1. Two people meet, fall in love, and have two children. 21 years apart.
2. Child #1 falls in love and marries just as child #2 is learning to walk.
3. Child #1 has two children just as child #2 starts puberty.
4. Child #1 raises his two kids into adulthood.
5. Child #2 falls in love, marries and has three children of her own. We call her mom.
6. Mom's kids grow into adulthood, marry and start their own families.
7. Child #1's oldest son, Son A, meets nice lady, moves in with her. Sets wedding date.
8. Child #1's youngest son, Son B, gets sick. Wedding cancelled.
9. Son A sets another date. Something happens. Wedding cancelled again.
10. Years pass.
11. Son B doesn't get better. Still sick. Son A decides to get married, again.
12. Son A sets date. Moves wedding to Vegas so easier for mom and her children to attend. Child #1 and Son B won't be attending.
13. Date set for the same weekend as the half-marathon that mom's daughter has been lamenting about since signing up for it in a panic in February.
14. Mom's daughter decides Vegas sounds much more enjoyable than Ogden, running 13 miles. It might have been the 35 degree weather on April 15th that pushed her over the edge. Besides, the wedding party is only 7 big, so her presence would be greatly missed.
15. Mom's daughter calls her training buddies and gives them the good news. They're ecstatic that Friday morning won't be marred by an 8 mile run at 6 am.
16. Mom's daughter is mad at herself for feeling so elated that she's not obligated to run the half-marathon, but is looking forward to a 5k that she really wanted to do earlier in the month that she couldn't do because of her long runs.
17. Mom's daughter is pledging to get faster for the half-marathon she is definitely doing in August. Hoping to break 2:10. That's about a minute faster per mile than what she's currently running. It's probably wishful thinking, but at least now she has the time to devote to speeding up.
18. Best of all, mom's daughter is going to Vegas to an actual wedding with Elvis. How cool is that?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
My Easter Message
My grandparents--my mom's parents--were old. Very old. And I'm not just saying that because everyone over the age of 50 looks old when you're a kid. They were in their mid 40's when they had my mom and by the time I cam around, they were 74 and 79. All my memories of them have them in their 80's which is ancient in little kid time. I just assumed everyone spent Sundays at the nursing home with Grandpa.
My grandpa died when I was 9. He was 88. My grandma was a spitfire and hung in there for another 12 years past him, dying five years ago at the ripe age of 96.
For the last seven years of her life, she lived in a hospital that dealt solely with Alheizmers. She had the disease fairly bad and though it was devastating to watch it suck the life force out of someone who had been so vibrant, she did not deteriorate to the point that some of the people in the hospital did.
My brothers and I would entertain ourselves when we went to visit Grandma. For some reason she always thought it was Christmas, EXCEPT for the one day that it was Christmas. Then we couldn't get her to open her presents because she was going to wait until Christmas Day to do so. We would tell her stories about what we were doing in our lives and towards the end, we'd let her call us by the wrong name and just go along with the stories. For instance, 5 foot 8 inch, redhead 20-something year old me was my 4 foot 10 inch Brazillian 70-something year old aunt. I would just go along with it because in a few minutes I'd be someone new. Sometimes we'd see who could invent the most outrageous thing. My oldest brother--a person who can charm the pants off of anyone--won when he introduced me as Snoop Dog to a "visiting" patient. Without batting an eyelash, the lady turned to me and said "How do you do, Snoop Dog?" Didn't even phase her.
The best part about visiting Grandma was her collection of items from other patients' rooms. Since everyone was free to roam, often times, we'd find someone else's pictures and stuffed animals sitting on her dresser when we came by to visit. For whatever reason, she thought that my twin brother was someone else's son, who had Down Syndrome. The picture was old, as though it had been taken a long time ago. Each time we stopped in, we'd ask Grandma who that was a picture of and she'd look at us like we were crazy. "Scott of course." She'd reply. Before leaving, my mom would sneak it off her dresser and return the picture to it's rightful owner. A few times, Grandma would tell us about how someone kept stealing her picture of Scott and so she took to hiding it in her underwear drawer.
One Easter, we came in and there was a present waiting just for me. She had "purchased" a stuffed lamb for me, her only granddaughter. When you pressed the belly of the lamb, it would croak "Happy Easter" though it talked with a lisp, so it sounded more like "Happy Ether". I was 16 or 17 at the time, a little old for such gifts, but I took it with a smile. We never could find it's owner and so it came home with us.
