Deep Things

There's a line in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing that says, "I were but little happy, if I could say how much."

I feel like that very often. Not just about happiness, but about any truly deep emotion. It's pretty easy for me to dash off an amusing little anecdote, and I totally enjoy it, but sometimes I want to write about something more, I don't know, substantial, and then I find that my words sound tinny, like cheap windchimes, when what I want them to sound like is a full-scale symphony orchestra.

For example. I really want to write about how much the music of Handel's Messiah means to me, and what it does to me when I hear it, but I just...can't. I went to a performance last night, a "Messiah Singalong" at a local church. I didn't have a musical score, so the singing along part was a tad difficult, but I just thoroughly enjoyed the evening anyway. There is something irresistible, something heart-breakingly beautiful to me about Handel's Messiah, but I can't put it into words, and it's so frustrating, because I want to!!

I remember one time, long ago, being moved to tears by the "Worthy is the Lamb" chorus. The power of the voices, the words, the music--I don't know how anyone can hear it without being shaken up inside. And when the opening bars of the "Hallelujah Chorus" start playing, I get all excited, because somehow I just know that God himself is listening in, and he's feeling pretty stoked on it too.

Listening to the soaring voices and music last night, I'm glad I had the opportunity to forget, at least for a little while, all the Christmas presents I still haven't bought, the Christmas cards I haven't sent, the frayed edges of my life that seem determined to keep unraveling despite all my efforts to keep them together, and instead focus on the One person that has never been unfaithful to me, never left me alone, and never stopped loving me, even when He gets so little of my heart in return.

There's this awfully cliche'd little phrase we hear at Christmas time: "Jesus is the reason for the season." Well, cliche'd it may be, but true it still is (as Yoda might say). Jesus is the reason for the season. At any rate, he's the only reason that I haven't run away screaming from Christmas all together. It's a stressful time of year for me, all too often. But when I have the rare chance of sitting down and just enjoying his presence--as I did last night--Christmas becomes awesome all over again.

Weird Week

Ok, so this past week was a record-setter on the frogg's scale of total weirdness.

A couple days ago, my dad was on his way to the airport to pick up my youngest brother (yeah, timotye! Welcome home, man!). He gets rear-ended by some lady who was not paying attention to anything in particular, but especially not her driving. Then on the way back home from picking up Tim (mind you, this is the same exact day), he gets in another rear-ender. Interestingly, both times the other party had the same insurance company. I can picture a few raised eyebrows over at Mercury next week.

But that's not all. The very next day, the cowgirl got in a car accident. Not her fault, and she is ok, but still it prompted our insurance agent to advise that no one from my family should get behind the wheel of a car for awhile.

Too bad my brother the biotech boy didn't hear about our agent's suggestion. He got rear-ended today, by someone with no insurance.

I actually couldn't believe it when I got the call on my cell. I was at the airport picking up my sister (what's up with the accidents happening on days featuring airport runs??) and the phone rang. I missed the call, but rang right back, only to hear my brother say that he had just gotten in an accident and he would call me right back again. I wasn't sure I heard him right. But oh, I most certainly did. Basically in the short amount of time between my missing his call and then returning it, that's when it happened. I mean, what are the odds people??! I ask you!

Personally, I don't want to drive anywhere anymore! Tempting fate is not my style, and fate seems to be annoyed with the frogg family at the moment, for some unfathomable reason.

I haven't had any accidents recently, but I've certainly had my share. In one year alone, I think I had about four. Only one was my fault, but that one was a doozy. I was heading home from my advertising agency job in Los Angeles (doesn't that phrase just ooze glamour? More than the actual job did, I can tell you), and came to an intersection where I had to make a left turn. There was a bus in my way, blocking my view of one of the oncoming lanes, but the bus driver waved me to turn, and I did...right into the path of a car that was racing up the hill in the lane that I couldn't see. The guy hit me hard, and I did a pretty cool 180 in the middle of the intersection. I probably would have appreciated the coolness a lot more if I hadn't actually been in the car at the time. As it is, I was badly shaken. Somehow I got my car off of the road (I don't remember how, because the back wheel was totally bent due to axle damage or something), and then was "consoled" by the helpful LA drivers who went past, either honking at me for being slightly in the way on the street (sorry, that was totally my intention to inconvenience everyone during rush hour), or else just laughing at me (which I really, really appreciated. Really.).

But anyway, that last paragraph was what is known in literary terms as a tangent. I am an expert at these, as you've probably guessed by now.

Back to the weird week. Um, actually I think that was all I had to say. Hope you're having a great weekend, and getting in less car accidents than my family is these days.

It's Beginning to Feel Alot Like Christmas

I'm a bit nervous about Christmas this year because I haven't done a scrap of Christmas shopping yet, and I have this odd feeling that I actually might not do any at all. And then I will feel pretty horrible, because somebody out there is bound to get me something, and there is nothing worse than feeling guilty for not getting a present for someone who gets one for you. You know what I mean?

