Friday / Saturday Fluffy Funny

According to my little schedule for when Fluffy will be dispersed on this here blog thing, we're at the day for the Funny Fluffy Goodness.

And if I don't put something up today, I'll have blown the schedule in the first week. That would be a little soon, even for me - I usually wait a week or two before getting bored and throwing something under a passing bus.

So...

Beka Valentine - Shredding Daddy's Underwear since 06/16/2012

BEKA CAPTION PICS!!!

Homegirl is a world-class sleeper...

I'm writing the captions in, since the beautiful design of my blog makes 'em tough to read. You can thank me later... if at all.

I think you can read this one... Her back legs are about as long as my arm from shoulder to wrist. And no, I'm not kidding. Our long-legged Ibizan Hound...

7 Weeks ("I love my new daddy,... and I'm very sleepy") to 7 Months ("I'm SO gonna shred his underwear... Oh, and I love my daddy, for the record.")

Yeah - we had no idea what we were getting into from what she looked like as a puppy...

Homegirl is getting honkin' HUGE..

She's standing in the same position there - with a couple of months passing.

Hopefully you can click on this one and see it clearly - there's simply too much for me to convey. And I'm laughing too hard... and it sets up the next flatulence reference...

And this one is based on the truth of das Olsonhaus - the person with the most offensive "output" is also the person that lost his sense of smell. Thus, a commentary from The Beka...

There's a dose of Beka Caption Pics - I'm sure there will be more to come. Tune in next time to hear BekaV say...

"Nice going, Photo Boy... This little romp is going to cost you... a LOT... if you want to have any unshredded underwear, that is. I accept all forms of doggie bacon strips."

Throwback Thursday: Documenting The Story, Pt. 1

As a part of our new, shiny, soon-to-be-thrown-under-the-bus schedule, Thursdays are where I pick a previously published bit of fluffy goodness, past its expiration date, but still lovely and tasty, and put it out there again for public consumption.

Ewww...

And since the readership of the Whistler's Wonderings is not a stagnant number, but constantly has folks flowing in and out of our core readership, all 3.78 of 'em, I thought it might be good to go back to the major event that kind of kicked us into the journey I'm on today.

So, we set the Wayback Machine to April, 2010, not all that long after my surgery on March 30th. Let's roll that beautiful bean footage, shall we?

Vicki was excited when I said I thought I was going to go and do some writing today. I know she’d never pressure me, but she wants to make sure I make note of the steps we’re taking in this journey, so that we don’t forget just where from and how far we have come.

Journey?

Yeah - I know. It’s been a long, l-o-n-g time since I wrote. September of ‘09, according to the posts on TW’sW. A lot has happened since then, but I seem to have forgotten that writing is the thing I must do - it’s how I process my thoughts and feelings, it’s where I place the Stones to remind me of the path and to help me keep sight of God when I lose faith, and it’s the place where Vicki can see what’s going on in my brain without being overwhelmed.

(Vicki will often make my eyes glaze over with details of what she does at work - the type of digital sorcery she engages in makes no sense to me whatsoever. I sometimes forget that I often do the same thing to her... late at night... in bed... when she’s trying to settle in and rest, and I’m chatting for all I’m worth as everything I’ve thought about all day suddenly tries to jump ship at the same time. If I write, those ideas get out there when she can actually see them, take her time reading them, and not feel like I just ambushed her with a fire hose...)

So, it’ll take a while, but I’ll catch you up with where we are. Then we’ll talk about it. Saddle up, buttercup...

-----------------------------------

Last fall, almost a year out from my most recent medical weight loss program, my doctor and I began to discuss the possibility of bariatric surgery. I’ve considered it over the years, even went so far as to pursue it a couple of times only to be turned down by two different insurance companies. And frankly, I’ve always been a little scared of it.

It seems like everyone you talk to knows someone who has had “the surgery,” and you’ll hear tales that range from, “oh, they’re doing GREAT!” to “well, they did lose some weight, but now they’re bigger than they were before!” It’s all too easy to take that huge step, make some good progress, and end up worse than you were to start with because you’ve regained everything and stretched your stomach to a dangerous size. And that’s what scared me - I know me, sort of, and at the end of the day I seriously doubted I could make the kind of lasting change that would make surgery a safe and successful option for me.

