Loneliness and Idolizing The One

For my whole life, Loneliness has been my nemesis. For the most part, I'm pretty good at avoiding contact with him. As a textbook extrovert who draws energy and joy from the presence of other people, I stay busy and connected. But lately, I've been engaged in battle with the sworn enemy, and I'm losing. I was easy to engage because Loneliness found me defenseless. I'd laid all my armor down along the way and didn't even realize it.

I talk a lot of smack about being independent and free and strong. And all of that is true, but what's also true is that I'm a girl who needs to be deeply cherished and taken care of and passionately desired. What happened to the girl, who last summer, was fulfilled and content and joyfully free? When did she become needy and lonely and woefully confined? Where was the breakdown?

A year ago, I was dating Jesus. He was all I needed. I made room for him and he filled my empty spaces and I THRIVED in his presence. At some point, I decided it wasn't enough and I blew him off. I decided I was ready to date, that I was ready to love and be loved, that I needed a companion and passion and someone in whose arms I could fall asleep. I began seeking The One. I sought strong embraces and lingering kisses and innocent hand-holding and passionate caresses. I came dangerously close to settling for someone I knew was ultimately very wrong for me, all because Loneliness was stalking me.

Loneliness is a bully and a liar. When too many hours pass without a text from whichever man I'm seeing, when no one reaches out to make plans with me, when I crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling while sleep evades me, he convinces me that I'm not worthy. He whispers, "You're not beautiful enough. You're not lovable after all. You don't matter; you're expendable." In my weaker moments, I believe him. I know that his lies are designed to pull me under and drown me, and yet I cling to them as though they're buoys in the raging sea. I didn't use to feel this way, a mere twelve months ago.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to love and be loved. It's a God-created need. I believe with my whole heart that He desires that for me. The breakdown is that I've made an idol of The One - of the very idea of him, of the search for him. I worship him and adore him and sacrifice for him, and in the process, I've shoved God out of the way to make more room for him. I cannot be content this way, ever. I cannot be fulfilled or joyful or healthy or productive because the reality is that all idol worship eventually destroys the worshipper.

I need to date Jesus again. I need to turn away from idolizing and romanticizing the idea of The One. I'm recommitting to praying for the man God has chosen to love me and cherish me and protect me and care for me. I know that God is preparing me for the most beautiful, perfect, amazing love. He promises that he knows the plans He has for me - plans to give me hope and a future. That plan has never included Loneliness, even during this time of aloneness. I need to be still and know that He will be faithful to that promise. My willfull, impatient self wants to see it done in MY time. Be still and know.... why is that so hard for me?

grace

This morning as I walked into the office, I noticed that one layer of clouds was moving swiftly across the sky while another, higher layer appeared pretty static. And I thought, "That's how the layers of life work. Some parts move and change while other aspects remain still and even sometimes stagnate.

Then I sat down at my desk, logged on to LinkedIn, and stumbled across a note I'd written a friend almost a year ago.

"I'm doing really well, thanks. Very happy, very at peace, very moving on. 

"Even in the most heartbreaking, soul-crushing seasons, God blankets me with grace and inspires joy in my soul.

"In hindsight, his infidelities and the divorce were a gift. They forced me to receive grace and know how to give it in return. I always had a problem with feeling forgiven and free and worthy, remember? It took the ripping out of my heart to finally fully understand and relish the gift of grace that's been waiting for me all along. Freedom!"

Life sometimes gets stagnant. Grace never does. Grab on to it and let it carry you. It's that powerful.
2 Corinthians 12:9

recovery - reposted from August 2013

During my divorce, I created a private, hidden blog where I vented and processed and healed. Very few people knew about it. It is something that I will likely keep private for the most part. But there are parts of it that are worth sharing with the world in general.

The following entry was written in August 2013.

---------------------------------------------------------------

It's hard to believe that a year has passed since I logged in here.

So much has happened.

We sold our house after only 31 days on the market. It broke my heart, and I wept openly on the realtor's shoulder after the closing. Since that time, the boys and I have moved again, this time to a perfect little house that keeps them in their school district and affords us the comfortable, single-family-dwelling life we missed in the duplex. It really is a Godsend, and is a story that I'll come back and tell. As sad as I was to lose our dream home, I'm over it now. I can drive by without feeling grief and loss. It's just four walls and a roof and a big wrap-around porch now, but it's not a home. It's simply a house. Home is where your heart is, and that is something I have found to be absolutely true.

Even though the market was barely in its earliest stages of recovery, we profited a little on the house. I used some of it to buy a new car. (My VW Bug, though I adored it so, just couldn't handle being a family car.) At Christmas, we took a once-in-a-lifetime vacation: a Caribbean cruise. I'd always wanted to cruise, but never was able to because my ex thought he would hate it. WE LOVED IT, and in hindsight, it's obvious to both me and Dani that the trip now serves as a huge landmark on the map of our recovery from the divorce. It really was amazing for us as a family.

Darren got engaged. Yes, while we were still married. Walking my boys through that confusion was one of the hardest things I've had to do yet. There was much anger on Ian's part, though he wouldn't ever let Darren see it. Misplaced though it was, I took the brunt of it. I haven't felt sadness or betrayal or disdain about the engagement or the other woman at all, which I think is a great indicator that my heart is in full recovery. Everyone who's met her says she's exactly like me (I'll write about that sometime), which I think is pretty funny. The divorce became final in April, 12 months after filing. It was amicable and fair.

I've lost 115 pounds. The first 60 melted away with little effort, but the last 60 has taken a lot of effort. I've been plateaued for about 3 months and have been losing and gaining the same 5 pounds, but over the last two weeks, I broke through and am losing again - 8.4 pounds since 10 days ago! I still have 60 to go to meet my goal. I've come 2/3 of the way - what's another 1/3? I can do this! IT IS AMAZING TO HAVE MY LIFE BACK. I only thought I was living when I weighed 317 pounds.

The boys and I placed membership at Legacy Church of Christ last fall, but as much as I love the people there, it just didn't feel right for some reason. I've struggled with finding a church home, and have visited so many places. The boys are sick of visiting. Finally, I think we've found it - 7City Church, which is not the denomination I grew up in and spent my adult life in. Even still, it feels good and right, and I'm hopeful that God has led us there for a purpose. I haven't made any commitments to it yet - still praying for confirmation.
Finding a church home is a lot like dating, I've decided. Something about a church sparks your interest enough to make you decide to visit. Sometimes at first glance, you know it's not the right one. Sometimes after the first "date", you think, "Eh, maybe I can get past that quirk. I'll give it another chance." Sometimes it takes three or four dates before you realize that it's not gonna work out, and you're back to square one. One thing's certain - I've met some great people along the way and my faith journey hasn't suffered. I think the variety of worship styles and preaching styles and just the diversity of faith has been really good for my heart and soul. Part of the healing process for sure.

