February 27, 2010
Fort Worth, Texas
I will be participating in the full marathon this year. I am asking for donations by the mile. The duration of my race will be 26.2 miles. As little as one quarter a mile will make a difference! The charity I have chosen to support is listed below and is a cause I am very passionate about contributing to. If you choose to participate in donating, just let me know your amount for a per-mile-pledge, and I will set you up! Thank you in advance!
Here is the link to the website for all of the event details:
http://www.cowtownmarathon.org/default.aspx
It is a fun event and I encourage you to come out and watch or even participate!
(Shorter and longer courses are available.)
ALL PROCEEDS WILL BENEFIT:
http://www.campconquer.org/
Friday, January 15, 2010
clean on the outside cream on the inside ice cream paint job: 2010 thus far.
Greeted New Years morning by hugging a toilet. It did not hug back. Drank lots of sprite. Drank lots of water. Took my pulse. Took in a movie. Took over Breckenridge. Went skiing. Lost my toenail. Went night skiing. Lost my balance. Drank free hot chocolate from the Crepe Cart! Met up with an old friend over an exquisite plate of mango pepper chicken. Drove in the snow. And of course by drove, I mean slid. Ate biscuits and gravy with mom and dad. Said my farewell to Matty. Went to Chili’s. Watched Masen dehydrate. Said farewell to Masen. Sat in the Denver airport for four hours. Drank lots of coffee. Wrote lots of words. Flight got delayed. Should have sprung that extra forty dollars for an earlier flight. Sat in the Denver airport for two more hours. Drank more coffee. Wrote more words. My Caribou Coffee cup told me, “Life is short. Stay awake for it.” Kind of made me want to throw my cup up against the wall. You stay awake in the Denver airport for six hours Caribou Coffee! I hereby vow my loyalty to Starbucks. Went to McDonalds. My quarter pounder with cheese and I fell down in front McDonalds. The Denver airport applauded our skills. “Penny and ‘quarter pounder’ take a bow.”
Arrived back in the Big D. Took Runner out to pee. Spent the day with my Farmbot. Went to my first bowling tournament. Observed lots of strange people. Gave lots of high fives. Slowly scooted away from old, crazy lady whom was carrying on a conversation with herself. Went to BJ’s. Ate a cookies and cream pazookie! Fell in love with my friend’s ex-boyfriends little brother. Found out he had a girlfriend. Fell out of love. Picked up Runner’s poop. Returned to work after two week vacation. Met Linda for bible study at Starbucks. Wore matching sweater vests. Fact. Took Runner out to pee. Attended regular therapy session at Bueno with Rye-Rye and Lindabugg. For the first time ever I was not the teacher, I was the student. Launched operation fall out...again. Picked up Runner’s poop. Watched the Cowboys win their first play-off game in years. Finally got that monkey off their back…JS. Took Runner out to pee. Went to church, cleaned the loft. Realized I had eaten at Bueno, Whataburger, Taco Cabana, and Starbucks in no more than two days…thought about becoming bulimic…went for a run instead. Cowtown, there’s a storm a coming, and it goes by the name PBaker. Picked up Runner’s poop.
Monday morning-back to work-overslept-looked awesome. Hosted gamenight. Jeremy there informed us that Russia has water, and he sang us the Mickey Mouse Club song. Reaffirmed how very Asian Linda is. Said goodbye to my dear Geno friend…again. Took Runner out to pee. Trusted Deuteronomy 29:29. Went to Starbucks. Said, “Hi” to Micah.” He said, “Hi Penny.” Which I am pretty sure is code for, “I love you.” Hot baristas are in excess. I think they are multiplying… Picked up Runner’s poop. Received a card from Schauna aka Master Chief. We shall storm Valhalla united in the very near future MC! Took Runner out to pee. Slightly concerned by the un-eventfulness of my new year…Realized the beginning of 2010 is freakishly alike in comparison to 2009. Cuddled up with Runner and a good book on the couch.
I love my life.
Arrived back in the Big D. Took Runner out to pee. Spent the day with my Farmbot. Went to my first bowling tournament. Observed lots of strange people. Gave lots of high fives. Slowly scooted away from old, crazy lady whom was carrying on a conversation with herself. Went to BJ’s. Ate a cookies and cream pazookie! Fell in love with my friend’s ex-boyfriends little brother. Found out he had a girlfriend. Fell out of love. Picked up Runner’s poop. Returned to work after two week vacation. Met Linda for bible study at Starbucks. Wore matching sweater vests. Fact. Took Runner out to pee. Attended regular therapy session at Bueno with Rye-Rye and Lindabugg. For the first time ever I was not the teacher, I was the student. Launched operation fall out...again. Picked up Runner’s poop. Watched the Cowboys win their first play-off game in years. Finally got that monkey off their back…JS. Took Runner out to pee. Went to church, cleaned the loft. Realized I had eaten at Bueno, Whataburger, Taco Cabana, and Starbucks in no more than two days…thought about becoming bulimic…went for a run instead. Cowtown, there’s a storm a coming, and it goes by the name PBaker. Picked up Runner’s poop.
Monday morning-back to work-overslept-looked awesome. Hosted gamenight. Jeremy there informed us that Russia has water, and he sang us the Mickey Mouse Club song. Reaffirmed how very Asian Linda is. Said goodbye to my dear Geno friend…again. Took Runner out to pee. Trusted Deuteronomy 29:29. Went to Starbucks. Said, “Hi” to Micah.” He said, “Hi Penny.” Which I am pretty sure is code for, “I love you.” Hot baristas are in excess. I think they are multiplying… Picked up Runner’s poop. Received a card from Schauna aka Master Chief. We shall storm Valhalla united in the very near future MC! Took Runner out to pee. Slightly concerned by the un-eventfulness of my new year…Realized the beginning of 2010 is freakishly alike in comparison to 2009. Cuddled up with Runner and a good book on the couch.
