mr. bojangles

The neighbors across the street from us have a pet rooster named Mr. Bojangles. Mr. Bojangles is a very proud rooster, and crows to show us all how well he can do it. His lung capacity is quite impressive for a bird, I've gotta say. Mr. Bojangles doesn't like to be lonely, and crows when he's sad and alone. Nobody wants to sit outside with a rooster all day, especially one as show-offy as Mr. Bojangles, so he crows a lot about this as well. Mr. Bojangles likes pretty weather, and crows because he's happy when the sun shines. He hates being wet, and so crows when it rains or is dreary.

Basically, Mr. Bojangles crows a lot. I should be annoyed, but I actually like Mr. Bojangles. There's just something about a strutting old rooster singing his heart out that makes me smile, whether he's singing his woes, triumphs, or praises. Plus, his name is Mr. Bojangles. How could I not like that name for a rooster? It's pretty darn funny. This morning as I left for work, Mr. Bojangles was going to town with his crowing--I don't think he was even taking time to breathe. Today he's happy about the pretty weather. 70 degrees in December--I'm certainly not going to complain! :)

PS: I love unexpected little Christmas gifts from co-workers and friends! Especially when chocolate is involved! It's almost better than Christmas morning..........almost.

pearls of wisdom

It's important to learn from our daily experiences, right? Right. It's how we grow and become better people. Here are some of the things I've learned from personal experience today:

• 35 miles per hour is a good speed for merging onto the interstate
• the painted white and yellow lines on the roads are more "guidelines" than actual "rules"
• copy machines are mostly for decoration
• paper jams don't necessarily require paper
• psychic mind-reading powers are the norm--if you don't have them, you're an idiot
• spiders make good Christmas decorations
• white people are physically incapable of speaking Spanish (this must be why native Spanish-speakers feel free to say anything and everything they're thinking while you're standing just five feet away; I mean, it's impossible that I can understand what they're saying, right?)
• responsibility is for suckers

I just hope that I can learn as much every day of my life (and just think--today's only half over!).

plants don't talk

My boss is in the corner ruthlessly hacking leaves from the jungle-looking plant that graces our office. She talks to it tenderly like it's a living thing--okay, it is a living thing, but it can't hear you, woman! Oh well, it's an excusable habit, I suppose. Lots of people talk to their plants. She then turns to me smiling eerily and says that sometimes it talks back to her. Okaaaay...that's not quite as excusable (maybe the plant told her to rip its leaves maliciously from its branches). Finally she leaves and I look at the plant hopefully--a talking plant could make me a lot of money. But the thing never says anything, dang it. I'm shocked.

Why do we even have a stupid plant in our office anyway? Why do people put plants in their houses/offices at all? It doesn't make any sense. It takes hundreds of thousands of dollars and countless hours of the hardest human labor to get away from them--hammers pounding, saws buzzing, sweat dripping, the scrape of concrete on concrete and the rumbling of machinery. In the end it's all worth it, though, because we, the people of this planet, have successfully blocked out all of nature's ills--no more needy plants, dirt and bugs, or long hot nights--and created a home of solid brick (or whatever material you happen to prefer). Yes, inside the four walls tirelessly created we can truly make a home, complete with every comfort a person could ever desire.

No more sleeping on dirt under the boughs of a tree for shelter like our ridiculous ancestors, or maybe like those idiot animals out in the yard. We know better. We know we are above such things. We fill the empty space with furniture, soft and luxurious, and line the freshly painted walls with pictures of ourselves and our families (no, we're not vain). We block out the sunlight with lovely silk curtains, get shiny new appliances in the kitchen, and plush new carpet on the floors. Ah, we people know what makes us happy.

After hours of decorating, we stand in the middle of our newly created habitat, and frown as we look around and are unable to shake the feeling that something is missing. Something is not quite right. We look at the room from different perspectives and move the furniture around, but something extra is still needed. As we stare at the empty spot in the corner, at last we have that Aha! moment when inspiration strikes.

We drive to the Home Depot and pick up a potted plant with pretty leaves and vibrant greens, or maybe an exotic bamboo, and put it right in the corner. Ah, that's better. We start to long for smooth, rich oak beneath our feet rather than carpet, and then hang pictures of beautiful landscapes on the wall. We then draw the curtains and open the windows and hope for breezes, begging the outside world to please come in.

My, we are fickle creatures. Inside or out, what do we want? The best of both worlds, I suppose. And there's nothing wrong with that, really. I've never been much of a plant person, but any kind of flowers are always aces in my book. Something deep down inside of every human being misses the outside world of nature when we block it all out. I guess maybe our true genious isn't our escape from nature, but the balance we achieve when we have a little of both inside and out.

I miss my dog.

2008 has been great in a lot of ways--there have been weddings and birthdays, reunions with long-unseen family members, new jobs, beautiful days, and cross country adventures. But in many ways it has also been most unkind, and I'll be incredibly glad to kiss it good-bye at the end of this month. The most recent unkindness has been the loss of my family's dog, a sweet-hearted animal that my dad rescued from being prematurely euthenized 8 years ago. It's upsetting to think that the happy, energetic dog we lived with would never had had those last 8 years if by chance my dad hadn't stopped to admire the rottweiler. It was hard letting go after trying to nurse him back to health for several days (isn't it weird how attached a person can get to an animal? It's weird, I know, but I was attached), but seeing him in pain hurt me more than I knew it could. Anyways, the point of this rambling post is that I miss him. And I miss my grandparents, too, who I also lost this year. It really has been a year for the record books, but I'm glad to report that I've learned from it all and hopefully have become a better person for it. If nothing else, I've come to appreciate my family and friends more than ever (and that's a whole whole lot). :)

PS: Sorry if this post has any misspellings. I don't feel like checking it.

back to the daily grind

The worst part about holidays isn't the excess of money spent, the mass quantities of calories consumed (that's actually my favorite part--which is probably why I love Thanksgiving so much), or even the stress of all the planning. No, the worst part about the holidays is the Monday morning following the four (or more) glorious days of vacation--the cold, early morning when mundane, cruel reality slaps you hard in the face. Worse still is the day after that Monday, when you are sitting at your desk and have the depressing realization that it's only Tuesday. Why does time go so slowly following a holiday? Sigh. Here I am, plugging away, counting down the days till Christmas (and also till Friday).

Okay, lament aside, here are a few pictures from my Thanksgiving weekend, spent down in my favorite place on earth, my hometown of Beaufort.

This is at Granny's, and typical of my dad: somehow amidst the chaos he is quietly reading, while surrounded by animals. Seriously--typical. I love it.

My sister Jillian and I (and Colton, but he's not in the picture, sorry!) went into Port Royal and drove past our old house, which happened to be unoccupied. We, of course, decided to take the chance to look around, and this is in the backyard of the place we grew up. Somewhere under our feet is the golden bird statue-thing of my mom's that I buried as treasure (I made a map, but somehow could never find it again). Good memories.

I remembered which windows in the house never locked (you'd think after all these years that somebody would have fixed them, but no--that's the South for you), and viola! We were in (for some reason once you've lived in a place, and felt totally a part of it, you always feel entitled and welcome to visit--even if in reality it's an old house you have no right to enter)! This is our old living room--check out the awesome wood paneling. Love it. :)

Then we drove down to the Sands, where I played as a kid for hours at a time. Yep, it's still beautiful, even in winter.

The dock at the Sands.

Well, now it's back to work. It's time for me to pick out a new book to read online (Kim was good after I got through the first couple of chapters. It seems like all old books are like that).