Word dreams

I can't remember what I dreamt about last night. All I know is that when I woke up, the word "pontificate," was all I could remember.

I didn't even know I knew that word, or if it even was a word, but I had a feeling of what it meant.

Pontificate stayed on my mind all day, and I just looked it up, and I was right:

Main Entry:
2pon·tif·i·cate
Pronunciation:
\pän-ˈti-fə-ˌkāt\
Function:
intransitive verb 2: to speak or express opinions in a pompous or dogmatic way

(courtesy Merriam-Webster.com)

Who dreams about words? It was a first for me. But after careful thought, I traced the word back to all of the "Cheers" reruns I watched yesterday. "Pontificate" must have come out of Diane Chambers' mouth during her one of many tangents. When she was pontificating, if you will.

And then it hit me...

I watched waaay too many "Cheers" episodes yesterday.

God bless us, everyone

On Saturday a few friends and I gathered up a handful of the Christmas cards we'd made in our Bible study and walked up the long driveway to Country Lane Estates. While walking we discussed the Christmas carols we'd sing and what we'd say. We dressed festively, me in green the other girls in red. I imgined we were like a sprig of holly.

Once we got through the gate that was "to keep them in, not us out," as Sarah said, we stood around awkwardly, not sure where we were supposed to go in. It looked just like a house, not a hospital or clinic like I thought. After further inspection, I was pretty sure we were in the right place because I saw a white head of thinning hair through the window. And once I walked around the corner and saw another just like it, I knew we were there.

Finally locating the doorbell, we met the lady who worked there and were ushered in to meet the five ladies who lived in the care home. All of us were full of smiles and even though we'd never met these women before, I felt connected to them. Maybe it was the spirit of Christmas, or maybe it was how welcome they made us feel. I felt myself choking up when I saw how happy they were to have visitors. And honestly, I felt just as happy to be there.

We handed out the song books and those of them that could, sang along with us. We asked for requests, and one lady, Connie, suggested one after another. I was surprised at how good we sounded, but I also knew I couldn't take credit for any of that. They applauded after each carol ended and after singing four or five, we took the opportunity to give them the Christmas cards.

I think if we had handed them each a one hundred dollar bill, they wouldn't have been any happier than they were with the cards. As they looked them over, cooing over how lovely they were, they were even more impressed to hear that we had made them, thanks to all of Vanessa's scrapbooking supplies.

Alisha led us in one more carol and then it was time to go. We talked for a few moments then took each of their wrinkled hands and wished them a Merry Christmas. As we were leaving, we were peppered with invitations to come back and visit anytime.

And then it hit me...

I think I will.

Slacker

So I started out this new blog with gusto and lately I've felt myself slowing down a bit. Writer's block? Maybe? Busy-ness? Possiblity. (I just realized I don't know how to spell busy-ness. I thought business, but that's business. Weird.) Ok, back to the point.

The point is acutally that I have no point. But I can't let another December day go by without writing a blog. (I just checked, the correct spelling is busyness. Phew! Now I can sleep tonight.)

So here I am. Writing about nothing. Hopefully you're still reading. People watched Seinfeld and that was a "show about nothing." So I trust you're still following along.

I've started three sentences so far in this blog with the word "So." I tried to think of another word that means the same thing, but "therefore," "however" and "anywho" just didn't seem like the write choice. So there you have it.

Wow, I am rambling quite a bit. I can't figure out if this is entertaining or just annoying. If it's the later, I apologize.

And then it hit me...

Maybe I should stop while I'm ahead.

So I will.

Thanksgiving list

Now that Thanksgiving weekend is coming to an end and I'm left with a full stomach and a stuffy nose, I'm also left with a full heart.

It's nice that we have a holiday here in the States where we get to acknowledge that we have something to be thankful for. I wonder how many people take the time to do that. Often times I'm guilty of thinking only of what I don't have, but when I think about it, there's an awful more lot that I have than things I don't.

That wonderful family and friends are on the top of that list goes without saying. Getting to play with my nieces and nephew was completely worth catching their colds. Staying out late with old friends was completely worth being exhausted the next day.

Having a job is nice, one that I like is even better. Living with my parents at my age isn't exactly ideal, but that fact that I get along with them so well makes it not so bad. Having a passport with stamps in it and pictures recording my travels is pretty nifty.

