tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31511018714069566572024-03-21T03:14:39.502-07:00Gray Mattermicahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-86021348206154232012014-01-14T19:17:00.004-08:002014-01-14T19:20:01.768-08:00silence"I will crush my fantasy <br />
Bring me olive oil crushed for his majesty <br />
to shine a warmth into eternity<br />
This is an eternal decree... <br />
<br />
Bring my broken heart to an invisible king<br />
with a hope one day you might answer me <br />
So I pray, don't you abandon me. <br />
<br />
Your silence kills me<br />
I wouldn't have it any other way <br />
<br />
Is it wrong to think you might speak to me? <br />
You might speak, would it be words and what would you say? <br />
<br />
It's so heavy, a heavy price to pay <br />
<br />
Your silence."<br />
<br />
<i>Silence</i> - Matisyahu micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-64665461480835596022013-12-29T07:18:00.001-08:002013-12-29T07:23:35.407-08:00by Billy Collins<i>Litany</i><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"You are the bread and the knife,<br />the crystal goblet and the wine.<br />You are the dew on the morning grass<br />and the burning wheel of the sun.<br />You are the white apron of the baker,<br />and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.<br /><br />However, you are not the wind in the orchard,<br />the plums on the counter,<br />or the house of cards.<br />And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.<br />There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.<br /><br />It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,<br />maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,<br />but you are not even close<br />to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.<br /><br />And a quick look in the mirror will show<br />that you are neither the boots in the corner<br />nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.<br /><br />It might interest you to know,<br />speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,<br />that I am the sound of rain on the roof.<br /><br />I also happen to be the shooting star,<br />the evening paper blowing down an alley<br />and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.<br /><br />I am also the moon in the trees<br />and the blind woman's tea cup.<br />But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.<br />You are still the bread and the knife.<br />You will always be the bread and the knife,<br />not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> the wine."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">- Billy Collins, from <i>Nine Horses</i></span>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-55915561087352435782013-09-19T11:52:00.000-07:002013-09-19T11:57:01.754-07:00letting go"When I let go of what I am,<br />
I become what I might be.<br />
When I let go of what I have,<br />
I receive what I need."<br />
-Lao Tzu<br />
<br />
I don't know what I have been needing lately. Maybe a warm beach breeze. A week alone in the woods. Some music that brings back my sense of wonder and connection to the divine. A strong and simple sense that I am loved, and I am good. I have the feeling that I have lost my sense of who I am. Deep spiritual doubts. Doubts about the love of others. Doubts about my own self worth, that seem to go back forever, and are growing in strength. I clench tightly down on what has worked my whole life. Tightly clench everything. Terrified of losing everything. Then, my fears, realized - in a way, I have lost everything: any sense of who I am, a system of beliefs that comforted me, the marriage that I thought I had - the two of us, now pieces of a broken thing, trying to excavate the past and build something new again. What has worked my whole life, has not worked my whole life. I want to let go. To pry my white knuckles from the thing. Somehow, it takes more strength to let go then it does to hold on so firmly. So now, this is my prayer, a burning smoke-stream from my lungs. May I let go of what I am, and become what I might be. May I let go of what I have, and receive what I need.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-30967128886708559142013-05-20T05:17:00.000-07:002013-05-20T05:18:45.481-07:00hafiz<i>With That Moon Language</i><br />
<br />
"Admit something:<br />
Everyone you see, you say to them,<br />
'Love me.'<br />
Of course you do not do this out loud;<br />
Otherwise,<br />
Someone would call the cops.<br />
Still though, think about this,<br />
This great pull in us to connect.<br />
Why not become the one<br />
Who lives with a full moon in each eye<br />
That is always saying<br />
With that sweet moon<br />
Language<br />
What every other eye in this world<br />
Is dying to<br />
Hear."<br />
<br />
-Hafizmicahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-83999627009901781312012-06-13T11:35:00.002-07:002012-06-13T11:35:21.152-07:00Vonnegut brilliance"Tiger got to hunt,<br />