Part of my trouble with getting presents is the fact that I absolutely hate shopping. Because I hate it, I put it off to the last minute. But with every day that goes by, there is an exponential increase in shopping stress. Which makes me want to go shopping even LESS. It's a horrible, vicious cycle, and there's a good chance I'm not going to win this fight. The longer I wait, the less likely it is that anyone is going to have a present from me under their tree.

One time I had a bout of utter insanity due to all the impending guilt that I was feeling about not having presents for people, and I actually went shopping on Christmas eve. The less said about that experience, the better. The past is gone, but oh, the scars still remain.

But I really do want to give presents to people. I feel like such a Scrooge when I don't. I just don't know what anyone wants...except me. I want to go snowboarding, plain and simple. Anyone planning to give me a gift can just give me a pass to Summit or just about anywhere in Tahoe...guaranteed gratitude from me, I promise!

The last couple years I was kind of off the hook in the gift-buying department because I was in another country. Which was a bummer because of course I wanted to be with my family on Christmas day, but it was a relief because no one expected any presents!

Hmmm. I think I must be a bad person. Or at least there just must be something wrong with me...I mean, the other day I went Christmas shopping with a friend, and watched him buy presents for all these people...and I did not make a single solitary effort at buying anything for anybody. I mean, there was my opportunity!! I was there, I was AT THE MALL! I could have done it!!!!

But no.

I think I owe a big gigantic thank-you to everyone who is still friends with me, in spite of the fact that I don't buy you presents, or send you Christmas cards, or e-mail regularly, or call. Or do anything a good friend would do, really. Wow. Come to think of it, why ARE you guys my friends???

Hmmm. Maybe some questions are best left unasked.

But now I admit to being curious...what DO you want for Christmas?? Let me know! Er, not that I'll do anything about it, of course. Just wondering, really.

True Confession

I have a confession to make. I don't know how to say this. I am sure a few people's illusions about me are going to be irrevocably shattered, but I cannot deny the hard truth any longer.

I am not a "true fan" of Homestarrunner.

This was made clear to me today through a conversation I had with my brother. He came into the room and said something totally obscure, which was, "I just got a new computer. A Compaq laptop 486." I looked confused (understandably, as I thought).

My brother repeated his cryptic statement. My brow furrowed. "You...got a new computer? Really?" He stared at me. I stared back. Then I said, "What's a Compaq 486?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"You are not a true Homestarrunner fan, are you," my brother said flatly, with a shake of his head.

"What?! Yes I am! I mean..." My voice faltered. I suddenly remembered all the times over the past year when I had not, in fact, gone to the Homestarrunner web site (www.homestarrunner.com) to check up on the latest adventures of Homestarrunner, Strong Bad and all their wacky friends. I saw the truth in that instant, and was devastated.

Because apparently, if I were a fan, I would have known that Strong Bad had got himself a new computer--in fact, a laptop. A Compaq 486. This is the sort of thing "true fans" know. The fact that I didn't brought to light my status as--oh how it pains me to say it--a not-true fan.

I do love Homestarrunner...but I guess I just don't love him enough.

So that is my confession. My heart lies bleeding, but I trust in the unfailing forgiveness of friends and loved ones. Thus ends my baring of soul for another day. How tragic.

A Parking Misadventure

This one is for fitting, who tells me she is undergoing "frogg files" withdrawals, because I haven't written anything for the last couple days. What can I say--when my fans need me, I'm there. Anyway I hope you like...

Trying to find parking in crowded places is one of my pet peeves. It's a surefire way to make me cranky and annoyed. This was a big problem when I lived near San Francisco, which is notorious for several things: 1) Steep streets. 2) Jaywalkers. 3) No parking. I loved going in to the city, because I thought the city was cool, but I absolutely hated the inevitable driving around for ages while looking for parking. You really need like three independent eyes to drive successfully in SF--one to watch the road, one to make sure you don't kill any jaywalkers, and one to find the ever-elusive parking spaces.

One time I was supposed to meet friends for dinner in North Beach at 7pm on a Friday night (haha). I got to the city just about right on time, but ended up driving around for 45 minutes looking for a spot on the street because I didn't want to pay $20 for a lot. By the time I finally found one (about five blocks away), I was starving, irritable, and a tad road ragey. I don't know if my friends were too pleased to hang out with me that night. I don't remember much about the evening except for not finding parking, which is kind of sad really.

But I actually have a funny parking story which happened in San Francisco, not too long ago. It was in May and my kiwi friend Tash was visiting. We were meeting my friends Mark, steveforpresident, and the Beccanator for dinner (North Beach again!). I turned down this narrow, steep little street, and there was this perpendicular parking space that I thought I just might be able to back into (even though I was driving an unwieldy Toyota Previa). Tash didn't think it was a good idea. "Nonsense," I said. "When you see a parking space in SF, you don't ask questions, you just snag it."

