but i think i'll be okay tomorrow. i think i've gotten used to this grief thing. of course, the past few years, the folks have left in the wee, wee hours of the morning, flown to colorado, to your grave. to sit on the concrete bench that is your headstone, sip their coffee and chat with you, like you're still here.

it only really sucks, now, when i think too long about it.

all day today, i wondered where the whammy was. in the past, on the day before, the dread takes the day to creep up on me, so that by the time midnight closes in, all i can think of is you.

but today, this morning, the bitch of a migraine i got seconds after i woke consumed my thoughts. four episodes of the west wing, three advil, a long, hot shower and a giant coca-cola on ice later, the pain receded to a dull ache.

i ran some errands. i edited. i ate.

and now i'm sitting here, at this bar with all these people. and i think i'm alright now. i think tomorrow might just be a day.

then again, the folks'll be here this time around. so i guess my okay tomorrow will depend on what i see when i wake up. on whether they'll be okay.

but for right now, i don't miss you all that much. i think i've gotten used to this.

the blogmopolitan quiz

the quote i tend to live by is: i think we live our lives so afraid to be seen as weak that we die perhaps without ever having been seen at all (alan shore—boston legal).

find the first quiz at two thirds hazel.

and now for the second part...

survey snagged from an old issue of real simple

drinks: coca-cola, dr. pepper, iced tea, cranberry juice, lemonade, gatorade, water, chocolate martini, vodka tonic, pinot grigio.

loves: eleanor and park, the fault in our stars, the language of flowers, ncis, ncis: los angeles, the west wing, steel magnolias, dedication, star trek (the one from four years ago), the aggies, the packers, the patriots, london, san diego...

huntsville, utah

chicken spaghetti, peproni rolls, blue bell ice cream. my brothers, gigantic pains in my ass... but every now and then, they'd surprise me with their awesomeness. my parents.

once: i could hope, and it didn't seem foolish to do so.

what i am really good at: writing.

if i could change places with anyone, living or dead, for one day, who would it be? my brother.

the best decision i ever made was: any time i say screw this shit, i'm going home. examples usually are tied to employment that sucked the joy through every single one of my pores. i made myself stick it out until those bastards almost killed my soul. people shat on me so frequently in my youth, and i took it because i thought i had to. i'll take it as an adult, but only for so long.

what was my mother right about? i should've been better to my brother.

what am i most proud of? these poems. this post. these characters.

something on my mind lately is: i want my own place. i want a fat bank account. and i want to see something i wrote in print and selling well. but really... i want independence.

before i die, i'd like to: travel. love. finish something.

roses and ranunculus

i've this friend. she's the sort of girl who'd go for the hundreds of rose petals spread all over everywhere to celebrate an occasion. she's been married for more than a decade. and on the surface, things between she and her husband seemed pretty perfect. both very sociable people... they had a good group of friends, good jobs, good house. then they became fairly concerned with their standing in society, with their possessions. and then it became an imperative that they have children.

and that's when things went downhill.

it's been ugly ever since.

the friend? she's not the same woman she used to be. she's selfish and self-absorbed. and she's angry, because this supposedly perfect world she's constructed isn't so perfect. and i'm not entirely certain she's realized that part of the reason it isn't is because, while she's found good things for herself, she hasn't been good.

now she and her husband argue over who gets what and when. and they're too tired to bother with those children they had to have.

today, i drove into houston to check a popular florist to see about getting some peonies. it's a small shop... used to be in river oaks... now it's in rice village.

it was pretty busy today. of course it was. a dozen men shopping for their spouses. i overheard one gentleman, a handsome man in this thirties, tell one of the associates that he'd used them before, that they'd put together some arrangements for his girlfriend in the past, that he'd been quite pleased with their work.

another gentleman pointed to two arrangements on the table, both very similar, and asked me which one i liked better.

as complicated as my brain likes to make things, at the heart of it, i'm a pretty simple gal. i don't need a lot. if a guy were to buy me flowers, i'd hope he'd veer toward the buckets in the refrigerated cases... the ones holding the batches of a dozen of one kind. i'd hope he'd choose the ranunculus over the roses. something sunny. because it's winter time, and i hate the gray. or, if he felt like really impressing me, maybe he could've called ahead a couple of weeks in advance and found me some peonies. the white ones with the splashes of red. those are my favorite. they're hard to find right now, but from what i understand, it's not impossible. just takes some time. and a little more money. a handful of either of those, and i'd be content.

