Somehow, I completely missed my major amusement from yesterday. As I sat at my darling's childhood church, the pastor started talking about the youth mission trip that had just concluded. They got to go to a place where they could learn how people live "differently". As they were referring to my hometown, I snickered. I had to smother another snicker when one of the young ones excitedly shared that the people they were helping now had running water. I probably shouldn't be as amused by that as I am, but then I might be normal.

I spent some quality time spraying down the outdoor furniture with a hose. I inspired the weather to pour down rain and hail. It waited until my husband and I were off to claim my BOGO Blizzard from the Dairy Queen across the border. Thankfully, my husband showed skill in maneuvering despite people driving too slow (yes, it does happen) and portions of the road where the water was almost deep enough to drown the engine of our car. Roads look much different covered in water, and they reveal their depths, apparently, but my treat was totally worth the minor heart attacks I had on the short ride to claim it.

Today marks the eleventh anniversary of this experiment called a journal. I feel I should offer some love to those who are still reading my journal. The first to send an e-mail telling me your favorite aspect of this journal to fanklubz at meowmail dot com will win one of my handmade journals. The first picture on the front page features some samples. Let me know what your favorite color is so I can tailor the journal to your tastes if you win.

I wish I was in the mood to cause laughter or inspired to create mirth, but the trees seem to be weeping and my heart feels a little heavy. The trees weep as rain pours down their trunks. Others weep as they face loss and heartbreak. While I am not personally affected by the losses of my friends, my heart still aches for them. As I watch them struggle with their loss, I am struck by the state of the world.

My heart wrenches every time that someone says that they are praying for someone else. I am certain a time existed when those who lost someone they loved assumed that their loved ones who remained were praying for them. I hope that it offers comfort to know that so much love is being poured out to them even if someone doesn't mention their prayers. Every time those who are suffering enter my mind, my heart sends up a small prayer. I find comfort in knowing that such separations are temporary and prayer can offer the comfort that we so desperately need. Even the rain can soothe us if we let it.

With a little sunlight, I hope to find some laughter for my next entry. Keep pressing on.

Magical Mezon, computer fixer and tamer of huge metal birds, won his very own handmade journal. I may have to choose his color scheme for him since he didn't include that in his email. He was kind enough to let me know that I had an error on this page. I fixed it, so feel free to tell about any other mistakes I have made. I really should pay closer attention when I share my daily, weekly, and monthly events here.

Due to my intense animal magnetism, I seem to have attracted the neighborhood's saddest cat. He is a skinny, black short hair with what I now believe is a massive scar over his right eye. I have started calling him Scruffles, since he has begun hanging out on my back porch. Every time I see him, he stares at me a little longer before slinking away in disappointment. I keep trying to explain that I can't adopt him since he would have a father who was allergic to him, but he refuses to understand. It probably doesn't help that items he considers tasty keep ending up in the compost bin.

In other news, my obsession quotient keeps going up. I am currently working on a quilt, different stages of journal making, looking for creative ways to trick myself into getting fit, teaching with the sister missionaries, and ripping tile off of the wall in our retro bathroom. I find that this isn't helping me find time for my muse, so I may have to work on my time management this week.

In other news, I finally got around to watching the A-Team movie. I, too, am surprised by how long this has taken. My only real issue with the movie, being that it is fiction, is that the role of Sharito Copley reminded me more Scott Bakula than Dwight Schultz. I find myself to be a Murdock snob. Who would have thought that of me? Other Malkavians, perhaps?

Others were affected more deeply by today's events than I was. This surprises me because I tend to be the most uptight person I have met. I suppose when one lived next to the railroad tracks in a house that shook violently whenever the washing machine was in use makes one immune to the import of aftershocks. In fact, my first reaction was to look out the window to see if the wind was blowing. My second reaction was to check the washing machine. I was halfway there before I realized my current washing machine could not possibly be unbalanced. I shrugged and went back to watching my show. It wasn't until I checked into facebook that I saw what a stir it was creating in the world at large.

As usually happens with heart-pumping natural events, the phone lines were slammed with activity. A couple of hours later, the phone calls to check in on me began. My husband took a few seconds off from work to make sure I wasn't having a cardiac event due to stress. Luckily for him, all was well in my world.

All of this followed the other major event of my day. My dear friends the sister missionaries asked me to let someone know that they weren't feeling well and wouldn't be able to keep an appointment. This led to me being followed home and realizing that I really don't want people coming into my house without letting me know they will be there in advance. I like to tidy up and put away some of my many projects when people plan to enter my house. I don't like explaining my mess, and I like to minimize the potential that someone is going to get poked with a pin or a needle. Anyone who has stepped on one of my tools of creation can vouch for the wisdom in this.

Somehow, all of this excitement kept me from progressing with my quilt production and tile removal, but my journal production center continues to progress toward me needing to open my own personal store. How much motivation will I need before that becomes a reality?

I just want everyone to know that I expect to wake up in the morning to find a witch under my house. I have been thinking that I need some sparkly, ruby slippers for all my wardrobe needs, so that would brighten my day. In the meantime, I keep noticing the nuances of the wind as it increases in velocity. I am prognosticating that it will be a little less dramatic than everyone thinks it will be in our area. As I said to my husband, Y2K made me a cynic when it comes to expected disasters, natural or otherwise.

In our efforts to avoid the crazies who are stocking up on more supplies than they could ever use, my husband and I have had a fairly productive day. He decided that we should venture out so he could get a hair cut. We were not alone. In fact, a lot of people brought their children with them. People expect to see children when they visit the hairstylist, but most of us expect the parents to teach their children how to behave in public. This morning, one mother brought disappointment. She was teaching her child to jump up and down on the benches in the waiting area, taking up four seats despite the fact that two people were standing, and making quite a bit of noise herself. Her son refused to listen to the hairdresser who was the only one explaining to him that he needed to behave a certain way. Needless to say, I found all of this less than amusing since I have friends with four plus children of varying ages (including the age I would attribute to this child) that can behave properly in public without being told to do so. I was happy to see the child leave, particularly since he kept running over and bouncing on the bench next to me and kicking his legs toward the end.

We stopped for the essential Slurpees and pretzels on our way home, so we have no fear of starving during the heart of the storm. Then we spent some time tidying up our space. I sorted through some boxes, hoping that by doing so, I will use up some of my stockpile of craft supplies to create fabulous items which will probably be sold after my death through a reality show that mixes Hoarders and Pawn Stars. I should hammer out the details of that to ensure that it comes to pass.

While I was planning the disposition of my accumulation of garbage of my death, my husband was making waves in one of our less attractive rooms. The much-needed makeover of the bathroom and future craft room seems to be drawing closer. He finished pulling some boards down from the ceiling that made no logical sense to me and refused to give way under my previous attempts to displace them.

Now we are spending some quality time with our television. Our DVR is feeling a little lighter and my brain fires off questions every now and then such as: Did wife number one enjoy the depiction of Gambit in X-Men Origins: Wolverine? What would a child of Alan Alda and Mary Tyler Moore have looked like? Why do I watch so much television? What am I going to do with all my craft supplies while drywall and paint are going up on the walls in my craft room?

I'm trying to motivate myself to work on one of my many story ideas, particularly since I have neglected the fiction blog for two months now. Instead, I find myself wanting to chat with the ether about my goals, my plans, and my need to sell off some notebooks and/or jewelry and or other hobbit art to support my fabric habit.