God continues to place people in my life who are simply there to like me and love me and enrich my life in little ways. I've met people who became friends in the most bizarre ways this year - at a Kelly Clarkson concert, through Facebook connections, at Six Flags... and most recently, through a dating website. Yeah. I started dating. That's a whole 'nother entry. Or twelve.

The healing continues, but the war is behind me.
It feels good to be writing again. :-)

sacrifice in perspective

So I've been off of Facebook now for four solid days. Frankly, it has been much harder than I thought it would be. I thought I had done my due diligence and removed much of the temptation before I even began, but I fooled myself.

The temptation to log on has been intense. There were plenty of naysayers, but the surest way to make me succeed is to tell me I can't, so phhhtt. But the devil is a tricky dude. He knows exactly how to get to me. First, he tried the guilt trips. "But I'll miss you! Your friend is running for City Council and you promised to help promote her candidacy out here! The MAVS are at Fortress and it's your responsibility to give them excellent social media kudos."

Next came the posts that I haven't seen but have heard about. Several people wanted me to know that Dani "had my back" when folks started talking smack about me "cheating" via Instagram. Clearly those folks didn't bother to read my blog about why and how I was giving it up in the first place. I desperately wanted to log in and see what they were saying, to see WHO was talking smack, to see how Dani handled it, and to DEFEND MYSELF. Then I remembered who I'm doing this for, and it's nobody who is out there talking smack. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't affect me.

Thursday, I got a text from a friend who was absolutely giddy that I had already failed at my attempt to fast from Facebook. I asked Dani, "Why do people delight so much in other people's failure?" I didn't answer the text. I realized that her opinion of me ( however misguided) is exactly what I need to not care so much about. It's exactly why I needed to take this break. I'm doing this for ME, because GOD put it on my heart to do it. I know I'm not cheating. Who cares if she thinks I am? Clearly I still care, since I'm blogging about it. Ha. I'm nothing if not a work in progress.

I see now that my "need to be heard" is far stronger than I ever realized. This especially came to light Wednesday afternoon, the first day of Lent, when I received an email from a well-meaning friend.

"Since when did you change religions?" he wrote. "I am concerned that you would practice a Catholic tradition such as Lent."

It took three days before I could respond from a place that wasn't driven by bewilderment and defensive indignation. Firstly, I wanted to tell him to fact-check because Lent is not exclusive to Catholicism. Secondly, I wanted to lambast him about his traditional, conservative close-mindedness. I wanted to say, "I'm sorry, but that lines right up with  the opinion of those who feel it's somehow SINFUL to celebrate Christ's birth at CHRISTmas because, after all, we can't be sure he was born at Christmastime. How unfortunate." But I didn't. Except that now, I guess I have.

What I actually said was this: "You're taking issue with me feeling deeply convicted to do something that can only strengthen my faith, but because it's not a tradition of the denomination in which I grew up, it is somehow questionable? I don't expect anyone else to understand, and I don't need anyone's permission, but I'm surprised at the lack of support. This is a good thing, but I'm not doing it to please or displease anyone. This is between me and God."

I miss Facebook.
I miss knowing what's going on in everyone's life this week.
I miss Brian Luenser's photographs.
I miss weighing in on conversations.
I miss the silly memes and someEcards.
I miss being able to post for Fortress.
I miss tagging friends. So many great things have happened with fun friends this week! And with Aidan! His men's choir won SWEEPSTAKES Wednesday and I couldn't FB about it. He left for JCC camp before dawn Thursday and I couldn't post that, either.
I apparently missed a great conversation between Ric and my mom.

An acquaintance tweeted this week something that spoke to me: "if your sacrifice isn't hard, then it's not much of a sacrifice."

I'm telling you right now that giving up Facebook for 40 days is hard. Leading up to Ash Wednesday, I was a ball of anxiety as I tried to make a final decision regarding giving it up or not. Now that I have, it's a constant temptation to log back on. This is hard, embarrassingly so.

And yet, when I put this trifling "sacrifice" in context with actual sacrifice, I can only hang my head in shame, then raise my eyes in wonder and awe and indescribable adoration. I've often said that I'm a grace addict. Thank God that His mercies are never ending, even and especially for one such as me.

"God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." - Romans 5:8

Why I'm Giving Up Facebook for Lent

You might have a Facebook problem...

...when your 13-year old prefaces every photo op and most conversations with "...don't tag me, Mom."

...when you start seriously dating a guy and realize that one of the first disclosures you made was, "I'm a prolific Facebooker; you're okay with your pic being posted. A lot. Right?"

....when you go half a day without posting and one of your best friends texts you to make sure you're okay - and he's sincerely concerned.

...when you're crunching hard toward a work deadline and sporadically realize that you're scrolling through FB posts again, and you honestly don't even remember clicking the link.

...when you mention to people that you're considering giving it up for Lent and are met with raucous laughter. More than once.

...when you check FB one more time before drifting off to sleep...when it's the first thing you do in the morning...and again after brushing your teeth... at every stop light...and while standing in line at Starbucks....

But the excessive time I spend on Facebook isn't my real problem. This is:
I've let Facebook become the barometer for my perceived self-worth, and that's not only dangerous, it's sinful.When I look at my heart and really be honest, I know that I depend more on that little rush of Facebook-manufactured serotonin to affirm me than I do on the love of the One who created me. I've let likes and comments become the very things that define my worth. It's become an addiction. That's hard to admit. It's embarrassing.  

I've never practiced the discipline of giving up something for Lent before. Last week, when the thought first emerged that I might even consider doing this, I darn near started twitching. I have waffled back and forth so many times since then. "Yes, do it. This is the very point of giving up something for Lent - removing something that impedes your relationship with God." And then, "Are you crazy?? You'll suffer and DIE without Facebook! That's where your FRIENDS live!"

The fact that this decision has been so wrenching for me is further proof that I need to do it. I have tied so much of myself to my Facebook profile that it feels like I'm almost cutting off my very air supply. Every aspect of my life - my connections, my stories, my achievements, my very identity - are filtered and edited through Facebook. I live out loud, and that's something I'm actually very proud of. But for the last year or so, living out loud has begun to look more like self-absorption and over-indulgence. 

