Remember When...

Remember when we use to play GI Joe in your bedroom? I still insist he can fly.
Remember when we would spend days building Lego castles to prep for an epic battle? I always lost.
Remember when monopoly lasted three days? I still maintain you cheat.
Remember when you locked me outside in the snow? Yea. Me neither.
Remember when I played the flute because I wanted to be like you? If at first you don't succeed, quit.
Remember when you let me drive your car even though I was only 15? Best. Brother. Ever.
Remember when you loaned me your sweater on the beach when Poppop died? I still have it.
Remember when you graduated basic? It was the first time you ever told me you loved me.
Remember when we got sh*t faced before my graduation? Yea. Me neither.
Remember when you came to my birthday party weekend? You played base and I sang.
Remember when I picked you up from the airport in an unmarked van? Your face was priceless.
Remember when I met your girlfriend and she told me she wanted boobs like mine? I loved her then.
Remember when we celebrated your birthday with pirates? Shuttup and drink your beer.
Remember when you let me sing at your wedding? It meant more than you will ever know.
 Remember... Remember.. Remember...

       My big brother, my tormentor, my teacher, my friend.  I know good music from you, and how to stand up for myself. How to have courage in dark times. Think first- act second. If you pretend you know what you're doing, most people won't question you. There is humor in everything. Irish diplomacy: the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip. Sometimes the most f'd up situations are the funniest. Its been a bumpy ride. I didn't believe people when they said "Someday you will be the best of friends".  They were right. As we get older, I know you are going to be the one person who will be a constant in my life. The person I can trust, and rely on the most. Not everyone has that. I'm so lucky. Honestly, anyone can have a brother.  lucked out when I got you.
Happy Birthday Erin. I love you.

The Beagle

It wasn't his name. But I used it so often in reference to him that he answered to it anyway. How cool is it for people to say "What a great dog! What's his name?" and I could say "Beagle." and they would say "No, not what kind, what's his name?". I didn't realize that while it would become a proper noun, it would also become a verb. To beagle is to: 1) make obscenely loud noises at something when you are unsure what it is, and/or if it is a threat. 2) do something henious and then act guilty and/or cute until someone forgives you.
3) make obscenely loud noises when you are not getting instant gratification of your desires. In short, make obscene amounts of noise whenever possible. Preferably if people are sleeping. The more inappropriate the better.
  No, it wasn't his name. But it suited him. His name was Sampson Parker. The mighty Sampson. When I met him, he fit in the crook of my arm and tripped over his ears he was so little. But he grew into the regal majesty of his name. With his gold eyes, and little white flag of surrender tail, he charmed the hearts of many. My mother was fond of calling him her "grand-beagle". (Erin and I assumed it was a nice little "nudge" in the direction of acquiring her other beings to be the "grand" of.  I obliged. I provided one dog and two hamsters. Judging by my maternal instincts toward the hamsters,  I think I should stick to things that stare at me if they are hungry but don't require daily changing.)
 As a faithful member of our clan, I had the pleasure of knowing him from his "pee on you because I'm excited and I'm a puppy" phase straight through to his "pee on you because I'm elderly and I'm excited"  phase. He was smart, and caring. Loyal to the very end of his doggy soul. He died today. And we are grieving. The loss of another of our fur babies, I wish I was with my brother right now to hold his hand. Since I know what its like to lose your dog. It doesn't matter if they are 7, 14, or 20. It hurts, and being a world away is even worse. But, he had one helluva trip. In the past year, Sampson has seen more of my family then I have. In fact- if my calculations are correct- I think Sampson might have at this point in my life- met more of my family then I have. This is emphasized by the fact that he was present at a marriage blessing ceremony last month. He was a ceremony crasher... but he was there.
He saw more of the United States in 14 years than I have in 28. He walked with Zoe and I on the beaches of Florida as a youngin', and walked with Mom and Dad on the beaches of Oregon last week. He walked around Mt. Saint Hood, saw the salt flats over Utah, the black hills of South Dakota, and the many faces of California. The Garden State was home for awhile, and off and on so was Pennsylvania. Spent many years in The Lone Star State, and a long with his Dad, found the meaning of Love in South Carolina. It didn't matter to him where he layed his head down. As long as he was with the people he loved. He was home. Well, God called him home today in Colorado, but we carry him where ever we go.
Rest in Peace Mr. B.  I sure look forward to that rainbow bridge visit someday.

