Friday, January 26, 2007
An Overflowing Cup
I'm taking the chicken way out and posting this little bit of information. I need to break the news to my sister, Barb. She's going to hate me for it. At the very least it will drive her crazy. If I major in O.C.D., she has a doctorate in it. (And to anyone who is inflicted, that's a compliment, to call the perfectionist kettle black.)

I switched. To the new Blogger. After 99,000 tries and being told no, that for no explainable reason, I could not switch. I just clicked on it one more time. Expecting nothing. It worked.

I'd noticed some of you out there had titles, or labels at the bottom of your posts, and the little OCD person living inside me wanted needed them. On my posts. I'm the Queen of Lists, and if I can line up my posts - well, that just makes for a Happy Little World, and if nobody else but Organizing Junkie understands, that's okay. We only need a few like us to convince ourselves that we're normal.

So - it just took off and did it, with little help from me. I'd read, in the promo for the new blogger, that it worked better, and good grief, wouldn't we all like that? Better, as in publishes faster, lets you post photos faster, or at all if we're being completely honest (it did this one, first try - no problem). And it had the cool labels.

Barb and I just discussed this yesterday, that neither of us could get it to work, and how dumb was that, that they keep asking you, and to add insult to injury you have to click on "Old Blogger", which would be funny if we were 29 or something but since both of our ages start with a '5' it's not so charming. That alone was enough reason to try to switch. I'm not ready to be Old Anything, except to my 5 year old grandson, Caiden, who's just glad at my age, I'm still around. He's adorable enough that he gets to think I'm old, and ask me funny questions along that line.

So it worked. I have no idea why. I'm tickled beyond belief over it. That in itself may indicate a deep-seated problem. I could possibly delve deeper into that for about $60 an hour. Barb, feel free to have me tarred and feathered. I may deserve it. While my sister and I have discussed something around 100 times our similarities and our differences, and she has told me she'd rather jump off a bridge than live my life, this - New Blogger - this may just make her a little envious. I've had to live for years with the fact that you truly can eat off her floors (don't you even believe her when she tells you differently. I've been there. You can.) So she doesn't want my life, but this will bug her, just a little. (As in she's going to try it every single solitary day til she gets it to work.) It's fun being sisters. Now that we can't carve up each other's baby dolls, or ruin each other's makeup and clothes, from 1500 miles away we can do this.

On top of that, it's still snowing just enough to be charming. I don't have to go anywhere or do anything today, and after two days of this blissful living, I'm quickly becoming addicted to it. Makes me wonder about those men in orange jumpsuits, spearing trash with the pointy sticks on the sides of the highways, do they get outside the prison walls, see the people driving by, on their cell phones, drinking jumbo cups of something, with the music blaring out the windows, and vow to turn over a new leaf? In my mind, I'm ripping off the orange jumpsuit... I might venture out later for another 50 lbs of rock salt for our sledding hill driveway, and if I happen to pass by a Starbucks or Panera with the fireplace going, I just may have to stop in for an hour or three. (Feel free to gag a little about now.)

To put it completely over the top, I phoned my husband and asked if he'd like me to meet him for lunch, and he suggested Applebees Bourbon Street Steak tonight, as in not only do I not have to do a single solitary thing the entire live-long day, but I also don't have to cook this evening. (And in case you're wondering, yes, in the area of TMI, I may well need to shave my legs to earn my keep. Because I am lately, after all, living shamelessly like a kept-woman.)

In the meantime, I'm wondering how I woke up to all of this, did somebody die and appoint me Queen For A Day, and instead of winning a new washer and dryer (does anyone else remember that show? I swear she wore a leopard robe and a crown. Even back then, as a little girl, I felt bad for her that all she won was something to throw dirty clothes in.) I just got my life handed back to me on an oh-so-lovely plate?

John 10:10 (in the Message) says, "I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of." My cup is overflowing right now. Sort of makes the cynic in me wonder what's lurking around the corner... Today though, I'm just sipping away. And for pete's sake - check out the's all about the label.


  posted at 10:19 AM

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    Girl Raised in the South

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