So I'm leaving Facebook for 40 days to wander in the wilderness. Here's what I hope to find:

1. fulFEELment
I'm not someone I'd call "religious". I don't adhere to many rules and regulations, especially as they were written out for me in my youth. But I have a deep faith, and regularly enjoy open dialogue with God. He doesn't tell me I look skinnier this week, or that I'm doing a great job at work, or that my house is decorated well. But when I'm listening, He tells me that I'm enough just as I am. He reminds me that I'm good at what I do because He instilled in me a burning passion to do it. He erases my need for constant external validation because His grace is sufficient for even me. FOR EVEN ME. Frankly, I've been too full of me to be filled with holiness. I'm ready to empty myself to make room for Him again. I have never in my life felt more at peace, more full of hope, more gentle of spirit, than I did when I completely emptied myself and allowed myself to feel God, and to let Him fill me.

This is the 3rd verse from one of my favorite old-school hymns:

Day by day His tender mercy,Healing, helping, full and free,Sweet and strong, and ah! so patient,Brought me lower while I whispered,Less of self, and more of Thee.


2. my Story
I have a deep, innate desire to be heard - to tell my story. I always have. Facebook has provided an outlet for for my voice to be heard, but at the expense of actually experiencing the story. I've been too busy seeking worldy validation for it than I have in actually living it and celebrating it. I often post in real-time. Something interesting is happening right now? THEN I MUST POST ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW EVEN IF THAT MEANS MISSING SOME OF THE ACTUAL SOMETHING HAPPENING. I once was an avid blogger, and I loved it. It was a healthy exercise for me to write every night. To this day, I often reference incidents from my kids' childhoods by searching for them on this blog. It contains their life stories in black and white. That is priceless to me, and one day, it will be to them, too. I'm excited to make it a priority again. I have a story to tell, and removing Facebook for awhile will afford me the time and inclination to get back into the happy habit of writing it.

3. The heart of me.
At the heart of me, I know who I am and whose I am. From that comforting truth poured the most authentic creativity. I have a whole detached garage that has been converted into a craft room, and yet I've barely spent any time out there in the last year. I haven't been happy with anything I've painted in more than a year, so I haven't posted any of it. You know what? I've been painting for likes and comments. That has got to stop. Less Facebook consumption, I hope, will lead to more authentic creation. It's time to expose the heart of me again, even if no one else ever sees it. ESPECIALLY if no one else ever sees it. 

4. Presence.
I spend so much time looking down that I forget how beautiful it is to look up and out. I'm here, but I'm rarely fully present. I'm eager to feel the warm spring breeze lifting my hair without interrupting the calmness of that moment to post about it. I yearn to wake up and just lie there listening to the birds singing outside my window without the urgent cacophony of notifications at my bedside. I'm ready to be fully present with the people I love most in the world. Fully. Present. What a concept.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

This morning, I woke up and deleted the Facebook app from my phone without ever opening it. As soon as I opened my laptop at work, I deleted the bookmark. I disabled notifications. And somehow still, I'm barraged with constant temptation to log on. I attended a luncheon today where the speaker kept urging us to "check in on Facebook." The fact that Terri checked me in FOR me and then told me about it almost made me quit twitching. For a minute. This is a real addiction, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that I'm having withdrawals already. Even I'm surprised how hard it actually is. I literally feel sad. I feel lonely. Again - proof that it's become unhealthy for me.

I won't be gone forever. Just forty days. When I come back, I'll be less obsessive. (One can only hope, right? lol) People have said, "Why give it up? Just curb your usage. Just be more disciplined." But I know me. In most everything I do, I'm all-in or all-out. I'm not very good at moderation. I need to go all-in with this exercise in self-control. Or rather, all-OUT. And so it shall be.

I'll continue to post on Instagram, and my #100HappyDays posts will still feed to Facebook. But I won't check in to see comments or likes or messages. If you contact me via FB Messenger, I won't read it. If you post to my wall, I won't see it. I'm physically removed. Use email. Text. DROP IN UNEXPECTEDLY. I LOVE THAT!

I will log on as soon as I publish this post to share the link so that no one will think I'm just ignoring them or that I've been abducted "at gun point" in the Ukraine. After that, I will not cheat. I won't be back until Easter. 

I'll miss you guys.
Love, love, love.
Out. 

pursued

I've prayed a specific prayer regularly since I was about 19: Be real to me. God has never once failed to answer that prayer. And he always answers it quickly. 

I was blessed last week to spend a week in the wilderness with God. Cut off from the trappings and distractions of every day life, I pressed in with 15 other women who were on the same Quest as I: the quest to seek God, and know Him intimately. It was amazing. A.MAY.ZING.

Early in the week, I was tasked with spending the day outdoors with God. We were fasting from both food and  from speaking, and the purpose was to be quiet and still and hear God's voice. At one point in the day, I was to take a hike across this expansive Texas ranch land and look for God in His beautiful creation. I'd already spent the morning on the bank of a river at the edge of the Hill Country and West Texas, and I'd been battling some pretty ugly business internally. I wasn't in a good place spiritually. Reluctantly, I uttered that familiar prayer - be real to me - then headed up from the river to high ground. At the top of the bluff, I was met on the road by a small dog: short legs, stocky build, beagle face. I'm not a dog person, and his presence on the road annoyed me, so I ignored him and kept walking. The dog whimpered, and I thought, "Shoot. I've hurts its feelings." But I walked on. Soon, he was in front of me, underfoot. I literally couldn't walk without tripping over this dumb dog. I had no choice but to bend down and scratch his ears, hoping that this would be enough and he'd leave me the heck alone.

I continued to walk, and the dog continued to accompany me. I decided to test the dog, so I stopped. He stopped with me. I walked faster, and he did too. I broke into a run, and he kept my pace. I wandered off the trail, and he climbed over cacti and through briars to stay with me. I slid down a muddy slope while trying to cross a stream, and he followed me.

Exhausted, I spotted a huge boulder and decided to stop and rest. I threw my pack down on the rock, along with the camp chair I'd been hauling and the blanket I'd used to keep warm all morning. Then I sat down on the boulder. The dog paced around at my feet, whimpering. He kept standing on his back legs, eager to jump up beside me, but my stuff was in his way.

Make room for me, He said.

