I actually don't know what show you come from. Some reality show, I gather. I do recall David Letterman ripping you to shreds, Spencer, some time ago on his show. It was vintage David, actually. So funny that I saw it replayed on the little TV in the NYC taxi I was riding in probably a week later.
Anyway, I digress. Now, aren't the two of you the ones who went on some other reality show and you went to the jungle or something and decided to come to Jesus? I think there was a baptism in the water or something. Was that you?
Anyway, what I'm finding with your public personas isn't the kind of disdain I have for the whole Gosslein 'celebrity' circus. It's a new kind of feeling that I haven't been able to put a word on. It's nothing short of yuck, but that's not quite it.
I think it is tragic that a beautiful young girl has such a low self esteem that she had ten plastic surgeries in one day. That she is at the legal limit for plastic surgeries in CALIFORNIA? Really? I think it is criminal that the guy who says he loves her actually encouraged this. I saw a clip of Heidi's mother saying, "Enough." She was so, so right.
And so I sit here wondering, yet again, how we will explain you two to the next generations. When they ask, "Now why were these people on TV?" we will have no good explanation.
Maybe you should've stuck with Jesus.
-b
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Wrong Place at the Right Time
You know how sometimes you're just sitting around minding your own business, reading and such, and then a blind person walks by and whacks you in the shin as hard as she can with her walking stick?
Wait...
You don't?
So, it's just me, eh?
Right.
-b
Wait...
You don't?
So, it's just me, eh?
Right.
-b
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Beautiful, Even on Tuesdays in the Sam's Parking Lot
I feel like everyone knows this about me already. I forget that I don't really offer it up and just assume that you figured it out. And, frankly, doing a blog post about it is as weird and freeing as the day I put on a skirt that hit above my knee (for the first time) and made myself walk from one end of New York City to the next. Let the stares come. Let my knee shoot pain through my body. Come hell or high water, I was finishing that one.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I chose a pink skirt and sensible black shoes, because that's the only kind I can wear. I would walk through the busiest city I frequented and reveal my physical weirdness and see how it went. If I could make it through NYC, then I could soooo make it through Nashville, because everybody knows if NYC thinks you're weird, then you really are. If not, then you're good.
Before I was born, while I was in the womb, I caught what they later termed a "temporary virus." I was born in Chicago and the Chicago Children's Clinic had no explanation and certainly nothing to which my case could compare. When I was born, my Mom describes these places all over my body that looked like cigarette burns. They were red, roundish and some were deeper than others. I still have the faded scars today in some places.
On the back of my left leg, one was particularly deep, even now. Whatever it was, it damaged the nervous system in my left foot. Most of my foot is paralyzed and I have no motor ability in the foot at all. I can't move it, I can't feel it, and it really doesn't do much else except give me a place on which to land. It is just there.
I remember moving to Nashville and thinking I needed another operation, and so I thought I would visit the head of orthopaedic surgery at Vanderbilt University. He took one look at the X-ray and said, "Amputation is your only option." I never saw him again because I don't respect surgeons who aren't creative. Then, I flew to Cleveland Clinic and saw the head of foot and ankle orthopaedics there. He said, "There's not much we can do, and we could try, but I can't make any promises." Regarding surgery he said, "Your foot is in amazing condition. I'm stunned. But, you'll know when it is time. Here's a friend of mine's number in Nashville. Go see him."
And, so, I visited Baptist in Nashville and had the routine X-ray. The surgeon said, and I quote, "What a mess." I laughed. Finally, some honesty. Then he said, "I'll do the surgery, but you probably only have one surgery left based the number you've had, and I just don't know. I won't fight for your foot, though, because you would get along so much better with a prosthetic." More honesty. I didn't like it, but I respected it. That was ten years ago. I'm still not interested in a prosthetic.
When I was little, I wore a metal brace from the knee down. My ankle leaned and it took what they called a t-strap (get it?) to hold it up in place. The brace attached to one pair of brown leather shoes, because that was all we could afford. One pair. I wore the same pair of shoes every day until I outgrew them, and then I would go and be fitted for another pair. Every few years I'd get saddle shoes, but mostly I chose the brown leather ones. All I ever wanted, though, was to wear a pair of tennis shoes. Really.