Bird got to fly,<br />
Man got to sit and wonder why, why, why?<br />
<br />
Tiger got to sleep,<br />
Bird got to land,<br />
Man got to tell himself he understand."<br />
<br />
- Kurt Vonnegut, <em>Cat's Cradle</em>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-59294786296269387642012-06-11T14:45:00.001-07:002012-06-11T14:53:04.422-07:00inceptionThe first thing I noticed was that my jaws were clenched. "No words for now" - a ubiquitous voice from everywhere around me. I closed my eyes. <br />
<br />
And beneath the words I couldn't speak, beneath it all, I closed them again. Entered a dream withith a dream. Hallways leading to hallways. <br />
<br />
Breath became easy. The fire burning between my ribs was cooled.<br />
<br />
I wasn't there long - maybe longer than I know. There were no clocks in these hallways. No sense of direction either. My internal compass was wrecked.<br />
<br />
I never found anything. Never did anything. Never saw anyone.<br />
<br />
When I came back, my jaws were still shut. I had nothing to say, anyway. Retrograde amnesia - unable to connect to my old thoughts and bother my poor worn-out tongue with them. <br />
<br />
Something was different. Something was born in that wasteland.<br />
<br />
So alive and speechless.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-64054478888634355262012-06-10T14:04:00.000-07:002012-06-10T14:07:21.064-07:00by Billy Collins<em>Night House</em><br />
<br />
"Every day the body works in the fields of the world<br />
mending a stone wall<br />
or swinging a sickle through the tall grass -<br />
the grass of civics, the grass of money -<br />
and every night the body curls around itself<br />
and listens for the soft bells of sleep.<br />
<br />
But the heart is restless and rises<br />
from the body in the middle of the night,<br />
leaves the trapezoidal bedroom<br />
with its thick, pictureless walls<br />
to sit by herself at the kitchen table<br />
and heat some milk in a pan.<br />
<br />
And the mind gets up too, puts on a robe<br />
and goes downstairs, lights a cigarette,<br />
and opens a book on engineering.<br />
Even the conscience awakens<br />
and roams from room to room in the dark,<br />
darting away from every mirror like a strange fish.<br />
<br />
And the soul is up on the roof<br />
in her nightdress, straddling the ridge,<br />
singing a song about the wildness of the sea<br />
until the first rip of pink appears in the sky.<br />
Then, they all will return to the sleeping body<br />
the way a flock of birds settles back into a tree,<br />
<br />
resuming their daily colloquy,<br />
talking to each other or themselves<br />
even through the heat of the long afternoons.<br />
<br />
Which is why the body - that house of voices -<br />
sometimes puts down its metal tongs, its needle, or its pen<br />
to stare into the distance,<br />
<br />
to listen to all its names being called<br />
before bending again to its labor."<br />
<br />
- Billy Collins, from <em>Picnic, Lightning</em>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-62230353496993864002012-06-10T08:59:00.002-07:002012-06-10T08:59:38.839-07:00by Billy Collins<em>Not Touching</em><br />
<br />
"The valentine of desire is pasted over my heart<br />
and still we are not touching, like things<br />
<br />
in a poorly done still life<br />
where the knife appers to be floating over the plate<br />
which is itself hovering above the table somehow,<br />
<br />
the entire arrangement of apple, pear, and wineglass<br />
having forgotten the law of gravity,<br />
refusing to be still,<br />
<br />
as if the painter had caught them all<br />
in a rare moment of slow flight<br />
just before they drifted out of the room<br />
through a window of perfectly realistic sunlight."<br />
<br />
- Billy Collins, from <em>Questions About Angels</em>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-1966791515048076402012-06-01T13:02:00.001-07:002012-06-01T13:02:55.342-07:00most haunting and beautiful four minutes of your dayI haven't had much time or energy to write lately, so I've been putting up quotes and things I run across that move me. Here's another, a song and video by Bon Iver (my newest life-changing musical discovery). Do your best to not be haunted and moved by this - although, I realize I'm in a particular place in life that sets me up for that kind of experience at almost every turn, and not everyone is. All the same, enjoy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-64936451022238608122012-05-23T11:46:00.001-07:002012-05-23T11:46:59.714-07:00prayer, a quote"For the happy man prayer is only a jumble of words, until the day when sorrow comes to explain to him the the sublime language by means of which he speaks to God."<br />
<br />
<i>Count of Monte Cristo</i>, Alexandre Dumasmicahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-19344884561105563652012-05-21T15:02:00.003-07:002012-05-21T15:04:10.112-07:00latter days<div style="font-family: inherit;">