So I did. I tossed my gear aside and up He came, tail wagging. He climbed up in my lap and put His wet paws on my chest. I loved on that dog for 10 minutes. Then He jumped down and began chasing gnats and rolling around in the grass. I lingered for a very long time. When I thought our visit was over, I continued on my walk.

But it wasn't over. The dog stayed beside me. Sometimes He trotted ahead a few yards, but He always stopped and watched while I caught up. Mostly, He walked beside me. We went on like this for a couple of hours.

My next task was to find a place to take a nap. Finally, I spotted a patch of sunlit grass, free of rocks and horse manure, nestled in the clearing of a mesquite grove. I threw down my blanket and lay down. I knew the dog would continue on His way. Again, I was wrong. He lay down beside my face and kissed me. All over my face - wet, sloppy dog kisses. Normally, this would disgust me, but I relished it. I laughed my head off as He licked and licked. I couldn't get away from His kisses! I took pictures of us, and every time I snapped, He licked. Then He nestled up against me and slept. I slept, too.

I was resistant.
I asked Him to be real to me.
He pursued me.
He pursued me, even after I blew him off.
He was relentless.
God in a dog.
Amazing love!

(It is not lost on me that d-o-g is God spelled backward. More on that to come!)

gray matter

My Ian has always had such a soft heart.

When he gets in trouble, when he knows he deserves it, he takes his punishment with a hard swallow and sometimes a quiet tear. Mostly, it hurts his heart to know he's disappointed me and his dad. On the flip side, if he thinks he doesn't deserve it, or thinks the punishment is unfair, and especially if another just-as-guilty party is getting off scott free, he comes unraveled and fights tooth and nail for justice. The kid's right-and-wrong meter is fine-tuned. It's hard for him to see gray matter in his black-or-white world.

He knows that no matter what, I won't stand for lying. If I can count on Ian for anything, it's to tell me the truth. Aidan, not so much. I have to wonder about his honesty sometimes. But Ian... never. He knows how much it hurts me, to be lied to, and for that reason, he just won't allow himself to go there.

He loves his friends. He wants nothing more in this world than to have friends and to spend time hanging out doing Ian-and-friends types of things, which includes Legos, computer gaming, kickball, football, drawing cartoons, and lots and lots of giggling. Oh - and birthday parties. That boy loves a good party.

Which is why it bothered him to learn that one of his friends had a birthday party this summer and didn't invite him.

Ian asked his friend about it, and his friend said, "Well, see, I only invited two people." That made Ian feel better, though he was still sad to have been left out. But he accepted it and moved on. THEN he learned the truth, as other friends began talking about the party. There had been more than two. Ian had definitely been left out, and he was crushed.

When I got home from work today, he came straight to me, looked me in the eye, and said, "Mom. I had to knock Gregory off my friend list today." Then his eyes brimmed up and he looked down at his feet, trying not to give in to the tears.

"What on earth?" I asked. "Why?"

"Because he lied to me," he said softly. Then he told me all about the birthday party.

He understands that Gregory was trying to spare his feelings, but it doesn't matter. He was lied to, and he hates that feeling.

I also feel bad for Gregory, though. He was trying to soften the blow, and honestly, I think the poor kid was in a hard place himself. See, his Mom wanted us to invite Gregory over all of last school year. She dropped hints that she wanted a play date, but we never offered. It's not because we didn't want to. We're just so... and it makes me cringe to admit this... so busy. I hate that it's true. I don't want to be one of "those" families. But here we are. And it's not even the family... it's ME. It's my work schedule. I give too much of myself to it. I don't know how NOT to. I feel burdened by the responsibility I have there, and the lack of anyone else to do what needs to be done. I'm not alone - this is the dilemma of every single person who gives their life to working for a small nonprofit. But I have to find balance. I really believe that Ian was left off the birthday invitation list because we never invited Gregory over last year.

Even so... Ian could've handled the truth.

It's the lie that hurt him so. He understands why he wasn't invited. That part is black and white. It's the gray matter - the lie - that he's struggling with.

My heart hurts for him.
And I hate that in some roundabout way, it all comes back to me.

day 19: a song from your favorite album

Whoops. Life got busy again, as it always tends to do. I wish I could get a grip on that.

Tonight, I was listening to music, as I often do late at night. There was a time when I'd listen to the radio almost exclusively. Then there was a time when I listened to my collection of vinyl, tapes, CDs. These days, it almost always happens like this: I decide (for whatever random reason) that I want to hear a specific song, or perhaps a specific artist, so I head to YouTube. From there, I just follow the trail of whatever pops up next in the queue. Tonight, I can't remember now what made me want to hear Clapton, but something triggered him in my mind, and I've been losing myself in his guitar riffs ever since. I never tire of him. He can turn a two-and-a-half minute song into a 7-minute work of pure, incredible art, and not lose me in the middle of it. Amazing.

So along the way, I decided to listen to my all-time favorite album of his (via YouTube, of course, because it meant I didn't have to go digging through my CDs. Click click, VOILA, instant music.) The album? Unplugged. I remember when it came out. Back in the day, we didn't have cable. We had a rabbit ears antenna with foil wrapped around it and a wire coat hanger sticking out the top of that, but even all that effort couldn't get us MTV. (Remember when MTV actually cared about music?) So we missed the Unplugged series when it was on TV, but somehow managed to discover it - specifically Clapton's show - on CD later. I think I read a review in the paper or something. Anyway.

Listening to it made me think of this blog and how I'd neglected to ever finish the challenge, so I looked it up to see where I'd left off. Serendipity! The next challenge on the list was this one! It's a no-brainer - tonight, anyway. Tonight, my favorite album is Eric Clapton's Unplugged. Favorite song from the album is harder. I've always loved the blues-y covers, especially "Before You Accuse Me". Darren loves "San Francisco Bay Blues". I could've sworn there was a song on this album about walking on snow or somesuch, but clearly my memory has faded. It's not here.

But for the purpose of this blog, I'm gonna list this one as my favorite on the album, knowing full well that I might pick another one in half an hour:


...UPDATE...
Solved the mystery of the snow song! It was on an album called "Unplugged Collection, Vol 1", which included Clapton's "Before You Accuse Me", and also "Barefoot", by KD Lang. I guess I associated that song with Clapton because of the other one. I am getting old. I haven't listened to it in years until tonight. Still like it.

day 18: a song that makes you laugh

I hate mornings.

Hate is a strong word, so let me clarify.

I hate mornings.