"Wildflowers Don't Care Where They Grow"

I am who I am in part, because of you. I hear you whisper as you visit the subconscious of my sleep. You are that bit of happy that slips like smoke from my mind as I wake to start the day. A paradox, you are also a bit of the pain that gives me wisdom in my eyes. You are in day dreams, of memories that seem so close I could touch them. You exist as happy little pin pricks as I go about my day.

I walk this city, these burbs, and I think of you so often.
The baby who's father carried her picture through hell and back and she never knew.
He carried the picture and buried the pain. Not knowing of the picture, she carried the pain. Through hill and dale of the journey of your spirit, you never knew how fully you had always been loved. Always wanted. What I wouldn't do to fix that...
A survivor.
A comedian.
A traveler.
A helluva best friend.

A complicated soul, oft jaded by a past you put behind but couldn't run from.
Designer bags, forty five pairs of shoes, and a perfume I can smell but can't identify, fill my mind.
A closet full of things that decorated the fortress that you hid behind. Its walls built of sarcasm, humor, intelligence, and drive.
You came a long way from the girl with the frost on the inside of the windows.
But never forgot.
I hear your voice in my head sometimes when I am still. Advice, acknowledgements, little factoids and tidbits.

"There is no heartbreak too great for a pint of Ben & Jerry's and a good chick flick".
fact.

"Did you ever notice Condoms never come in small?"
Also, fact.

"There is nothing quite like a man in uniform. "
Sing it sister.

"I love you. I'm sorry."

The rest is silence.


"wildflowers don't care where they grow" is a song written by Dolly Pardon. All rights reserved.

To All the Single Fellas

Dear single men everywhere,

  As someone who has been to delving into the wonderful world of online dating too long to say recently, I have some thoughts to share on the subject, that might significantly help your chances on achieving your goal of, oh, I don't know. A date. With an actual person. Lets start at the beginning shall we? Now, this is a mistake I've come across way too often for it to be tossed up to a handful of socially unfortunate souls. "You're really pretty. What are you doing on a dating site/ Why are you single" is NOT an acceptable way to get me to talk to you. It sounds like a perfectly innocent intro. Compliment, question, get a response. Right? Right? No. Telling me I'm pretty and then following it up with one of the chosen two questions is not a compliment. You are insinuating that there must be something horribly wrong with me to be both beautiful and not already taken. Here is an example of how that interaction went most recently when that question was posed:

         gentleman2300:You're beautiful. Why single ?

          Me: Well, since you asked. I have glass eye that occasionally falls out onto the dinner table,     
          and people have an issue when I wash it in my drink and stick it back in.

Just so you are aware, that is the only response you will now get from me. That conversation is done. There is no coming back from that. Also on this list are gems such as: "Is your Mom hot? I just want to know what I'm getting myself into." and "I like them crazy". What the hell? Seriously. What are you thinking? That you're cute? Funny? I don't get it. In all honest, I do have to thank you for saving me the time I might have put into listening to any intro you had planned. But let's say for the sake of conversation you managed to get past the intros and I actually agree to meet up with you somewhere.
 Here's a sure fire list of actual things that have been said to me that make damn sure you won't hear from me again:
     1) fear is what stands between me and most people.
        (translation: I'm a racist asshole.)
    2) Can we split the bill? in itself not an issue but followed up with: If we were a couple I would pay, cause I know you'd get me back later, But....
        (Translation: I know I'm not getting sex tonight, and oh yea I'm a sexist asshole)
   3)  You make me look better just standing next to you. (Translation: I- I don't even know.)

Ya know what? On second thought: If you can't figure it out yourselves. I'm not spelling it out for you. I'm done. I'm too tired to be witty. To exhausted to try anymore. To quote Charlotte "I've been dating since I was 14. I'm exhausted. Where is he?!" I'm going to move to Italy and eat olives and drink wine with lots of pugs, big hats and red shoes. If I'm gonna get hit on by morons at least it will be in a different language.