I love my life.
Friday, January 8, 2010
It Takes Time to Extract Joy from Life
Ingredient 3
In medicine, hematuria is the presence of red blood cells in the urine. March hematuria occurs when blood is seen in the urine after strenuous exercise, particularly affecting the feet such as running on a hard road for an extended period of time. The repetitive nature of this type of activity causes mechanical trauma to the red blood cells causing them to break open and release hemoglobin into the surrounding fluid. Free hemoglobin released from red blood cells is filtered into the urine. In laymen’s terms, I went for a long run this weekend. Afterwards I went pee and there was blood in my urine. It was either because the constant vibrations initiated by my feet striking the ground put stress on my kidney, actually causing it to leak blood into my bladder. OR I was slightly dehydrated causing the walls of my bladder to rub together and excrete blood. So what gives with the slightly disturbing biology lesson?
It’s pretty sickening, but in a way quite remarkable. We have the uncanny ability to be so determined to accomplish an undertaking regardless the undesirable effects. In part two of this series I talked about the art of racing in the rain. I liken this act of passionate running to the (effortless) “art” of hopelessly chasing the wind.
I spent Thanksgiving week alone this year.
Day three of solitude and only two more days to go. I have caught myself in deep conversation with the cat, routinely checking my phone for messages, and observing dust particles as they float. I feel that I have matured by at least ten years over these past few days. Spend a few days alone and soul searching will surely endure. My time of solitude landing my heart in a much needed position of studying the book of Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes addresses the inevitable human activity of chasing after that which is untamable. Often I feel that I have life set on its course only to find myself knocked backwards by a sucker punch. And it is usually when I am in pursuit of something fruitless… Whether in quest of power, relationship, money, work, pleasure, wisdom, spirituality, or even immortality, our searching or wind chasing is forever futile. It leaves us with a lingering sensation of emptiness and wanting. Chasing after these untamable things always results in this feeling. Even when I am sly enough to capture and maintain one or two of these prestigious idols, I always want more and will always want more.
The Greek translation of the book Ecclesiastes emphatically proclaims all the actions of man to be inherently "vain", "futile", "empty", "meaningless", "temporary", "transitory", or "fleeting," depending on translation. We assume God will take care of those who pursue him. I don’t find this to be the case. We were all designed with desire in mind. I don’t know about you, but this soul is tired of chasing. I believe in God, I believe in His promises. But instead of trusting God for those promises many times I find myself manipulating situations, people, or circumstances to push those promises into reality before their readied time, instead of just trusting. Which I believe, the act of trusting, is what God fully desires from us. Not to say we should just sit back and expect good things to happen, but there is a boundary between manipulating our lives and being a responsible steward. “In moments we are reminded that we have no control over our world. What we can control however is our willingness to seek God in the midst of seeming chaos. We can affirm that life is not tamable but it is purposeful. Strength is found in weakness. Control is found in dependency. Power is found in surrender. Give up the fight to control that which we cannot.” Dan B. Allender
Ecclesiastes 8:16-17 says, “When I determined to load up on wisdom and examine everything taking place on earth, I realized that if you keep your eyes open day and night without even blinking, you'll still never figure out the meaning of what God is doing on this earth. Search as hard as you like, you're not going to make sense of it. No matter how smart you are, you won't get to the bottom of it.” Are you frustrated to the core? Whether you believe in a higher being or not, you are probably doing some chasing yourself and can relate. I have resolved that if I am going to chase after something, I will chase after those who need chasing. There are so many opportunities to love. It takes time to learn. To extract. To share. I beg of you, don’t catch yourself with nothing to show for in this life but a bladder full of blood. It’s just gross, and not worth the effort. I am choosing now to be a chaser of God residing above the sun. And maybe for once, I will try letting something or someone chase me.
Wedding dress by Derek Webb.
If you could love me as a wife
and for my wedding gift, your life
Should that be all I’d ever need
or is there more I’m looking for
and should I read between the lines
and look for blessings in disguise
To make me handsome, rich, and wise
Is that really what you want
I am a whore I do confess
But I put you on just like a wedding dress
and I run down the aisle
and I run down the aisle
I’m a prodigal with no way home
but I put you on just like a ring of gold
and I run down the aisle to you
So could you love this bastard child
Though I don’t trust you to provide
With one hand in a pot of gold
and with the other in your side
I am so easily satisfied
by the call of lovers so less wild
That I would take a little cash
Over your very flesh and blood
Because money cannot buy
a husbands jealous eye
When you have knowingly deceived his wife
*For further reading on this topic I highly suggest, Breaking the Idols of Your Heart: How to Navigate the Temptations of Life by Dan B. Allender.
In medicine, hematuria is the presence of red blood cells in the urine. March hematuria occurs when blood is seen in the urine after strenuous exercise, particularly affecting the feet such as running on a hard road for an extended period of time. The repetitive nature of this type of activity causes mechanical trauma to the red blood cells causing them to break open and release hemoglobin into the surrounding fluid. Free hemoglobin released from red blood cells is filtered into the urine. In laymen’s terms, I went for a long run this weekend. Afterwards I went pee and there was blood in my urine. It was either because the constant vibrations initiated by my feet striking the ground put stress on my kidney, actually causing it to leak blood into my bladder. OR I was slightly dehydrated causing the walls of my bladder to rub together and excrete blood. So what gives with the slightly disturbing biology lesson?