There is a me you would not recognize, dear</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
Call it the shadow of myself</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
And if the music starts before I get there</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
Dance without me, you dance so gracefully</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
I really think I'll be okay</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
They've taken a toll, these latter days</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<i>Latter Days</i>, Over the Rhine</div>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-81835411615530665742012-04-29T13:21:00.001-07:002012-04-29T13:23:19.199-07:00i could see for miles, miles, milesThe song is <i>Holocene</i>, by Bon Iver, and I had never heard it before. I was with friends. Someone in the other room was remarking about how flipping awesome you are. And an invisible hand squeezed my chest 'til I couldn't breathe. On the back porch, all I could choke out was, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
I love you. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px;">
"...3rd and Lake it burnt away, the hallway<br />
Was where we learned to celebrate<br />
Automatic bought the years you'd talk for me<br />
That night you played me ʻLip Paradeʼ<br />
Not the needle, nor the thread, the lost decree<br />
Saying nothing, that's enough for me<br />
<br />
... and at once I knew I was not magnificent<br />
Hulled far from the highway aisle<br />
(Jagged, vacance, thick without us)<br />
I could see for miles, miles, miles<br />
<br />
Christmas night, it clutched the light, the hallow bright<br />
Above my brother, I entangled spines<br />
We smoked the screen to make it what it was to be<br />
Now to know it in my memory:<br />
<br />
... and at once I knew I was not magnificent<br />
High above the highway aisle<br />
(Jagged vacance, thick with ice)<br />
I could see for miles, miles, miles" </div>
<div style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px;">
<br />
<i>Holocene</i>, Bon Iver </div>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-61237622296081283782012-04-10T11:43:00.008-07:002012-04-10T13:24:10.700-07:00back in the trenchesWeek two at the St. Louis Fire Department. I'm through all of my classroom orientation, and I've worked three shifts on the streets. I had been jokingly predicting that I would be assigned to night shift in north city, because I'm the rookie, and that's the worst time and the worst part of St. Louis for violent crime. Good call. That's where I am.<br /><br />And it is something.<br /><br />In three 12-hour night shifts in north St. Louis I have seen a patient who was hit in the head with a brick by her son (incurred a serious brain bleed, went into cardiac arrest and died three times, and was revived)...an ex-marine cop come close to executing an HIV-positive satanist who spit in the cop's face in the back of my ambulance...several patients living in completely third-world conditions with no lights, heat, or electricity at all...some wicked car wrecks resulting from drunken urban street racing...and three heroin overdoses. So far, I've managed to avoid the plethora of shootings and stabbings that have happened since I started on Friday. [Interesting side note: my first night, we had an army medic riding with us. She was shipped to St. Louis from Cali-freaken-fornia for two weeks to get experience treating gunshot wounds before being shipped out to Afghanistan. Really? She was based one hour from <span style="font-style: italic;">Los Angeles.</span> St. Louis is worse than <span style="font-style: italic;">L.A?</span> According to her, the army's research shows that St. Louis and Baltimore have the highest rate of shootings per capita in the U.S.; they were offered a choice between the two cities. I got a kick out of that, and then I made sure I knew where we keep the bullet-proof vests on the truck]<br /><br />I have to admit that I was really anxious about getting back into this field after what I went through last year, and the reputation St. Louis has, learning to sleep during the day again, learning to leave the comfort of being the EMT/driver and become the medic-in-charge, making huge, weighty decisions about peoples' lives and well-being in a split-second, the paperwork, all the extra responsibility...<br /><br />I'm still being trained by another paramedic for the next few weeks - every shift I'm handed new responsibilities and given more leeway. So I don't know yet what it will feel like when at last the doors are closed and I'm in the back of the bus by myself with the patient, and there's no one there to bail me out.<br /><br />But I can say that, to my great relief, I love it. I see this job in a different light than when I first got into this business four years ago. I didn't start this new job in St. Louis with any delusions of what being a paramedic is all about. I've been around the block - through the jadedness and cynicism that everyone experiences when they learn what it's really like. I know that it's not at all what you see on t.v. And I'm thankful for that.