Amy Writes

When Eden was born, I felt like the only person on the planet. Though I wasn't the only one I knew with a newborn, I was the only one with MY newborn. The only one on MY hours. We were already low on friends in our demographic, and with the birth of a baby - and a sick one, at that -my abilities to connect with other humans were significantly decreased for awhile. We stumbled out of infancy and into Mommy & Me age, where opportunities to connect with other adults abound. The babies are easy to transport, they stay in one place when you put them down, and they don't make noise unless they need something - allowing plenty of chances to finish a sentence, and sometimes even a story. Along came Chloe and it started over - I crawled back into my hole and used the new-baby card to explain away my lack of intimacy with anyone nearby. Again, we worked through it, made some steps forward, and during this stage we finally built some relationships. Really good ones. With people we now

Years ago, I met a man named Tim. Tim is an Episcopal priest who, at the time we met, had been assigned to a tiny parish in a North Carolina mountain town. Through Tim, I was introduced to a host of interesting and precious people... None of whom, much to my great dismay, are real. I've talked before about my aversion to series reading, how I can handle two or three in a row before tiring of the material/the characters/the setting/the plot similarity. Father Tim et . al. are the exception. Jan Karon's Mitford novels are soul satisfying and full of goodness - like Hallmark movies but funny and quirky. Like Little House on the Prairie, with a little more current oomph. Father Tim's well read character meets my needs for intellectual challenge, and his cast of wacky locals and parishioners fills my craving for whimsy. To me, opening a Mitford book is like stepping into the Florida sunshine or that peaceful feeling that sweeps over me when I know a good friend is standing nea

Yeah, my team won the national championship. This team did something that mattered. HT to Brant

I will say it. I'm not afraid. Ready? I am a fan of Change. Every now and then I discover this about myself - that I have this unsatisfied wanderlust. I love to mix things up. I want, need, crave... change. I want to rearrange furniture. Throw everything out and start over. Move. I want to eat different foods and read different books and reinvent myself as an athlete...a writer...a crafter...a chef. I want my philosophies to shift, I want my climates to evolve. I want to meet new people, visit new places, try kitesurfing. And if I try kitesurfing, it would be okay if I were to break both legs, because then my life would change, and I would get to try all new ways of doing things. I didn't vote for Change. At least, I didn't vote for the one who claimed Change as a platform. My guy would have changed things too, but he couldn't say it as well the one who changed the course of our history today. But still, I found myself goofy with excitement for Inauguration Day, because

The day that I received the call about my 3rd piano student dropping out, I had a message from a friend who wanted to talk to me about some work. It was one of those times when I felt God winking at me, reminding me that He is the kind of God who will take employment away and replace it with bigger, better employment. That's not what He did this time. But He can. So, with a certain percentage of our income no longer coming in, (I will do some work for my friend, but on a volunteer basis) I have dedicated myself to a new job: Spending less. My first week on the job has been, if I may say so myself, pretty successful! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...my new project. Exhibit A - The list of BOGO specials at 2 local grocery stores: Exhibit B - A list of meals for the next 3 weeks. Exhibit C - The amount I saved shopping on BOGO and coupons at the FIRST store. Exhibit D - The amount I saved using BOGOs and coupons at the SECOND store. (I don't know why it uploaded sideways.) Tota

About 8 years ago, I picked up my first piano students. I was employed full time, but one night a week I snuck out a few minutes early and took my bag of tricks to a beautiful home where two sweet little girls were waiting for me. It was my first taste of teaching, and even though I had no idea what I was doing, I kind of liked it. It was also my first introduction to East South Florida kids in the 21st century. Well mannered, respectful, privileged...but over-committed, highly ambitious and stressed out. Before long I had two more students, and then two more...until my studio grew to 20. Now only officially employed part time, I had time to devote to planning - games, competitions, recitals. We were active, and the kids, over-committed though they were, were energetic and making progress. When Chloe was born, I let most of my kids go. I worked my way down to one afternoon a week, with four of my original students. I've written before about this arrangement and about how much I l

1. Yes, Chloe got the Ballet Dancer Costume. Thank you all for your concern. Santa came through, and we have had a little ballerina around here for the last 10 days 2. Dollhouse is an out-of-the-park home run. Here's one photo: 3. I am inexplicably sad about Jett Travolta. Beyond just the tragedy of someone losing a child. I've been trying to put my finger on why I feel so connected to the story, other than just being a media geek, and I think it's because I feel a little bit like I've grown up with John Travolta. For just about all of my life, he's been just about everywhere - and he always seems like one of the nice ones. And I also think it's because I know he's not a believer, so I'm wondering where his hope and the hope of his family is going to come from? And that makes me sad. For them. And kind of mischeiviously hopeful that God will use this opportunity to grab a hold of everyone's favorite Danny Zuko and use him to start a Hollywood revival

It's been kind of a weird day. Actually, it's been kind of a weird three weeks. I have a tendency to be kind of hard on myself. I have high expectations and lofty ideals, and I think very highly of my abilities to accomplish just about anything. So, during the stretches of time where they're matched with things-out-of-my-control and lack-of-motivation, it is pretty easy for me to feel like a failure. With a big, fat, F. As you know, we've been on Christmas Break, and Christmas and the break that come along with it are a tremendous opportunity for high expectations and lofty ideals to rear their pesky heads. With all that time to ourselves...think of the possibilities! So I entered the break with two, simultaneous desires: to be both supremely productive and sublimely relaxed. Two different sides of my brain, battling it out with their own expectations. Clearly, I didn't stand a chance of succeeding. One of my personalities was going to lose, but not for my lack of t

Back soon. Gotta get back in the swing of things!