It’s pretty sickening, but in a way quite remarkable. We have the uncanny ability to be so determined to accomplish an undertaking regardless the undesirable effects. In part two of this series I talked about the art of racing in the rain. I liken this act of passionate running to the (effortless) “art” of hopelessly chasing the wind.
I spent Thanksgiving week alone this year.
Day three of solitude and only two more days to go. I have caught myself in deep conversation with the cat, routinely checking my phone for messages, and observing dust particles as they float. I feel that I have matured by at least ten years over these past few days. Spend a few days alone and soul searching will surely endure. My time of solitude landing my heart in a much needed position of studying the book of Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes addresses the inevitable human activity of chasing after that which is untamable. Often I feel that I have life set on its course only to find myself knocked backwards by a sucker punch. And it is usually when I am in pursuit of something fruitless… Whether in quest of power, relationship, money, work, pleasure, wisdom, spirituality, or even immortality, our searching or wind chasing is forever futile. It leaves us with a lingering sensation of emptiness and wanting. Chasing after these untamable things always results in this feeling. Even when I am sly enough to capture and maintain one or two of these prestigious idols, I always want more and will always want more.
The Greek translation of the book Ecclesiastes emphatically proclaims all the actions of man to be inherently "vain", "futile", "empty", "meaningless", "temporary", "transitory", or "fleeting," depending on translation. We assume God will take care of those who pursue him. I don’t find this to be the case. We were all designed with desire in mind. I don’t know about you, but this soul is tired of chasing. I believe in God, I believe in His promises. But instead of trusting God for those promises many times I find myself manipulating situations, people, or circumstances to push those promises into reality before their readied time, instead of just trusting. Which I believe, the act of trusting, is what God fully desires from us. Not to say we should just sit back and expect good things to happen, but there is a boundary between manipulating our lives and being a responsible steward. “In moments we are reminded that we have no control over our world. What we can control however is our willingness to seek God in the midst of seeming chaos. We can affirm that life is not tamable but it is purposeful. Strength is found in weakness. Control is found in dependency. Power is found in surrender. Give up the fight to control that which we cannot.” Dan B. Allender
Ecclesiastes 8:16-17 says, “When I determined to load up on wisdom and examine everything taking place on earth, I realized that if you keep your eyes open day and night without even blinking, you'll still never figure out the meaning of what God is doing on this earth. Search as hard as you like, you're not going to make sense of it. No matter how smart you are, you won't get to the bottom of it.” Are you frustrated to the core? Whether you believe in a higher being or not, you are probably doing some chasing yourself and can relate. I have resolved that if I am going to chase after something, I will chase after those who need chasing. There are so many opportunities to love. It takes time to learn. To extract. To share. I beg of you, don’t catch yourself with nothing to show for in this life but a bladder full of blood. It’s just gross, and not worth the effort. I am choosing now to be a chaser of God residing above the sun. And maybe for once, I will try letting something or someone chase me.
Wedding dress by Derek Webb.
If you could love me as a wife
and for my wedding gift, your life
Should that be all I’d ever need
or is there more I’m looking for
and should I read between the lines
and look for blessings in disguise
To make me handsome, rich, and wise
Is that really what you want
I am a whore I do confess
But I put you on just like a wedding dress
and I run down the aisle
and I run down the aisle
I’m a prodigal with no way home
but I put you on just like a ring of gold
and I run down the aisle to you
So could you love this bastard child
Though I don’t trust you to provide
With one hand in a pot of gold
and with the other in your side
I am so easily satisfied
by the call of lovers so less wild
That I would take a little cash
Over your very flesh and blood
Because money cannot buy
a husbands jealous eye
When you have knowingly deceived his wife
*For further reading on this topic I highly suggest, Breaking the Idols of Your Heart: How to Navigate the Temptations of Life by Dan B. Allender.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Now bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible...Shakespeare
One…two…three…four…my dad and I whisper numbers as we count out three foot strides simultaneously. We use traffic cones to mark off fifty yards for the kids run. The immediate was extremely simplistic; the calm, quiet, October night sky. A rewarding and overwhelmingly satisfying feeling crept over me unaware. Something dad and I had dreamt up in our living room over two years ago was launched into reality at this moment. Tomorrow morning, three hundred and fifty athletes would gather together with one simple and common goal, to run. The brief amount of time dad and I had alone together that night, preparing for a mutual passion, I will carry with me forever.
My phone resounds in an alarming matter. I clumsily wave my arms around in search of my cellular nemesis. I frantically punch buttons to shut it up. Again, it sounds off. This time I glance down at the screen. It’s not my alarm but a text message from Schauna that reads good luck today! Confusion ensues. Why is Schauna awake at 5am? A sickness washes over my being as I entertain the terrifying thought that I may have overslept. Did I miss it!? The current time is 7:05am. Shotgun is at 7:30am. I was to be awake and at the race two and a half hours ago…I am awesome. Panic, is my initial reaction. I am completely unprepared to be at the start line in twenty-five minutes seeing that I had fallen into bed, clothes and all at 1:30am the night before after a seventeen hour day of race setup. Where are my running shoes? Socks? Bib? My watch? Scout? Can I make it through the race traffic in time? I wonder if dad had enough help at race day registration this morning in my absence… By some miracle working act of God, really, I find myself at the start line with four minutes to spare. Enough time to tie my shoes and realize that I have had nothing to eat or drink in the last ten hours. Not ideal conditions just before a lengthy run. Believing that about seventy-five percent of running is mental training and only twenty-five percent physical, I psych myself up to encounter this run with great optimism and enthusiasm.