<br /><br />May I keep my heart open, my mind sharp, and my body strong as I dig in and experience the underbelly of my hometown.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-24094930148070339622012-02-21T08:07:00.000-08:002012-02-21T08:47:00.905-08:00cicada shellI love the open space of the Funeral Chapel parking lot at night. Earlier today, a human's cicada shell lay inside those walls, smiling, not telling the secret of where the rest of him went, after moulting.<br /><br />As I buzz around this empty space, I feel sure that I'm a reincarnated soul, or a vampire - hundreds of years older than I look. Or an ant who has underestimated the weight and size of this dead beetle he is hauling around.<br /><br />But I don't mind the aloneness, or the fact that this is not my season. The dead spot on my right big toe is the only remaining numbness from last year's debacle - the unfulfilled portion of the progress bar on my screen. The healing is not complete, but it is real.<br /><br />Now it's gotten late. Time to flip my collar up and turn back to the house. Tonight is not the night I leave my skin behind and finally learn the secret.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-18333688694815876842012-02-13T19:24:00.000-08:002012-02-15T07:27:03.136-08:00cloud comin' downSunday morning. Not early. Not late. I'm sure well over half the city is still sleeping it off. <br /><br />It would be cooler if I had a record player and could physically put the needle on the vinyl. I'll settle for connecting a USB cable to the docking station. Greg Brown is singing. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />It's a messed up world, but I love it anyway. I love it.</span><br /><br />And now, between the notes and his gravelly voice, another voice.<br />You are not what you were. I've been strengthening you. It might soon be your turn to do the lifting up. You are weak, you are strong. That's all for now.<br /><br />Fade back to Greg Brown - strange choreography.<br /><br />I try to say a prayer, return the favor, but I don't know who to address or what to call you. I get the feeling for a minute that the joke's on me. You have no name. You have a thousand names. You have no name. Why do I need you to?<br /><br />I return to the song; my breath tells me I've been in a different sort of presence, though I can't put a finger on it.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I've got</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> two little feet to get me 'cross the mountain.<br />two little feet to carry me into the woods.<br />two little feet, big mountain, and a<br />cloud comin' down, cloud comin' down, cloud comin' down.</span>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-32207835100518857492011-11-11T16:05:00.000-08:002011-11-12T12:35:48.769-08:00overpeace over angst<br />intention over osmosis<br />love over anger<br />growth over atrophy<br />trust over fear<br />wellness over illness<br />presence over withdrawing<br />laughter over sullenness<br /><br /> * * *<br /><br />An alley. Pitt-bull, sewer gas, condenser unit. Arkansas tumbleweed, as we used to call it when a Walmart bag blew across the road. Here, it's just called trash. <br /><br />Still, my spirit is filled with affirmations. Darkness for thirty steps. Then another telephone pole, and a new arc of light.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-6879006355796588072011-10-18T10:49:00.000-07:002011-10-18T10:51:33.049-07:00rest<em style="font-family: georgia;">Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.</em>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-16895557727317513132010-09-14T05:35:00.000-07:002010-09-14T05:35:08.432-07:00see you soon - coldplay<object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dsz-EeNZBkI?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dsz-EeNZBkI?fs=1&hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="295"></embed></object>micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-66158397758093398302010-09-10T06:40:00.000-07:002010-09-10T07:15:45.514-07:00catching up on family timeI finally got the chance to post some pictures on facebook of some great family moments we've had in the middle of all this medic school chaos. And...due to that chaos and business, I'm gonna be lazy and just put the link to the album here on this page:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=223282&l=95152c2f09&id=628423586">http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=223282&l=95152c2f09&id=628423586</a><br /><br />I'm so thankful for these little moments when I can sneak home for a few hours at a time, shake off the horrors of the trauma I've witnessed, forget about emergency medicine, and soak up my family. What a lucky guy I am to come home to those three beautiful people.