Knowing that my life hasn't turned out exactly as I planned makes me question myself sometimes, but at least I've enjoyed the ride.

I'm not writing this to brag about how perfect everything is for me, 'cause Lord knows it's not, but I think sometimes we need to verbalize what we have so that we don't forget it when times are tough.

So I hope you don't mind my little Thanksgiving list and I hope you have made one of your own.

I'd like to hear it sometime.

Me and my big mouth

Sometimes I think I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people. For my own benefit really.

To fully explain the reason behind this hypothesis, I need to go back to Halloween. I had a busy Halloween weekend, attending several parties and having a grand ol' time. Of course, pictures were taken and posted on Facebook, Myspace and who knows where else on the wide Web.

One such picture that found its way onto the aforementioned sites was one that was much less than flattering. It was downright awful. I was dancing, obviously having a great time, but apparently at the exact moment my "friend's" finger pressed down on the button, the expression on my face was one that should not have been captured.

When said picture was brought to my attention and the realization that everyone I knew in the world (literally) had access to it set in, I began damage control. And as soon as possible had my friend who so kindly posted it, so kindly de-post it.

Phew. All was clear. Now everyone I knew could go back to believing I only take beautiful pictures and never look ridiculous. It was a great feeling.

However, it still must have been lingering in my mind.

The other day, I ran into a guy that I had a crush on from age 12 to 20 and even now when I see him am reduced to my 15-year-old self. (It's pretty ridiculous, but true.) So I saw him, and feeling upbeat and confident went over to say hello. We chit-chatted for a few moments and to my horror the words "So I saw pictures of you from Halloween..." came out of his mouth.

Without thinking, I reply, "Oh the horrible one so-and-so posted?" And when it didn't seem to register with him, I didn't just drop it. Oh no, that would be too easy. I proceeded to re-enact the way my eyes drooped, lips curled and the slight hunch of my body.

"Uh no, I didn't see those ones," he said.

I'm sure the color rushed to my cheeks as I realized what I'd successfully "hidden" from the world, had been brought back and what's worse, at my own hand, and what's even worse, to one of the last people I'd want to know about it. And he didn't even get the picture, he got the live show.

You've done it again Megan. The hole in the ground is open, just jump in.

Turns out, he wanted to compliment my costume, which of course had been featured in other less terrible pictures that I had allowed to remain in cyber space.

The conversation ended quickly after that, because honestly, how could I recover?

As I walked away, I left my pride on the ground where it had fallen. I couldn't help but laugh at myself and the vanity that had gotten me in to trouble.

And then it hit me...

SomeOne was teaching me a lesson. And He has a great sense of humor.

Clearing the debris

I cleaned my room today. And I mean cleaned. I had the day off work today (hooray!) and so after sleeping in and then laying around for a while, I decided to tackle the hurricane that was formerly my room.

At first I didn't know where to start. Clothes covered every surface. Stacks of junk mail, bills and who knows what else were leaning; any other addition would have sent them tipping over. So I cleaned here and there until the mess dried up like water down the drain, leaving just a few puddles to tidy up.

The problem I have when I clean is that I can't just clean, I have to go through everything, read every letter, flip through all the photos, making what could be a short process even longer. I realized today that I have received a lot of greeting cards over the last couple years. Birthdays, good-byes, graduation, miss yous, hellos, you name it, I have a card for it. (Thanks everybody!)

Another problem I face is not knowing what I can throw away. Do I really need to save checks from a bank account I no longer have? What about bank statements, old telephone bills or pay stubs? Chances are I don't need them, but I if I threw them away, I'd need them.

When the massive project was over and I could step back and survey my work, I was glad that I had accomplished something with my free day.

And then it hit me...

A week is probably all it will take for it to return to the mess that it always seems to be.

Lucky Strike: Part Two

As I mentioned earlier this week I went bowling. I should not go bowling ever again.

Bowling has officially been added to the list of things I can't do. The good news is I almost doubled my score in the second game. The bad news is it went from 34 to 62.

There were six of us bowling. Three men and three women. We decided to go girls against boys. That was the first mistake. The second mistake is that for some reason the bumpers were up in the girls' lane, which was great... until Alisha asked that they take them off.