It doesn't matter when I go to bed: 8 pm or 4 am... that 7:00 alarm goes off too soon. Darren is laughing his head off right now, because I NEVER get up with the 7:00 alarm. Here's my confession: during the school year, he gets up first and wakes the kids, then gets their breakfast. Usually he's up way earlier than that for his morning run. Freak of nature, he is.

Once the boys are chowing down on Cap'n Crunch, he heads back upstairs and reminds me that it's morning time. I sometimes hear him, I sometimes don't. Check that. I always hear him, I rarely care. Most of the time, I can't bring myself to move or even open an eyelid. Mornings make me want to say bad words and hurl insults at fluffy kittens and stomp on freshly bloomed tulips. I lie there for a solid 10 minutes before I can will myself to snarl and kick the sheet off. During that ten minutes, I'm concocting amazingly creative excuses for why I can't get out of bed today. Sometimes, I come so close to using crazy excuses (I'm sorry, I can't come in to work because a rogue raccoon broke into my house last night and destroyed everything we own and ate my cat and stole all my Christopher Radko...) that when crazy things DO happen - and they do happen - I wonder if people will believe me. I fantasize about sleeping another 10 minutes.

By now, Darren's had his shower and is gently shaking my shoulder with the end of a broomstick, careful not to get too close to Sleeping Beauty lest she wakes up as The Incredible Hulk and rips his arms out of his sockets. I open an eye, but only a slit. I scowl. I burrow my frows. I swim through the fog until the red numbers on the clock come into focus, then I growl at them for it. I plant my feet on the hardwood, stab my right eye with the left earpiece of my glasses, then stumble half-baked-from-sleep to the bathroom where I again growl at Darren for good measure. He says something along the lines of, "Good morning, sleepyhead." In turn, I tell him to choke on his toothbrush.

I don't speak. I don't smile. I go through the motions until everyone's out the door. My children are cautious around me, and leave a wide berth. I usually drive, but I drive like an old lady. Sometimes, Darren says, "Are you sleep driving again? 'Cause the speed limit's thirty on this street, and you're going... 12."

By the time I've been awake for an hour or so, I return to human form, and I'm Happy Me for the rest of the day. GO GO GO GO GO GO GO! Until that alarm goes off the next morning. And then....

This song is hysterical. The first time I heard it, I was in the car and I cracked up laughing, out loud, all by myself. It was written for ME, y'all. Every single morning, I don't feel like doing anything. Nothing at all. I came home later and YouTubed it, and the video is hilarious. Those monkey suits crack me right up. At least tonight, they do. Tomorrow morning, I'm likely to tell them to .... well, you get the idea.

day 17 - a song when you're sad

I don't often feel sad. I can't remember the last time I cried.

Wait. I cry often, but at the silliest things. Case in point: I was watching Chopped on The Food Network the other day, and the freaky looking chef with the huge red plugs in his ears really, realllllllly wanted to win, and when he did, I had to wipe away a tear I was so happy for him. Seriously, the whole show had been grossing me out (they had to use eel and duck hearts and other narsty ingredients), and the chef himself made me curl my lip (those long, hanging earlobes kept flapping in the breeze as he chopped and stirred and whipped and sauteed), but that dude needed the $10,000 for his poor stay-at-home-wife and kid. I don't know, it got to me.

So this challenge is to write about a song that I listen to when I'm sad. I happened to be listening to Coldplay when I looked up the challenge. Every now and then, there'll be a nuance or a lyric or even a drumbeat that reminds me of U2. And when that happens, I at once feel disdain for Coldplay (who can never be U2) and affection for Chris Martin, whose musicianship really is astounding. I love his falsetto voice. It's haunting, yet can be playful, too. It's hard to tell when he switches registers - it just seems so effortless. Coldplay is easy to listen to. There's not a song of theirs that I dislike, but at the same time, none of their songs really stand out to me as all-time favorites, either. Their sound is just pleasant. Pleasant isn't bad - the world needs more pleasant, in my opinion.

Recently, I became obsessed with the song Fix You. It's an oldie, but was resurrected on NBC's latest singing show "The Voice". I was mesmerized. A few days later, Dani showed me a dance interpretation of the song, and I cried. Seriously, it was so beautifully interpreted that I had to wipe fat, hot tears from my face. Clicky to watch it for yourself. I'm not a dancer, but I would imagine that this is pretty close to technical perfection - and WOW, what a beautiful, beautiful love song. Coldplay's sound on this song is like velvet around my shoulders, or warm sand on my toes, or a shaft of sunlight caressing my face on a cold, winter day.

But that's not the Coldplay song that I'm highlighting for this challenge. A song that makes me sad when I hear it is The Scientist. I've never understood why it's called that, but what a sad song. Still pleasant enough to the ears, but... gollygeewhiz sad. It's a song of regret, and what-could-have-been, and deep yearning to go "back to the start". How many of us have felt that at one point or another? And yet, as sad and broken as the lyrics are on their own, they're given new meaning when you watch the video, which I had never seen until tonight. Watch it. You'll keep wondering what the heck it all means, but at the end, you'll be left with your mouth gaping open and with big, fat tears dripping off your chin.

day 16 - a song with clever lyrics

Today's challenge was supposed to be "a song you used to like and now you hate". Meh. Whatever. I asked Darren to give me a new one, and he said, "A song with clever lyrics".

Immediately, I clapped my hands and said, "I know which one!!"... and turned to my keyboard to start typing.

He replied, with a snark in his voice, "... that alliterative one?"

"Yes. How'd you know?" I asked.

"I know you," he replied.

He thinks it's a dumb song that makes no sense. Maybe it is. I still love it.

But because of his immediate correct guess, i thought I'd so some soul-searching. What other lyrics do I think are clever?

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking.
Racing around to come up behind you again.
- - - Pink Floyd, "Time"

People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share,
and no one dares disturb the Sound of Silence.
- - - Simon & Garfunkel, "Sounds of Silence"


I think that every Rush song ever recorded has amazingly clever lyrics, but I'm choosing this one because I love the rhyme scheme:

And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones to start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the Heart

The Blacksmith and the Artist
Reflect it in their art
Forge their creativity
Closer to the Heart

Philosophers and Ploughmen
Each must know his part
To sow a new mentality
Closer to the Heart

You can be the Captain
I will draw the Chart
Sailing into destiny
Closer to the Heart
- - - Rush, "Closer to the Heart"

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
- - - Green Day, "Good Riddance"

This one just cracks me up:

I love you like a fat kid loves cake
- - - 50 Cent, "21 Questions"

------------------
Ok, it's been 3 hours and I've listened to U2, Sting, Neil Young, the Eagles, Randy Newman, Coldplay, Led Zeppelin (who, by the way, sang about Lord of the Rings and I never noticed it until this weekend on our road trip when Darren noticed it. Check out the lyrics to "Ramble On": T'was in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair. But Gollum, and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her, her, her....yeah....)

