On Humility...

During these past few weeks I feel like I’ve been taking lessons from God on how to be humble.


Let me be blunt: I have not learned to like my job. I have tried, trust me. There are aspects of it that I really love – meeting people, working as a team, all the sweet tea one can consume – but for the most part, I just haven’t really enjoyed it. Since I work front of the house with the girls, I interact with them mostly. I felt for a while that I just wasn’t connecting with any of them. Sure, we chatted daily and shared laughs, but they were momentary and shallow. There really was no depth to our conversations, and I hated taking orders from someone younger and less qualified than me.

So, a few weeks ago I applied for another job. A job that I reeeeallly want; it’s in a field I’ve always dreamed of working in: Advertising. When I first applied I thought, this agency is so intimidating; I will never get this position; I have no experience. But then I would go to work at my current job and think, wow, I am so overqualified for this position. I have a degree and I am currently an overpaid (I wont complain about that) cashier slowly (like, molasses slowly) training my way to a management position. I already have management experience - at a restaurant just as successfull! But I understand that these things take time and that sometimes you have to crawl even after you have learned to walk rather well (heck, I’ve been running for years).

But, my pride kept nudging me to apply elsewhere, which I did, to the aforementioned agency. And I got an interview! Which went rather well I might add. I immediately wanted to put in my two-weeks at that other place of course. But I knew the smart thing to do was to wait.

One particular day, while waiting to hear back from the Agency, I thought to myself, You know, I should be thankful I even have a job. And it really isn’t THAT bad. I shouldn’t be so prideful, what if I don’t even get this other job?

So I said a little prayer before work. I asked God that he would please open the hearts of these girls, that we could connect on a level deeper than “Oh, yes, the tea isn’t sweet enough today.”

It wasn’t until literally a few moments after “Amen” that one of the girls came to me with a tip on how to properly store a used whisk. Normally, I would have proudly (and wrongly I’ll admit) rolled my eyes and complied. But I just smiled and nodded and said, “Thank you, I didn’t know that.”

Talk about a door-opener. That one comment about the whisk led to other conversations. Shortly after, a question of mine led to a very honest conversation about her beliefs in God and our different relationships with Christ. In fact, I almost cried when she told me she calls God her “daddy” because her own father passed away five years ago and Jesus has been the only positive male influence since then! This conversation started at the beginning of our shifts, and gave me a very positive attitude for the entire day. When the other girls arrived my heart had changed so much that we all chatted in our spare time about everything from Christmas to Ugg boots.

I left work that afternoon very satisfied, and wondering exactly why that had happened. I understand this was a lesson on humility – that our pride can only negatively affect us and that when we open our hearts we are rewarded so much more. But I couldn’t help but to think, what if this happened because this is where I belong? Maybe I don’t get this job at the ad agency and this is God’s way of making me happy here?

Or maybe it was just God’s way of saying, “Hey, I’m listening!” Of course, the ad agency would be much better for my career, and the place I would prefer to work. But, life has a way of choosing for you, I suppose. I had a second interview with the agency today and I feel like they really want me. However, they are pending a very large account (the account that would expand them to need more hires) and my job depends on this account. It feels SO much like Vegas all over again. For those who aren’t aware, there was an incredibly huge promotional opportunity for a pending account in Vegas at my old job. After weeks and weeks of waiting (and two fun-filled trips out West) the account was secured, people were hired and I was looking for a rental house. At the last minute, just when I was getting spoiled rotten, things fell apart.

And yet, here I am again. Waiting and waiting and waiting.

But I trust that I am here for a reason. That I should follow my heart and be optimistic no matter the situation. After all, things could always be much worse, and I’ve got a pretty cool guy on my side :)

Autumn Goodies

Even though the weather is still a bit warm here in Alabama, it is officially Fall! My favorite season. To celebrate, Craig and I put up the decorations we bought weeks ago (I’m a little overzealous I suppose), and started with the “charming” (if you remember my blog about the Big Decision) approach to Autumn.



I dont know why this picture is coming out sideways, but it's driving me crazy and is the only scarecrow picture I have :(

I love the scarecrow, but it still scares me EVERY time I walk past the front door. It’s not that it’s scary, in fact it looks more like a little woman than anything, it’s just startling to see someone on your front porch.

Since we love decorating so much, we decided to finish the spare bedroom last weekend, too. Craig and I both have a problem with shiftlessness – the weekends aren’t made for relaxing, they’re made for getting things done or going places!

Anyway, I’m very excited Fall is here, and my next project is creating a super-cool Halloween outfit….whatever it may be.