but the roses and the lilies and the baby's breath and the ferns... cut in a pretty bouquet and arranged just so.... i don't need perfect.

so i told the guy that i wasn't fond of either of'm. that he should have a look at the ranunculus in those cases over there.

another guy showed me a bouquet of white and red roses cut short in a vase, with a topiary above them cut in a heart shape. he asked me what i thought of it. i hated it, actually. made me think of those horribly cheesy weddings... way too over the top. this particular arrangement cost well over a hundred dollars. i told him, i'd rather a guy spent twenty bucks on some posies and took me out to a nice dinner than a hundred plus on something that was gonna die in a week. that it didn't need to be so much.

it doesn't need to be. it just needs to be good. the people need to be good. my parents they've been married for fifty years. they've seen worse; they've buried a son. they're not perfect. they have just enough. they had children because they wanted them. not because society said they should. not because of how having the children would reflect on them. sure, they fight. my father's the most regimented, patriarchal, stubborn man i've ever met. but he's good to my mother. my mother? she's pretty set in her ways, and stubborn, too. but she's good to my father. and their marriage works because they give instead of take. because she doesn't need hundred dollar bouquets.

ranunculus, by the way, symbolizes something like you're radiant with charms. i love that.

seems to me that a strong relationship isn't determined by the size and style of the arrangement.

but i'm just a single gal. what do i know?

and then i get compliments like this:

now that i have this kindle there are a ton of books i have immediate access to and it's super easy for me to find new books and it's also super easy to reject all the ones that are total shit. and i can always tell if i want to gobble up an entire book in one sitting within the first few pages. WHICH IS YOURS.

because i know good people in this world, yall. like shannon. she's pretty nifty.

that's the thing about pain; it demands to be felt.

there's a moment when you've walked away from a story, out of the theater, into the light, to wait in a crowded restroom filled with women of varying colors and shapes and ages. it's loud in this room--the voices, the laughter, the doors opening and closing, the water running, the dryers droning. it's loud. and glaringly bright.

and you wait for the quiet to come. because you kind of need it.

and then it gets there. and it's awful. because there's just the silence. and this piercing buzz of electricity. and you never feel more alone in your life than in that moment. and all you really want is to be back in the story. in the theater where no one can see you. because once the lights go down, no one cares that you're alone. not even you.

the trouble with the silence is it makes you remember. even if you don't want to. especially then. it paralyzes you. so you're there. and it's louder than those voices and the laughter and the doors and the water and the dryers. and you know you should get up. get out. but you just can't. because... holy fuck.

i watched that awkward moment. and it was so good. a very nice blend of romantic and comedy. seriously. it was really good. most times when i go see a romcom, i leave thinking that was cute. and i can shrug off the sappy. but every now and then...

so finally, finally you find the stamina to move. you wash your hands. you dry them. you open the door. you walk out. toward the exit.

past theaters seventeen and sixteen...

seventeen... the day he found me.

sixteen... the day i lost him.

and it doesn't matter how much time passes or how many men i've dated since or how many of those men have managed to capture my interest (which is actually kind of hard to do). it doesn't matter that i know i was supposed to lose him. it doesn't.

it only matters because all i had to do was find the right words. and i couldn't. all i had to do was hear what he said, not what the ghosts of decades past were chanting in my head. and i couldn't.

it only matters because twenty years later, even with all the horrible, HORRIBLE things i've been shown and told in my life... this here knocks me flat:

you'll never get married because you're too ugly and no one wants to wake up next to something that ugly every morning.

there's nothing you can say to a girl that will crush her soul quite so well as that.

nothing.

random quarter: the minn edition

for this post, i used the writing prompts from the book 642 things to write about, which was given to me by my friend and neighbor, minn.

one. the worst thanksgiving dish. we pretty much have the same thanksgiving dinner year after year. my father, like me, is a creature of habit. so it's always turkey, stove top stuffing, my maternal grandmother's cranberry sauce, one of my paternal grandmother's recipes (which i can't think of at the moment... because my mom forgot to cook it last time), green bean casserole, some sort of jello, fruit, cool whip concoction (that's actually pretty yummy), sweet potatoes... you get the idea. and i like all of it. so worst... i guess sometimes the turkey's too dry.