I could be up all night searching for the song with the most clever lyrics. But instead, seeing as how I have to be at work in 7 hours, I'll just stick with the one that popped in to my head in the first place. :)

day 15 - a song that describes you

I decided a long, long time ago that life is what you make it.

I was a shy kid. (No, really, I was!) In fact, in second grade, I was so enamored of my teacher and so shy that I was HORRIFIED at the thought of asking her for permission to go to the restroom. So instead, I sat at my little desk and wet my pants. Not once, but twice. After the second time, my Mom made me hang a green plaid double-knit homemade one-piece zippered-up jumpsuit in my locker, and I knew that if I wet myself again, I'd have to change into that horrid outfit. I don't know if she knew how much I hated it, but the fact that I can describe it in detail and still feel the wedgie it gave me speaks for itself. So does the fact that I decided I'd rather approach the front of the room and speak to Mrs. Wright than wear it.

In 7th grade, I was still shy, and utterly miserable. There were a million kids I didn't know, and I was too shy to do anything about it. I was a wallflower the whole year long, and was disgusted at myself for it. That summer, I decided it was now or never: I needed a reinvention. On the first day of 8th grade, I came out of my shell, complete with surround sound and strobe lights and a bullhorn. I would be SHY NO MORE. I realized almost immediately that life was grand when you actually had the courage to LIVE it. I never looked back.

In college, I was the queen of figuring out how to have fun on the cheap. Everything was reason to celebrate, God was worthy of all my praise, and life was just FUN. I couldn't afford anything I wanted - or even needed, for that matter - but it was okay. Just living on my own was enough. I applied a million times for credit at the electronics store near the video store where I worked. I NEEDED a stereo system. With all my heart, I wanted one. I applied every few months, and was denied each time. (Ding ding ding on my credit report. I had no idea I was making it worse!) But even with that minor heartbreak each time, I was okay. I'd just try again! It's not having what you want...It's wanting what you've got.

As an eternal optimist, I've always given people the benefit of the doubt. I always think people can change, even after proving me wrong 12 times in a row. Some of my deepest heartache has come from believing and hoping in that. Finally, sometime in the last decade, I learned that it wasn't my responsibility to make miserable people happy, or to save people who wanted to flounder, or to join the cast of people who needed their lives to be Lifetime dramas. I allowed myself to let go. That part was easy; getting over the guilt of letting go was a lot harder. Every time I turn around I'm looking up, you're looking down...Maybe something's wrong with you That makes you act the way you do

I'm not saying I never have bad days. Word To The Mommas, I do. In fact, I'm coming off a pretty nasty streak of funk right now. But for the most part, my mantra is to soak up the sun. Sometimes I have to give myself a swift kick in the pants and tell myself to lighten up, but...

"I've got no one to blame. For every time I feel lame I'm looking up..."

day 14 - a song that people would be surprised you like

I'm pretty vocal about my disdain for country music. It makes me want to punch our cat in the face. Poor cat. She doesn't deserve that.

I say I hate it, but even I have to recognize that there are strains of it filtering throughout this blog challenge. When I force myself to think about it, I realize that my song choices for days 1, 6, 8, and 10 have country leanings, however subtle they may be. And so let me issue a disclaimer right here: I hate country music, but Johnny Cash, Don Williams, Paul Overstreet, and John Denver don't count. Oh - and The Judds' "Love Can Build A Bridge" doesn't count, either. BUT OTHER THAN THAT...

ahem.

About 4 years ago, I was getting ready one morning while Good Morning America kept me company on the TV, and it was one of their outdoor concert series days. The TV was in my bedroom, and I was listening from the bathroom nearby, but not watching. Kenny Chesney was scheduled to perform, and I could not have cared less.

He started singing, and I still didn't care. Then he got to the chorus, and I caught myself wandering into the bedroom, then realized I was fixated to the TV. I loved the chorus! I loved loved loved the words. The he sang the last verse, and I thought, DADGUM IT ALL, I'm gonna have to buy a country song. I'm pretty sure I HMPHed about it, too.

I haven't listened to the song in a long time now, until tonight, and I'm wondering why I don't give it more air time. I really, really like it. That oughta shock the pants off some of you, and it'll make Heidi really, really proud.

Well, I'm what I am
And I'm what I'm not.
And I'm sure happy
With what I've got.
I live to love and laugh a lot,
And thats all I need.

Never wanted nothin' more.
And I never wanted nothin' more.

day 13 - a song that is a guilty pleasure

I love CeeLo with his big ol' smile and his Elton John-esque style. But I have a confession. I didn't even know who he was until Glee covered the PG version of "F You". When Santana says to Gwyneth, "What would you know about CeeLo? 'Cause you're like, forty."... um, yeah. She coulda been talking to me.

Immediately, I was a fan. As soon as the show was over, I hopped on iTunes and listened to CeeLo's original version and then the safe-for-kids version. Then I bought "Forget You", twice.

Here's the guilty-pleasure part: I like Gwyneth's version better! I think it's because I heard hers first, and also that I was so smitten with her sassy character on the show. I feel as though I should have my music license revoked for admitting this out loud, but I guess that's what also makes it a guilty pleasure. I'm kinda embarrassed that I like it so much, but I sho' nuff do love to sing along at the top of my lungs!

HIT IT!

day 12 - a song that makes you want to...cuddle

The official Day 12 challenge is "a song from a band you hate". I thought about it for a long time. I don't hate any musicians. There are some I certainly don't enjoy, but it's no fun to write about stuff that drives you nuts (Rihanna, specifically "Only Girl (in the world)" - yawwwwwwn) or makes you cranky (the way Rebecca St James ends every phrase with a grunty sigh) or makes you snarl (Lady GaGa, now that we all know you have legitimate pipes, Put On Some Pants. Gah.)

So I asked my FB friends for another topic, and Cara immediately replied with the challenge in the title above. Before I could even take a breath, I knew which song I'd use. :)

I don't have much to say about it, except that the rhythm is perfection and Jon Bon Jovi's voice drips with sensuality. The first time I heard it, I had the urge to grab Darren by the face and plant a wet sloppy one right on his kisser. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. That's none o' your bizness. :D

day 11 - a song from your favorite band

Asking me to choose a favorite Pink Floyd song is like asking me to name my favorite child.

