99% -- I'm A Gonna Need a Moment Please

I'm not really a political type of person. Mostly because... well for one thing I don't know much about politics, but probably the bigger reason is that I just don't care about politics. I can admit that I probably should care about politics, at least a little bit... And I can also admit that I really don't care about them, not even a little bit...

With that said, this is my 2 cents for what it's worth. I am blessed beyond measure. I have more than I could ever possibly deserve. I have a roof over my head, clothes on back, food on my table, a job, a degree that I now officially own (meaning NO STUDENT LOANS), running water, an incredible husband, a sparky cat, a yellow mustang, the list could go on and on...

I know that there are many times I am not thankful for all these blessings. I think sometimes I let my sanguine self run out of control and I find myself swinging on the sanguine personality pendulum of "EVERYTHING IS WONDERFUL! THIS FEELS LIKE CHRISTMAS" and "IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD! MY LIFE IS RUINED!" Because really that's how we sanguines are... it's go big or go home with us, no in betweens. I desperately know I complain too much...

SO here's where I'm going with this. Today I was at the gym, in the locker room specifically getting ready to get my work out on when in walks a woman wearing one of the 99% shirts. Now I don't know this woman and maybe she really is having a tough time right now, I have absolutely not a lick of a right to judge... BUT I'll be darned if I didn't get plum stinkin' mad at her for wearing that shirt... Because there are a few things that I DO KNOW about this woman:

1. She considers herself in the 99% based on her clothing of choice.

2. She can afford to pay for a gym membership.

3. She can afford to pay for a VIP gym membership nonetheless . How do I know this you say? Well at our gym you can only be in the gym at 8:00pm if you are a VIP member, regular members have specific hours they can be at the gym...

And this is where I really wanted to be like... How bad can your life possibly be? You are here. You have the money to pay for the gym membership. You obviously have money to buy that shirt and wear it around. How bad can your life possibly be??

Let's have a little perspective here...

I am blessed beyond what I deserve....

Reflections: Cow Salve for the Soul

When I was a little girl, I would often get scratched by (believe it or not!) CATS, cut up from riding my bike on a gravel road, and any other number of minor abrasions from being a little bit of a klutz. No joke, I LOVED myself a band-aid and, maybe just as much as a band-aid, did I love myself some McNess Cow Salve.

How to describe cow salve to those who have never experienced it... Well my dear friend Katie Garner says that it smells like a "hot band-aid". I personally believe it smells like the healing breath of angels. It's a beautiful golden amber in color and I think the correct word to picture it in your head is probably "ointment" or maybe "gel glob". I truly believe in the power of cow salve - it makes all minor cuts and scrapes all better.

The tin of cow salve I grew up with (which I'm pretty sure my mother owned since she was in high school) had a discolored tooth pick in it. We were very economical you see. We didn't get a new toothpick every time we need to use the cow salve. We had one toothpick that stayed inside the tin at all times so when you needed some cow salve the toothpick was at the ready! My mom would use the tooth pick to put some cow salve on a band-aid and then the band-aid would go onto the wound. I'm fairly confident that the tooth pick in the tin of cow salve was older than I am and it is probably still currently residing in my mother's tin of cow salve.

When I was in college I asked for my very own tin of McNess Cow Salve for my birthday. I couldn't have been more thrilled to open the gift and find the beautiful red tin that I associated with "all better". Lucky me! I now too can pass on the healing powers of 20 year old Cow Salve to my own future children. What great joy!

....

Sometimes though I wish cow salve could heal more than minor scrapes and cat scratches.

Sometimes I wish I could just put that beautiful golden amber gel glob straight onto my aching heart.

I've had a bit of a rough week. On top of fighting a cold, struggling professionally, and missing my sweet Kansas something fierce, we're having a few other problems on the home front. And all I really want is to put some cow slave on a 24+ year old toothpick, slather it all over, and fix everything.

But I suppose life doesn't work that way...

I was reflecting upon all this last night and wondering if God was piling it all on so that I would finally realize that instead of trying to fix everything myself, I needed to begin with a cry of help.