two. something stolen. i tend to keep a lot of my cds in my car in some sort of a case. when i was in college... a friend of mine and i went bowling. i used to smoke, and sometimes i wasn't so good about rolling up the cracked window. i'd neglected to put it up on this particular night. i'd tucked the case under the driver's seat. and when we were leaving the parking lot, i reached for it and got nothing. a hundred cds. gone. and a lot of them had been gifts from my brothers.

three. beloved family tradition. we spend a short week, every summer, in huntsville, utah visiting my great uncle who is a trappist monk. my mother's brothers and their families join us. and sometimes her sister's son can, too. it's particularly fun when my cousins, who are working boys now and can't always get away, are there. there's nothing to do there but appreciate the scenery and the company. but it's five days of blissful quiet and camaraderie.

four. something badly wanted, but once gotten was never used. the only thing that comes to mind is the keyboard i asked for one year for christmas. i think i played it maybe twice. it spent a LOT of time on the floor, at the back of my closet. but i can't say i never used it. i can't think of anything that fits that category. it was black and made by yamaha. it had all kinds of neat gadgets and whatnot. but... it was more like a toy. i, who can't play the keys, had wanted a good one.

five. something lost. i'd left my truck keys on the counter of amy's ice cream at san antonio's quarry market. my friend and i checked every store we'd visited. i'd asked the staff at amy's twice, so certain was i that they were there. and they insisted they were not. so we sat outside the ice cream shop until they'd closed and asked them one more time and were told one more time. so he and i sat out there some more until he'd assured me that no one was gonna take my truck. i used the code on the driver's door to get my garage door opener out, and... somehow... we must've called a cab... we went back to my place. the next morning, the folks at amy's called to tell me they found my keys. and he took me back up there to get them. it's the only time i'd lost something of value and had it returned to me.

six. something found. my keys?

seven. things stored in my closet. books, waterford china, bills and my first mac.

eight. comfort. the walls of my room. flannel sheets and a good duvet. advil. claritin. typing (i know. that one's weird. but for some reason it soothes me). showers that are almost scaldingly hot. good shower gels and scrubs. music. always music.

nine. a guilty pleasure. ice cream, especially of the blue bell variety. i know i shouldn't eat it. i know it's gonna make my head hurt like hell the next day. but some vanilla bean with bananas and brown sugar.... yummy.

ten. what does writer's block feel like? like you're walking in a desert. and it's flat. so there's no hope of just-get-to-the-top-of-that-hill-because-there's-water-on-the-other-side. just the wind and the sand and the sun.

eleven. favorite hiding place. one of the fm's on the far outskirts of conroe. at night. just me and my car and my music. but i'm not telling you which one exactly, because then it wouldn't be a hiding place anymore.

twelve. a present from mother. for christmas one year, she gave me a ceramic sculpture of a woman in fancy attire with a basket of flowers. a southern belle. and i didn't like it at first. but it's grown on me, and now it's one of my favorite things.

thirteen. something you'd like to know more about. love.

fourteen. favorite film. dedication.

fifteen. favorite book. charles dickens' our mutual friend.

sixteen. favorite quote. i think we live our lives so afraid to be seen as weak that we die perhaps without ever having been seen at all (james spader as alan shore in boston legal).

seventeen. favorite tree. the century tree.

eighteen. what was for breakfast? cinnamon bagel and cranberry juice.

nineteen. a strange girl who hides herself under layers and layers of clothing. me.

twenty. a favorite passage from a book. if i had known how, i would have joined grant in prayer. i would have prayed for him, for his goodness, his loyalty, and his improbable love. i would have prayed for him to give up, to let go, and to start over. i might have even prayed for forgiveness.

but i didn't know how to pray (victoria jones in the language of flowers, p. 195).

twenty-one. worst experience on an airplane. there was a time when we visited my uncle, a series of years where we'd all catch this godawful stomach bug. we eventually deduced that it had something to do with the pipes and the water. but... i got sick the night before i was to come home. and i got sick on the airplane.

twenty-two. my best birthday. we'd gone to washington, d.c. for spring break, which had coincided with my birthday. my mother's brothers and their families joined us.

twenty-three. that day in paris. i don't speak french. i took german in college, okay? the romantic languages... not my thing. and all i wanted to do before our group met up for dinner was find the hard rock cafe and get my shirt. but i had a panic attack in the tube system--WAY too many people, i could not figure out the map, and i could not find a person who could help me make sense of it. so i walked. and it was a VERY LONG walk. i hadn't thought it would be.

