Don't Show All Your Cards

Secrets are not my forte.

Don't misunderstand me. If you tell me something in confidence, most likely it will remain hidden in my thoughts (albeit bouncing around wildly out of control) not to be revealed until given permission. The one whose confidence I betray most is myself.

If I am playing cards, I cannot cope with the knowledge of a great hand- or poor hand for that matter -all to myself. Hints fall out of my mouth, comments are like stray bullets. My face also tells the story. I'm going to leave the Vegas poker tables alone for now.

I don't think even once, Joseph reached a birthday or Christmas without knowing what I bought him.

Today at the gym, I was talking to the GM about payment options; she asked me why I was reticent to sign a year contract. Before tact or reason could take control, I blurted out "Because I'm a flake". Not good, Crista. Who's going to help out a flake. I just might go in my first day and yell, "Please waste your time on me!"

Lastly, a friend pointed out the frailty and transparency of my gift receiving procedure. Have I only been kidding myself? Now, this is the truth. I am always grateful for any gift that anyone gives me. I find that the thoughtfulness and sacrifice touch me far deeper than the quality of the product. That being said, I have realized that If I receive something that is not exactly what I would have chosen, I will compliment it on one particular attribute. For example, "Thank you for the bright orange Mohair sweater. Its so soft!" In actuality, "soft" does not win a sweater its way into my wardrobe. "Cute" is the ranking factor. Its just true. But the eternal optimist in me will bring these accolades to the surface.

Well, now that's great. I just showed you all my cards. Christmas should be fun.

I'm Alive

I survived my second attempt at skiing! I will fill you in on my first attempt so that you can have an idea of how joyous my victory was!

The year was 1995, the place Angel Fire, New Mexico. I was a confident 17 year old joining this world of skiers that I had heard so much about.

I gathered my equipment and headed to ski school. My instructor was a frenchman named Jean Marie (make sure you read his name with a French accent). The humiliation began at that moment. 12 year olds quickly picked up Jean Marie's instruction while I struggled to stay on my feet in line for my turn to snow plow. It was my turn and I fell flat on my rear end!

Jean Marie tried to help me up but in the process, my ski whipped around and slammed him in the knee. He hobbled and cursed under his breath at the injury. He released everyone to the slopes and turned to me, pointed and said "YOU Are not ready! Come back to ski school this afternoon."

I Failed Ski School!!

Dejected, I tried to ski down the bunny slope towards my cabin. After falling 3 times, I removed my skis and trudged home. I spent the rest of the weekend watching "The Breakfast Club". Four times.

I'm proud to report that this weekend, after a morning and 1/2 afternoon of falling and crying, I finally became one of you.... a skier.

The irony....I not too intelligently undertook this challenge while my insurance was on hiatus (due to comapany billing mix up) but I left the slopes unscathed. And hour later, however, in the shower, the shampoo bottle fell on my foot causing my only injury.

I'm healing fine, though, now...thank you for asking.

Jan 12, 2006...A Return to Blogging

I'm excited to see "The Pastor's Wife", "My favorite Brother whose name is Brad" and "Tex" back with new posts today after an extended break. They are all great posts. Check them out with my conveniently located links to the right.
Have a great day. I'm learning how to ski this weekend maybe, so there may be much fodder for this blog page when I return.

Foot in Mouth

I have to tell a story on My beloved--BurroJoe.

The day after we were married we were on our way toward south Texas, our honeymoon destination.

As is policy whenever one is near, we stopped to eat at Cracker Barrell. A beautiful May afternoon lured us out to sit in the rocking chairs on the front porch as we waited for our table.
As we were waiting, we heard on the intercom "Rick, party of one, Rick Party of one, your table is ready".

Rick stood up from a rocking chair down from ours and began walking toward us in the direction of the restaurant door.

Not noticing this BurroJoe then very loudly quipped, in Rick's earshot "Who eats alone? Rick Party of One!! HA! Loser Party of one! That's what that means." I was horrified!

Sorry Rick. I bet you aren't a loser, but if you are we probably shouldn't have rubbed it in.