Signed,
 Abbi with an i

Never Enough

I really could talk to you forever.

For a lifetime I could sit with coffee or nothing, and swap stories of my own, or things I've only read about while being lost in the words that come from your lips.

I'd like a week just to sit on a porch swing and discuss the grass, or what majestic wonders the clouds contain.

For a year we could walk along deserted small streets, wandering foreign cities while rambling about ancient kings, fabled heroes or more importantly the heroes we have encountered in our own troubled lives.

I want to lay in bed until the wee hours of the morning hearing the thoughts that make you tick, and then while we sleep the ticking that creates your thoughts.

Lets just drive and turn left whenever we want to. We'll eat popcorn and graham crackers, Listen to the radio and laugh.

I want to look down at our hands one day and wonder when did they grow smaller than the skin that protects them?

I want to be the people that others see sitting on the same side of a restaurant and are envious because its apparent even when we say nothing we are saying everything all at one time.

I really could talk to you forever.
For a lifetime.
For ten lifetimes and it still wouldn't be long enough.
Come laugh with me.
I have missed you.

-ABP 2014

Home is Where The Heart Is.

This is my favorite time of year. When I wake up in the morning, a slight breeze, and the sun kissing my face. When winter is falling into an unpleasant distant memory. Similar (but not the same) as that haircut you had in middle school. 
         Truth be told I'm a little homesick. Of course, when you are so emotionally attached to more than one place, you often feel homesick no matter where you are. But after this week, I could do with a few Columbia County days. To sit in the living room of our strong and silent house, reading in the afternoon sun as the clock on  the mantel ticks on by. Or sitting with my Katie-did sipping tea and "talking it out" until the wee hours. I may not always like what she has to say, but I miss her saying it. Sweet tea and "sunbathing" in the back yard. P.S: Irish American girls should not sunbath. Its less like bathing and more like cooking.
         I bet they're turning the soil if you drive on out toward Benton, always a sure sign spring is here. Other important signs include: The Bloomsburg fountain running, Rita's opening and SalVal putting outside toys for sale in the window.
          I want to get in my truck (yes Dad, its my truck for just a few months, then I swear I will gladly return it.) and drive. I need a break. I want to sit in my meeting house with the smell of old pews and cut grass and breath deep with people I love. That's how it is this morning. Yesterday too.
        Tomorrow, I might be homesick for the shore. For the waves or my Grandma's house that has its own unique smell of Lysol and bubble bath. The postage stamp yard with its giant flagpole and weird aluminum fence that leaves white dust on your clothes when you hop over it. Of course, its not the same without a man I loved more than life sitting in a leather backed recliner reading The Star Ledger and popping M&M's. Just goes to show you can be homesick for people too.
        I'm often sick for the ocean. My ocean. My sanctuary no matter which end I am standing on. A part of the planet that is more than relaxation, its restoration. I think that might be why Ireland's west coast calls to my soul so much. Ireland.
      I have one week and one day until I hop on my next adventure. Going to yet another home. Another soil that claims my heart. A place I always miss. I'm getting on an airplane that I have spent years waiting to be able to actually board. My backpack, a small suitcase, Sleepytime Pooh and me. On our way to grow, to learn, to form new bonds with a culture and people I so enjoy. To be still and listen. A lot.
 I wonder if someone with wanderlust ever actually settles in one place for very long. I guess that will be one of the many joys of my life journey. Finding how many places I can leave my heart.

It's Okay They Know Me Here. (My Village and Me)

There's a little village way up on the top of this mountain. A far away place in the depths of my mind, its full of jagged cliffs and mountain goats, a place only the truly adventurous travel. The road is treacherous and steep, but the view is incredible. That's where I tuck my heart for safe keeping. Not locked in a box, not sealed away unfeeling, but protected by people who love me, and far out of reach of just anybody's grasp. It's where I reside most of the time. I don't have walls. I can't have walls. If I'm going to be an actor, I have to be able to reach all aspects of myself. But not just anyone gets to live in my village. My mecca.
     Seriously, its an awesome place. My life is awesome. (And that's not a metaphor).  I don't lack for anything. Books, music, culture and friends. Family, art, and a little padded room when necessary. (Little bipolar joke there, its okay you can laugh). Every once and awhile I travel down my mountain for someone really special. And I mean- really special. Its a long trip. I don't make it for just anybody. So when I do, its a helluva party. And one helluva tough climb back when I have to make it alone. That's where I'm at this morning. Starting the climb. My village is waiting for me. I'm making my retreat. Battered and bruised but never broken, I will arrive safe and sound. And I'll hang out there awhile. Me and my heart. Safe in my life that I've created for myself. Surrounded by my villagers, my music, my art.

