I just found a new twitter feed to follow. One that has had me laughing my butt off for the last ten minutes. FakeAPStylebook If you were a journalist, are a journalist or know anything about journalism, go follow it for some much needed laughter at yourself. And the AP. Which is perfectly acceptable.
Anyway, a post this afternoon sparked a memory for me:
We picked up a fairly large bag of mixed flavors of candy, and then we wandered around the store browsing. My husband remembered he needed new razor blades, so he grabbed those as well.
It wasn’t until we stood in line at the check-out that we realized we had bought that bad-guy combo: razor blades and candy. We literally half-wondered if anyone would raise an eyebrow at us as we checked out. Instead, no one was even remotely phased by it! My husband even pointed it out to the checker, and still she gave us a blank stare that said, “So?”
As we left, I still waited for security and cops to descend upon us. I waited for the questioning of why we would want to harm little children dressed up as goblins, princesses and purple dinosaurs.
But instead, there was nothing. I was half relieved, half alarmed. We could have been criminals in the making! Razor blades and Halloween candy! These are two things you shouldn’t be purchasing in tandem! Quick someone come and question me about my motives!
We climbed in our vehicle without anyone even giving us a second glance. We drove off with our bad combination in hand.
We didn’t have a single trick-or-treater that year. We gave a neighbor’s kids a bag of candy, and we left some pumpkins with candy in them outside a few other apartment doors. Our candy didn’t go to waste, and my husband was able to shave just fine. But still, every Halloween we laugh about our first shopping excursion and our accidental combination purchase. An amusing memory from our first year together.
As an aside, parents definitely have to be careful every Halloween, and I know I will be when its my turn to take my kids trick-or-treating. The thought of razor blades in candy makes me shudder, and I wonder why someone would do something so awful to someone so innocent. :(
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes a house a home.
Having your name on the owner’s papers does not make a house a home.
Nor does having your name on the lease.
Receiving mail at a house does not make it a home.
Nor does staying there for a few days.
A home is much more. It’s a place you feel safe. It’s a place that makes you feel warm inside. It’s a place that makes you feel content and happy.
A home is where you make memories. Most happy, some sad. It’s where you laugh. It’s where you feel comfortable enough to cry. It’s the only place you want to be when you don’t feel well.
A home is where you welcome friends and family. Where you break bread around the table, or perhaps in front of the tv. Where you put up your Christmas tree and wait for that holiday with anticipation.
When you welcome someone into your home, you’re extending a level of intimate trust. That service guy, your best friend, your neighbor, your family… all of those people are afforded a glimpse into your home and your psyche. You decorate your home and arrange your furniture based on your likes and needs. It’s a part of who you are.
Houses I once called home through the years will forever tug at my heart a bit, thanks to the memories that were made there. I even sometimes dream about those houses, especially the one I lived in most of my life. But at this point, they’re someone else’s home and for me they’re just a house in which I once lived. The memories they once held now are held deep in my heart and memory, not within those walls.
The place I call home today holds my todays and tomorrows. It holds happy memories. Some day it’ll become like those other houses, and I’ll have another home to create and love. But until that time, I’ll care for my home and find comfort in it. To anyone else out there, its just another brick house they drive my on their way to work or to the store. But for me, when I pull into the drive way, I don’t see a house… I see my home.
Weekly Winners is a fun little thing bloggers do to showcase some of their favorite photos from the previous week. It is brought to you, me and everyone by the lovely Lotus, aka Sarcastic Mom. Visit her site and find all the participants. See some amazing photos brought to you by bloggers around the world. Leave a little love when you do — its like food for the soul!
Traveled a lot this last week. As such, I never commented on any WW posts last weekend, nor did I reply to comments in my own. I AM SO SORRY for that!!! :( Bad blogger. A mish-mash of stuff this week.
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Photos taken using a Rokinon DZ1000 or my Droid Incredible.
View all of my photos available on my Flickr stream.
Every business has its hours of operation, and they exist for a reason. In the service industry, the hours of operation are not necessarily the “work hours” of employees.
I work occasionally at a bar in downtown Nashville. Sometimes, I am serving food. Other times, I bartend. Occasionally, I bar back. Our hours are generally 8 pm to 2:30 am… ish. However, we arrive by 7:30 pm to set up and leave sometimes as late as 5 am.
It baffles me when I work serving food how often people show up around 7:45 and are shocked to find that there isn’t any food cooked. My frier is cold, water to make hot dogs cold, and chili… you guessed it… cold. My cash drawer is being set up. My sign isn’t even out yet. But they want food right now.
It always takes a lot for me to not snap, “Its not ready because we aren’t open yet! Do you go home, open your refrigerator and miraculously a meal appears on your table fully cooked? If it does, I want your house! But my guess is it doesn’t work that way, nor does it work that way here.”
No, instead I smile and ask that they wait. Occasionally, I’ve opted to ignore them until 8 pm and I’m open. Either way, I bite my tongue and keep my rant in my brain.
Okay, and it might make its way to Twitter.
And this blog.
But I don’t name names.
Nonetheless, people need to realize that for restaurants, stores, etc. to operate, they have a period of prep time and clean-up. This allows them the best chance to serve you properly. It’s important… respect that.
A couple summers ago, my husband and I started work towards opening a nightclub. It sits across from the bar we both call our home away from home, the one I am working in tonight. It’s a gorgeous building, and I still sit staring at it wistfully. We worked hard on our business plan. We met with contractors. We studied demographics. We researched grants.
In the end, we abandoned the project due to the economy. Finding a private investor proved harder than we anticipated, and the pricetag was scary.
It is a project left undone.
We still hold the dream of some day running a bar or nightclub. But this particular one was not meant to be.
Similarly, about six years ago, I looked into running my own music magazine. I forget now how the option came to land in my lap, but it was exciting! It was my first taste of a business plan, budgeting, and the true behind-the-scenes of publishing.
Legal and financial reasons brought it to a screeching halt. Again, it wasn’t meant to be… but I’ve never (obviously) lost the publishing bug.
Projects left undone… we all have them. Sometimes its strictly never meant to be, others are just not meant to be right then. Either way, lessons are learned, and you walk away wiser. Just because its undone, it not anything to consider lost.
What are some of your projects left undone? Are they done for good, or just on pause?
My husband and I are back on the road… heading back to Nashville. So this will be short as I write via WordPress App again…
As we left my hometown, my brother called, giving us a hard time for trying to sneak away. Turns out, we went right by them and didn’t notice. So we turned around and went back.
We sat and visited with my brother and family for probably around half an hour before hitting the road again. It was wonderful!
As we drove off, I thanked my husband for going back.
“I know it put us a little behind, but it meant a lot to get to see them again,” I said.
“It’s family,” he responded. “Any time spent with family is not time lost or wasted. It’s time well spent.”