A few nights later, I sat down to dinner of lambchops and the refrain "Happy Ether" "Happy Ether" "Happy Ether" kept running through my head and ever since, I have not been able to eat lamb.
As I was "consulting with the Easter Bunny" last night at Wal-mart because I had left things to the last minute, I was reminded of this story. 10 years later I still remember how happy my Grandma was when she handed over her pilfered lispy lamb.
May we all find such simple pleasures and joys in life.
My grandpa died when I was 9. He was 88. My grandma was a spitfire and hung in there for another 12 years past him, dying five years ago at the ripe age of 96.
For the last seven years of her life, she lived in a hospital that dealt solely with Alheizmers. She had the disease fairly bad and though it was devastating to watch it suck the life force out of someone who had been so vibrant, she did not deteriorate to the point that some of the people in the hospital did.
My brothers and I would entertain ourselves when we went to visit Grandma. For some reason she always thought it was Christmas, EXCEPT for the one day that it was Christmas. Then we couldn't get her to open her presents because she was going to wait until Christmas Day to do so. We would tell her stories about what we were doing in our lives and towards the end, we'd let her call us by the wrong name and just go along with the stories. For instance, 5 foot 8 inch, redhead 20-something year old me was my 4 foot 10 inch Brazillian 70-something year old aunt. I would just go along with it because in a few minutes I'd be someone new. Sometimes we'd see who could invent the most outrageous thing. My oldest brother--a person who can charm the pants off of anyone--won when he introduced me as Snoop Dog to a "visiting" patient. Without batting an eyelash, the lady turned to me and said "How do you do, Snoop Dog?" Didn't even phase her.
The best part about visiting Grandma was her collection of items from other patients' rooms. Since everyone was free to roam, often times, we'd find someone else's pictures and stuffed animals sitting on her dresser when we came by to visit. For whatever reason, she thought that my twin brother was someone else's son, who had Down Syndrome. The picture was old, as though it had been taken a long time ago. Each time we stopped in, we'd ask Grandma who that was a picture of and she'd look at us like we were crazy. "Scott of course." She'd reply. Before leaving, my mom would sneak it off her dresser and return the picture to it's rightful owner. A few times, Grandma would tell us about how someone kept stealing her picture of Scott and so she took to hiding it in her underwear drawer.
One Easter, we came in and there was a present waiting just for me. She had "purchased" a stuffed lamb for me, her only granddaughter. When you pressed the belly of the lamb, it would croak "Happy Easter" though it talked with a lisp, so it sounded more like "Happy Ether". I was 16 or 17 at the time, a little old for such gifts, but I took it with a smile. We never could find it's owner and so it came home with us.
A few nights later, I sat down to dinner of lambchops and the refrain "Happy Ether" "Happy Ether" "Happy Ether" kept running through my head and ever since, I have not been able to eat lamb.
As I was "consulting with the Easter Bunny" last night at Wal-mart because I had left things to the last minute, I was reminded of this story. 10 years later I still remember how happy my Grandma was when she handed over her pilfered lispy lamb.
May we all find such simple pleasures and joys in life.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Party Crashers
I was invited by a friend to the Wasatch Presbyterian Church's annual Easter Egg hunt this morning. Since it was slightly more than what my church was planning on doing for Easter, and I had to be in Salt Lake anyways, I wholeheartedly agreed to go.
Josh had a great time making art projects centering around larges crosses and even won a plastic green cross necklace that he proudly wore around his neck.
Hey, Christ is Christ. And a little child is a little child.
Then it was time for the Easter Egg Hunt. Since I had Aunika with me, my friend and her husband split up our two boys and each took one. They were off and Josh, carrying his Halloween pumpkin, got quite the cache. It's not lost on me that he chose (adamantly, I might add) to bring a symbol of a holiday that focuses on death to a religious celebration centering around rebirth and life.
After the hunt, we headed to Target to get a few things. It was in the parking lot that Josh was forced to remove his green plastic cross. He did so with out a lot of complaint.
Off to a family birthday party and then it was home.
Where was Wade for all this fun? Aerating lawns for a scout fundraiser. As I pulled into the neighborhood, I thought I'd go search him out. I drove up our street and down the one behind us. There was Wade, trying desperately to keep a little boy from running into the street. Another guy was working the machine.
Just the two of them.
"Um...where's the scouts?"
"They've gone home."
"Home? The scouts have gone home during THEIR fundraiser?!?"
"Yep."