I like simple things. Simply put: God = Cow Salve for the Soul

:)

Love, Peace, and Cow Salve Grease,

Jess

Casanova's Toys

I feel as if I should explain my blogging absence over the last year... and well I'll give you 3 words and that's about all I can do:

I got married. :)

Okay moving right along, we'll just pretend I haven't be absent as I have so many fun stories to tell whoever stumbles upon my blog just to see if I've actually written anything in the last year.

And this story is about my darling 10 month old black cat....

When I was born I was given a blue bear and a baby blanket. Ever since I was little I have affectionately referred to said blue bear and baby blanket as Blueberries and Blankie, respectively. Unfortunately Blankie and Blueberries did not keep well if you know what I mean. Blueberries lost his mouth and his fur became matted and rather rough. Blankie was held together by rusted safety pins because, well, my mother safety pinned him back together when he fell apart and those safety pins went through the wash COUNTLESS times.

When I was packing up to go to college shortly after graduating from high school, my mother told me that I could not take Blueberries and Blankie with me. They had to stay at home. If you know me, you can imagine, I'm sure, how well that went over. So what did I do? As any good daughter would do, I secretly packed them up with me and to my dorm they went. They stayed with me throughout my 4 years of college.

After graduating from college I got an internship here in Atlanta, GA. As we were packing me up to move to the ATL, my mother once again told me that Blueberries and Blankie would not be joining me on said trip. She told me repeatedly my BELOVED blue bear and raggle taggle blanket needed to go in the trash. WELL I'm sure that since you now know just how much I love my childhood remnants, how that conversation went. SO like any good daughter, I once again secretly packed them up and to the ATL they went, only to be revealed to my mother upon our arrival in my new house.

In December of 2009, my phenomenal now husband, proposed to me. It was such a beautiful thing. Later my mother and I had a talk. She said to me "Jessica, you can NOT take Blueberries and Blankie to the marriage bed". And I said to her "WO-HO-HO! I will ABSOLUTELY still have my precious Blueberries and Blankie with me after I get married. Kevin gets me and Blueberries and Blankie or nothing!" (that last sentence is probably exaggerated.)

So what did I do? Naturally, I kept Blueberries and Blankie... However, they were somewhat "demoted" if you will. Much to my dismay, it did feel a little strange to have my childhood toys in bed with me and my husband, so I moved them. They now reside underneath my side of the bed, that way they are still close enough for me to reach in case I need a moment of comfort and familiarity (or in case the dark gets too scary or my Himalayan Crystal Salt lamp goes out...).

At this point, I KNOW you're thinking... "But Jessica, you said this story was about your cat!"

Well one night, my husband and I were sitting on our futon watching, oh perhaps The Bachelorette or The Voice. My wild black cat, Casanova is ROMPING around the house in his usual fashion... destroying things, throwing himself at the mirror in the bathroom, eating toilet paper... you know, the usual... when he disappears for a hot minute.

I look around the room noticing that my furry monster is missing and relatively quiet. I note said observation to Kevin when SUDDENLY the demon comes out of our bedroom carrying none other than MY BELOVED BLUEBERRIES in his FOUL SMELLING CAT MOUTH. I'm sure you can imagine the blood-curling scream that escape from MY mouth!

He throws Blueberries down and proceeds to attack him in the most vicious of manners! Flipping over him, jumping on him, running around with him, all as I sit horrified and stunned!! I jump off the futon and LUNGE at Casanova, who takes off running at the speed of light, but luckily leaves my sweet Blueberries on the floor where I can rescue him!

It was a traumatizing event that transpired to say the least.... But I think you will be pleased to know that Blueberries was not harmed in the attack... at least that I could tell, but as you'll remember he wasn't in the best of conditions to begin with. And because I don't usually learn my lessons the first time around, I placed him back underneath my side of the bed with Blankie.

And here is the question I pose to you my dear reader... at what point is it time to give up your Blueberries and Blankie?

When your cat decides that they are his play things?

Or do you ever really outgrow them?

I'd like to believe that a part of me will be forever young... that a part of me will always be child-like....

Love, Peace, and Chicken Grease,

Jess