Oh, and I have fantastic news – Craig and I just booked pre-sale tickets (thank you Neil and American Express!) to see The Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet this winter! I cannot express how happy this makes me. I have been wanting to do this since I was sixteen years old, and Craig is making it happen for us :)  Did I mention we have first ring, first row tickets? Those are second best, following only the exclusive Orchestra sweet seats. I am so blessed!

Good Stuff

A friend shared this video on Facebook and I thought I'd share with you all since I love it so much. Especially the guy in the gray shirt and shades who belts out the chorus; he's fantastic.

If it werent for the disruptive laughter I'd try to download it to listen to during a good workout. It's just about as good as the original from Lady Gaga herself! Unfortunately I can't share the video, but I can share the link, included below:

Amazing


And here's the original, just for fun:

Day of Birth

On the anniversary of the day of my birth, aka my birthday, Craig took me after a long day of work to buy me a new camera. I am now the proud owner of a beautiful black Nikon d5000. I have fallen in love with its manual zoom and focus, and quick shutter speed. I think the boyfriend has gotten a little jealous that my eyes are always behind the lens, but he understands.

For the weekend, he thoroughly spoiled me.

We took the causeway over the Mobile Bay and to the Easter Shore. The cities of Fairhope, Daphne, Point Clear and Gulf Shores make up this gorgeous, tree-filled area. The houses are well-maintained, and the residents take a lot of pride in their property. It's like going back in time when we travel through the area (we go antiquing in Fairhope on some weekends).

Craig booked a private boat tour of the Bay for the two of us. The captain was a lady named Cindy, a native of Mobile and avid boater. Very educated on the area, she informed us all kinds of insider information, including what kinds of fish are best caught and where.

I could totally get used to this

We cruised down the Fish River, where the wide width of the water allowed for boaters to tug skiers or tubers.We journeyed into an area called Magnolia Springs, where oak trees dripped Spanish moss into emerald waters. The boathouses, rather than the actual houses, had mailboxes! A lucky mailman, don't you think?

The terrible news is that at this point, my brand new Nikon malfunctioned. The display screen turned white and all my pictures viewed as white screens. I tried not to be distraught but I was highly upset. I had to remind myself that pictures are not everything, and to enjoy the moment that Craig had planned so carefully.  I said a little prayer and after a few minutes on the boat, I was much better. Plus, we had brought the old Nikon just incase.

(since then I have had the camera replaced, and even got $55 out of it! Apparently it went on sale the day after Craig bought it.)

We docked at a riverside restaurant called Big Daddy's where we ate fried crawfish tails and Gulf crab claws. Yummy. Actually, it wasn't that great - there was little seasoning and the crawfish was bland. But the atmosphere was great!

We finally finished our trip after about 5 hours. Craig took me our last and final stop for the night - The Grand Hotel.

Talk about luxury.

The Grand, as the locals call it, is a Marriott resort. Brick columns and dark green wood make up the exterior of the buildings, which wrap around a lagoon on one side and back up to the bay on the other. Our room overlooked a small marina where sailboats were docked. The breeze blew and the waves lapped against the boats while the ropes on the masts clinked in turns. It sounded so wonderful we slept with the french doors open.

We enjoyed dinner at the Captain's Dining Room, a small, private restaurant with a piano player and delicious food. I had a banana-crusted Hawaiian bass over veggie spring rolls, and table-side bananas foster (which wasnt as good as it was in New Orleans - the waiter didnt cook all of the alcohol out). Craig enjoyed the Dover sole. Yummy.

After dinner we took a walk down to the docks and sat on a wooden swing to relax.



This reminded me so much of one of my favorite books, The Great Gatsby; that symbolic

red light on the other side of the bay

The next day we drank mint juleps and pedicures! It was Craig's first pedi and he thoroughly enjoyed it. I knew he would. What I didn't know was that he liked canary yellow nail polish.

But, he resisted.

It was a wonderful trip and birthday present, and I'm very thankful to be with someone that cares so much to plan it out just to my liking :)

Plus, now he wants a boat, which I am happy to have helped pursuade him with that decision.

New Orleans

I’ve been so busy lately and it has been evident in my lack of recent posts! I do apologize, but being busy is normally a good thing, and for me it has been.

Craig and I spent the Labor day weekend in the great city of New Orleans. I think one thing that makes New Orleans so special is the fact that it’s always so different on each trip. Not just in the changing galleries or boutiques or events, but also in the type of crowd, the different musicians and peddlers in the street, the experiences. The fire in the gas lanterns seem to flicker less, the wood on the doors crack deeper, the paint chip more freely. Not that the city is falling apart, we all know the Hell it's been through, but that it's aging with character, like the deep wrinkles around the eyes of a woman who has known many loves.

But you know what my second favorite thing to do in New Orleans is?


