Love in the form of Red Box

I worked 13 hours yesterday.

I wrote five stories.

I attended two meetings.

I found out I have a 32-page special publication due today by 6 p.m.

I got a text message from my 13-year-old brother that said, "Hey, Elsie helped me with a lot of homework so would you mind picking up the new Shrek for her? P.S. it doesn't matter if it's in HD because the PS3 is HD."

I stopped at five Red Boxes in three towns before finally landing a copy.

I got home at 10 p.m. and delivered the goods and told them my Red Box adventures.

"That's dedication," Elsie said.

Yes, dedication mixed in with a little love too.

I'm living ... but in what moment?

It's December 7th but I'm already living in December 9th (the day my newspaper's produced) and December 10th (the day of a very special holiday party) and December 11 (the day of country dancing) and December 25 (Christmas!) and December 29 (the day of celebrating my beautiful mother) and January 14 (the day I get to see very special friends who I miss very much) ...

As a planner and a journalist, I'm used to living two, three, four, five days out from today. But just this year when I failed to schedule a photographer to cover the first day of school because I'd been so focused on announcing the first day of school starting that I forgot to document that it started, I realized I can't forget to live in the moment that my readers are in.

Or, live in the moment that I'm in.

I like these people

One thing about living in Texas - we have our own genre of music. One of the bands is the Josh Abbott Band and they sing a song called, "She's Like Texas."

A few of the chorus' lyrics say this:

"She always holds her head up high.
She loves the company of her family.
She believes in God's greater plan."

Kinda like me.

I love the company of my family and am glad for the company I shared with some of them yesterday.

I'm not asking for your social security number

We were joking in the newsroom yesterday that after 30 years in the business one would tend to be insensitive.

And I said, "Hell, after four years in the business I'm insensitive", which really isn't entirely true. I'm a pretty sensitive individual.

When I'm not sensitive, however, is when I'm pursuing an investigative story and I want answers. Then I mix sensitivity with a little bit of reporter-aggression.

I'm also not sensitive when I'm pursuing a non-investigative story about - oh- Christmas lights and I get a virtual "no comment." Fine. I guess somebody's not in the Christmas spirit.

Or I call a new restaurant to talk to the manager and I get a rude "She's busy. You'll have to call back early in the morning."

I didn't even say goodbye. I sneered and replied, "Okay then..." And I made a mental note to not ever write a story about the new restaurant.

(free publicity, people. you don't say no!)

I am sensitive when I'm covering a science fair and interviewing kids who are waayyyy smarter then me. To give you a clue on how smart some of these little guys were - I was reading them back their quotes to make sure I notated them correctly. I don't ever do that.

And it warmed my sensitive soul when I saw this story cut out and framed all pretty-like in the entrance of the science fair.

That helps make it worth dealing with silly people who turn down free advertising and treat me like I'm after a Watergate scandal scoop. It's Christmas lights and restaurants, people. In the grand scheme of things, not really all that important.

Maybe the bigger issue is that, as a reporter, I don't like being told no. As much as it bugs me when people refuse to talk to me, it makes me feel so damn good when people drop me little lines to thank me for a story or let me know how it impacted them.

Yeah, I might ask you a bunch of questions and you might not understand some of them but I promise you that when I sit down to write your story, it will have a piece of my creative heart in it. Even the one about Christmas lights.

I grew up in 31-feet of space - 28' minus the hitch

Ours was a 1983 Prowler by Fleetwood travel trailer, orange-and-white, 31-feet long, 28-feet of living space when you subtracted the length of the hitch/propane tanks. It was similar to the one pictured above but longer and with two doors.

Welcome to my home of (roughly) eight years.

I don't talk often here about the travel trailer days of my growing up years but yes, I was raised in a trailer with six siblings, a dog and two parents.

Interesting, huh?
You have a lot of questions, don't you?

Some of my friends have questions about my life in a travel trailer and one of them is: exactly how long is 28-feet of space? I can't even imagine it.

My friend Greg and his wife Kristin asked me one night and because a long tape measure was handy, Greg measured it:

I love this picture for the following reasons:

1) my friends love me enough to actually care about measuring off 28' in their kitchen to figure me out more.
2) I love that kitchen. Lots of good memories in that kitchen.

I love my life.

And that includes the past, the present and the future.

to-do lists, I love you. I hate you.

I was going to bless your reading eyes with a picture of my to-do list.

When I took the picture, I decided not to post it because, you know, I might have stalkers.

But then I reasoned with myself that the whole point of this post was to show you how I color-coordinate my life. And I couldn't do that without a picture.

So I took another picture.

But when I enhanced the colors, I changed it to gray scale, which I realized defeated the whole purpose (color!) of posting the picture.

Instead of "undoing" my gray scale option, I deleted it, took another picture and started over.

Basically, I've been really busy today. And if you're wondering about the gap in the middle of the paper, that symbolizes a "break" between the morning and afternoon/evening. Ha! break.

I wrote five stories plus a column. I conducted a man-on-the-street survey. I rewrote a couple stories for our daily publication. I inputted a bunch of stuff (there's not a better word for it!) into our editorial system and edited the crap out of it. Or tried to. I talked to one of our 'editors' about a headline that misused "effect." He was pissed and venting about it.

"Look at the headline on the bottom of the front page," he said and I obliged.

"Oh, they used 'e'ffect instead of 'a'ffect," I replied immediately.

"When do you use 'e'ffect?" he asked.

"Well, 'e'ffect is a noun, 'a'ffect is a verb," I answered. I passed his venting test.

I organized my paper for tomorrow's production. I met with students, teachers and the principal at the high school to talk about an anti-bullying campaign (neat stuff!) and I tried to Twitter but of course, Twitter was not cooperating, which is why I don't like it. I don't like Twitter.

Back to the to-do list.

I love them. I love writing things on them and then crossing them off. Today, though, it felt like I was crossing one thing off and adding two more, which is why I hate them sometimes.

I have two stories to write still but creatively, I'm exhausted. If you couldn't tell. This isn't exactly the most creatively inspiring post ever.

So I shall end it.

today is different from last year's Dec. 1ish

I didn't blog Dec. 1, 2009 mostly because I was on a New Mexico mountain in the middle of 32,000 acres with feet of snow on the ground and no power.

But I journaled Dec. 3 and then posted it when power was back on.

It's a different life now but the same in many aspects. My family's still together but better and stronger because we live within 10 miles of each other. We're still feeding animals but we've left behind the isolation and loneliness of the mountain; we're in civilization now. And if you caught my man-drama hater rant from the other day, you'll know I'm glad we don't deal with that anymore.

I think the thing that is really the same is the nature of us. We sit and laugh and tell old jokes. We discuss latest politics and religion and news. We eat good food and leave the dirty dishes in the sink sometimes. We work together, play together, play tug-of-war together. I grab the nearest item (last night it was a straw) and declare everyone be quiet, listen to me and stop interrupting me. I do that sometimes, you know.

This Dec. 1, I'm sitting at my desk - an editor again with a lengthy to-do list today. I don't have to carry a knife with me anymore nor do I have to dress in layers. I'm better, I'm more healed, I'm happy, I'm thrilled and I'm realizing that this post is kind of a jumbled mess, which means I'll stop now and graciously allow you to exit my ramblings.