twenty-four. worst experience playing a sport. i screamed at my swimming coach for making me swim a five hundred freestyle. after i'd finished swimming it. so... twenty laps. and every lap just made me angrier because a) i wasn't a distance swimmer, and b) i wasn't a freestyler. in the middle of a meet. while both my parents (my father was the school superintendent) were watching. stormed out of the water, marched right over to him and told him to never, ever make me swim that again.

twenty-five. the richest you've ever been. when i worked stock at one job and sales at another. but this was also the most miserable i'd been in a decade.

how to love

why i read it: i remember reading about it on some web site. and the author rec on the back sold me.

how to love is epic. i crushed so hard on this book. a roller-coaster ride with all the euphoric highs and stomach-dropping lows of falling in love. the writing is as beautiful as the love story. i adored it (siobhan vivian).

what i liked: she and roger had introduced my father and my mother to begin with, and when my mother died of complications from multiple sclerosis when i was four and my father was too busy raging at god to think about lunches and clean socks, lydia was the one who  hired soledad to move in with us, not realizing that she'd found him a second wife just like she'd found him the first (p. 10).

he tended bar at the restaurant and showed up to class when he felt like it and ignored me, for the most part: not in a malicious way but in the way you ignore a message on the side of the building you see every day. i was part of the scenery, blending in, so familiar as to be completely invisible to the naked eye (p. 11).

it was frustratingly dark out here; fine for brooding, sure, but for all the world i wanted to pull him into the light and just... look (p. 36).

suddenly, even the backyard felt sinister, familiar places gone strange and threatening in the dark (p. 40).

we were sweethearts. it's a thing that happened. it's over now. it's fine (p. 44).

shelby flew back to broward in the middle of her freshman year to help me deliver hannah, memorizing all the bones in the human body between my contractions and charming the nurses into helping her with her homework (63).

she looks like she wants to say something else, and for a moment i almost ask her how it's possible that my father can eat a friendly dinner with sawyer's parents, size up the culinary competition, but can't find it in his heart to look at me (p. 80).

he picked up shelby from work every night for two weeks before i realized he wasn't doing it to make shelby's life easier.

"you realize i'm not fun," i told him, the first time he asked me out. "i have a kid. i'm not fun. even before i had a kid, i wasn't fun" (p. 87).

"you haven't wanted anything to do with me or hannah in years," i tell her shrilly. i think of broken dams, walls closing in. "you don't talk to me. nobody talks to me. about me, maybe, but maybe not, even. i wouldn't know because this is first sunday since hannah was born that i've been invited to dinner" (p. 255).

cade told me once that the night our mother died, our father sat in the pitch-dark of our old, cracking house and played piano until the dawn came up orange and dripping behind him. scales, cade told me. scales and mozart and billy joel and anything else he could think of, melodies made up out of the thin air that no one, including my father himself, could remember once morning finally broke (p. 278).

what sucked: pretty much the whole of it. i tabbed a bunch of pages near the beginning, but when i went back to review them, i couldn't for the life of me figure out why i'd turned down the corners. it never captivated me.

having said all that: i did not crush so hard on this book. and if it's a roller coaster, it's one of those baby ones that crawls along the slightly wavy tracks. there's no euphoria, no gut-wrenching drama. beauty? meh. not so much. it was really kind of disappointing. but i wanted to finish it.

this year's gifts

i've been dreading christmas this year, for reasons i can't discuss here except to say that i am not happy. i am heartbroken.

i have been trying very hard to find good in my days, though. to find laughter. i'm trying to focus on that good. on the gifts this year has bestowed.

like in january, the film industry gave us gangster squad, which is one of the better movies released this year.

i cleaned out my closet and desk and found keepsakes from my college days and an envelope with my older brother's handwriting on it (which doesn't sound like a big deal, but i've started to forget a lot of things where's he's concerned, like what his handwriting looked like.)

and, on a particularly bleak post i'd written, a very successful blogger left this comment:

Thank you for sharing this and allowing yourself to be so vulnerable. It is hard to write, but stuff like this is great for readers because it makes me feel like I am not alone and makes us all feel like we are all in this together.

And I've ALWAYS loved that quote by Emily Dickinson. Hope you get feeling better and thanks for the reminder to be kind to all those who cross my path.

