Push-Ups: My Week in Words and Pictures

It's been quite a week for me. On Sunday, we said farewell to Pastor Ron and his family at Church @ Cross Point. Our small numbers, both in members and monetarily, could not support him as a full-time minister any longer. It was one of those situations where it was simply time for change. For everyone. And my faith in Christ assures me that this is expected and okay. In fact, rejoicing is the order of the day. But the very human part of my heart falters at letting go of good people and releasing them back into the larger stream of shared humanity. I'm better for knowing them. Each and every one. His wife, by the way, can replicate several farm animals with a startling degree of mimicry. Oh, the hidden talents of a pastor's wife; they are a special breed of woman, to be sure.

PASTOR RON EXPRESSING A HOLY OPINION OVER LUNCH

HIS GREAT WIFE AND ELDEST DAUGHTER

My kids roped me in to watching the Grammy Awards. Overall, I thought it was one of the better produced award shows that I've viewed in years. They might want to hold onto that production crew. Or better yet, send them over to the Globe Awards -- they need the help! I found myself singing and snapping my fingers and acting life a goofball: being both entertained AND the entertainer. One song in particular stood out. I'd heard it on the radio once when my son was driving; it's not one that would grab airtime on NPR. Some guy by the name of Cee Lo Green belted out a colorful number called "Forget You" with a surprise guest spot by Gwyneth Paltrow. I was ready to hop on my iPhone, click on iTunes, and download it right then and there. What I failed to understand at the time (this is where my lack of hip-ness, though not HIPS, comes into play) was that the original explicit version of the song carries the title "F*@$ You!" My kids clued me in. I suddenly understood the previously cryptic references Jamie Foxx made as he introduced the singer. Yup, I'm not slow at all. Folks, I couldn't keep up with pop music even if I wanted to because the myriad versions, including ring tones and American Idol renditions, confound my stressed brain.

HARD TO FORGET THIS!!!

But I did buy the clean version. I practically danced down the street during my walk with the dog this morning!

I started my anti-depressant pill regimen. For those of you who haven't read my entry addressing this decision in my other blog, "The Reluctant Suburbanite," it's been a difficult couple of years. Though I tried my darnedest to work through a growing depression with diet, exercise, friends, blogging, and prayer, I reached a point where I knew I needed something beyond the scope of my efforts. So, for the first week, a half-dose each day was ordered by my doc. Today, I began the full dose. Fatigue may be the main side effect for now: I napped for THREE hours on the couch this afternoon. That is unheard of. (Sarah thoroughly cleaned her bedroom during those same three hours and it looks it. THAT'S unheard of. Check and see if the sky is still attached to the heavens.) There was a strange little episode with my eyes earlier in the week but that seems to have faded. I'll keep you posted on the benefits. I do believe I'm experiencing those in minor ways already.

A CHEMICAL ASSIST

On Thursday and Friday, my late morning and early afternoon hours were filled with volunteering at the TSSAA state wrestling championships just outside of Franklin. And though the calls for help are sometimes a bit much in my opinion, when added to the always-growing TO-DO list of life, I had a blast! I met a friendly older woman named Pat and a spry older gentleman, Howard, on Thursday. Both are regular TSSAA big event workers/volunteers. Both of them possessed a quality about them that pulled me right in. On Friday, I came bearing fresh-baked goods from our local bakery to share with my new friends. My ongoing conversations with them revealed that they are a married couple. I was surprised and thrilled. They have volunteered for TSSAA for fifteen years. In their off-time, they cook and deliver for Meals On Wheels. They also manage an eleven acre spread in the country, have a stable of wonderful friends (including a chef who journeys to their home each year to prepare a sumptuous birthday feast for Pat and any friends and family she invites) and are doting grandparents. They met at fourteen and married at seventeen right out of high school. I want to be them in twenty five years! We even exchanged numbers: they liked me as much as I liked them. Though my shift ended at 1:30, I remained just to be in the presence of their company. I hated to leave them!

HOWARD AND PAT

I also made the acquaintance of a state trooper who volunteers to patrol these large-scale events during his days off from patrolling the highways and byways. We swapped opinions on iPhones, though he owns the new Verizon-coverage iPhone. I'm an ATT girl. There's a bit of a divide there. Already. We agreed on the many merits of the Otter Box cases, however. He has a super-dee-dooper deluxe heavy-duty military version that I now covet. We also share March wedding anniversaries; his wife feels that an iPod is in order per a gift. I told him that I fully support her choice. "Oh, I'll just BET you do!" he quipped back. He's a tall gregarious black man who wears reading glasses and spends half of his time looking over the tops of them to see the screen of his phone or the words on the newspaper. I'm betting he's in his early 50's based on tidbits from our casual chit-chat over the course of two days. At one point in Friday's shift, Howard (aforementioned new pal) whispered to me that Harold (the state trooper) was a very good and modest man who would never tell a person what he did in his capacity as a protector of the people. It turns out that he is (or WAS as the case must be) the bodyguard for Coach Fisher of the Tennessee Titans NFL team. That's kind of nifty!

OFFICER HAROLD GOODINGS (sans spectacles)

I added a new blog to my watch-list courtesy of one more individual I ran into at this event. "Suburban Turmoil" is the blog. Here's the link:http://suburbanturmoil.blogspot.com/ Check it out. It's good. Makes mine look like a freckle on its rump, but that's okay. My pride will survive. I didn't have a lot of it to begin with. Hah! Anyhoo, her husband is a local television reporter for Nashville-based WSMV, Dennis Ferrier. He came rushing in through the double doors of the foyer, saying he was late and where did he need to go. I thought he was another harried father who happened to have that you-look-so-familiar-but-I-can't-put-my-finger-on-why-right-now look to him. But when he mentioned PRESS and I took in the size of the camera in the hands of his companion, I realized he was that news guy, you know, what's-his-name! Until he was leaving the tournament an hour later, I thought nothing more about it. But seeing him across the ticket tables, headed for the exit, I muttered aloud something about wishing I could get his picture. Harold, the state trooper, marched me over. I asked. Dennis obliged. Harold snapped the shot. When Dennis asked what I planned on doing with a shot of his mug, I mentioned it would most likely find its way into my blog. He asked the name. I gave it; he turned me on to his wife's blog. The fact that our titles say much about where we live and how we deal, and feel, was NOT lost on me.