The atmosphere when runners are corralled at the start line of a race is unique indeed. There are many waves of emotion present. Adrenaline, nausea, excitement, nervousness. Inevitably you feel the need to find a restroom, even though you just visited one two minutes before jumping into the crowd of insanity. The smell is anticipation. Every runner is indulging in their pre-race rituals. Some stretch, some become Mexican jumping beans, others you will find jamming to their IPOD. I pray. Even surrounded by hundreds of other runners, this moment is always all mine, and it is beautiful. Race day weather was absolutely amazing. Sixty degrees, no rain, only slight winds. Perfection for running. The race commenced at the sound of a shotgun. We were off and running! Once past the cheering crowds all that can be heard is the light pitter patter of shoes on the pavement. How I love that sound.
I had my best running partner, Candy by my side for miles one through three. We had a pleasing pace going until I began to feel somewhat nauseated as we rounded mile four. I looked at Candy and said, I think I need throw up. Uh oh, she says. Not one minute later I was doubled over in a mesquite bush greeting anything and everything I had in my system a good morning. I had Candy and a few other friends keep on running while I stayed there to empty out. No need for everyone’s finish time to suffer on my account. Darling Joni, my angel for the day, stayed with me because she says she was hoping for an excuse to slow the pace. Leave it to me, but really, I think she was just trying to make me feel better. And you know it was probably good to have somebody with me to make sure I did not pass out all alone. So I decide I am going to finish this race, even if it was going to kill me, and it almost did. I jogged the next two miles feeling much less nauseated, but still not well by any means. Then up it came again… I couldn’t even keep down water. But I had to finish. I have never quit a race before, and I was not about to let the first time be in one that I helped organize.
As I struggled to keep a steady jog, I ran across very unfamiliar physical grief. My chest began to tighten, making it particularly hard to breath. My brain was cloudy. The muscles in my legs felt as if they were shriveling up like raisins disabling much movement. I’m pretty sure Joni told me my coloring went from white, to yellow, to gross. “Pain is the body’s way of ridding itself of weakness.” –Dean Karnazes. That quote is running on a loop through my head. We approach the finish line, and everyone is cheering. I see my dad clapping and congratulating me along with a few other friends, the look on his face quickly went from excitement to horror. I must have looked lovely. I don’t really remember anything after that. There was sitting and I think there were orange slices. Apparently, the water I was drinking at the aid stations along the course was not water at all. It was a sports drink that was clear. Sports drinks make me sick. Hence the vomiting. It took me a good two days to hydrate my body after that. I successfully achieved my worst race time ever on this day. Again, I am awesome. We did have one competitor get hit by a car while he was running, so I was not in as bad of shape as I thought. Although the guy did place seventh, even after getting plummeted by a vehicle. Amazing.
Dad and I and several other volunteers stuck around a few hours after the races to clean up. Completely lacking in sleep and fluids, there was still nowhere else in the world I would rather be. All of CrossRoads Marathon events were a success, the marathon, half-marathon, 5K and kids run. Thank you to God, my dad, the race committee, our volunteers, the athletes and their families, our sponsors, and the church. Without everyone giving and working together we never could have made this race a reality or most importantly, raised funds for local charities. Boom I say! :)
My phone resounds in an alarming matter. I clumsily wave my arms around in search of my cellular nemesis. I frantically punch buttons to shut it up. Again, it sounds off. This time I glance down at the screen. It’s not my alarm but a text message from Schauna that reads good luck today! Confusion ensues. Why is Schauna awake at 5am? A sickness washes over my being as I entertain the terrifying thought that I may have overslept. Did I miss it!? The current time is 7:05am. Shotgun is at 7:30am. I was to be awake and at the race two and a half hours ago…I am awesome. Panic, is my initial reaction. I am completely unprepared to be at the start line in twenty-five minutes seeing that I had fallen into bed, clothes and all at 1:30am the night before after a seventeen hour day of race setup. Where are my running shoes? Socks? Bib? My watch? Scout? Can I make it through the race traffic in time? I wonder if dad had enough help at race day registration this morning in my absence… By some miracle working act of God, really, I find myself at the start line with four minutes to spare. Enough time to tie my shoes and realize that I have had nothing to eat or drink in the last ten hours. Not ideal conditions just before a lengthy run. Believing that about seventy-five percent of running is mental training and only twenty-five percent physical, I psych myself up to encounter this run with great optimism and enthusiasm.
The atmosphere when runners are corralled at the start line of a race is unique indeed. There are many waves of emotion present. Adrenaline, nausea, excitement, nervousness. Inevitably you feel the need to find a restroom, even though you just visited one two minutes before jumping into the crowd of insanity. The smell is anticipation. Every runner is indulging in their pre-race rituals. Some stretch, some become Mexican jumping beans, others you will find jamming to their IPOD. I pray. Even surrounded by hundreds of other runners, this moment is always all mine, and it is beautiful. Race day weather was absolutely amazing. Sixty degrees, no rain, only slight winds. Perfection for running. The race commenced at the sound of a shotgun. We were off and running! Once past the cheering crowds all that can be heard is the light pitter patter of shoes on the pavement. How I love that sound.
I had my best running partner, Candy by my side for miles one through three. We had a pleasing pace going until I began to feel somewhat nauseated as we rounded mile four. I looked at Candy and said, I think I need throw up. Uh oh, she says. Not one minute later I was doubled over in a mesquite bush greeting anything and everything I had in my system a good morning. I had Candy and a few other friends keep on running while I stayed there to empty out. No need for everyone’s finish time to suffer on my account. Darling Joni, my angel for the day, stayed with me because she says she was hoping for an excuse to slow the pace. Leave it to me, but really, I think she was just trying to make me feel better. And you know it was probably good to have somebody with me to make sure I did not pass out all alone. So I decide I am going to finish this race, even if it was going to kill me, and it almost did. I jogged the next two miles feeling much less nauseated, but still not well by any means. Then up it came again… I couldn’t even keep down water. But I had to finish. I have never quit a race before, and I was not about to let the first time be in one that I helped organize.