For Tonya- Belated

*This was written three days ago, but I'm unfortunately only getting wifi access today. Same amount of love applies*

          I am one lucky girl. For so, so, so many reasons. I spent a lot of time thinking about how blessed I am. Especially in the past two weeks. Especially today. You see, the phrase “Friends you choose, family you are stuck with”  doesn’t really apply to me. I have a HUGE extended family. With a father who had eleven siblings, my mother who had one.. i have enough cousins to create a small army. Or our own country of very tiny people. My parents kept it relatively small (no pun intended). I have two brothers and an adopted sister.  Aside from all this blood family, I have MORE family who aren't even really related to me but to who I have created a bond just as strong. (Shout out to Grillbillies and my Gallagher loved ones). Of all of these, I have only one sibling I grew up with. Ask any friends I have down here- and they’ll be able to tell you all about my brother, Erin.  Who I’m pretty sure I talk about incessantly. I’m so very, very blessed to count him as a friend. But it gets better. 

      You see, this year he went and married this incredible woman. She is smart, and funny. She is bold, strong, and stoic, (but also a little afraid of birds). Small in stature, but mighty in spirit she embodies all that I aspire to be. She is the kind of woman who lights up a room and isn’t even aware that it was her. With a voice that has brought many a grown man to tears, and a heart that is so large it spans an ocean and back. My brother, who I have looked up to my whole life, unknowingly gave me the best Christmas present I could ever want. A beautiful, crazy, incredible sister. Who loans me earrings, and gets me drunk. Who cannot do laundry- but can cook the pants off of me any day. With grace and courage she has changed her world, for herself, her son, and the man she loves. Literally going to the end of the earth. For love. Today, is her birthday. I didn’t get her a gift, because I’m a shmuck. But I did write her a tribute. Which counts for something right? My little southern sister. How I adore you. No amount of words on a page could ever do it justice. Tonya- on this your- uh...(lets just leave it at birthday shall we...) On this, the anniversary of the day the world was graced with your spirit, I wish you joy. May the rest of your days be not what you expected, but what you never thought to dream of. I love you. Always. 


Repost: The day I met God on the tube train

Originally posted by me on FB in 2009:

         Once upon a dream, in what seems almost like a fairy tale now,  I lived for a short while in a city that felt like a second skin. I have many extraordinary stories of moments that made me think "I am exactly where I am suppose to be" but perhaps my favorite is the morning I met God.
        One sunny spring morning, groggy and wishing for a cup of tea, I was navigating myself back home from the suburbs of the city I love when I had a moment. One of those moments when you know something life changing just happened, you just don't know what it was.
          I stood on the relatively crowded train, playing with my cellphone and listening to two men have a conversation about television very loudly. They sat across from one another elbows on knees leaning in talking about star trek with such intensity that I thought they were friends. There was something off about their conversation that made me listen. The one gentleman wore a t-shirt two sizes too small and thick glasses. He seemed slightly slow but enjoying himself immensely while the other was disheveled and spoke slowly and loudly as if to let everyone know he was there. The train stopped, the man with the glasses made the "Live long and prosper" hand signal said "Nice meeting you!" and departed.
          Suddenly inside the crowded train it was silent and one seat sat completely empty across from the lone treki. I hesitated. Everyone hesitated. I knew if I sat down he would start talking but my feet were tired and I had 12 stops until I had to transfer. Weariness won out with the thought process of a Jersey girl. I thought "This is easy, its like NY. Don't look at anyone, just play with your phone and he won't talk to you". No sooner did I sit down then I could feel him watching me.
           He looked like he just got out of a Jamaican gift shop, since everything he wore was Jamaican colors. His jacket, forest green with yellow and orange stripes, complimented a hat of the same color and a "I <3 Jamaica" lanyard around his neck. His dreads were long and fell down a little past his shoulders as he sat in the same position as before. Hands on knees intently staring at the person across from him. Me.
          I'd been spending a lot of my time trying to figure out if he was simple, homeless, crazy or all three so I tried my hardest just to ignore him with no avail. Giving up, I finally looked up and in a thick Jamaican accent he said "Can I sing to you?". Oh Geeze, okay well if nothing else this was going to make a great story to tell my flat mates when I got home. When I nodded he started to sing at the top of his lungs "LETS GET TOGEDDER AND PEEL ALRIGHT". Marley. Right. Of course. How could I have thought anything else. But it didn't stop there, he went right into some Sinatra and just as he was moving on to Paul Simon, a hand stopped gently on his knee and it was there that I noticed his companion.
            Sitting next to him was a man who was wearing sunglasses with his hair towering over his head tucked into a giant baby blue crochet hat. He had been leaning back with his hands clasped on his stomach making him seem as if he was asleep. At this gesture, the song bird got quiet and slowly the man in the blue hat sat up and took off his glasses. The effect of which I'll never forget for the rest of my life. He had the most amazing crystal blue eyes I'd ever seen. His skin was dark and wrinkled of someone not old enough to be frail but old enough to be wise. He looked at me and said in a thick jamaican accent "Only when you can see the world through other people's perspectives will you truly know peace". With that he put his sunglasses back on and resumed the position from before. Hands clasped, eyes closed. It was then the song bird started to ask me questions
          "Where you be from girl?" he asked. "America" I said. "America! I lived in America before. My Fadder built big house in New Jersey" he said. Surprised I confessed I'm from New Jersey in which he replied "I have big house in New Jersey. Morristown New Jersey. Yep". He went on to tell me that the two of them live in the Flatbush mall and that I should come visit him but I was too stunned to really respond. It was then that the man in the blue hat stirred again. Slowly removing his glasses he looked at me so intensely and said "Dis be your stop lady" to which I looked at the station sign- and it was.


********For those of you who aren't aware, I was born in Morristown New Jersey. I left that train knowing without a doubt that I just encountered something most people go their whole lives without ever seeing. I met God on a tube train, and he's not a woman. He's a Rastafarian black man who lives in the Flatbush mall.*****************

It doesn't take a lot...

On a dismal and dreary February Thursday, here is a list I've been working on for over a year. It consists of some of the stupid daily things that ultimately cheer me up. Working on this list has helped keep a positive attitude, as I find myself grateful for the smaller joys. This is by no means all the things that give me joy. I just try to keep it to very small things. Road trips, family and puppies are a given.
This is no particular order. Except for number 1.

1) Fireflies.
2) Chord keeper blow-dryers. Especially when they make the "Zip noise".
3) Freeze dried marshmallows. As in, Lucky Charms, Swiss Mix, etc.
4) Finding money in the dryer.
5)Clean sheets right before sleep.
6) Parking meters with time still on them.
7) Snow silence.
8) Piping hot shower, than crawling back into bed still in your towel.
9) Other people's babies.
10) personal mail.


Stay tuned for my upcoming post entitled "Abbi's Adventure in Online Dating". In the mean time: what's something stupid that makes you happy?

Dancing Souls (Very old post)

So this was dated February of 2009 when I went back and was looking at old Facebook notes today. Not to toot my own horn, but I was a little blown away by it. Thought it was worth a share, but know that it is in no way relevant to anything current in my life.