And that's how I found Wade. 8 hours after starting, trying desperately to finish. Hopes of me getting out for my seven mile run quickly diminished in the fading sunlight. I returned home, with two new little boys in tow because the wife of the other sucker left to finish the fundraiser had dropped them off before heading into Salt Lake.
I was slightly irritated because me, my children, and my half-finished basement have given up the entire month of April Saturdays to scouts.
It's no secret that I'm not really fond of children. I like my own kids, but I don't particularly like other people's kids. I would rather just pay a babysitter for a few hours than trade with another mother for "free" babysitting. I don't do playdates for the sole reason that eventually it will be my turn to keep other people's kids entertained.
But here I was, tending two children so that my husband could raise funds for the scouts to go to camp by aerating (something he's never done, by the way) lawns.
The sun slipped behind the mountainside and I sadly gave up my quest of running seven miles outside. After a trip to the pizza place to get dinner and to Wal-mart, it became all too clear that I wasn't going to get down to the treadmill either.
I'm reminded of a board I saw at the Presbyterian Church. It had all the tasks that need to be done each Sunday and room for people to sign up. So, if you want to play the piano that week, you sign up. Or if you want to usher or greet people. It's a very novel idea. Like if you want to be the wife of the scoutmaster, sign up here.
Josh had a great time making art projects centering around larges crosses and even won a plastic green cross necklace that he proudly wore around his neck.
Hey, Christ is Christ. And a little child is a little child.
Then it was time for the Easter Egg Hunt. Since I had Aunika with me, my friend and her husband split up our two boys and each took one. They were off and Josh, carrying his Halloween pumpkin, got quite the cache. It's not lost on me that he chose (adamantly, I might add) to bring a symbol of a holiday that focuses on death to a religious celebration centering around rebirth and life.
After the hunt, we headed to Target to get a few things. It was in the parking lot that Josh was forced to remove his green plastic cross. He did so with out a lot of complaint.
Off to a family birthday party and then it was home.
Where was Wade for all this fun? Aerating lawns for a scout fundraiser. As I pulled into the neighborhood, I thought I'd go search him out. I drove up our street and down the one behind us. There was Wade, trying desperately to keep a little boy from running into the street. Another guy was working the machine.
Just the two of them.
"Um...where's the scouts?"
"They've gone home."
"Home? The scouts have gone home during THEIR fundraiser?!?"
"Yep."
And that's how I found Wade. 8 hours after starting, trying desperately to finish. Hopes of me getting out for my seven mile run quickly diminished in the fading sunlight. I returned home, with two new little boys in tow because the wife of the other sucker left to finish the fundraiser had dropped them off before heading into Salt Lake.
I was slightly irritated because me, my children, and my half-finished basement have given up the entire month of April Saturdays to scouts.
It's no secret that I'm not really fond of children. I like my own kids, but I don't particularly like other people's kids. I would rather just pay a babysitter for a few hours than trade with another mother for "free" babysitting. I don't do playdates for the sole reason that eventually it will be my turn to keep other people's kids entertained.
But here I was, tending two children so that my husband could raise funds for the scouts to go to camp by aerating (something he's never done, by the way) lawns.
The sun slipped behind the mountainside and I sadly gave up my quest of running seven miles outside. After a trip to the pizza place to get dinner and to Wal-mart, it became all too clear that I wasn't going to get down to the treadmill either.
I'm reminded of a board I saw at the Presbyterian Church. It had all the tasks that need to be done each Sunday and room for people to sign up. So, if you want to play the piano that week, you sign up. Or if you want to usher or greet people. It's a very novel idea. Like if you want to be the wife of the scoutmaster, sign up here.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
All Creatures Great and Small
I have a confession.
For my 22nd or 23rd birthday I was given a hermit crab by a good friend from high school. She brought it over in a cute little crab case complete with an owner manual and everything. The crab seemed to be somewhat personable, as well as you could tell, and even spent some time enjoying the view from outside his shell. When we returned from dinner, the hermit crab and its habitat were no where to be found. However, two very guilty looking cats were staring at us with perplexity in their eyes. We scanned the room and found the case by the couch. I set the case back on the table and we went about our evening.
At some point I looked over to find both cats with their faces plastered to the case. I can only imagine what the view was like from inside the box.
I saw the crab emerge from his shell roughly two or three times after that, and each time he/she/it poked out, a cat would pounce. Understandably, the crab took to hiding inside it's shell. I would feed it and eventually the food was gone, but I never did see it come out again.