That was the end of things for me. I don't think I ever bowled so many gutter balls in my entire life. If I'm not hitting any pins, does that even count as bowling? I almost asked for my money back at the end.

I was so bad the lady in the lane next to mine, came over and started giving me tips. I accepted them graciously and they seemed to help for a moment. But only for a moment. I think she finally gave up on helping me when she said, "You know, the most important things is just to have fun."

And I did have fun. I probably would have had more fun if I bowled better.

Then there's karaoke. After bowling, I got up and sang "Fancy" by Reba McIntyre. Well, if you want to call it singing, I'm not sure the people in the audience would agree with me.

And then it hit me...

Maybe I should add singing to the list of things I can't do. Too bad I love it so much.

Gym vs. Jim

"I have a gym membership."

I can say this because I pay $69 a month so that I can, thus giving off the impression that I go to the gym.

And I do. Sometimes. Not as often as I should. My gym bag is always packed and ready in the back of my car so that if at any moment I feel inspired, there's nothing to stop me.

This last week, however, I did not feel inspired, not even once. My bag sat in the back seat and every day after work I easily convinced myself I had something more important to do, like to go Starbucks or find a Halloween costume.

There's a mug on my desk at work that reads, "I (heart) Jim." Inside the red heart is a picture of Jim from "The Office" aka John Krasinski. It was a gift from Catherine who bought it from Target for a dollar. It's the greatest mug ever.

Imagine if that mug read "I (heart) Gym." I wouldn't be able to use it because it would be a lie. I do not (heart) the gym. When I do go, I'm happy that I did, the endorphins kick in and I feel accomplished. It's just the process of getting there that's the problem.

And then it hit me...

If Jim were at the gym, they couldn't keep me from that place.

Lucky strike

I'm forgoing blogging to go bowling tonight. Wish me luck.

Time travel of the mind

At this time last year, I was (fill in the blank).

Am I the only person who thinks like this? I seem to have this recurring string of thoughts at least once a day. At this time last year, I was climbing a mountain in Austria. At this time last year, I was running around a castle in Wales. At this time last year, I was lying on a beach in Greece, eating gyros.

My mind is a time machine, transporting me back to good memories, good friends and adventures not too long gone.

I take comfort that while I can't physically be everywhere at once, in my mind, I am. I'm back in the Austrians' flat, laughing over the way they say "make a picture" instead of "take a picture." I'm in Holland, trudging through the mud as if my life depended on it, because in fact, it does. I'm sitting around with Sofia (English) and Sarah (Welsh) as we say words like "tomato" and "stupid" to hear them in our respective accents. I'm having hair wars with Clara as we're on the train to Tenby.

As time passes, I'm sad that these thoughts now begin with "Two years ago, I was..." And soon it will be three and four years. The flux capicitor of my mind is getting weaker and the delorean needs more plutonium.

And then it hit me...

The great thing about time travel of the mind is, that while I'm back in the past, I'm still making memories in the present. Like meeting my nephew for the first time after being away from home for a year. Floating down the river with friends, and after five hours, learning we're only halfway done. Making a trip to the airport to pick up one person an adventure requiring a car full of people. Seeing friends get married. Strangers too, now that I think of it.

What I guess I'm really trying to say is, as great as the past was, the present is pretty terrific and the future doesn't look too bad either.

Gracie

If I were to write a children's book, it would definitely have to be about my dog, Gracie. She's cute, not too bright and she smells, all perfect qualities of a story book character.

Gracie thinks she's pretty tough and alert. Let me tell you she's not. While on walks, she sticks her nose in the air, look side to side, scanning the area for predators, but misses the mouse under her feet and the cat just a few steps away. I told you she's not the brightest penny in the bank, but I think it makes her all the more endearing.

My mom and I found Gracie when I was about 13 years old. We were on our way to pick up my sister, Erin, from camp and we weren't even very far from our house when we saw this little black puppy running down the road. My mom's not really the type to pick up stray animals, but because Gracie was so small, we scooped her up and took her on what probably was her first road trip. Now her only road trips involve going to the vet, and if she could, she'd tell you she'd rather stay home.