Finally, as I was entering my freshman year in high school, Dr. Jack Pushkin (RIP) did a little creative surgery and fused my ankle. It has been fused in that walking position ever since. I wore my first pair of tennis shoes, which were fashionably Keds, in the 9th grade. They were followed with Reeboks. (Randomly, I remember Donell Henthorne smiling and holding the door open for me my first week of high school while I was still on crutches. She was a God-send in that Annex building that moment. I never thanked her for that.)
And life goes on. Imagine having no feeling in your left foot and it is fused in walking position, and that's life as I know it. I cannot wear heels nor will I ever be able to. I cannot run, which is FINE by me. I have ongoing knee issues, but whatever. I just don't know any different. This is all I've ever known and so it is just not a big deal to me. I will say that I am very adept at compensating. I'm a master at covering it up. People I cherish even now are probably surprised at this. "I knew she limped sometimes, but I had no idea it wasn't from a sprained ankle." I love that.
I love that the people in my life, those who hold that title for more than a few weeks, are looking inside. Those are the people who are just not so concerned with what society tells them is most important, the way you look on the outside. You, my friends reading this, are the ones who didn't even think to judge me for the matter in which I had no choice.
Thank. You.
In case you were wondering, New York City didn't give me a second glance, either. I mean, not one person looked down and got 'the look.' It was amazing. Even in Times Square. Nobody. Seven years ago, New York City gave me a gift I can never repay. NYC reminded me that we are all a lot more concerned about ourselves than anybody else is. Such a hard lesson to take to heart.
We were talking yesterday in my writing session about songs that we felt were more Divine than anything. Those songs that were in the room, that we got to put our names on, and those songs that we really didn't have too much to do with. They were already there waiting to be written and all we had to do was not mess them up. Here's the lyric to the one that came to my mind first. It was my privilege to write it with Tony Wood.
Beautiful
There's a feeling deep inside me
Like I never measure up
When I look at those around me
I'm just not good enough
But there's a truth that cuts through all my doubts
and insecurites
it's like a song from Heaven
my Creator sings to me
All your scars and imperfections
All the things you hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things you've locked inside
You don't have to be afraid
to open up and let Me see
I'm the One who made you.
You're beautiful to Me.
Just as He has formed you
and you're wonderfully made
the same hand is still working
in the story of your days
And in those hands your failures
somehow become a part
of what goes into making
the masterpiece you are
All your scars and imperfections
All the things you hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things you've locked inside
You don't have to be afraid
to open up and let Him see
He says, I'm the one who made you
You're beautiful to me
When at last we see Him
Oh, how we'll understand
When we bow before our Saviour
Touch His feet
Take His hands
All our scars and imperfections
All the things we hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things we've locked inside
We don't have to to be afraid
to open up and let Him see
He says, "I'm the One who made you.
You're beautiful to me."
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I chose a pink skirt and sensible black shoes, because that's the only kind I can wear. I would walk through the busiest city I frequented and reveal my physical weirdness and see how it went. If I could make it through NYC, then I could soooo make it through Nashville, because everybody knows if NYC thinks you're weird, then you really are. If not, then you're good.
Before I was born, while I was in the womb, I caught what they later termed a "temporary virus." I was born in Chicago and the Chicago Children's Clinic had no explanation and certainly nothing to which my case could compare. When I was born, my Mom describes these places all over my body that looked like cigarette burns. They were red, roundish and some were deeper than others. I still have the faded scars today in some places.
On the back of my left leg, one was particularly deep, even now. Whatever it was, it damaged the nervous system in my left foot. Most of my foot is paralyzed and I have no motor ability in the foot at all. I can't move it, I can't feel it, and it really doesn't do much else except give me a place on which to land. It is just there.
I remember moving to Nashville and thinking I needed another operation, and so I thought I would visit the head of orthopaedic surgery at Vanderbilt University. He took one look at the X-ray and said, "Amputation is your only option." I never saw him again because I don't respect surgeons who aren't creative. Then, I flew to Cleveland Clinic and saw the head of foot and ankle orthopaedics there. He said, "There's not much we can do, and we could try, but I can't make any promises." Regarding surgery he said, "Your foot is in amazing condition. I'm stunned. But, you'll know when it is time. Here's a friend of mine's number in Nashville. Go see him."