Soon though, the food was taking longer and longer to be devoured. Sometimes days. And I was a nervous wreck. I would think the thing was dead and then find the food gone when I checked. Or the shell would be in a different spot in the case. Maybe. I couldn't tell for sure.
It got to be so that this hermit crab was causing me a lot of stress. Everyday, I would stress over whether I was housing a dead animal or not. I was getting stomach aches over this.
And so I made an executive decision. One day, I threw it in the garbage. Just opened the case and dumped it all in the trash.
I felt really guilty, because all creatures, big or small, are God's creatures, but I couldn't grasp why God would make an animal that was so hard to determine if it was alive or dead. And the stress was killing me. I figured that I was maybe a little more important on God's priority scale and so I disposed of the animal myself. It's not like I gave it to the cats to play with.
Ahh...I feel so much better.
For my 22nd or 23rd birthday I was given a hermit crab by a good friend from high school. She brought it over in a cute little crab case complete with an owner manual and everything. The crab seemed to be somewhat personable, as well as you could tell, and even spent some time enjoying the view from outside his shell. When we returned from dinner, the hermit crab and its habitat were no where to be found. However, two very guilty looking cats were staring at us with perplexity in their eyes. We scanned the room and found the case by the couch. I set the case back on the table and we went about our evening.
At some point I looked over to find both cats with their faces plastered to the case. I can only imagine what the view was like from inside the box.
I saw the crab emerge from his shell roughly two or three times after that, and each time he/she/it poked out, a cat would pounce. Understandably, the crab took to hiding inside it's shell. I would feed it and eventually the food was gone, but I never did see it come out again.
Soon though, the food was taking longer and longer to be devoured. Sometimes days. And I was a nervous wreck. I would think the thing was dead and then find the food gone when I checked. Or the shell would be in a different spot in the case. Maybe. I couldn't tell for sure.
It got to be so that this hermit crab was causing me a lot of stress. Everyday, I would stress over whether I was housing a dead animal or not. I was getting stomach aches over this.
And so I made an executive decision. One day, I threw it in the garbage. Just opened the case and dumped it all in the trash.
I felt really guilty, because all creatures, big or small, are God's creatures, but I couldn't grasp why God would make an animal that was so hard to determine if it was alive or dead. And the stress was killing me. I figured that I was maybe a little more important on God's priority scale and so I disposed of the animal myself. It's not like I gave it to the cats to play with.
Ahh...I feel so much better.
I'm Loving It
*Yesterday, after waiting much of the day, the UPS man showed up with my birthday present from Wade. A netbook--a stripped down tiny laptop. It's roughly the size of a book and about an inch thick. It fits very nicely in my purse and is quite functional. And who says you can't buy love?
* I'm still really upset over Monday's House episode. It was a complete shock. I'm not sure why I'm so upset over it, but I've been obsessing about it since I saw it yesterday morning.
* American Idol didn't record last night on the TiVo and I was very, very mad about it. I might have taken out my frustration on my amazing husband who just bought me a very cool birthday present.
*I've been waiting for two days now on word on whether I got a freelance opportunity or not. The stress is about to kill me.
*We received notice yesterday that our permit from the county for the basement will be revoked on Monday if we don't get our inspection done. So now we're in hyper mode. Somehow I got roped into cleaning the basement today. And putting up insulation once we get the go ahead.
* I'm still really upset over Monday's House episode. It was a complete shock. I'm not sure why I'm so upset over it, but I've been obsessing about it since I saw it yesterday morning.
* American Idol didn't record last night on the TiVo and I was very, very mad about it. I might have taken out my frustration on my amazing husband who just bought me a very cool birthday present.
*I've been waiting for two days now on word on whether I got a freelance opportunity or not. The stress is about to kill me.
*We received notice yesterday that our permit from the county for the basement will be revoked on Monday if we don't get our inspection done. So now we're in hyper mode. Somehow I got roped into cleaning the basement today. And putting up insulation once we get the go ahead.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Bootcamp
On occassion, I have some real hairbrain ideas. Ideas that should never materialize for the sheer stupidity of them.
This is one of these.
A few weeks ago, I was approached by two friends looking for a third person to join with them in this month long bootcamp through a local gym. If there were three of you who signed up together, then you got a price break.
I agreed, because I usually agree to do most things athletic or endurance wise. People know they can count on me to add to their team, whatever their endeavor.
The stupidity doesn't lie so much in the bootcamp itself. It's a fairly benign workout 3 times a week, plus measurements and the added joy of filling out a food journal for a month.
It's the training for the Ogden Half Marathon that is throwing a kink into everything.