         " We lived on dreams and promises we could never keep. All the while holding on to threads of what we once were, in order to survive in the company of the other's spirit.
          Someone said to me 'Its not the same, you made the decision to leave'. As if to say that makes the void any easier. Yes, I was the first to let go of the torn and weathered rope that hung like a noose around our lives. It was crushing us both in our attempt to be the other's solace. It was too late to patch it, we were already suffering, it was already gone. Just because I was the first to open my eyes, doesn't mean I don't lay here wishing he lay beside me. But then I realize its not him now that I miss. Its the us we used to be.
         Tonight I lay my head down in a place that is home for me as I travel my path, but was never big enough for the both of us. I am homesick for the summer nights when crickets sang in a room that was lightly kissed by a summer breeze. I am homesick for when we lay beside each other holding hands because it was too hot to touch. I am homesick for stars on a football field and apple pie ice cream. I grieve for an idea, for a time where we wondered what's next, not what-if.
          Memories paint portraits of our lives that are beautiful, but never quite accurate. I won't remember the bad after awhile which in time might make my decision even more heartbreaking. Know this: I didn't walk away. I let go. I had the strength and foresight within me to let our spirits take flight. Our wings are broken now, but they will heal in time and while tonight I'm sure we both feel broken and alone, we can never be. A part of our hearts lay beside each other always forever dancing among the stars."

Homeward Bound (in more ways than one)

          Another Friday night in. I got home earlier than expected from work, ate some left over dinner and curled up with a book. I couldn't be happier to be a hermit for awhile. As I lay low, trying to spend the least amount of money as possible, I can hear the drizzle of non-existing rain. I can hear my long,lost Irish sister's voice, and maybe a wee one or three. I can picture 9 Quakers in a van, (Boy, that's a bad joke waiting to happen isn't it?) exploring new places, and meeting new people. Exploring more about my faith, and the connection with a culture I feel so drawn to.
         I've decided after I say goodbye to my new friends, that I'm renting a car for a few days and doing some genealogy work. That's right Ladies and Gents, Once again Abbi hits the tiny back roads of Ireland. Except this time, I don't have Dion to guide me. Or Rinny and Karisa freaking out in the back seat. Just me. And possibly Sleepytime Pooh. He hasn't decided if he wishes to stay behind or not. Its a more grown up adventure this time.  A little more than a rucksack and a journal. A little less than all my earthly possessions preparing for the inevitable move. Yes, I promise I'll be back. This time.
  My return trip will be 4 years almost on the dot that I was last there. Four years of dreams where I'm headed toward the airplane... but always wake before we actually take off. Four years of me saying to friends "Maybe in the spring/fall". A part of me longing, always.
          Someone was snide with me two weeks ago and chastised me for referring to my trips to Ireland as "going home". Calling it a silly romantic ideal. Its such a strange thing to feel like you belong to two cultures at once; and never once have I expected anyone to understand. I love Maryland. I love my room. The furry creatures that make up the delightful zoo I reside in. I love my roommate, my co-workers and even the eternally aggravating red line. But not a day goes by where a part of me doesn't long to be on a tiny little cloudy island, so far from, and yet at the same time- the very essence of- home.
         I visited the Smithsonian Native American  museum this week. While exploring I found this quote by Jolene Rickard & Gabrielle Tayac that sums it up pretty well.

          What part of you is Native? Is it your head? Your heart? Maybe it's your thoughts.
          But it is not just your blood. We are the sum of all our parts. All human.
         One hundred percent. And fully Native.

         I found myself identifying with that quote on many different levels. By blood, I'm part Native American. I'm also biologically Swedish (Shuttup Lucie), English, and Irish. In one corner of my family tree, I am can name and possibly put a face to it, of revolutionary war soldiers. I could be a  D.A.R candidate if I felt the need to be that pretentious. A small part of me, biologically is directly connected to what Ms. Rickard and Ms. Tayac are speaking of. But it resonates to me in a completely different manner. Why don't I feel as connected to the other cultures that make up my heritage? Interesting thought.

            On a completely unrelated note- before drifting off to sleep a few nights ago, I came up with this question that I'll pose to you all for conversation. Say you have the opportunity to have an immediate, complete and utter understanding of a topic of your choice. Within 10 minutes you could be fluent in another language, know how to fly a plane, play any musical instrument,  know the history of the roman empire etc. But had to endure 10 minutes of the worst pain imaginable in order to obtain it.  would you do it? If so, what would you choose to know?

Are you there Bridget? It's me Abbi.

    I believe I am channeling Bridget Jones. Yes, I know she's a fictional character. But in my brain, characters are people too. So are cars. And Sleepytime Pooh. In fact, as a kid I use to feel guilty if I got a new toy that I liked more than all the others because good Mommies don't have favorites. I thought they'd all get sad! Then Toy Story debuted... and I was validated in said feelings. Before you ask, yes I've spent a lot of time in therapy.