Just found your blog and have enjoyed your writing! I'm excited to read more.

in february, i read the first of three magnificent stories: the language of flowers. i dragged my ass to the galleria mall (ugh), to some singles mixer (UGH) some dating website had organized (which sucked), but afterward, i drove to pappadeaux's where i downed a couple of martinis and ran into one of my older brother's corps buddies from a&m.

in march, a fellow blogger, lauren, invited others to share their favorite posts.

in april, one of the to-go servers gave me a good idea for a scene in the novel i (probably) will (never) finish. i read the second of three magnificent stories: the fault in our stars. i went to my first maroon and white game. i made up a list of some of my favorite melodies.

in may, because of tyler, i learned of the existence of this video. i posted about some of the things that make me happy. i wrote this scene for that novel, which made me love my characters and my craft even more. and there's tony and ziva (damn you, ncis & cote de pablo! ziva's not replaceable!). and kensi and deeks. my store manager told me she thought i was special, which i very much needed to hear at the time.

in june, i posted about my favorite characters; they are the reasons i love literature. i wrote about my father, the best man i know. the best blogger in the world told me this: you have talent. my cousins taught me how to play settlers of catan. i read the third of three magnficient stories: eleanor and park. and then there's wendy davis standing up to the good ole boys.

in july, bonnie let me guest post on her blog. i watched purple violets, which is the best of edward burns' films (and i always caught it halfway through... i finally got to see it from the beginning). for lauren, i posted three favorite quotes and two places i've traveled.

in august, i made a list of some of my favorite films. i finally watched people like us; elizabeth banks is SO good in this movie. and i watched the way way back. a LOT. best movie i've seen this year so far. and amber gave me this compliment:

I think you are a really great writer... You seem to be your own, and that's important out here in a sea full of cookie-cutter bloggers.

in september, i watched espn's the book of manning. a lot.

in october, i got to go back to kyle field to watch the aggies (lose to auburn, but i'm trying to focus more on the got to go back to kyle field part). my friend allison directed me to this video. and i found this neat interview with richard burton.

in november, i got all of thanksgiving day off (the two years before this, i had to work both times.. and it sucked. i missed the final quarter of the last lone star showdown! i had to hear about jeff fuller's touchdown and the longhorns' stupid field goal on the radio!). danielle, susannah, meredith and melissa gave me some pretty nifty guest posts. i blogged about forty lessons i've learned over forty years (the first and the rest).

in december, i got more guest posts; these came from kathryn and erin. after stopping to snap a few shots of the fall foliage, i visited a local winery for a bottle of red and a bottle of white. i finally finished my christmas shopping the other day (and, because i was short, the gentleman in line behind me gave me a twenty dollar bill so that i could get my niece her christmas gift. i about cried).

and today, on twitter, texas monthly called my attention to a story about a remarkable dallas family. it's a long read. but a great one.

melancholy and the infinite sadness

the greatest difference between my mother and i is that she keeps her troubles packed neatly in her chest, and i shrug them off and let them fall where they may. my floor? sometimes you can't see the carpet for all the chaos. her floor? you can still see the marks left by the vacuum she used a week before, and her chaos isn't a chaos at all, but a neat and tidy collection of knotted scarves and folded cotton crammed in some container store baskets.

my family's seen some pretty ugly things in the past few months. my mother doesn't talk about them with her friends. she's often irritated with me that i talk to mine about what troubles me.

the difference is, she can lean upon her husband. and i feel guilty leaning on either one of them. so i lean on yall or a close friend.

when my older brother passed away, she told a very finite number of people. most of those who came to the service here, they were friends of his. we told his friends. his. and if my parents were friends with their parents, we told them. one of her longtime friends? they ceased to be friends because the friend was hurt that she'd not been one of the informed. i still don't get that. they'd been friends for DECADES. good friends. and this perceived slight ruined that for the friend. and it hurt my mother, deeply i think because she truly loved having known this woman.

my mother doesn't talk. not about stuff like this. it's death. her firstborn. a child she waited and waited and prayed to have. and her heart... i can understand how and why, for her, this loss, this particular garment would be tucked away at the back of the highest basket where no one can reach it.

when he passed, while we were in colorado putting him in the ground... when one of our neighbors discovered this, she came to our house and walked back and forth, back and forth before it, praying. for my family. for my mother.

in the years since, i've become quite fond of this woman. i've always admired her.

a few months ago, i learned that this neighbor, she'd developed stage four cancer in her brain.

today i learned the chemo didn't work. that we will lose her. and my heart...

i don't even know if you can see these, but, i found some posies for you. i seem to recall your saying you loved these:

my mom used to have a big patch of these in her backyard. they're gone now, otherwise i would've brought you a bunch.

the quotes collective: kathryn

Okay, I know you’re probably expecting a quote from Ghandi or John Lennon or the Dalai Lama. Or maybe even someone like Nora Ephron, or just one of those quotes that you see painted on colorful canvases at Ikea or World Market.

Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.

My quote, the quote that unexpectedly changed my way of thinking in a dramatic manner, is from none other than pro skateboarder and reality television star Rob Dyrdek. You might know Rob from his MTV shows “Rob and Big,” “Fantasy Factory” and “Ridiculousness.” If you have a half a brain and choose to not watch MTV (clearly I am not one of those), well then I applaud you, my friend. But you probably won’t know who I’m talking about.

You wouldn’t think of Rob as a traditionally intelligent man. A man who is adept at business dealings and marketing and networking. I mean, the guy hosts a ‘roided out version of “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” for God’s sake. His other show, “Fantasy Factory,” focuses on the way in which he spends insane amounts of money on absolute nonsense.

He paid marine specialists to have a shark bite him so he could earn a kick-ass nickname. He hired a guy to help him get abducted by aliens and another guy to assist him with traveling through time (both endeavors were sadly unsuccessful). He entered a grilled cheese cooking competition, skateboarded down water slides at an abandoned water park and recorded a music video wearing a fat suit.

Not traditionally intelligent, right? Yet, something he said during an episode of “Fantasy Factory” really struck me in an interesting way.

The episode was entitled “Dirty Man-Horse,” and Rob had decided to try his hand at being a jockey. Part of training to become a jockey, apparently, involves purchasing weird furry strap-on horse legs and clomping around town in them. While his 8-foot self was galloping around, Rob told his cousin, affectionately known as Drama, that he was planning to purchase a race horse and jockey it, to which Drama replied, “You can’t just hop on a horse and jockey it.” Without skipping a beat, Rob said, “You can do anything you want in this life. I got horse legs on.”

Dumbest thing to say ever, right? Something about it, though, was just so incredibly liberating and empowering. You can do anything you want in this life.

I think most of us are bound by self-imposed limitations. If only I had enough money, I’d do this. If only I lived in another state or country, I’d do that. If only I didn’t have kids, or a husband, or a job, I’d try this. If only I had enough time, I’d be involved in that.

When we’re kids, our parents tell us we can be whatever we want to be when we grow up. We can do whatever we want to do. But once we hit a certain age, we start to tell ourselves that we can’t really do those things. That it’s not realistic. That it’s just something that adults say to kids because they’re too naïve to understand. And maybe we can’t do all of the things we hoped we could do. We certainly can’t be dinosaurs when we grow up or transform into a puddle like Alex Mack (remember that show?) or live on Neptune. But most of those other things you dreamed of? You can do them. If you really want to, you can. If you put aside all the excuses, which are usually just fears, you can do anything you want in this life.

Rob Dyrdek is proof of this. This middle class guy from Kettering, Ohio became a professional skateboarder at age 12. He now has multiple television shows, owns several companies, runs a charity, builds skate parks throughout the United States, is immortalized in video games, earned 12 Guinness world records… the list goes on and on.

Rob helped me realize it’s never too late to try something new or begin a new adventure. You’re never too old to take up glassblowing or visit Amsterdam or swim with the dolphins. Your opportunities are endless. Next time you second-guess yourself, remember Rob. Wearing his horse legs. Preparing to jockey a horse for the first time. Realize how much more normal your dream is, and jump on that shit! Don’t let yourself get in your own way, and certainly don’t let anyone else tell you what you can or can’t do. Just put your horse legs on, and kick the crap out of life. You can do anything you want in this life.

my friend kathryn gave me this lovely post. and i'm so happy to share it with yall. other contributions were provided by erin, danielle, susannah  meredith and melissa. i hope you've enjoyed them. thanks for reading.

to the winery!

but first i had to stop and take some pictures of the pretty! i love my neighborhood, yall. every time i come home and every time i go out, i marvel at how lucky i am that i get to look at this:

 and i'm lucky, too, that some of the sweetest people i know decided to open up a winery not so far from me. they make some really good stuff, too. REALLY GOOD. 