Like this morning.
At 7 am, I set out with two (different) friends on a six mile jaunt through Erda. It was pleasant enough, though the nitty gritty details are best left undiscussed. 45 minutes after returning, I changed clothes--to different workout clothes that didn't smell quite like dirty gym socks--and went over to the gym for an hour.
The workout itself wasn't difficult, but on rubbery legs, I was having a hard time. It definitely looked like I was a slacker to the instructor, someone who is in the ward and knows me quite well. I'm usually the first one to announce that I've already run six miles, but I kept my mouth shut (though I probably should've kept my arms down as well) because it didn't seem right to brag about my athletic prowess at a bootcamp type activity designed to get people off their butts and working out.
As I was watching myself (and the others, of course) in the wall length mirror while we were doing our aerobics, two thoughts came into my mind:
(a) I do not look nearly as good as I sometimes think I do when I'm exercising. Perhaps I should invest in a wall length mirror for home to remind me of this.
(b) No one looks good doing aerobics. No one. Even if you're cute and bubbly and the instructor. Everyone looks like contorted, gasping, uncoordinated freaks.
I'm just glad these two realizations came about now and not three weeks into the bootcamp.
This is one of these.
A few weeks ago, I was approached by two friends looking for a third person to join with them in this month long bootcamp through a local gym. If there were three of you who signed up together, then you got a price break.
I agreed, because I usually agree to do most things athletic or endurance wise. People know they can count on me to add to their team, whatever their endeavor.
The stupidity doesn't lie so much in the bootcamp itself. It's a fairly benign workout 3 times a week, plus measurements and the added joy of filling out a food journal for a month.
It's the training for the Ogden Half Marathon that is throwing a kink into everything.
Like this morning.
At 7 am, I set out with two (different) friends on a six mile jaunt through Erda. It was pleasant enough, though the nitty gritty details are best left undiscussed. 45 minutes after returning, I changed clothes--to different workout clothes that didn't smell quite like dirty gym socks--and went over to the gym for an hour.
The workout itself wasn't difficult, but on rubbery legs, I was having a hard time. It definitely looked like I was a slacker to the instructor, someone who is in the ward and knows me quite well. I'm usually the first one to announce that I've already run six miles, but I kept my mouth shut (though I probably should've kept my arms down as well) because it didn't seem right to brag about my athletic prowess at a bootcamp type activity designed to get people off their butts and working out.
As I was watching myself (and the others, of course) in the wall length mirror while we were doing our aerobics, two thoughts came into my mind:
(a) I do not look nearly as good as I sometimes think I do when I'm exercising. Perhaps I should invest in a wall length mirror for home to remind me of this.
(b) No one looks good doing aerobics. No one. Even if you're cute and bubbly and the instructor. Everyone looks like contorted, gasping, uncoordinated freaks.
I'm just glad these two realizations came about now and not three weeks into the bootcamp.
Friday, April 3, 2009
I Was Born To Do This. Maybe.
Despite all my big talkin', I am deathly afraid of standing up and giving a speech in front of people. Especially people I don't know. Double especially in front of people that are considerably better at public speaking than me--you know, people who are part of a public speaking club.
However, it had to be done, and so I jumped in to do it last night, giving my first speech at Toastmasters.
Let me remind you that I did not necessarily sign up because of an intense desire to speak in front of large crowds of people. I signed up as an activity to do with my dad as an adult. But I do still need to go through the motions of actually participating in the activity.
I've spent the first part of this week trying to put together a 4-6 minute speech about myself that I thought others would want to hear. The biggest obstacle being that I'm really not that interesting of a person. I stay at home and my activities don't range much in variety. No one wants a 4-6 minute speech on the amount of time I spend on the computer a day or how much laundry seems to accumulate over the course of the week.
While I do have outside interests, like running and my bowling league, it's hard to stretch those into a speech because of my mediocre ability. Who wants to hear about the 11 minute miles I ran last weekend or the 115 score I got in bowling?
So, the first challenge was writing a speech that would be entertaining and not sleep-inducing. Within minutes, I had the best opening line that I've ever produced:
"On May 1, 19__, I made my grand entrance into this world, aided--I'm sure--by a gentle push from my brother, with whom I'd been sharing tight living quarters with for the previous nine months."
Gorgeous, isn't it?
I went on to describe how big we were--8 lbs 4 oz and 8 lbs 11 oz respecitively--and then I talked about where my name came from.
Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee.
Kidding.