As I struggled to keep a steady jog, I ran across very unfamiliar physical grief. My chest began to tighten, making it particularly hard to breath. My brain was cloudy. The muscles in my legs felt as if they were shriveling up like raisins disabling much movement. I’m pretty sure Joni told me my coloring went from white, to yellow, to gross. “Pain is the body’s way of ridding itself of weakness.” –Dean Karnazes. That quote is running on a loop through my head. We approach the finish line, and everyone is cheering. I see my dad clapping and congratulating me along with a few other friends, the look on his face quickly went from excitement to horror. I must have looked lovely. I don’t really remember anything after that. There was sitting and I think there were orange slices. Apparently, the water I was drinking at the aid stations along the course was not water at all. It was a sports drink that was clear. Sports drinks make me sick. Hence the vomiting. It took me a good two days to hydrate my body after that. I successfully achieved my worst race time ever on this day. Again, I am awesome. We did have one competitor get hit by a car while he was running, so I was not in as bad of shape as I thought. Although the guy did place seventh, even after getting plummeted by a vehicle. Amazing.
Dad and I and several other volunteers stuck around a few hours after the races to clean up. Completely lacking in sleep and fluids, there was still nowhere else in the world I would rather be. All of CrossRoads Marathon events were a success, the marathon, half-marathon, 5K and kids run. Thank you to God, my dad, the race committee, our volunteers, the athletes and their families, our sponsors, and the church. Without everyone giving and working together we never could have made this race a reality or most importantly, raised funds for local charities. Boom I say! :)
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
What's In A Name?
Twenty-seven years ago, Pam and Reggie were sitting in Beaumont, Texas at St. Elizabeth's Hospital debating over a middle name for their precious, beautiful, lovely, divine, delightful, enchanting, flawless, wonderful, breathtaking baby daughter. By agreeing to disagree, I was robbed of a middle name. Going through life middle nameless is like a Dairy Queen ice cream cone without the curl on top. It's like Snap and Crackle with no Pop and like the Dallas Cowboys, with no Roy Williams... Incomplete. Do I feel inadequate when filling out standardized tests, applications, and other paperwork? I certainly did when I was younger. I used to sit in the junior high library during TASS testing with my immaculately sharpened number two pencil in hand, contemplating making up some remarkable middle name for myself. Then I decide that was a bad idea. I mean, I didn't want to get arrested for fraud! Or have to retake that hideous test. When I was in high school and began filling out applications for jobs, I would write N/A in the blank for a middle name instead of just leaving it bare. For some reason it made me feel more sufficient to put something in the blank space, which always prompted my interviewer to question the N/A. Then I would have to explain that I have no middle name, leaving me feeling more inadequate than ever. Then, when I moved on to college and there after, I gave up. Paperwork of all kind was left wanting when it came to that mocking vacant space intended for a middle name.
I should say that I was never too fond of my first name either. Being referred to as nickel, dime, quarter, dime sack, Lincoln, etc. very rapidly became unoriginal. Although, I have found as I have gotten older that the opposite sex finds the name Penny to be rather adorable. So even though I had no say and cannot claim any responsibility in naming myself, Penny has its charms... The reactions I get when someone discovers my secretive name shame is always the same. The individual will say my name out loud. Then laugh. Proclaim that I have the most wholesome, Texan-American name possible, and then feel that they must share this information with someone in close proximity to see if they also have the same enthusiasm. It is just now, on my twenty-seventh year that I have embraced my name and lack there of. I entered this era of enlightenment while I was reclining in Hollywood Theaters with my dear friend Schauna as we took in the flick, Love Happens. Eloise is the name I was coveting from this feature and I voiced my envy for Schauna to hear. "But your name is Penny! That's just as good as Eloise! And just as cute." She replied enthusiastically. Schauna was right. For the first time ever, I honest to God actually liked my name. So I do not need a middle name. My first name is cool enough to cover all the bases.
So thank you mom and dad. For keeping it simple and unique. Penny means, "Weaver of dreams." I like it. Hopefully I am just that. But it also means, "Duck", which is just weird and I have no further opinion concerning that interpretation. Mom says I was named Penny after one of her friends in college. I'm pretty sure I was named Penny due to my dad's obsession with the Beatles though... And the last name Baker, well that would be a whole other blog all itself. But to be Baker, is to know greatness ;)
I should say that I was never too fond of my first name either. Being referred to as nickel, dime, quarter, dime sack, Lincoln, etc. very rapidly became unoriginal. Although, I have found as I have gotten older that the opposite sex finds the name Penny to be rather adorable. So even though I had no say and cannot claim any responsibility in naming myself, Penny has its charms... The reactions I get when someone discovers my secretive name shame is always the same. The individual will say my name out loud. Then laugh. Proclaim that I have the most wholesome, Texan-American name possible, and then feel that they must share this information with someone in close proximity to see if they also have the same enthusiasm. It is just now, on my twenty-seventh year that I have embraced my name and lack there of. I entered this era of enlightenment while I was reclining in Hollywood Theaters with my dear friend Schauna as we took in the flick, Love Happens. Eloise is the name I was coveting from this feature and I voiced my envy for Schauna to hear. "But your name is Penny! That's just as good as Eloise! And just as cute." She replied enthusiastically. Schauna was right. For the first time ever, I honest to God actually liked my name. So I do not need a middle name. My first name is cool enough to cover all the bases.