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-50261324387924150912010-06-20T12:25:00.000-07:002010-06-20T13:17:54.006-07:00fun being a father<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dySR1uvfjXQU8lx6fDSKmFY3ywi_bD1L9a9cKkANq1GvHBwlH0EpW4GB8GNSmFQYoVAM9dW8pvOHFRJyQBVkw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br />Everett is learning how to sit up, and as with Simone when she was this age, watching him learn his new skill is our favorite way to entertain ourselves. It's shocking how many hours Crystal and I spend just watching our kids and getting a royal kick out of them!<br /><br />Here's a picture of some home-made doughnuts Crystal made for Fathers' Day! I almost passed out when I took my first bite.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinv-Vf0CfXViEJ87wpN1aFNE8U7wLOCkHJB1Fwg9tOsz5ZH1oAjyFAhxyU99lIeClvZdaRrNj-orz6uMvKbMANWfEJf2K4nROnv-assF88EktA5LjBP4_3EH1D4KgSUQ7O6INs72L86xwm/s1600/IMG_7708.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinv-Vf0CfXViEJ87wpN1aFNE8U7wLOCkHJB1Fwg9tOsz5ZH1oAjyFAhxyU99lIeClvZdaRrNj-orz6uMvKbMANWfEJf2K4nROnv-assF88EktA5LjBP4_3EH1D4KgSUQ7O6INs72L86xwm/s320/IMG_7708.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484952617729848338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />When I told Simone we were gonna eat doughnuts her eyes bulged and she said, "Yaaaay! I haven't eaten doughnuts in like 3 DAYS!" I laughed hard. And then I wondered what Crystal feeds her when I'm gone.<br /><br />I feel like the luckiest guy in the world on this Fathers' Day. Crystal made me feel special. The kids made me laugh all day. Didn't have to work, so I got to be at church with my family, which is rare lately. I was caught up enough in school to mostly take the day off and just enjoy these beautiful people I get to live life with.<br /><br />Thank you, Abba. Thank you, Amma. Thank you, Creator.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-38554018068088701172010-06-14T08:11:00.000-07:002010-06-14T08:46:24.283-07:00don't jumpOne of the blogs I follow is <a href="http://www.postsecret.com/">PostSecret</a>, a website that publishes postcards sent in by people anonymously. Most of them are confessions, secrets that the senders aren't comfortable telling their loved ones, but need to be expressed. It is sometimes so sad, sometimes shocking, sometimes so eye- and mind-opening to see what my fellow humans carry around with them every day - the good, bad, and ugly.<br /><br />About a week ago, someone posted this postcard:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3c6krlY5InlAl5aVOX7SPdH85j_h9pIFhFvRCOienpvc7TJ9nqK6oiJ8s1LAeBmGearcjkbWhp9J9DhvLfRQwqVD-dFWLBrkhEXqF-EVPqji7TNXvoQkEfck5Q7x9QvPl3WHwrF682W7V/s1600/postcard.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3c6krlY5InlAl5aVOX7SPdH85j_h9pIFhFvRCOienpvc7TJ9nqK6oiJ8s1LAeBmGearcjkbWhp9J9DhvLfRQwqVD-dFWLBrkhEXqF-EVPqji7TNXvoQkEfck5Q7x9QvPl3WHwrF682W7V/s320/postcard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482649804232553282" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />And within seven days 59,000 people had joined an online community through PostSecret and Facebook offering notes of encouragement and hope to this lost person. Here are a few postcards sent in response:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbUHTntiNPcbUqzljLHnIS3o2ub8bSp0xXKKQ1CtBnKVOBM3zybJhxDJz4TW3JsyPC2PsIOaGzkMNPizKDKdBbxPYuF_eIX_0cHwv0ls3MLvUVGERHLw4zPBszXp-eggcaneJemN5wbv-/s1600/postcard2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbUHTntiNPcbUqzljLHnIS3o2ub8bSp0xXKKQ1CtBnKVOBM3zybJhxDJz4TW3JsyPC2PsIOaGzkMNPizKDKdBbxPYuF_eIX_0cHwv0ls3MLvUVGERHLw4zPBszXp-eggcaneJemN5wbv-/s320/postcard2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482650538817490146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSf9bOWbOInEdj76DJvU_KUW0Or4CleSCsQzXg_IZtoa0rqwObXGd7pa7Kg-OQJShTUW20iUmxMTO9LPm33Z4gNehflCyHREYbuarUifXennbRhxJgDdKvQ6-eguKP4ROXTmsLyoXrZ3h/s1600/postcard3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSf9bOWbOInEdj76DJvU_KUW0Or4CleSCsQzXg_IZtoa0rqwObXGd7pa7Kg-OQJShTUW20iUmxMTO9LPm33Z4gNehflCyHREYbuarUifXennbRhxJgDdKvQ6-eguKP4ROXTmsLyoXrZ3h/s320/postcard3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482650647790303042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictImkVOEFfJgyxppd2v-PMHT624xASL1ud1-Va_1O55zqn90KpoiR-BfPot1xx_-UqCUrPoNrfJyVhBx1aeykDYI5pJ50R4wlQdyGX4DHcd6B_EQdyjMGwj9657XkuH0w4DSTZXNNRh8T/s1600/postcard4.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictImkVOEFfJgyxppd2v-PMHT624xASL1ud1-Va_1O55zqn90KpoiR-BfPot1xx_-UqCUrPoNrfJyVhBx1aeykDYI5pJ50R4wlQdyGX4DHcd6B_EQdyjMGwj9657XkuH0w4DSTZXNNRh8T/s320/postcard4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482650757602129714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />This movement even caught the attention of Time magazine. <a href="http://newsfeed.time.com/2010/06/07/can-post-secret-and-facebook-save-a-life/">Here's a link to the article in Time's News Feed.