I'm actually named after the nurse that delivered me and Sandra Day O'Connor, the first woman to sit on the United States Supreme Court.
I described two past accomplishments I'm most proud of; running a marathon and getting my bachelor's degree. I know, surprised, right?
After briefly touching on my day-t0-day life, I talked a little about what I wanted to do in the future.
I sat down, relieved, but nervous as well. I couldn't remember if I pronounced my words correctly or if my sentences even made sense. I could hardly recall what I had said. The only thought that was running through my head was that this was EXHILARATING. I had so much fun and it was light years different from speaking in church. Probably because in church, 95% of the audience knows more than I do.
The evaluator of my speech stood up and gave a raving review. I was genuinely impressed by what she had to say. Apparently, my voice--quavering as it was to my ears--was clear and my speech was wonderful.
Of course it was. There was no doubt, right?
The Grammarian--the guy that counts my ahs and ums (4 to be exact)--made note of two sentences from my speech. He likes to point out sentences that use great words and structure; "a love of numbers does not neccessarily a mathematician make" and "my plans were thwarted--as even the best laid plans can be--when I fell in love".
I know. I'm surprised they came out of my head too.
Every week, the other members of the club pick the best speech of the night. You guessed it. I won on my first speech. Of course, Wade thinks that they let all the new people win on their first speech so that they'll keep coming back. That may be true, but I still won, and I'll be coming back.
And not only did I win the best speech for the night, I also won best Table Topics--the speech that is given off the cuff--for the night as well. Take that.
I wasn't entirely at ease up there, but I think I'm getting the hang of this. And I'm having a blast. That's all that counts, right?
However, it had to be done, and so I jumped in to do it last night, giving my first speech at Toastmasters.
Let me remind you that I did not necessarily sign up because of an intense desire to speak in front of large crowds of people. I signed up as an activity to do with my dad as an adult. But I do still need to go through the motions of actually participating in the activity.
I've spent the first part of this week trying to put together a 4-6 minute speech about myself that I thought others would want to hear. The biggest obstacle being that I'm really not that interesting of a person. I stay at home and my activities don't range much in variety. No one wants a 4-6 minute speech on the amount of time I spend on the computer a day or how much laundry seems to accumulate over the course of the week.
While I do have outside interests, like running and my bowling league, it's hard to stretch those into a speech because of my mediocre ability. Who wants to hear about the 11 minute miles I ran last weekend or the 115 score I got in bowling?
So, the first challenge was writing a speech that would be entertaining and not sleep-inducing. Within minutes, I had the best opening line that I've ever produced:
"On May 1, 19__, I made my grand entrance into this world, aided--I'm sure--by a gentle push from my brother, with whom I'd been sharing tight living quarters with for the previous nine months."
Gorgeous, isn't it?
I went on to describe how big we were--8 lbs 4 oz and 8 lbs 11 oz respecitively--and then I talked about where my name came from.
Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee.
Kidding.
I'm actually named after the nurse that delivered me and Sandra Day O'Connor, the first woman to sit on the United States Supreme Court.
I described two past accomplishments I'm most proud of; running a marathon and getting my bachelor's degree. I know, surprised, right?
After briefly touching on my day-t0-day life, I talked a little about what I wanted to do in the future.
I sat down, relieved, but nervous as well. I couldn't remember if I pronounced my words correctly or if my sentences even made sense. I could hardly recall what I had said. The only thought that was running through my head was that this was EXHILARATING. I had so much fun and it was light years different from speaking in church. Probably because in church, 95% of the audience knows more than I do.
The evaluator of my speech stood up and gave a raving review. I was genuinely impressed by what she had to say. Apparently, my voice--quavering as it was to my ears--was clear and my speech was wonderful.
Of course it was. There was no doubt, right?
The Grammarian--the guy that counts my ahs and ums (4 to be exact)--made note of two sentences from my speech. He likes to point out sentences that use great words and structure; "a love of numbers does not neccessarily a mathematician make" and "my plans were thwarted--as even the best laid plans can be--when I fell in love".
I know. I'm surprised they came out of my head too.
Every week, the other members of the club pick the best speech of the night. You guessed it. I won on my first speech. Of course, Wade thinks that they let all the new people win on their first speech so that they'll keep coming back. That may be true, but I still won, and I'll be coming back.
And not only did I win the best speech for the night, I also won best Table Topics--the speech that is given off the cuff--for the night as well. Take that.
I wasn't entirely at ease up there, but I think I'm getting the hang of this. And I'm having a blast. That's all that counts, right?
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