of an odd idea.  Shortly thereafter, her body was taken to Bonaventure cemetery in Savannah where she was laid to rest.

I just got back from Savannah a few days ago.  I've been making that four hour drive since I was a tiny little girl. So many, many times.  It's a favorite of mine.  All of it.  The beach, the Marsh House, the squares, the shops, the memories . . . This past trip, though, was different.  It was the last time I would be in that city with any relatives there.  My grandfather's alzheimers' is progressing.  His stability isn't very much so.  It's time to bring him home.  To our home - in Peachtree City.  Saying goodbye to Savannah wasn't difficult for him, as he really had no clue he was leaving or where he was going.  However, for all his friends, lady friends, acquaintances, neighbors, his regular restaurant attendants, etc. it was a sad time.  There were hugs, tears, awkward moments and lumps in throats of those 'staying strong'.  Saying goodbye is never easy.  Even for me, saying goodbye to Savannah as I drove home was different this trip.  Bittersweet.  I now have my grandfather here and that makes me happy, but that marvelous, memory filled city will never quite be the same for me.

My grandfather, Jack Logan, at his house on cobblestone Jones Street, Savannah.

Last fall was a difficult one for a lot of reasons.  I'm glad a new one is here.  A year has passed and I'm in a better, healthier, happier place now.  However, I'm ready for October to be over.  Let's go ahead and move on to November, shall we?  November 1st will be a new beginning.  A beginning of the holidays.  A beginning of a happily settled in Grandfather in his new home.  A beginning of a month that's not filled with memories of death, confusion, regret, and sad feelings.  November brings birthdays - my dad's and my Nicholas will be a decade old!  November brings Thanksgiving - and oh, how much I have to be thankful for.  November brings cooler temperatures!  November brings new beginnings.




The next time my Granddad goes to Savannah, his body will be resting beside his wife's ~ my beautiful Grandmother, Stella Louise.  And, although it will be a time of sadness and grieving, it will also be a time of rejoicing in the fact that, although his body lay in the ground, his soul has gone to Heaven where my Grandmother's waits for him.  I sort of hope it's not in October, though . . . This month has already stolen its share of unpleasant memories.


For now, though, life goes on.  And I'm so very thankful for life.  Mine, my childrens', my family, my dear friends'.  I'm surrounded with such amazing people, as cliche' as it sounds, it's true.  As I grow older, I'm realizing more and more how fragile life really is.  I don't take mine or my loved ones' for granted.  At all.

And now I'm going to fix up a little plate of dessert for my Grandfather, head over to his new place of dwelling and enjoy time doing nothing with him.  While I count down the days to November . . .

Super!

I just realized I'm following my own blog.  Awesome.  How did that happen.  And why.  That's just real special, if you ask me . . .

Really? Really.

I don't get it.  Things are weird.  Life is odd.  People are strange.  Where's my 'Life Manual'?  Can't find it. Must've misplaced it, along with my mind, dignity, and favorite pair of black heels that I've been on the quest to find for quite some time now.

At least I have these three to keep me grounded.  Although, I'm not sure, but they MAY have contributed to a few of those lost brain cells I don't think I'll ever recover.  Just a hunch.  However, they do keep my heart happy!  And I'll gladly exchange a bit of a smaller brain for a much larger heart.

Still . . . Why?  Why hurt? Why Alzheimer's?  Why confusion?  Why tears?  Why misunderstandings?  Why negativity?  Why death?  Why grace . . . Ah, grace.  Even in the midst of floundering, confusion and pain -- We're granted and given mercy and grace.  Sweet and undeserving, precious mercy and grace.  

Thank you, Father.  Thank you, friends.  Thank you, family.

Sounds all cliche' and stuff, but it's true ~ Without the grace, forgiveness, patience and mercy of these folks, I'd be a goner . . .

Hmm ... What if I stomped on these a bunch and then let them rot in a barrel?

Well, well . . . Apparently, sandy clay loam and black volcanic obsidian soils, combined with a unique diurnal temperature pattern, and extremely hot days, tempered by very cool nights, slows the ripening process and enhances the flavor and complexity of the grapes that go into making my vino of choice tonight ~ Francis Coppola Diamond Cabernet Sauvignon 2006.  Who knew?!  So, it's just a $20 bottle of wine.  It's good.  Enough.  And apparently goes well with beef (steak, but not filet mignon - don't ask, because I have no idea.  However,  let's not get that mixed up, though - things could get dicey) . . . Also, lamb and goose.  None of the above, I eat. 


As a side note, though, I'd like to add that my beverage this evening 'starts with a very berry flavor and melts into a smooth, velvety finish'.  Impressive!  Whatever that seriously means. I enjoy it and all, but let's be honest - I don't really experience a lot of the 'smooth melting and velvety finish' it promises as I sip.  Either way, seems to be the perfect accompaniment to the Special K Meal Replacement Bar I'm enjoying (er, really just shoving down while I simultaneously do two thousand other things.  Hey - It's healthier than Mickey D's drive-thru, right?!).  Point being, the two REALLY do complement each other . . . Pretty sure it's the berries.  Berry flavors in the wine.  'Strawberries' in my protein bar.  It's just a great big fruit party in my mouth.

Who says you have to follow all the rules, all the time?!  Seems like the perfect combo for moi tonight.

Cheers!