No, it's even harder - I only have three children. There are a thousand Pink Floyd songs I love. At least a hundred. Well, dozens. Okay, twenty some-odd. Whatever. I love Pink Floyd.

Most of their lyrics are somber, melancholy, dark, brooding, insane. Admittedly, they don't match my personality. I don't know what most of them mean, and I'm okay with that. People say you have to be on drugs to understand. I will admit here that drugs don't necessarily help. I used to watch The Wall every couple of months. It's a freaking disturbing movie, but the music is amazing. I remember my first roommate in college would get sick to death of me watching it, and would leave the room in a big huff when I put the tape in. Oops.

So why do I love it so much? I don't know. Their music is brilliance. Every song is multi-layered and dimensional. I love the maelstrom of unusual harmonies, the symphonic bits, the bluesy/jazzy riffs, the psychedelic melodies. They sounded like no one before them, and no one after them has come close to duplicating their genius.

During the course of the 90s and into the early 2000s, I got rid of all of my cassette tapes. I still have all my Pink Floyd ones, though. I can't seem to let them go. I have every one of them, packed safely in a box in my closet. Is that weird? I still haven't accumulated all of them on CD. I'm missing the more obscure ones, and somewhere along the way, I lost The Wall. I should replace it. Maybe someday.

I saw them live in 1988 at Cowboys Stadium. Three things stand out to me from that concert: 1) I learned what it meant to "drop acid". Silly me, I had no idea why my friends were sucking on little pieces of paper until hours later; 2) I was desperately trying to impress the guy I was with by smoking a cigarette, but foolishly tried to light up in the back of a convertible while flying down the freeway, and he laughed; and 3) out of the dozens of concerts I'd attended, none came close to comparing to Pink Floyd. From the lasers and crazy psychedelic effects to the infamous flying pig to the flawless musicianship, I was mesmerized.

When trying to think of what my favorite song might be, I immediately came up with four from which to choose: Comfortably Numb & Hey You (both from The Wall), Wish You Were Here (album of the same name), and Us & Them (Dark Side of the Moon). Then I remembered Pigs (from Animals), Brain Damage/Eclipse (Dark Side), Have A Cigar (WYWH), and Great Gig in the Sky (Dark Side), which has no lyrics, but features an amazing woman with an ethereal voice named Clare Torry who wails hauntingly throughout the whole song.

----------------

...okay. Three hours have passed since I started this post. I've subjected Darren to nonstop Pink Floyd, sometimes the same songs more than once. Every now and then, he'd laugh when I'd get all excited and profess that "THIS one is my favorite." He finally gave up and went to bed. I got up and poured a glass of tea, promising to head upstairs soon. When I sat back down at the computer, I realized that the challenge is simply to choose A SONG from your favorite band, not your favorite song from your favorite band. Well, then. THAT makes it easier. *whew*!

Comfortably Numb features arguably one (actually two) of the best guitar solos of all time, at the hands of the great David Gilmour. Gilmour and Waters share lead vocals - Gilmour singing the lighter parts (..."when I was a child") and Waters singing the darker parts (...it's just a little pinprick). And.... it is the first song that came to mind when I started this post. One more listen, and then I'm really heading upstairs.

day 10 - a song that makes you sleep

In high school, I got in the habit of sleeping with headphones on. I was convinced that I couldn't sleep without my music, and who knows - maybe it was true. I listened to the radio - sometimes rock, occasionally all-night trucker radio, and on Sunday nights, Dr. Demento on 98.1 The Zoo.

My second year of college, I lived in a tiny two-room rental house that had been someone's slave quarters many years before. I'd never lived alone, and for the most part, I loved it. But I hated the nights. I slept not with headphones, but with my stereo playing softly enough that I could hear scary noises should they happen to occur.

I had a mix tape that I played most every night during those 9 months. It started with James Taylor's Greatest Hits, then moved on to several Simon and Garfunkel songs before the 90-minute tape ran out. I still remember what the tape looked like - it had a clear body - Memorex, I think - with bright yellow and magenta blocks of color on it where I wrote "Goodnight Moonlight Ladies". I can't believe I remember that.

Sometimes, the tape played through and I'd still be lying there trying to fall asleep, watching the shadows dance on the wall across the room. Most times, though, I'd drift off to James Taylor's soothing vocals, and awaken briefly when the stereo's "play" button popped up at the end of the tape. For some reason, I was sort of embarrassed about my love for his music. Whatever. I had dozens of classic rock albums and 80s tapes; posters of Jim Morrison, John Lennon and Pink Floyd adorned my walls. But it was James Taylor who rocked me to sleep.

When I finally converted to CDs in the early 90s, James Taylor's Greatest Hits was the first one I bought. His voice is so pure, so smooth, so unpretentious. There's nothing fancy about it, nothing cheesy, nothing showy. He exudes a gentleness that eases my mind and calms my soul. Forty-plus years after he first hit the scene, his music is still relevant. I can't listen to him and not be moved.

Oh, rockabye, Sweet Baby James.

day 09 - a song that you can dance to

I grew up in the Church of Christ. And it wasn't today's version, either. It was the 1970s-80s version when dancing was a sin, and a big one. I was only allowed to go to Favorites and Prom after promising my parents I wouldn't dance. They needn't have worried; I didn't know how, and I was painfully aware of that fact. All my friends had been properly schooled on dance etiquette and how to make your body move to the groove in years of tap, jazz, ballet, and Stardusters classes. The only dance move I knew was The Awkward Sway, with your knees locked and your shoulders slumped and not having a clue where to put your hands that wasn't WRONG. Anybody with me?

Men Without Hats had a popular song back then called "Safety Dance". "Your friends don't dance and if they don't dance, well they're no friends of mine." I loved that song, but hated it at the same time, 'cause I was "the friends". (Back then, I had no idea the song was about nuclear war. Still not sure it really was, but I digress.)

Sometime in adulthood, when I finally came to the realization that dancing isn't wrong, I decided to go all out. When I dance, I do this funky thing with my mouth that I don't mean to do. I don't dance so much as flail. It's not pretty. It sure isn't technical. It usually evokes raucus laughter. But I can't help it. When I feel it coming on, it hardly matters who I'm with or where I am - this girl's gotta dance! I suppose it's all those repressed dances of my youth trying to get out at once.