it's called bernhardt winery. it's in plantersville, texas. and a lot of what they make has won all kinds of prizes. plus, they've got a quaint little bed and breakfast. 

and their wine? it's LOVELY. i'm particularly fond of PINELLI.

the quotes collective: erin

"Blogging prowess"--I ain't got it. What I do have is a lot of thoughts jumbled up in this ol' brain of mine--a huge spectrum of emotions and feelings experienced on a daily basis and some years of personal introspection banked in my own vault. When Jenn introduced the idea of featuring favorite quotes, I immediately thought of this one:

If you've perused pinterest for any amount of time, you've probably seen it and possibly pinned it yourself. I tried to "research" (google search) the original link or the author. I just found a lot of links to tumblrs and flickrs and quote sites and forums, but no answer to its origin. Author unknown it is.  

Eight words that are clear, concise, to-the-point with a powerful message; effective and relatable; easy to remember. Heck, if you can't remember the eight words, maybe take this approach:

(Side note: the tattoo is reportedly on the hip of an all-time favorite musician--songwriter, artist, singer, tattoo enthusiast Mr. Butch Walker. But this entry isn't about him. Sorry for the distraction.)

I stumbled across this quote during a time in my life that was one of the toughest. Correct that. It was the toughest time in my life where I was challenging myself to self-examine some poor choices, some big mistakes, some nasty feelings and some rather unpleasant circumstances surrounding my life. This message was just what I needed. I have become a big believer in lessons and learning from mistakes. Consequently, I've become a firm believer that those that do NOT try to learn from the past are wasting valuable time and opportunities for a bigger, better, healthier life. Bitterness is an ugly, encompassing power that can take hold of you. I fought, and I fought hard to get "better" and put the "bitter" behind me.  

Everyone has their own struggles. Many of life's challenges that others have experienced are 10x, 100x worse than what I've faced. We've all had tough times; some feel them worse than others; some handle them better than others. I think if more people strived to be "better" instead of "bitter," then we'd all be headed in a more positive direction. I know it's easier said than done. I fight to have this philosophy permeate through me daily.  It's not always there, but sooner or later, I snap back to it, and I feel "better" for it.  

Now, maybe I need to get that tattoo like the one pictured above...

this post comes to you all the way from australia by my one of my oldest friends, erin. she's a good gal to get to know. pop by her blog, and say howdy!

have you got a quote you love? something that's touched you? made you laugh? gave you strength? i would love to include it as a guest post here. i've got one spot left! if interested, email me: criticalcrass (at) me (dot) com.

random quarter: a few of my favorite things edition

one. oil of olay regenerist advanced anti-aging cleanser. i don't get compliments on my mug too often, but the one i hear most frequently is how good my complexion is. this is so for two reasons: i rarely wear make-up; and i use this stuff. it makes my skin feel wonderful.

two. bodycology's pure white gardenia foaming body wash. i'm allergic to pretty much everything skin-care related, and this is one of those rare finds that doesn't make me break out in hives. plus, it smells divine. and i always get compliments when i use it.

three. dove pink soap.

four. gold bond ultimate softening shea butter lotion.

five.  ralph lauren's romance. my older brother gave me this fragrance for christmas the year before he died. and it's been a staple ever since.

six. eleanor and park by rainbow rowell.

seven. the fault in our stars by john green.

eight. right before your eyes by ellen shanman.

nine. the language of flowers by vanessa diffenbaugh.

ten. lovers and dreamers by nora roberts.

eleven. the airborne toxic event's self-titled debut.

twelve. what made milwaukee famous' what doesn't kill us.

thirteen. a fine frenzy's one cell in the sea.

fourteen. u2's joshua tree.

fifteen. depeche mode's violator. these two albums... i never tire of them. and they've been a solace of sorts. a constant through out much of my life. one to console me when i need a little mellow. and one to motivate me when i've had too much of it.

sixteen. gangster squad.

seventeen. people like us.

eighteen. the way way back.

nineteen. purple violets.

twenty. serenity.

twenty-one. settlers of catan. so i'm a fairly competitive gal. i really don't like to lose. if i've lost a game, i don't typically want to play it again immediately following that loss. but this game here? i LOVE it. even though i'm horrible at playing it.

twenty-two. james avery's stacked hammered ring. i got mine in college station. it is my favorite piece of jewelry.

twenty-three. ncis.

twenty-four. ncis: los angeles.

twenty-five. the big bang theory.