</a><br /><br />This story just blows my mind. I am such a cynical person sometimes, and I often feel totally disgusted by humanity, myself included. What a startling counter-attack to the pervasive middle-finger-stuck-out-at-the-world mentality of today. For that many people to care so much that one person who is lost, who they don't even know, be found before it's too late - What a divine display of humanity and love for a total stranger.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-82873671775426777792010-05-21T05:55:00.000-07:002010-05-21T08:27:15.974-07:00mountain manYesterday was too beautiful a day to be inside. Once the rain left there was a misty, overcast sky that made the grass look so green it felt like a dream or a cartoon. Unlike a sunny day, when all the colors seem kind of washed out, gray skies allow all the colors of the earth to shine in a way that I find startling and always have (hence the picture I use as my blog header).<br /><br />I knew of one place where we could really enjoy this. So we went for a hike at Devil's Den State Park. There's a trail there that leads to a lookout called Yellow Rock, where you feel like you can see the whole world in front of you. You have a vantage point of miles and miles of Ozark mountains, and snaking rivers. A place where you can't help but feel at peace.<br /><br />This was the first trip to the mountains for Everett. We were a little concerned about how a four-month-old would tolerate an hour and a half hike in the Bjorn, but let me tell you...Like a wild mountain lion, he scampered over logs, adeptly scaled rock walls, caught muskrat with his bare hands, and gnawed on them with his eager gums.<br /><br />I'm kidding - the doctor says he won't be able to do those things for at least two more months. He sat pretty still, went along for the ride, eyes glazed over, half asleep, and didn't do or say much of anything. We had a blast.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivnHco7AUp1oMZeP4LQVgzUC7zgLTutJ4_iK-4SC-n_14yHI7DAXvAa6To5uxvNq3eXR4IiPZ_-2So28npFAPQTkVmm0n7JU1Y4vqW9ifqxi_d5WEANWcfFZE1WyTXtOArJECTGrPzj4r0/s1600/IMG_7574.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivnHco7AUp1oMZeP4LQVgzUC7zgLTutJ4_iK-4SC-n_14yHI7DAXvAa6To5uxvNq3eXR4IiPZ_-2So28npFAPQTkVmm0n7JU1Y4vqW9ifqxi_d5WEANWcfFZE1WyTXtOArJECTGrPzj4r0/s320/IMG_7574.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473712891746974962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEj3O-phY4_MQYL6qR_qXD8h7-qBAEBabR_NG1_F-hmm6o9_i4RzAFGWmSevpeAKnQ1djao2dAjau8t8ebVbWSgXgTi0vmIA8chgzQyU642BtHN2h4L04sw8wXnyVCH9qOo5v10Hb2TvnB/s1600/IMG_7577.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEj3O-phY4_MQYL6qR_qXD8h7-qBAEBabR_NG1_F-hmm6o9_i4RzAFGWmSevpeAKnQ1djao2dAjau8t8ebVbWSgXgTi0vmIA8chgzQyU642BtHN2h4L04sw8wXnyVCH9qOo5v10Hb2TvnB/s320/IMG_7577.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473713415138010306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4HiKpTaTpxe5kN79Goef84t0PXEXC0aVFzjgkje_7yXOAqopfpdyqBHTteZRObFMS1sTT7wiQ4bpRtwIY9-wvVrfjp5V54PrFHLHtwbudJJX6K65P3AFWDKD0aX7uR2BJdCxM6Za9Fjb0/s1600/IMG_7561.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4HiKpTaTpxe5kN79Goef84t0PXEXC0aVFzjgkje_7yXOAqopfpdyqBHTteZRObFMS1sTT7wiQ4bpRtwIY9-wvVrfjp5V54PrFHLHtwbudJJX6K65P3AFWDKD0aX7uR2BJdCxM6Za9Fjb0/s320/IMG_7561.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473713913834237074" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVEPZSLNPR_HXlzGk2xhe_aQj835Go-2xmpkf_8WcXiiNkR13XvHTHk8igT6LOmBNOTT8GkkPa8NHP48bKLp6Rxi2ve6XC7Q6-YdHJXMv_vHj4022QGLtqlae3I11hi92vvwLazqwVi5r/s1600/IMG_7551.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVEPZSLNPR_HXlzGk2xhe_aQj835Go-2xmpkf_8WcXiiNkR13XvHTHk8igT6LOmBNOTT8GkkPa8NHP48bKLp6Rxi2ve6XC7Q6-YdHJXMv_vHj4022QGLtqlae3I11hi92vvwLazqwVi5r/s320/IMG_7551.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473714442618494082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlXxjDkunTXCaSuvHWcOe7Jv8tU-LOsatH6Yxzsd2xNXe__05oXDSKR8p_ypbxhkYdsz1a4FqpQJ2HBI95v5TO_PANKFEdhTj1L5TyfxMFbjKveRyqlcL6UrybP_YLTrWLKcUbb5EaFfj/s1600/IMG_7554.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlXxjDkunTXCaSuvHWcOe7Jv8tU-LOsatH6Yxzsd2xNXe__05oXDSKR8p_ypbxhkYdsz1a4FqpQJ2HBI95v5TO_PANKFEdhTj1L5TyfxMFbjKveRyqlcL6UrybP_YLTrWLKcUbb5EaFfj/s320/IMG_7554.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473714913120678178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4OdORMDfXQL9qe2naUDuC1G9LKZ9qcD6J7nuZBSzcp92rhygmoKDQvZxXIfFdmn3FuRCp30DRwL5ZHKqpZY6zolt9JMMwpwXwxUSsD7a4NW9EAPcVW1ZsgKoOizg3Tjt2FhKi1FRy7Qzv/s1600/1391.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4OdORMDfXQL9qe2naUDuC1G9LKZ9qcD6J7nuZBSzcp92rhygmoKDQvZxXIfFdmn3FuRCp30DRwL5ZHKqpZY6zolt9JMMwpwXwxUSsD7a4NW9EAPcVW1ZsgKoOizg3Tjt2FhKi1FRy7Qzv/s320/1391.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473745133975955090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhLX8YaRqNAwgwkbDNdlo1LUM0l4Frk-e5Ju3-SIl8Qf6-Y1wPisiB5XMnh8KQEfPVdU88pGGC_NKppE10s93osyh_DlmIcTrh80-RQxow9KnRvjKmt_gYMcuuJains9OhxzFEbsLCcY_/s1600/IMG_7557.