So thank you mom and dad. For keeping it simple and unique. Penny means, "Weaver of dreams." I like it. Hopefully I am just that. But it also means, "Duck", which is just weird and I have no further opinion concerning that interpretation. Mom says I was named Penny after one of her friends in college. I'm pretty sure I was named Penny due to my dad's obsession with the Beatles though... And the last name Baker, well that would be a whole other blog all itself. But to be Baker, is to know greatness ;)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Be Inspired.
I know someone who just:
Joined the Navy.
Jumped out of a plane.
Flew to Australia.
Won ten-thousand dollars by doing a little tango.
Welcomed home their first child.
Said yes.
Took a break.
Planned a road trip to deliver their mom’s ashes to their final destination.
Competed in a body building show.
Waited.
Bought a diamond ring.
Ran a marathon.
Stopped making excuses.
Started their own business.
Recovered from alcoholism.
Moved to LA.
Said what they needed to say.
Lost thirty pounds
Ended a toxic relationship.
Took a traveling job assignment.
Did the dishes, cooked dinner, fed the baby, cleaned the living room.
Forgave me.
Placed their faith in God instead of the world for the first time.
Lost their job, and found another.
Rekindled a friendship long lost.
Danced.
Got signed.
Said I do.
Learned to play the guitar.
Ate a cheeseburger.
Went back to school.
Went fly fishing.
Wrote a blog.
Whether you find yourself in a discouraged, ordinary or extraordinary state. Be inspired. Mediocrity is for the apathetic. You were created with greatness in mind.
Joined the Navy.
Jumped out of a plane.
Flew to Australia.
Won ten-thousand dollars by doing a little tango.
Welcomed home their first child.
Said yes.
Took a break.
Planned a road trip to deliver their mom’s ashes to their final destination.
Competed in a body building show.
Waited.
Bought a diamond ring.
Ran a marathon.
Stopped making excuses.
Started their own business.
Recovered from alcoholism.
Moved to LA.
Said what they needed to say.
Lost thirty pounds
Ended a toxic relationship.
Took a traveling job assignment.
Did the dishes, cooked dinner, fed the baby, cleaned the living room.
Forgave me.
Placed their faith in God instead of the world for the first time.
Lost their job, and found another.
Rekindled a friendship long lost.
Danced.
Got signed.
Said I do.
Learned to play the guitar.
Ate a cheeseburger.
Went back to school.
Went fly fishing.
Wrote a blog.
Whether you find yourself in a discouraged, ordinary or extraordinary state. Be inspired. Mediocrity is for the apathetic. You were created with greatness in mind.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I fell asleep beneath the flowers.
“In the English language there are orphans and widows, but there is no word for the parent who loses a child.”
Dream journaling. The objective is to write down anything and everything you can remember passing throughout your subconscious first thing in the morning when you awake. I exercised this method for two weeks. By the end of my two week experiment I could remember in specific detail what I was dreaming. While I have not practiced this recently or regularly, I have found I still have quite the ability to remember my renderings from the night before. I write this to suggest that dreams can lead us to unpremeditated truths. Yes, for the most part dreams are just dreams - images that appear involuntarily to the mind unaware, real and imaginary characters, places and events. Many times revealing things hoped for, longings, and aspirations. Much of it so far removed from reality of present circumstances, it is fantasy. “Dreams are the Royal Road to the Unconscious" -Sigmund Freud. Freud was heavily fascinated by dream interpretation, relying upon symbolism in dreams to unravel some deeper meaning. For example, if I was to dream I was pregnant, many would examine a dream such as this and say the obvious, you are longing to be with child, or it is an event very near in your future. Symbolism applied to this dream would say much of the same, or that is it representative of being pregnant with something else. Not with child, but maybe a new life experience. Expectant with the possibility of a re-birth in life. Perhaps a new home, job, relationship, etc. While I am not entirely dismissing this approach, I also don’t put much stock into it.
However, while most dream encounters are farce, I propose the idea that a minute amount of our dream renderings can be that of the super-natural realm. In a previous blog I wrote about a dream where I encountered my late brother. That was not the first time I had dreamt of Matthew. Shortly after his death I would have dreams that he would show up knocking on my doorstep in the pouring rain, excitedly explaining that he had never left. I would awake confused and caught in between false hope and reality. About two weeks ago I awoke from the most peculiar dream about my brother yet. It was nothing like the previous dreams, where he was a manifestation of himself just before his death. He was an infant. And I was carting him around in my arms everywhere I went, introducing him to friends, family and strangers alike. I concluded that this wacky dream was putting the intrinsic relationships that were built between Matt and others into perspective. He wasn’t just a brother, he was some ones friend doing ridiculous three stooges impersonations, he was some ones first kiss, and he was some ones prayer warrior. He was some ones fishing buddy. He was an extension of a mothers love. He was a son. It helped me to realize the tremendous inset of grief my mother and father must have coped with in his exit. Yes, I lost a sibling, but to endure the loss of your own offspring seems almost unimaginable. It is hard to empathize the loss of a child, to understand what its like to have your miracle to be in existence on this earth and then on any ordinary day just disappear.