But that changed...

it was in October that Dr. Turke (my doc at Weigh to Wellness) and I realized something - I was almost a year out from my medical fast in January of ‘09, and I was still at the weight I was when I finished. Actually, I had managed to lose a few more pounds since May of ‘09. And I hadn’t been doing anything to really make it that way. We looked over my history, and discovered something pretty significant: I don’t lose well, but I maintain beautifully.

It’s pretty much the opposite of most people. When I settle at a new weight, I tend to stick there, instead of ballooning back up the moment I get off of a “program.” I tend to land at the new place, and stay there instead of running back up to where I was.

That’s a biggie.

Now, back when I first went through a medical fast, I got all the way down to 366 - over 100 lbs off. And I regained back to over 460. That doesn’t sound like I stick very well, does it? So I thought...

Until Vicki reminded me that one little tiny thing happened in the middle there - losing my job of almost 20 years and becoming unemployed. And that was a very dark time - my heart was so wrapped up in that job and what I was a part of that it was a long time before I could even think straight. My heart went to stone, my joy was down the biffy, and worship became cold and stale.

Since then, I’ve learned some significant stuff. No job will ever have my heart again - it belongs to God alone. Work gets my allegiance, my best efforts, my full concentration and ability, but not my heart. So when my job at CBH ministries ended in October, I left and my heart stayed with me.

Have I recovered fully from January, 2006? Yes and no. I know enough now to keep myself and my work separate. But the wounds to my heart and my relationship with God? Still working on it. Making some progress, but working on it.

So, our original observation still stands: when I lose weight, I tend to stick there. It’s hard for me to get it off, but good when it’s gone. Knowing that, I started to explore the surgery one more time.

Little did I know that God was WAY ahead of me, as He always is...

-to be continued-

The Cool Kids

Just for once, I'd like to learn a lesson, and actually not have to return to it. I'd like to have the lesson stick.

But when it comes to lessons, it seems I've got a non-stick mental surface that would pass both the egg AND the fried cheese test.

(And if you watched late night infomercials, you'd know that those two tests truly are the greatest challenges anyone can present a given piece of cookware. Ever. Alleluia. Amen.)

So the lesson that seems to refuse to make it past my iron-clad noggin this time is the Lost Puppy Lesson, conveniently linked here by the Proofreader, 'cause she's fancy like that.

And as we learn in my all-time favorite book, The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, from my favorite character in that book, Alec Bings (who sees through things), sometimes all we need is perspective - a different point of view. For example, a little perspective can turn the Lost Puppy Lesson into The Cool Kids lesson, giving it not a "happy" ending, but at least a satisfying one.

And that makes all the difference.

(So I guess "I CAN git some... satisfaction..."

Ha ha hee hee ho ho *snort* Wooo...)

The fall fundraiser for the radio station I work at (part-time) has passed into the history books. It's a few days of intense work, immense blessing, and good stuff in abundance.

But it also teaches me that I'll never be one of The Cool Kids. And I'm actually beginning to think that I'm actually alright with that.

I work side by side with my friends, many of whom I've known for at least two decades, some considerably more than that, and it's a great time. We laugh, we cry, and we watch together as God again moves His gracious hand. But, it also makes me long for the old days, when I was truly one of them, The Cool Kids, working full-time at the station, a part of the ministry.

But, I'm not.

And, as far as I can see from here, I'm not supposed to be. What I AM supposed to do, well, I have no clue at this point. But God's been pretty clear that going back where I was ain't it. So there's a distance, a little chasm that I perceive, but I'm guessing no one else does.

And that's alright.

I'm always aware of a separation, a distance between myself and others. It's not intentional, not malicious, and usually isn't even directed at me with extreme prejudice...

Except for the occasional personage, that is, who decides that I flatline their Weird-O-Meter, causing them to regard me with the Stink Eye of Malice and Loathing, as One Would Deliver to a Wayward Doggie Exhaust Nugget Placed in One's Sphere of Awareness.

I'm rather an expert on the whole subject of Wayward Doggie Exhaust Nuggets, so I can speak of this with a certain amount of authority.

*Ewww...*

And I recently received one of those aforementioned Stink Eyes of Malice and Loathing, so my experience is minty-fresh and shiny.