Well.

I pulled ahead of the space, and prepared to back up. The car wouldn't back up. It apparently did not have enough power to reverse UP the very steep street. To make matters worse, the front end of the car was now up against a pole that was stuck into the sidewalk. So I could not go forward anymore either. No backwards, no forwards. I was STUCK. I mean, really and truly stuck. I tried putting a piece of wood underneath the back tires to provide some grip or something. When I spun the wheels, the piece of wood went shooting off somewhere far away (thankfully not killing anyone). The car did not budge at all, except maybe to settle more firmly against the pole in front of it.

In no way could this situation be considered good. I was starting to feel just a teensy bit desperate. And then our savior appeared...a little old lady who came out of her apartment just then and showed us THE WAY.

According to this woman, our predicament was not all that uncommon. She said she saw this sort of thing happen "all the time." She said we needed to get some weight in the back of the car. So she and Tash climbed into the back, and a random guy on the street was persuaded to climb into the trunk. I was trying very hard not to roll my eyes in total cynical disbelief. I also was struggling with whether I wanted to laugh or cry. The whole thing was so ridiculous, and yet so incredibly typical of the sort of thing that happens to me. Welcome to my world.

Anyway, it worked (or I might still be there!!). We were able to back the car up far enough that we got clear of the pole. We didn't get the space though. But we had learned our lesson, which was this: Some parking spaces just aren't meant to be had. You gotta know when to fight for 'em, and when to let 'em go.

Also, little old ladies are helpful to have around in parking emergencies. I suggest keeping one in your car at all times. You never know when she might come in handy.

Various Disclaimers

I forgot that I wanted to include this disclaimer for my blog, kindly written for me by the Beccanator last week, but oddly posted on steveforpresident's web site instead of mine (what's up with that, Becca? :). Thank goodness for copy and paste.

The following is a work of fiction. None of the characters are meant to be representative of anyone I ever have known or ever will know in the future. Please do not take offense if any of the content involves stories that you think you may have been involved in and/or things you think you may have said. And for God's sake people, please take the blog in the way it's intended... great {and I mean fantastic!} stories meant to amuse and inform...'

(It's not entirely true that my posts are works of fiction, of course. But it IS true that they are primarily meant to amuse and inform, so they are sometimes fictionalized. Slightly. May I take this moment to remind everyone that after all I am a writer and a storyteller, not a historian.)

Oh, and speaking of disclaimers--please don't be offended if you don't get a Christmas card from me. Hardly anyone ever does. This does not mean I don't love or care about you. It simply means that I am lame. I usually forget to send them until, oh, mid-January. And that's a little late, isn't it? (Then again, maybe I should just do it and be early for next year.)

I think my New Year's Resolutions should include trying to be less forgetful...well, maybe not. That's a setup for failure if I've ever heard one!

Whatever. I'm going to go now, but before I do, one last thing: I want to say a HUGE "thank you" to all my faithful "frogg files" readers. I wouldn't have a reason to keep doing this without you!

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Birthdays

You know, it's really sad when you have the kind of weekend that makes you positively long for Monday to roll around. I had one of those weekends.

Not that Monday is turning out to be much better.

On top of everything, I realized that I am a bad friend because I totally forgot my good friend steveforpresident's birthday, which was on Sunday! The worst part about that was that I told our mutual buddy Mark on Saturday (only the DAY BEFORE!!) that I have no trouble remembering S4P's bday, because it is exactly six months apart from mine. Then I went ahead and forgot it!! Sorry, stevie. You have my permission to forget mine next year, and then we will be even.

I am absolutely shocking when it comes to remembering important dates. This caused no end of trouble with one of my former boyfriends, who always remembered two anniversary days every month: the date of the first time we kissed, and the date of the first time he officially asked me out. I never remembered either of these. Or rather, I did--sometimes--but usually after the day had passed. Thinking back, I believe one of the days might have been the 16th (of what month originally I don't have a clue), but which anniversary that was, I cannot tell for the life of me. The other date is completely lost in the mists of oblivion. (I have a lot of these mists floating around in my brain, which is scary, considering that I'm still a bit young for Alzheimer's. Yikes.)

As far as birthdays go, I'm pretty good about remembering everyone's in my immediate family (although I swear I woke up on June 12 once and forgot that it was my birthday!). Then there are a few people that I really don't know why I remember their birthdays but I do: kennethmyboy is one of these. Hmm, actually maybe he is the only one. I was going to say Becca, but her birthday is only two days after mine, and is the same day as about two different guys that I liked in the course of my life (random in itself), so that's probably why hers sticks!

Anyway. Feel free to pop over to steveforpresident'ssite and wish him a happy belated birthday. Tell him I sent you!

As for the rest of the week, the frogg is taking a holiday. If she feels like writing something, she will, but don't count on it.

Til next time, whenever that may be...