To get lost.
That’s after eating, of course.


We spent a day walking through the grid-lined streets of the French Quarter with absolutely no particular destination in mind. We admired the art in galleries and vintage furniture in antique shops. Craig pointed out a chandelier in the French Antique Shop Co. for $400,000!

I real beaut, but geez you’d need a mortgage for that. We dined in the famous Court of Two Sisters, where the table-side bananas foster was the best I’ve ever had, but the table-side cooking show wasn't that impressive.


 Preservation Hall was incredible!

What I love so much about the Hall is that it still has that feel of antiquity. The lights are a dim orange, the cork-board walls weathered with age and the brass instruments gleam on rickety wooden chairs. The jazz musicians tap their feet to the beats, and during the solo of one, the others nod in enchantment . I remember these things as if they happened in sepia, like the brown-washed picture in my mind of the singer standing to belt out a tune that was a little off-tune. He was fantastic.

If you’re ever in New Orleans for a couple of days you have to take a day to venture just a short drive west and visit the Oak Alley Plantation.

the breathtaking view from the veranda

The two-story Greek revival house rests among 600 acres of sugar cane. Twenty eight live oaks line the cobblestone driveway in perfect symmetry from the front door to the iron gate, separating the manicured grass from the slight hill that protects the land from the mighty Mississippi river. Take a house tour given by a Southern belle, historically dressed, and enjoy a mint julep on the second floor veranda, where the view of the driveway is absolutely stunning. The early morning or evening hours are the best times to go for photographs, as the light pours in at different angles and the sun paints the sky in magical hues. If you experience a surge of serenity and don’t feel the need to leave, you don’t necessarily have to –the house is also a Bed and Breakfast, and you might get lucky and snag a room!

Monday we ventured into the Louisiana bayou and took a swamp tour with Cajun Adventures. We had a choice of three boats – two covered and one uncovered – and chose the uncovered one for the better view. All three boats were full! The swamp business is booming this year!

We came across several alligators, ranging in age and length (they grow about a foot a year) from tiny babies to large seven-footers. Our Captain, Bishop, who had an intense (and sexy) Cajun accent, threw marshmallows out to the gators to bait them towards the boat (the effervescence attracts them) and then fed them hotdogs from a stick only about two feet long. The gators would stick their tails straight up, as if for leverage, and then lunge half of their body length out of the water for the small snack. It was thrilling to be so close to an alligator in feeding action. Craig was sitting against the side of the boat and could reach down and grab their tails!

"Jimmy" doing a trick

They were cute, with their individual personalities and seemingly playful nature. Of course, these gators are in protected waters and are used to being fed, but it was both educating and entertaining. Besides, any ride on a boat and I’m a happy girl!

That’s all for now!

Magic Grows Sweet Legumes - a tribute to Moultrie, Georgia

Everyone knows of Atlanta, perhaps even the smaller city of Macon, Georgia. And Athens, too, thanks to college football. But those skyscrapers and football fields have stripped the land of its southern enigma; to find the secrets of Georgia that have long been buried, but not forgotten, one must discover its small towns first. I began with the city of Moultrie.



The noon sun rested beside feathery white clouds as I made my way down the long sweep of US 319. A railroad track stretched alongside me, visible behind the roadside brush only by the X-shaped caution markers where the highway forked into small, disappearing roads. To my right lolled groves of hickory, where sunlight splotches painted green grass gold. To my left were staggered fields, farm lands empty but of sticks poking out of the ground as the spiny remains of cotton in the cool November dirt.

I took the exit to Moultrie and circled around to Main Street. I drove a short route through a residential area speckled with convenience stores and small casual dining restaurants and into downtown. The town square was just that – square. Four long, two-story strips of colorful, store-front facades faced each other as if at any moment music would start and a quadrille would ensue. In the center, like a treasured mantelpiece stood the mother of all town-square courthouses - the Moultrie Courthouse, a large magnolia tree hugging her hip.
From what I could tell, parked on the southern side of the square, was that the residents took care of their downtown area, preserving it like a blackberry jam in a foggy-glassed mason jar.

               (taken with a piece of history - my 1974 Pentax with the original 50mm lens. Sorry for the blurred or under-exposed images following)

And in that weekend in November, the town was festively dressed. A canopy of Christmas lights hovered over the streets, hanging from the courthouse to the tops of store-fronts on all four sides of the square. The lights weren’t to be lit until after Thanksgiving, when the Christmas celebrations were to slowly begin. Not knowing where to start exploring, I picked a strand of lights and followed it to a southbound corner. I ended up at a tall brick building, the only one downtown that was more than two stories. An old hotel, the lobby had been converted into a bakery called Three Crazy Bakers.