Shortly after Matt’s footstone was put into place at the cemetery my mom carried out a bouquet of sunflowers to his grave site for a visit. She was uneasy at the idea of leaving roses and the like on his grave, seeing that traditional flowers are not at all masculine. So she settled on the idea of the sunflowers. Dad likes to keep a garden in the backyard. And wouldn’t you know weeks after mom carried out those sunflowers to the cemetery, there in our backyard garden were sunflowers superciliously on display. Growing up all rowdy and crazy like. It was as if Matt was saying, “Hello family…I am here, and you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” My rents moved into a new home last July. Dad planted his garden in the backyard of our new home, like he does. While the rents were out of town this month, they asked me to water and keep the garden. One afternoon while I was carying out my daughterly duties, there it was. A single sunflower, standing tall and bright. I smiled at it, and it smiled back. A new sunflower is currently pushing through in the front yard too…
Is it probable that Matt is conveying peace to us through sunflowers and unsuspecting dreamful sleep? Why not? He is kicking it in heaven with Jesus; I presume they can do whatever they like. I like to think of it as a declaration. Kind of similar to the way God used a rainbow in Genesis to symbolize his promises to Noah. I recently finished reading a novel by Jodi Picoult entitled, “My Sister’s Keeper.” The last three chapters of this book were tragically enlightening for me. A family is grieving the loss of a child, a sibling. The following are my favorite excerpts from those chapters...
"THERE SHOULD BE A STATUTE of limitation on grief. A rule book that says it is all right to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after forty-two days you will no longer turn with your heart racing, certain you have heard her call out your name. That there will be no fine imposed if you feel the need to clean out her desk; take down her artwork from the refrigerator; turn over a school portrait as you pass --- it only because it cuts you fresh again to see it. That it is okay to measure the time she has been gone, the way we once measured her birthdays.
Grief is a curious thing, when it happens unexpectedly. It is a Band-Aid being ripped away, taking the top layer off a family. And the underbelly of a household is never pretty, ours no exception. There were times I stayed in my room for days on end with headphones one, if only so that I would not have to listen to my mother cry. There were the weeks that my father worked round-the-clock shifts, so that he wouldn’t have to come home to a house that felt too big for us.
Then one morning, my mother realized that we had eaten everything in the house, down to the last shrunken raisin and graham cracker crumb, and she went to the grocery store. My father paid a bill or two. I sat down to watch TV and watched an old I Love Lucy and started to laugh.
Immediately, I felt like I had defiled a shrine. I clapped my hand over my mouth, embarrassed. It was Jesse, sitting beside me on the couch, who said, “She would have thought it was funny, too.”
See, as much as you want to hold on to the bitter sore memory that someone has left this world, you are still in it. And the very act of living is a tide: at first it seems to make no difference at all, and then one day you look down and see how much pain has eroded. "
Do I fear there might be a morning when I wake up and Matt’s face is a blur in my memory? Or if I find a day that I can’t remember his jokes, or the way he carried about the purest concern for his little sister? When I start to feel this way I read over past records I have logged of our time together, or peer out the window to see my smiling sunflower. I take him with me, wherever I go.
When I decided to take my writing to a public level, I never really thought it would have much impact. I have been pleasantly surprised by the many people whom have approached me in appreciation and encouragement for some of my writings. Whether they are expressing laughter, sorrow, or comfort that followed, it was profound to see that there was some impression made. So for anyone who asks, why does Penny keep writing such things? This is why. If I could touch one lonely soul. If I could be so bold, to be a spark, to be a light. Set one heart on fire. That’s all I ever wanted.
Ecclesiastes 3
There's a Right Time for Everything
1 There's an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:
2-8 A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to make love and another to abstain,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to rip out and another to mend,
A right time to shut up and another to speak up,
A right time to love and another to hate,
A right time to wage war and another to make peace.
9-13 But in the end, does it really make a difference what anyone does? I've had a good look at what God has given us to do—busywork, mostly. True, God made everything beautiful in itself and in its time—but he's left us in the dark, so we can never know what God is up to, whether he's coming or going. I've decided that there's nothing better to do than go ahead and have a good time and get the most we can out of life. That's it—eat, drink, and make the most of your job. It's God's gift.
14 I've also concluded that whatever God does, that's the way it's going to be, always. No addition, no subtraction. God's done it and that's it. That's so we'll quit asking questions and simply worship in holy fear.
15 Whatever was, is.
Whatever will be, is.
That's how it always is with God.
All of this to say, I love you mom and dad. Matt, ill be seeing you, in all the familiar places.
…Sweet dreams…
Dream journaling. The objective is to write down anything and everything you can remember passing throughout your subconscious first thing in the morning when you awake. I exercised this method for two weeks. By the end of my two week experiment I could remember in specific detail what I was dreaming. While I have not practiced this recently or regularly, I have found I still have quite the ability to remember my renderings from the night before. I write this to suggest that dreams can lead us to unpremeditated truths. Yes, for the most part dreams are just dreams - images that appear involuntarily to the mind unaware, real and imaginary characters, places and events. Many times revealing things hoped for, longings, and aspirations. Much of it so far removed from reality of present circumstances, it is fantasy. “Dreams are the Royal Road to the Unconscious" -Sigmund Freud. Freud was heavily fascinated by dream interpretation, relying upon symbolism in dreams to unravel some deeper meaning. For example, if I was to dream I was pregnant, many would examine a dream such as this and say the obvious, you are longing to be with child, or it is an event very near in your future. Symbolism applied to this dream would say much of the same, or that is it representative of being pregnant with something else. Not with child, but maybe a new life experience. Expectant with the possibility of a re-birth in life. Perhaps a new home, job, relationship, etc. While I am not entirely dismissing this approach, I also don’t put much stock into it.