Anyway, I'm used to the subtle separation, the way God tends to keep a little space between me and others. There is, in fact, only one person in my world that I feel no separation from, no distance or "non-belonging," since God made her especially for me. It's only been recently that I've come to appreciate that in a new, astonishing way.

And lest this become totally self-centered, I'm reminded that God made me especially for her. You have no idea how long it's taken me to see that - I used to consider our relationship in two ways: God's great gift, giving me a spouse, a soulmate, and a best friend; and God's great celestial joke, sticking the Proofreader with a slug like me.

I've come a long way, baby...

Sorry I called you baby - I'll try not to do it again, snuggly-lumpkins.

Oh, and family doesn't count for the whole "separation between me and others" thing. After all, as I've heard it said many times, you can pick your friends, but you're stuck with your family.

Thank goodness. Otherwise I'd have been voted off the island years ago.

In these past few years, as I'm learning this whole thing of being ReBorn and living life 2.0, things like not being one of The Cool Kids take on that change of perspective...

Separation, in my specific and rather odd case, isn't punishment, but protection. It supplies the space I need to recover from emotional swings and come back to balance.

Isolation isn't something to drop me into loneliness, but a friend to come alongside and provide a quiet place for my mind to settle.

Embracing my introverted self doesn't make me a hermit, but instead allows me to truly cherish my times of interaction with others, accepting that it's alright to make those times the exception, rather than the norm. Too much interaction, too much social stimulation can have some bad results...

For me, that is. I have no idea what it does to the poor souls I've inflicted myself upon...

This is all stuff I didn't know back at the Lost Puppy Lesson, when I was an angst-ridden teenager.

Now I'm just an angst-ridden mid-fifty-something - totally not the same thing.

But, like the sunrise on a murky day, I'm beginning to see and accept God's design - quirks, oddities, weirdness, and all. If it were any less odd, it wouldn't really fit me, would it?

So, just in time, as life 2.0 is becoming "normal" life, I'm learning just what a remarkable "normal" it is - perfectly designed for me, with help for all my quirks, oddities, and weirdness... I'm not one of The Cool Kids - but I am just what He made me, and I'm ever-so-slowly becoming what He intends me to be...

'Cause my Father is fancy like that.

Breathe Writer's Conference 2013 - Enter The Rookie

My view of the world, from my favorite table at Biggby, with my favorite fur baby

Through God's grace, I attended the Breathe Christian Writer's Conference. And I'm going to run out of superlatives to describe it.

So every time you see the word, "Wow," insert the over-the-top exclamation of awesomeness of your choice. Thank you.

Here we go... reviewing, in writing, a conference for real, honest-to-goodness writers. And (maybe) even letting them know that I did.

Maybe.

The whole feel of the conference was nice. More relaxed than I expected, but exactly what I needed as I try to wade into the water of writing.

I'm sure there was networking going on, hobknobbing, some "have your people call my people" and other connections being made, but it wasn't so "in your face" that it made a rookie feel like either 1) a second-class citizen 'cause I don't roll in those circles (Word to yo word processor); or 2) a little slimy because everybody there is attempting to make power connections, kind of like sharks circling a big ol' tub-o'-chum.

Om nom nom.

Perhaps the networking movers and shakers were using secret hand signs, to separate the peeps worthy of connectage from the clueless noobs who barely know how to tie their shoes, writing-wise. If that was the case, I want to say thank you. This rookie felt right at home.

The Lord kind of stacked my schedule so that I knew the one, and only one, workshop I was supposed to be at for each session. Because, in His kindness, He knows that if He wants me somewhere, He simply takes out all other choices, thus improving the chances that I'll get the hint and show up. "Sit! Stay! Take notes! PAY ATTENTION!... Good Calbert."

Pat pat pat on the head. Calbert pants, drools, and scratches his ear with his foot.

*Wow.*

So the first day seemed to be all things for me to "take in" - things to look at, things to consider, and assistance in getting a view of what Calbert looks like as a writer:

A fun but serious look at my blog, thanks to Susie Finkbeiner;

Help in finding space, time, and nourishment for writing from Erin Bartels;

And some great illumination on learning styles with Jolene Philo.