The large lobby contained no tables or chairs the same, the coffee was self-serve, calling to me with a rich aroma from a distressed white side table against the far wall. The kitchen was separated from the lobby by glass display cases, a register, and a temporary wall with a curtained kitchen entrance. The smell of coffee and something sweet – peaches, perhaps – immediately made me hungry. I sat at a green table and when the waitress, a girl of about sixteen approached, I ordered a chicken salad on a croissant. It comes to no surprised that I was impressed. The details really made the meal - grapes were firm, the almonds crunch and the poppy-seed sauce a tangy delicacy. I left full, and ready to work it off by walking around the downtown area.

I passed a bookstore with a fake Santa reclined in a rocking chair with a children’s book in the corner; a woman’s boutique where I stopped and bought a red purse made by a Moultrie local; an ice cream shop that smelled so much like candied pecans it made my stomach flip a little. Christmas wreaths hung on the doors, garland lined the doorways.

I reached the adjacent corner from the bakery and joined a crowd of gathered people buying fresh produce from the outdoor market. Mister Earl sold peanuts on a table covered with a checkered vinyl blanket. “Thems magic peas,”he confessed when I approached the table. “What makes them magic?” I asked, while I picked up a pre-measured bushel and blew off the ants. “Georgia makes ‘em magic,” he answered with a wink. “Got me a green thumb from my daddy, can grow pretty much anything, anytime.” I thanked him and handed him cash. Whether they produced miracles or immediate growth spurts I wasn’t sure, but they sure tasted magical as I munched them throughout my walk.

I passed an old theater converted into a Senior Center,

a historic building that had become a bank, and a opera house that now sold used books and magazines, as well as some crafts and hobby-items. I made my way around the square and had returned to the bakery where I crossed the street to a chic antique store. It was located in an old Gayfers building, the name still etched on the stucco side and faded. Inside, antiques sat on the floor, clung to the walls, hung from the ceilings, all tastefully displayed. I circled the store and reached a section dedicated to all things ‘wedding.’ A long rack of white and ivory gowns lined the back wall. I sifted through each of them, stroked the beads and ran my hand along the lace intricacies. The smell of champagne, vanilla icing, perfume, and honeysuckle vines over wooden arches still lingered on the dresses, or at least, my imagination put them there.

I bumped into an antique dresser and a necklace of pearls rolled, catching my eye with their gleam. I picked them up and checked the price. A lady came out of nowhere and in a thrilled voice said, “Oh you found Ms. Johnson’s beads! She’d be so happy to see a young baby take ‘em. Ya like ‘em?” Nothing like Tiffany’s, but they were still in good shape. “Her husband died the day after he gave ‘em to her, heart attack, you know. She never wore ‘em, couldn’t hardly look at ‘em, but she figured they’d make someone else happy. They’s been here since good Lord knows when.” Satisfied, I purchased them and made my way out.

The sun was low then, the buildings casted shadows on the west part of the square, while the colors on the other sides were bright and glowing. That day, I had supported a boutique, a man named Earl with his magic legumes, a local bakery, an antique store and a woman named Ms. Johnson. My day was complete.

That is, until I got lost making my back to the highway entrance, and found a sign leading to a large arts and crafts festival.

How could I resist? I found the large field – an old airport facility that housed the old-fashioned bi-winged crop-dusters still in use. I paid the entrance fee and walked through the airplane hangars. Arts and crafts were displayed and sold in sections, divided by lattice wood walls and, sometimes quilts. Everything from wine-bottle lanterns (I purchased a green one) to homemade marmalade (I was still full so I skipped it) was being held and scoped and examined by customers. The Calico Arts and Crafts festival, as I learned, was the biggest craft show in southern Georgia and comes only twice a year. I just happened to get lucky. Dancers paraded on stage, corn roasted over a fire pit and barbecue smoked to tender perfection behind a portable trailer with a big picture of a pink pig on front. A small stand sold ice cream and sweet tea, funnel cakes and French fries. Over the music, an endless chatter could be heard from the locals and travelers alike, a friendly symphony of laughter, gossip and the sweet crunch of magical Georgia legumes.

The ride home felt a little longer than the ride to town. The sun melted behind the flat horizon, the hickory groves grew dark in their shadows. The sprinklers in the cotton fields had retired, sleeping over large bales of the white crop that lined the land. Tarps covered the tall white stacks for protection from rain. In the distance, where the farmers had yet to drive the plow, was the unpicked cotton. A sea of white flowed along the brim, circling patches of oak trees and woodland. The swirling hues of the November sunset reflected off the white ocean, and from the road the heavens seemed in that moment to never cease over the Georgia land.