However, while most dream encounters are farce, I propose the idea that a minute amount of our dream renderings can be that of the super-natural realm. In a previous blog I wrote about a dream where I encountered my late brother. That was not the first time I had dreamt of Matthew. Shortly after his death I would have dreams that he would show up knocking on my doorstep in the pouring rain, excitedly explaining that he had never left. I would awake confused and caught in between false hope and reality. About two weeks ago I awoke from the most peculiar dream about my brother yet. It was nothing like the previous dreams, where he was a manifestation of himself just before his death. He was an infant. And I was carting him around in my arms everywhere I went, introducing him to friends, family and strangers alike. I concluded that this wacky dream was putting the intrinsic relationships that were built between Matt and others into perspective. He wasn’t just a brother, he was some ones friend doing ridiculous three stooges impersonations, he was some ones first kiss, and he was some ones prayer warrior. He was some ones fishing buddy. He was an extension of a mothers love. He was a son. It helped me to realize the tremendous inset of grief my mother and father must have coped with in his exit. Yes, I lost a sibling, but to endure the loss of your own offspring seems almost unimaginable. It is hard to empathize the loss of a child, to understand what its like to have your miracle to be in existence on this earth and then on any ordinary day just disappear.
Shortly after Matt’s footstone was put into place at the cemetery my mom carried out a bouquet of sunflowers to his grave site for a visit. She was uneasy at the idea of leaving roses and the like on his grave, seeing that traditional flowers are not at all masculine. So she settled on the idea of the sunflowers. Dad likes to keep a garden in the backyard. And wouldn’t you know weeks after mom carried out those sunflowers to the cemetery, there in our backyard garden were sunflowers superciliously on display. Growing up all rowdy and crazy like. It was as if Matt was saying, “Hello family…I am here, and you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” My rents moved into a new home last July. Dad planted his garden in the backyard of our new home, like he does. While the rents were out of town this month, they asked me to water and keep the garden. One afternoon while I was carying out my daughterly duties, there it was. A single sunflower, standing tall and bright. I smiled at it, and it smiled back. A new sunflower is currently pushing through in the front yard too…
Is it probable that Matt is conveying peace to us through sunflowers and unsuspecting dreamful sleep? Why not? He is kicking it in heaven with Jesus; I presume they can do whatever they like. I like to think of it as a declaration. Kind of similar to the way God used a rainbow in Genesis to symbolize his promises to Noah. I recently finished reading a novel by Jodi Picoult entitled, “My Sister’s Keeper.” The last three chapters of this book were tragically enlightening for me. A family is grieving the loss of a child, a sibling. The following are my favorite excerpts from those chapters...
"THERE SHOULD BE A STATUTE of limitation on grief. A rule book that says it is all right to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after forty-two days you will no longer turn with your heart racing, certain you have heard her call out your name. That there will be no fine imposed if you feel the need to clean out her desk; take down her artwork from the refrigerator; turn over a school portrait as you pass --- it only because it cuts you fresh again to see it. That it is okay to measure the time she has been gone, the way we once measured her birthdays.
Grief is a curious thing, when it happens unexpectedly. It is a Band-Aid being ripped away, taking the top layer off a family. And the underbelly of a household is never pretty, ours no exception. There were times I stayed in my room for days on end with headphones one, if only so that I would not have to listen to my mother cry. There were the weeks that my father worked round-the-clock shifts, so that he wouldn’t have to come home to a house that felt too big for us.
Then one morning, my mother realized that we had eaten everything in the house, down to the last shrunken raisin and graham cracker crumb, and she went to the grocery store. My father paid a bill or two. I sat down to watch TV and watched an old I Love Lucy and started to laugh.
Immediately, I felt like I had defiled a shrine. I clapped my hand over my mouth, embarrassed. It was Jesse, sitting beside me on the couch, who said, “She would have thought it was funny, too.”
See, as much as you want to hold on to the bitter sore memory that someone has left this world, you are still in it. And the very act of living is a tide: at first it seems to make no difference at all, and then one day you look down and see how much pain has eroded. "
Do I fear there might be a morning when I wake up and Matt’s face is a blur in my memory? Or if I find a day that I can’t remember his jokes, or the way he carried about the purest concern for his little sister? When I start to feel this way I read over past records I have logged of our time together, or peer out the window to see my smiling sunflower. I take him with me, wherever I go.
When I decided to take my writing to a public level, I never really thought it would have much impact. I have been pleasantly surprised by the many people whom have approached me in appreciation and encouragement for some of my writings. Whether they are expressing laughter, sorrow, or comfort that followed, it was profound to see that there was some impression made. So for anyone who asks, why does Penny keep writing such things? This is why. If I could touch one lonely soul. If I could be so bold, to be a spark, to be a light. Set one heart on fire. That’s all I ever wanted.
Ecclesiastes 3
There's a Right Time for Everything
1 There's an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:
2-8 A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to make love and another to abstain,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to rip out and another to mend,
A right time to shut up and another to speak up,
A right time to love and another to hate,
A right time to wage war and another to make peace.
9-13 But in the end, does it really make a difference what anyone does? I've had a good look at what God has given us to do—busywork, mostly. True, God made everything beautiful in itself and in its time—but he's left us in the dark, so we can never know what God is up to, whether he's coming or going. I've decided that there's nothing better to do than go ahead and have a good time and get the most we can out of life. That's it—eat, drink, and make the most of your job. It's God's gift.
14 I've also concluded that whatever God does, that's the way it's going to be, always. No addition, no subtraction. God's done it and that's it. That's so we'll quit asking questions and simply worship in holy fear.
15 Whatever was, is.
Whatever will be, is.
That's how it always is with God.
All of this to say, I love you mom and dad. Matt, ill be seeing you, in all the familiar places.
…Sweet dreams…
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