     I promise I have a point.


 I am 27. I will be 28 in May. I was totally cool with this until someone at worked said "Oh! You are almost 30!" AHH! What?? Who? Me? No, I'm not. Dirty word. I cannot be "almost 30" since an "almost 30" year old would not have the evening I had last night.  Okay, here goes.
      I worked a double yesterday. No problem I am waitress extraordinaire by now! Busy morning, race home, walk dog, have a coffee and go back. I totally got this right?? Wrong.  I could tell right away that this was gonna be a long night. I was clinging to my intelligence, but I could almost see it waving as it slipped from my grasp. "Good luck Abbi! You still have your looks!!" Thankfully I was cut early, because the very last of my brain cells left with my last table, and I successfully portrayed Lisa Kudro's character in Mad About You. I'm sorry blonde girls everywhere. I let you down. I blindly figure out my last minute duties, and then begin the process of bundling so I might not lose any fingers on the way to my car. I put my favorite turquoise hoody on with the hood up and tied under my neck. Mittens come next, so that there is no gap with my jacket. (No drafts for this girl!) Then, I zipped up my coat, buttoned on top of it, grabbed my bag, keys, parking ticket, and whatever else useless crap I have in my hands and out the door! I was daydreaming about how I was going to eat something more than a bag of frozen peas and a vegi burger. (Friday Night's Dinner) and how I might even go without the glass of wine, because really- who needs the calories?
       5 minutes later I arrive at the house and realize my house key is in my inside breast pocket of my coat. Dammit. I get one mitten off, fumble with my buttons, yank on the zipper and- the zipper won't budge. I'm standing outside my front door at 10pm on a Saturday night in 10 degree weather and my zipper is stuck! "Okay, don't panic. Panic solves nothing" I tell myself. I get back in the car, take off my other mitten and proceed to pull. Nothing. When I turn my dome light on, I can see that I had zippered the coat straight up through the stupid bow I tied at my neck and got the ribbon jammed in the teeth. This was me: "thutk. Thutk. THUTK!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHA" *rip*. So much for not freaking out.
  It was too harrowing an experience. So rather than dinner I had a very large glass of wine and a king sized package of Reese's cups, then passed the f*ck out. On a Saturday night, I was asleep by midnight after dosing myself in a sugar coma. Ms. Tibbs understands but Pooh was judging me I could feel it. Now its the morning after, and I feel that shame and guilt. I mean, sure... i had a little too much to drink... I could claim the chocolate seduced me... but in the end- there is only myself to blame. I told myself I would go for a very long walk this morning before work, and maybe do some damage control for my poor tortured body... but now I realize my coat is broken. So instead, I'm gonna go do that walk of shame to Macy's and buy myself a new coat.

2014 Priorities Talk

          For most of you, this won't make much sense. But I've had some requests to post the talk I wrote for my recent Search 4th day retreat. ( Search 4th day: A lot of 20/30somethings hanging out in a cabin talking and singing about God.) Below you'll see the transcripts. *Note* It says I wrote it four days before, in reality I woke up at 3am that Friday deciding I didn't like it, and rewrote pretty much the whole thing. Please excuse typos and enjoy!

"     So I’d like to start off by fessing up. Its four days before this weekend, and I’m finally sitting down to write this. Mind you, I’ve THOUGHT about it for months. Its just when I sit down to write it, I notice how messy the apartment is, or that I’ve been meaning to pay my bills,  Or most importantly- I’ve whittled away my time on Facebook stalking people I don’t know until its nap- thirty and then time to go to work! Sound familiar? Yea. That's right ladies and gentleman- priorities. Our lives are guided by the decisions we make. Who, or what comes first in our lives? You’ve got your easy stuff. When packing for fourth day after a ginormous snow storm- do I pack my flip flips or do I wear snow boots? Slightly harder- Will I really need that extra hoody or will I regret not bringing my own supply of cheese puffs? Kidding aside, I bet it was easier for some of us to decide to come here this weekend than it was for others. 
    