And, so, I visited Baptist in Nashville and had the routine X-ray. The surgeon said, and I quote, "What a mess." I laughed. Finally, some honesty. Then he said, "I'll do the surgery, but you probably only have one surgery left based the number you've had, and I just don't know. I won't fight for your foot, though, because you would get along so much better with a prosthetic." More honesty. I didn't like it, but I respected it. That was ten years ago. I'm still not interested in a prosthetic.
When I was little, I wore a metal brace from the knee down. My ankle leaned and it took what they called a t-strap (get it?) to hold it up in place. The brace attached to one pair of brown leather shoes, because that was all we could afford. One pair. I wore the same pair of shoes every day until I outgrew them, and then I would go and be fitted for another pair. Every few years I'd get saddle shoes, but mostly I chose the brown leather ones. All I ever wanted, though, was to wear a pair of tennis shoes. Really.
Finally, as I was entering my freshman year in high school, Dr. Jack Pushkin (RIP) did a little creative surgery and fused my ankle. It has been fused in that walking position ever since. I wore my first pair of tennis shoes, which were fashionably Keds, in the 9th grade. They were followed with Reeboks. (Randomly, I remember Donell Henthorne smiling and holding the door open for me my first week of high school while I was still on crutches. She was a God-send in that Annex building that moment. I never thanked her for that.)
And life goes on. Imagine having no feeling in your left foot and it is fused in walking position, and that's life as I know it. I cannot wear heels nor will I ever be able to. I cannot run, which is FINE by me. I have ongoing knee issues, but whatever. I just don't know any different. This is all I've ever known and so it is just not a big deal to me. I will say that I am very adept at compensating. I'm a master at covering it up. People I cherish even now are probably surprised at this. "I knew she limped sometimes, but I had no idea it wasn't from a sprained ankle." I love that.
I love that the people in my life, those who hold that title for more than a few weeks, are looking inside. Those are the people who are just not so concerned with what society tells them is most important, the way you look on the outside. You, my friends reading this, are the ones who didn't even think to judge me for the matter in which I had no choice.
Thank. You.
In case you were wondering, New York City didn't give me a second glance, either. I mean, not one person looked down and got 'the look.' It was amazing. Even in Times Square. Nobody. Seven years ago, New York City gave me a gift I can never repay. NYC reminded me that we are all a lot more concerned about ourselves than anybody else is. Such a hard lesson to take to heart.
We were talking yesterday in my writing session about songs that we felt were more Divine than anything. Those songs that were in the room, that we got to put our names on, and those songs that we really didn't have too much to do with. They were already there waiting to be written and all we had to do was not mess them up. Here's the lyric to the one that came to my mind first. It was my privilege to write it with Tony Wood.
Beautiful
There's a feeling deep inside me
Like I never measure up
When I look at those around me
I'm just not good enough
But there's a truth that cuts through all my doubts
and insecurites
it's like a song from Heaven
my Creator sings to me
All your scars and imperfections
All the things you hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things you've locked inside
You don't have to be afraid
to open up and let Me see
I'm the One who made you.
You're beautiful to Me.
Just as He has formed you
and you're wonderfully made
the same hand is still working
in the story of your days
And in those hands your failures
somehow become a part
of what goes into making
the masterpiece you are
All your scars and imperfections
All the things you hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things you've locked inside
You don't have to be afraid
to open up and let Him see
He says, I'm the one who made you
You're beautiful to me
When at last we see Him
Oh, how we'll understand
When we bow before our Saviour
Touch His feet
Take His hands
All our scars and imperfections
All the things we hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things we've locked inside
We don't have to to be afraid
to open up and let Him see
He says, "I'm the One who made you.
You're beautiful to me."
Monday, March 22, 2010
Facebook: Deletion Day and Other Principles
I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I mostly hate it until I connect with someone interesting or re-connect with someone I miss, and then I love it. It really has helped me stay in touch, even minimally, with people I deeply enjoy but don’t get to see often.