Gracie lived with us for three days. Erin and I bathed her, played with her and called her "Puppy," even though we joked that her name was probably something even more plain and horrible, like "Blackie" or "Fido."

We had three blissful days with the now Gracie, when she decided to go for a run down the road. I went after her and followed her down the driveway of a house two doors down. There was a little boy outside, about 2 or 3 I'd guess. As I collected Gracie, he said, "That looks like my dog, Blackie."

"No, no, little boy, this isn't your dog," I replied, horrified that this small child recognized my new best friend and he was calling her Blackie.

"I think it is. It looks just like Blackie."

Stop calling her that.

I stood pondering the fate of my soul and if it was worth stealing a dog, no matter how cute she was. I cringed. "Is your mom or dad home?"

"Yep that's our Blackie," this little boy's father said as I relunctantly handed over Gracie.

Heading home heavy-hearted but empty-handed, I wasn't at all happy that the lost dog had been returned.

But Gracie didn't forget me. She visited a lot. I'd sit in our doorway holding her when it was raining because my mom said she couldn't come in the house. She wasn't our dog, after all.

As far as Gracie and I were concerned, she was our dog. And one day, I had a surprise when I arrived home from school. Mom had noticed that the neighbors were moving, and so she mustered up some courage, these neighbors were kind of scary, and went over.

"If you don't want your little dog, we'll take her," she stammered. I wasn't there, but I imagine she stammered.

"She thinks she's your's anyway," was the gruff but welcome reply.

That's the story of how Gracie entered our lives. She's given us plenty more stories since, but I've probably gone on long enough, and I need to save something for the book, if it's ever going to be written.

I'll leave you with this.

Know how some people resemble their dogs physically? I'd say Gracie and I resemble each other's personalities. We both share the same goals in life, eating and sleeping. We're both always happy to see someone. So they can get us some food. We both like nighttime. So we can sleep.

And then it hit me...

That may be where the similiarities end, because I always notice the mouse under her feet and the cat a few steps away.

Welcome back to me!

After starting my blog 'Meg in Wales' two years ago and going on hiatus a year and a half ago, I'm happy to say I'm back! I can thank Christie for the encouragement, because after talking on the phone, catching up on life, love and memories, she said, "You should blog."

Since I like to follow directions, here I am. I'm not quite sure what the theme of my blog will be, but I've decided to call it, 'And then it hit me' because it sounds like either a punchline of a joke or the beginning of a profound thought, both of which I hope to write.

I must admit it feels great to put words together that don't begin with, "So and so died yesterday." If you don't know what I'm talking about, let me tell you: Most of my writing tends to be about the recently departed. Somebody's got to do it, right? I was thinking the other day, as I often do, and then it hit me that death is a pretty lucrative business to be in right now, given the current state of things, because just because someone is broke, doesn't mean he or she won't die. (Maybe not the most pleasant of thoughts, but hey, it's job security.)

I'm staring at my computer screen right now, trying to figure out a way to make a smooth transition onto a new topic. I'm not having much luck.

New topic.

Wigs. I really enjoy wearing wigs. A few years ago at this time of year, I searched high and low for a wig to compliment my flapper girl Halloween costume. My search wasn't going well, but Target, oh how I love Target, came through for me. Buried under smelly latex masks, tangled rainbow clown wigs and open tubes of makeup was the perfect black wig. So I bought it. And I must tell you, it made my costume.

I came home, put on the wig, my dress, fishnet stockings and shoes and threw on my 'Chicago' soundtrack and suddenly I was transformed. I was someone else. I was dancing, singing, twirling around the room with moves I didn't even know I had. My usually keyless voice was hitting each note with gusto, all because of the magical wig, I'm sure of it.

Until my roommate came home and instead of being a showstopping flapper from the 1920s I was embarrassed Megan of 2005.

But that wasn't the last my wig saw of the world. It was the star of a photo shoot with the talented Jen May (see photos below), traveled with me to Wales and I wore it proudly last Saturday night in Sacramento for Kirstin's birthday. 'Proudly' may be an overstatement because once I left the safety of the car and realized people would actually see me, I felt a little uncomfortable, but then I saw the guy dressed as the green Teletubbie and then it hit me...

It could be worse.