           This year for me, it was a no brainer. But last year, even though I reached out to come- I still sat in that chair Friday night with my arms crossed and my fingernails chewed wondering loudly in my head “What was I thinking? I love my friends, but why am I here?”
     The truth was, 11 years after my candidate weekend, I found myself searching again. “Why are you here?” was answered with “because I’m lost.” I didn’t know who I was anymore. I had recently figured out who I wasn’t, but I didn’t really know where to go from there. I’d looked in a mirror a few months back, having polished off a quarter of a bottle of vodka straight from the bottle the night before and realized I was so far off track that I couldn’t even see the station. It was worse than not recognizing the person in the mirror. I knew who I was, I just didn’t LIKE the person staring back. She was manipulative, and selfish. Physically, emotionally and mentally unhealthy. Not at all who I wanted to be. So I started going back to worship. Started going to therapy, exercising, working toward a goal. Making positive decisions and getting in control of my mess of a life. That’s what brought me here. But when I actually got here- I was scared out of my mind. I had to face the decisions I had made that got me to that vodka infused state to begin with. 
   
          See, my relationship with God was like that one friend you had as a kid who you never actually had a falling out with.. its just your lives went in opposite directions. You’d run into each other in the halls or God forbid at the pharmacy and awkwardly “catch up” and promising to “get together soon for coffee or something”. There wasn’t a definitive moment. Its just... I got too busy to call, or write and then before I knew it... my faith wasn’t a priority. By not consciously choosing to make time for God, I made a decision. I turned my back on my faith and didn’t even realize it. 

  Once while Jesus was praying away from the crowds alone with his disciples, He asked them, ‘Who do people say that I am?’ They replied, ‘Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and still others, that one of the prophets of long ago has come back to life.’ Then Jesus asked them, ‘But what about YOU? Who do YOU say that I am?


          For years before, aside from a tattoo on my hip, there wasn’t an ounce of myself that would tell you what my answer to that question would be. I wasn’t saying anything at all! Sundays came along and I chose to do other things rather than make time for worship. My friends made cracks at God and I chose to stay silent, and not acknowledge I was at least a little offended. I took out my anger and frustration about my job, on my family and my boyfriend. I had no patience. There was no way I was living a Christ centered life. How could I when my priorities didn’t include him?
  

             I have another confession. I hope you don’t see me differently- but my name is Abbi Parker and I am not a Methodist. Instead, I’m a Quaker. (No, I don’t wear funny hats, and I’m not sure who the guy on the cereal box is. No, its nothing like being Amish). We put great importance with silence. We believe when we can quiet our minds, the holy spirit will speak through us. We strive to create peace around us. As a Quaker, our way of sharing our Christianity with the world is through our actions, not our words. A foundation of my faith is the belief that God is in Everyone. Somehow, I’d forgotten that. I wasn’t honoring that within myself, and therefor, was not honoring that in others. I wasn’t treating others with the care and love that Christians are called to share. Lucky for me, God never left. In facing the decisions I had made, I learned that no matter how far we’ve strayed, no matter what we’ve done, God never judges.
       
                   'Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling. Ye who are weary come home.'

  'But What about you? Who do YOU say that I am?' Jesus‘ question to his disciples seems like an easy one. But do your actions support your beliefs? Is your heart accepting what your head believes is true? When you don’t make God your priority, your bags get really really heavy. Remembering you are not in this alone, making time for faith, helps you put down that baggage for awhile and take deep breaths. Staying centered. Staying focused on what is important. For me, that’s sitting quietly, opening myself to listen. I don’t always make it to meeting every week. Currently I’m a waitress and sometimes I have to work on Sundays. But I will find time through out the week, to listen. I will make sure to make eye contact with people and use kind words. To remember that God is in everyone. (This is especially important in DC rush hour traffic.)
Everyone here tonight is on their own faith journey. None of us are in the same place but we are here to support each other on the way. Do the priorities in your life, and decisions you make or don’t make profess to others your faith?  If you looked in a mirror- who would you see? Only you can make that decision.
      
     Today when I look in the mirror I see someone who is independent, honest, and driven. I’m actively pursuing my goals, and doing my best to live my faith. To be a beacon of light to those who need it, as I feel I am called to do. Most importantly: someone who is loved. Unconditionally, no matter what."