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhLX8YaRqNAwgwkbDNdlo1LUM0l4Frk-e5Ju3-SIl8Qf6-Y1wPisiB5XMnh8KQEfPVdU88pGGC_NKppE10s93osyh_DlmIcTrh80-RQxow9KnRvjKmt_gYMcuuJains9OhxzFEbsLCcY_/s320/IMG_7557.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473715215652904162" border="0" /></a><br />(this is what happens when you try to take your own family picture: two-year-old looking at a bug, baby trying to eat his arm, vein popping out of the cameraman's head, and stunning wife doing exactly what she's supposed to be doing)micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-89088692931857223292010-05-14T07:56:00.000-07:002010-05-14T08:30:18.148-07:00mosesI have been officially accepted into this year's Paramedic program, and will be starting in two weeks. This is an advancement from EMT to Paramedic that I've been looking forward to for a long time. Here's the catch. Every paramedic I talk to asks if I'm ready for my year in hell. One told me that his year in the program should count for credit as time served in hell, in case he ends up there. The head of the program told me to take lots of pictures of my kids in the next couple of weeks, 'cause otherwise I won't remember what they look like by the end of the year. Why? Well, for eleven months I will be working my normal fifty to sixty hour weeks at Central EMS, in school for sixteen hours a week (four college classes for each of the three semesters), doing clinical rotations in the ER for twelve to twenty hours a week, and somewhere in between, finding the time to do homework. <br /><br />And so, logically, I am filled with anxious thoughts about the coming year. When am I going to be with my family? What's Crystal going to do this year? I'm used to being a very involved dad, spending lots of time during the weekdays with my kids, since I work such strange night and weekend hours. Will they forget me? Will our marriage be o.k.? Will this even be worth it?<br /><br />Yesterday, I had the little ones while Crystal did one of her cleaning jobs, and Simone was in a musical mood. She spent no less than an hour singing out loud about everything under the sun. It was a really hilarious and touching window into her mind. For a while I was distracted with Everett, and wasn't paying close attention to her musical monologue. But one line was so melodic that it caught my attention, and I began to notice what she was singing in her angelic voice:<br /><br />"Don't be sad...anymore<br />Don't be afraid...anymore<br />You don't need to worry...anymore"<br /><br />I said, "Simone, that's so pretty, what are you singing about?" <br />She said, "I singin' about Moses."<br /><br />It gave me the chills. In the Hebrew story, Moses was a great mediator between God and people. He had a special connection, and spoke to the people from God.<br /><br />I suddenly had the sense that God was speaking to me through my little singing Moses. Do not fear. Do not be anxious. There's no need.<br /><br />Alright, then.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-57496819229883269152010-04-19T17:21:00.000-07:002010-04-20T16:51:23.534-07:00chicken wings and everettThe two are not connected in any way. Except the obvious fact that Everett's gonna love 'em like his daddy does. I made some home-made buffalo wings tonight and I thought they turned out great! Crystal's not too thrilled about chicken wings, so I had Stephen over, and we devoured them. Here are some pictures; and I can't help but throw in a few cool ones of my little man...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJsyvTSPsIBbCKbSB8HzFQWlG7EKil3mWqaOnA4mMNQ-nrPeFiW1b5DJF1xEBKAeTDMOV0Q2nP0pGkg3lkmhUXYxrfwlkvtZaT7HusaMf3V7W03xw0YT58r5ou2jFF6cNhvKuMNuUqBBz/s1600/IMG_7309.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJsyvTSPsIBbCKbSB8HzFQWlG7EKil3mWqaOnA4mMNQ-nrPeFiW1b5DJF1xEBKAeTDMOV0Q2nP0pGkg3lkmhUXYxrfwlkvtZaT7HusaMf3V7W03xw0YT58r5ou2jFF6cNhvKuMNuUqBBz/s320/IMG_7309.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462009797161855010" border="0" /></a><br />(there they are, fryin' up in the dutch oven)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMLOjmC6QU2GRbUFeySv6-BrL4erGuiJgNaGH-D7YOCh_Aq5DV8V_9cFsAoFka6bUW-zgCaviJuKQ0Ys9ZaWQaEYo36GtMi598SZc38c-cKawZcA0dW8Dbn9nw8AL_64te5bQUS7IhhwK/s1600/IMG_7311.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMLOjmC6QU2GRbUFeySv6-BrL4erGuiJgNaGH-D7YOCh_Aq5DV8V_9cFsAoFka6bUW-zgCaviJuKQ0Ys9ZaWQaEYo36GtMi598SZc38c-cKawZcA0dW8Dbn9nw8AL_64te5bQUS7IhhwK/s320/IMG_7311.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462010240127326658" border="0" /></a><br />(here they are, after the fryin', before the sauce)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGjp-v-EIL502_E8aSlNfAr81eVaM_kTz7W2Yw8XYLHT7ODZMbhhgu8itsQu37FYoHN4X0D7jdtuMGjexGfw1nnXtKBtIZFbITMbwL9OMid5XmmE1KJ-t0KDVIQOiT9uF-ur8kM3cpi68/s1600/IMG_7315.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGjp-v-EIL502_E8aSlNfAr81eVaM_kTz7W2Yw8XYLHT7ODZMbhhgu8itsQu37FYoHN4X0D7jdtuMGjexGfw1nnXtKBtIZFbITMbwL9OMid5XmmE1KJ-t0KDVIQOiT9uF-ur8kM3cpi68/s320/IMG_7315.