I can’t help but wonder, though, is it just me or do you all have to purge some “friends” periodically? For me, I find that I purge about every three months. Usually someone will post some comment that makes me no longer want to be associated with them, for either personal or professional reasons, and I’ll end the cyber relationship. One deletion always leads to a few more—“Oh, that’s the person who posted THAT nasty comment that one night I was too sleepy to figure out how to delete them”—and away they go, too. Granted a few innocent bystanders, or alphabetically close names, have accidentally gone in my haste, but overall, my general purging schedule seems to get the job done.
Today, we’ve come upon another deletion day. I don’t want hate comments or hate language on my news feed, bottom line. There’s enough negativity in my daily life that I will not allow a cyber acquaintance to perpetuate even more.
Oh, but that’s not the point of this post.
This is probably just me, but if you’re going to use Facebook as the ultra-marketing tool for your business, then sending me daily “become a fan of” emails is a good way to make me hate your business. Why? Because I don’t want to have to clear out your stupid email every day. So, I’m going to delete you from the entire friend list instead of becoming a fan of your business. It is a matter of principle.
-b
I can’t help but wonder, though, is it just me or do you all have to purge some “friends” periodically? For me, I find that I purge about every three months. Usually someone will post some comment that makes me no longer want to be associated with them, for either personal or professional reasons, and I’ll end the cyber relationship. One deletion always leads to a few more—“Oh, that’s the person who posted THAT nasty comment that one night I was too sleepy to figure out how to delete them”—and away they go, too. Granted a few innocent bystanders, or alphabetically close names, have accidentally gone in my haste, but overall, my general purging schedule seems to get the job done.
Today, we’ve come upon another deletion day. I don’t want hate comments or hate language on my news feed, bottom line. There’s enough negativity in my daily life that I will not allow a cyber acquaintance to perpetuate even more.
Oh, but that’s not the point of this post.
This is probably just me, but if you’re going to use Facebook as the ultra-marketing tool for your business, then sending me daily “become a fan of” emails is a good way to make me hate your business. Why? Because I don’t want to have to clear out your stupid email every day. So, I’m going to delete you from the entire friend list instead of becoming a fan of your business. It is a matter of principle.
-b
Friday, March 12, 2010
20 Things About the Cable Guy
I've been dealing with a lot of service people during this move. I must seem friendly. Here are just a few things I learned about the cable guy while he was at my house installing my lines (and he did a good job, I'll add.)
1. He moved here from Orlando a year ago.
2. He has been married twice.
3. He has a thirteen year old son.
4. His thirteen year old son sees ghosts.
5. The lady who lives across the street from him spies on him.
6. He threw away a couch.
7. He threw away an old green chair.
8. He moved to Nashville to sing.
9. He used to be roof installer and roof cleaner.
10. His first wife gives his son back some, but not through the courts, and so he is still liable for child support during those times.
11. His second wife was from Denmark.
12. He speaks a little Danish.
13. He lives 20 miles out of town in a condo.
14. He would like me to fix him up with one of my hot friends--any of them will do.
15. He makes $20 for installing three lines in my house. The cable company gets the rest.
16. He works 60 hours per week.
17. He has no time for a social life.
18. He would like to make a demo of himself singing.
19. He is afraid it is too late for him to get into the music business.
20. He gives his Mom money.
1. He moved here from Orlando a year ago.
2. He has been married twice.
3. He has a thirteen year old son.
4. His thirteen year old son sees ghosts.
5. The lady who lives across the street from him spies on him.
6. He threw away a couch.
7. He threw away an old green chair.
8. He moved to Nashville to sing.
9. He used to be roof installer and roof cleaner.
10. His first wife gives his son back some, but not through the courts, and so he is still liable for child support during those times.
11. His second wife was from Denmark.
12. He speaks a little Danish.
13. He lives 20 miles out of town in a condo.
14. He would like me to fix him up with one of my hot friends--any of them will do.
15. He makes $20 for installing three lines in my house. The cable company gets the rest.
16. He works 60 hours per week.
17. He has no time for a social life.
18. He would like to make a demo of himself singing.
19. He is afraid it is too late for him to get into the music business.
20. He gives his Mom money.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Kindness
It goes a long, long way.