There's not a song in the world that awakens my inner dance freak like this one does. For a long time, it was the primary ring tone on my cell phone, but eventually, I had to change it because I kept missing calls. See, when it would start ringing, I'd start dancing, and before I could control myself, the call had gone to voicemail. Also, my phone rings a lot and Darren was starting to really hate the song. I couldn't allow THAT to happen!

One time at a scrapbooking retreat, I was sitting at my table minding my own business, when I noticed that everyone was laughing. At me. Sure enough, they were, 'cause one of my friends had played this song on her iPod and told everyone to watch me. Just as she'd predicted, I'd immediately started dancing in my seat, oblivious that anyone was paying attention. Those first five notes could wake me up from ANYwhere!

I like to joke that I was born the wrong color in the wrong decade.
Darren says if I would dance to this song once a day, I'd be fit and trim.

Here I go!

day 08 - a song you know all the words to

I tend to know all the words to just about every song I've ever liked. It's a weird thing, my memory. As a kid, I often wondered how it was that I could memorize lyrics without even batting an eyelash, and yet I had the hardest time remembering facts that were crucial to passing, say, geometry. If only Dr. Bergren had taught chemistry in song, I'd have done better in her class, too. As an adult, I often joke that I can remember who sang every one hit wonder that ever hit the charts, but I can't remember when the War of 1812 happened. My brain is crowded with miscellaneous musical fluff.

For most of my young teens, I was obsessed with Journey, to the point that now in my young 40s, I can still sing every word and every nuance of every song on both the Frontiers and Escape albums. Same thing with James Taylor's Greatest Hits (Vol 1), The Eagles' Greatest Hits (1 and 2), Kansas (the best of), and Pink Floyd's The Wall. And then there are the other thousand or so songs I can sing beginning to end. I can't even begin to name them all. Stairway to Heaven, Bohemian Rhapsody, and every other legendary song is on the list, as well as more obscure stuff like The Judys' "Milk". (It's fortified! With vitamins! It's pasteurized! I love it! It's ho-mo-genized....") It's a sickness, really.

But for the purpose of this challenge, I'm gonna go with John Denver. As a kid, I abhorred the man and his country bumpkim voice. It wasn't really him I hated though, but rather, what I associated him with. See, at my house, Saturday was cleaning day at the Agee house. From the time we woke up until late afternoon, we deep cleaned. If we finished our assigned chores too early, we either got to do them again, or we were given a new task, such as "clean out the shed", or "organize the garage". We learned to make our indoor chores last all day. And the soundtrack to Cleaning Day was John Denver. *shudder*

Mom was a fanatic. She loved him more than any other singer - ever - and owned every album he ever released. She'd stack those albums up on the stereo, carefully place the needle at the beginning of the first one, and as the hours ticked by, those albums dropped to the turntable one by one by one by one. "You fill up my senses like a night in the forest"... "Almost heaven, West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River" ... "sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy"....

Sometimes I'd catch myself scrubbing the oven, singing along and enjoying myself, which made me hate it even worse. I made it my goal to hate John Denver despite myself.

Then a funny thing happened. As an adult, I found myself craving his music from time to time, especially, to my great chagrin, when I was cleaning house. I was just about to the point of actually appreciating his music when he died tragically in a plane crash off the California coast. I remember the next day at work, how my boss mourned his death exactly like I imagined my Mom was mourning up in Oklahoma. And oddly, I mourned him, too. He defined my childhood - not just because he was the soundtrack to Saturday Cleaning Day, but also because our family vacations were spent in the Rocky Mountains, and his songs, by definition, conjured up those wonderful memories.

These days, I love John Denver's music. In fact, tonight, Darren is taking me to Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra's Concerts in the Garden, featuring "Country Roads: The Music of John Denver". I can't wait. As soon as I publish this post, I'll head out to Central Market to buy some frou-frou picnic food and spirits to enjoy while we kick back and enjoy "...and hey it's good to be back home again....". Yeah. Be proud, Mom. You raised me right. I love John Denver.

This isn't my favorite JD song -not by a long shot- but I can't pick a favorite. So I'm using this one anyway, because I *do* know every word, and who doesn't love the Muppets?! *grin*

day 07 - a song that reminds you of a specific event

We were 150 miles from home, headed for Colorado. All was well. Dani and the boys were watching a movie in the backseat. I was snoozing shotgun, and Darren was driving. In the CD player was a mix called "Stuff Darren Likes", and Aaron Neville's "Crazy Love" was playing.

I always snooze in the car, and this time, I was sleeping pretty hard. All of a sudden, I heard a grinding, screeching sound, and the car was slowing down FAST. As I opened my eyes, my gaze fell on a tire - nay, a whole wheel - bouncing along in slow motion outside the driver's side window. As Aaron Neville's voice filled my head, I sat up and watch the tire speed ahead of us, cross the grassy median, continue onto the oncoming lanes, and eventually come to rest several hundred yards away in the ditch on the other side. As it bounced along, I shook my head, trying to loosen the cobwebs that cluttered my sleepy mind.

"Is that OUR tire???" I asked.

I couldn't make sense of it. There had been no blow-out. I hadn't felt it, and besides... the tire rolling down the highway was obviously intact.

"Yes," was all Darren said.

Then we were stopped. He jumped out of the car, crossed the highway and jogged to where the wheel had come to rest. By then, the song had ended, and there was an eerie silence in the car. The boys were oblivious, engrossed in their movie. Dani and I wondered aloud what had happened. We watched Darren roll the wheel back toward us, jogging the whole way in 96 degree heat.

"What on earth?" I asked.

"The whole [front driver's side] wheel came off," he answered. "The lug nuts are gone."

At that point, we all piled out of the car. The boys and Dani sat up on a hill away from the highway. I helped Darren unload the back of the Xterra so he could access the jack.

The grinding sound that woke me was the brake rotor scraping against the pavement. It was destroyed. Turns out, the fine young man who rotated our tires for free the day before - who also happens to be my husband - had forgotten to tighten all the lug nuts on that one tire. Oops. Near crisis averted, thank God. We were only a couple of miles from a small town, though, and decided to take our chances. Darren borrowed a lug nut from each of the other three wheels, and used them to secure the lost wheel back to the car. We limped into town and were back on the road in just a few hours.

For the rest of my life, when I hear the strains of "She gives me love, love, love, love, crazy love" in that beautiful tenor vibrato, I'll see the image of our tire bouncing down the highway.