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462010661226146546" border="0" /></a><br />(the finished product!)<br /><br />And now, for some Everett:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvNbOxhoHy-40brGyEm5t47msWAEOgAc3Wtp2dlyUV0NGji5SRMG7X_9PTAMgri3uxRuQl-pZ57q8fzBkIlqkojiAwVts5rBmQEPlXKaql96X9Vge7sxeIvet6Ezbr1dlxaOwehPverrj/s1600/IMG_7302.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvNbOxhoHy-40brGyEm5t47msWAEOgAc3Wtp2dlyUV0NGji5SRMG7X_9PTAMgri3uxRuQl-pZ57q8fzBkIlqkojiAwVts5rBmQEPlXKaql96X9Vge7sxeIvet6Ezbr1dlxaOwehPverrj/s320/IMG_7302.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462011783115269666" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhj8zJhgWYICdTm2-rA4R1FJSGCKiwh4KMHclcZU5UF08_5DTco3S4yGPAHuAa_taQt5KzU4JEXs9rUteTAir46sjiNl6Yel4URWRly1ovMZll7pPssgWNozAmEii3WoC50iXymYGcGY2G/s1600/IMG_7304.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhj8zJhgWYICdTm2-rA4R1FJSGCKiwh4KMHclcZU5UF08_5DTco3S4yGPAHuAa_taQt5KzU4JEXs9rUteTAir46sjiNl6Yel4URWRly1ovMZll7pPssgWNozAmEii3WoC50iXymYGcGY2G/s320/IMG_7304.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462012443714151634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_jiNG8oPmQ5nGNye3xsXli70hdS8i6D3R3zBlGnDDIxGek45xhzPp1eQpc-9LY3zLPDWhMJSjAN63OVHEFOj_8Kw-geCK3BTMNq6IDx75UpMbAQmPCKmZ1LYwCXHSWKVsqtD68Q-8Fr-V/s1600/IMG_7280.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_jiNG8oPmQ5nGNye3xsXli70hdS8i6D3R3zBlGnDDIxGek45xhzPp1eQpc-9LY3zLPDWhMJSjAN63OVHEFOj_8Kw-geCK3BTMNq6IDx75UpMbAQmPCKmZ1LYwCXHSWKVsqtD68Q-8Fr-V/s320/IMG_7280.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462012724124265170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />In case anyone ever wants to make buffalo wings and thinks, as I did 'til tonight, that they're too hard and wouldn't taste anything like the restaurant...not so! Here's what you do:<br /><br />Separate the joints of 4lbs of chicken wings, and discard the wing tips. Dredge each remaining piece in flour (seasoned with salt). Heat about four inches of oil or shortening in a dutch oven or deep pot to 400 degrees (about high to medium-high heat). Fry the wings in batches for about 12-14 minutes or until nice and crispy. While the chicken is frying, mix one 6 0z. bottle of Louisiana hot sauce with one stick of melted butter in a large bowl. Drain the wings and toss in bowl of buffalo sauce. Plate 'em, and eat up! Really easy, and tastes crispy and tender.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3151101871406956657.post-21570933134219729272010-04-09T08:01:00.000-07:002010-04-09T09:43:40.800-07:00waiting roomRemember when the waiting room at the doctor's office had plastic magazine racks bolted to the wall and something to read for any kind of person? Now, the magazine rack has been replaced with a neat little sign alerting us that this is a "Wi-Fi Hot Spot!" The sound of pages flipping has been replaced with intermittant chimes from peoples' smart phones, letting them know their car insurance is due. (Wouldn't want to have to wait 'til I get home to know THAT!) <br /><br /><em>[DISTRACTING SIDE THOUGHT: in the future, I think babies will learn texting before they learn how to talk. Awww, Honey, Jimmy just sent his first text: "gaga. googoo. lol :-)" Isn't he so smart?]</em> <br /><br />In every public place, everywhere and every time people are sitting around waiting for something, it seems that more noses than not are buried in their phones. <em> </em>I don't know if this is a bad thing, a good thing, or just the same old thing people have always been doing, with a technological flare. Nobody knows what to do with themselves when they have to wait.<br /><br />I am the chief of sinners.<br /><br />I've never procrastinated. I'd love to claim this as a by-product of my superduper work ethic. But I think I just <em>can't stand</em> unfinished business. I'd be such a pissy ghost. I'm gonna be one of the busiest hospice patients anyone's ever seen.<br /><br />I can tell, though, that life wants to strip me of that tendency. Lately, I have been so dogone tired that I have let things go to an appalling degree. I've looked at lists I've made of things to be done and just laughed. <em>That</em> won't be happening anytime soon. It goes against my own nature, but maybe my own nature is neurotic and unreasonable.<br /><br />Between all the waiting I've done lately for things outside of my control, and just waiting for the energy and motivation within myself to do things, I should be a certified and centered monk. My mind should be a monastery. But I'm still a young man with a lot of nervous energy and intestinal turmoil.<br /><br />This is clearly something that I won't be conquering today. In fact, I should probably wrap things up - my phone's telling me I've gotta pay my water bill.micahgrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11642067833903382812noreply@blogger.com1