I'm not a big crier. Or, maybe I'm in an age-defined denial. The older I get, the more I get weepy on someone's behalf. Regardless, my friend T. got me today with this quote: No one has ever said they will handle something FOR me. Can I give you a hug to thank you?
She had big crocodile tears streaming down her face. I had recommended two people to her to help her realize her "one dream." "Call them," I said. "Stop being intimidated by your unknowns."
She is beautiful, and she has been dealt a much more difficult deck of cards than I. And, two of my friends, one old and one new, showed a beautiful kindness today. I called them both to tell them so, and to thank them. "You made a difference in someone's life today," I said to both of them.
Kindness matters.
We should be more conscious of that.
-b
I'm not a big crier. Or, maybe I'm in an age-defined denial. The older I get, the more I get weepy on someone's behalf. Regardless, my friend T. got me today with this quote: No one has ever said they will handle something FOR me. Can I give you a hug to thank you?
She had big crocodile tears streaming down her face. I had recommended two people to her to help her realize her "one dream." "Call them," I said. "Stop being intimidated by your unknowns."
She is beautiful, and she has been dealt a much more difficult deck of cards than I. And, two of my friends, one old and one new, showed a beautiful kindness today. I called them both to tell them so, and to thank them. "You made a difference in someone's life today," I said to both of them.
Kindness matters.
We should be more conscious of that.
-b
Monday, February 8, 2010
Here's One for the Songwriters
When I'm included on the faculty at songwriting worshops and seminars, the one thing I've noticed over and over that the registrants want is access. They want a few minutes of time from someone is who doing what they want to do. People just want to talk, some people just want you to listen to their songs, some people really want honest feedback, and then some people just want you tell them how great they are (whether they are or not.)
My awesome friend and songwriter J.P. Williams called me several months back and invited me in on a writing session with someone who I think most any writer worth their salt would love to be in the room with. Since then, I've written many times with Rory Bourke. Here's just the first paragraph of his bio:
During a career of more than thirty years, Rory Michael Bourke has had songs recorded by Anne Murray, Elvis Presley, Bonnie Raitt, Cher, Phil Vassar, Dolly Parton, Tom Jones, The Oak Ridge Boys, Ronnie Milsap, Julio Iglesias, Tim McGraw, and many others. He was inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1989 and has been named ASCAP Writer of the Year three times: 1976, 1979, and 1983. He is a four-time Grammy nominee and the recipient of two CMA triple play awards. He served on the Board of Directors of the Nashville Songwriters Foundation for many years.
It's been such a pleasure getting to know Rory and Rita. He's not even billing me for hanging around so much (yet.)
I say all of this to say that if you're interested in writing songs, and truly writing those songs that last a lifetime, Rory is an expert proven time and time again. While I can't offer you access, I can get you the stories. Well, actually, you'll have to get those yourselves, too. Check out Rory's blog:
www.rorybourke.com
Enjoy-
-b
My awesome friend and songwriter J.P. Williams called me several months back and invited me in on a writing session with someone who I think most any writer worth their salt would love to be in the room with. Since then, I've written many times with Rory Bourke. Here's just the first paragraph of his bio:
During a career of more than thirty years, Rory Michael Bourke has had songs recorded by Anne Murray, Elvis Presley, Bonnie Raitt, Cher, Phil Vassar, Dolly Parton, Tom Jones, The Oak Ridge Boys, Ronnie Milsap, Julio Iglesias, Tim McGraw, and many others. He was inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1989 and has been named ASCAP Writer of the Year three times: 1976, 1979, and 1983. He is a four-time Grammy nominee and the recipient of two CMA triple play awards. He served on the Board of Directors of the Nashville Songwriters Foundation for many years.
It's been such a pleasure getting to know Rory and Rita. He's not even billing me for hanging around so much (yet.)
I say all of this to say that if you're interested in writing songs, and truly writing those songs that last a lifetime, Rory is an expert proven time and time again. While I can't offer you access, I can get you the stories. Well, actually, you'll have to get those yourselves, too. Check out Rory's blog:
www.rorybourke.com
Enjoy-
-b
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