Three workshops to turn my eyes inward, consider how writing works in my life, and some things to work on, especially in that great pile of fluffy goodness I call my blog.

The final day was where the Lord gave me some tools to start using, prompting me to type along and make so many notes that I could see fingerprints in the shape of a keyboard on the iPad's screen.

- I hadn't been eating anything greasy, and I did wash my hands, so it had to have been the note taking, right? -

*Wow.*

"Creative Emergence" with Don Perini - inexpressible levels of *Wow.* Rattled my brain, gave me concrete things to work on in the abstract realm of creativity, AND made soap chalk move to the top of my shopping list.

*Wow.* And TMI, for the record.

Then the one that pretty much rang my bell in a positive, heart-warming, Quasimodo sort of way...

"Short Forms: Playing With Nonfiction" from Cynthia Beach. (TWO Cornerstone professors in a row! Way to represent, professor peeps!)

Anyway, Cynthia exposed this tuba player, who never even thought of going near writing and literature, to beautiful examples, amazing tools, and the freedom to play with them. I was challenged, moved, and encouraged.

*Wow* (To the 10th power, or whatever someone who isn't mathematically challenged would add to make the inserted exclamation of awesomeness much, much larger...)

The last workshop was the one that I knew I would be going to, regardless of the topic...

Amelia Rhodes is not only amazing, kind, sweet, and writes in the same genre I sort of do (only really well), but she'll even admit in public that she knows me.

A saint. Truly.

A great ending to a day of "Take notes, and expect there to be many quizzes in days to come."

Breathe was where God led me, where God met me, and where God told me, "Will you finally believe Me? You're a writer - now GET TO IT."

Yes, Lord. I have no idea what to do with it or which way to point it, but, yes, I'll go write.

"Good Calbert. Good boy."

*Wow.*

The Girl At The Coffee Shop

It's unusual for me to be at my North Office on a Sunday morning. (More properly known as Biggby Coffee on the E Beltline near Celebration Cinema, so the hordes of groupies know where to convene...) Usually my hiney is rockin' the bass at First Cov, or making an attempt at rockin', at least as far as this mid-fifties bass boy can rock. Oh, and dancing around a tiny bit, which is just wrong on so many levels, but I can't seem to stand still, so I just go with it.

It beats the days I had to sit to play, so there ya go.

So, on this Sunday morning I had a week off from worship team, and I decided that instead of going to the service, I'd spend the morning at Biggby, listening to the Bible, doing a little crocheting, but mostly spending time in front of the keyboard, seeing where the Lord and I might go.

I'm an introvert, a people watcher, and an amateur ADD guy, so needless to say my eyes roam around even as I'm typing away. And my brain clicks in and out of focus, as Steve the mental hampster has a field day, running all over the table and pooping with extreme prejudice.

Don't you SO want to sit down with me at my table, just to take it all in? Of course you do...

Said nobody, ever.

So have you ever sat someplace in public, seen someone else, and tried to figure out their story? You're looking at them, trying not to get caught looking at them, searching for visual clues that will fill in the blanks. With practice, you can get really good at those passing glances that take in a few more details without them actually catching you in the act, lest they make eye contact and let you know in one look that they're packing pepper spray and aren't afraid to use it.

I think this is especially true when a person of the male gender persuasion is trying to discreetly ponder a person of the opposite female gender persuasion, innocently looking for clues as to the deeper story, and the person of the male gender persuasion happens to be way, WAY older than the person of the opposite female gender persuasion.

This could potentially give the mistaken impression of an old guy, who wasn't a picture of hotness even in his prime, being creepy and scoping out a young filly, when he has absolutely no business doing such a thing. And really, if he is the sort to engage in such behavior, perhaps he should be humanely neutered at the earliest opportunity.

(Help control the surplus "creepy old guy scoping out young chick population" - have your old guy neutered right away.

And if he's married? Off with his head. No judge, no jury - just cold steel. Or cold, rusty steel. Or, even better - cold, rusty, DULL steel.)

(Can you tell I have issues with middle-aged men acting like idiots, creeping out both young fillies and other gentlebeings as well? Yes, I thought you might have noticed that.)

So, with great stealth and caution, I engaged in this sort of thing this very morning.

Not the creepy stuff - the "observing someone else, trying to ponder their deeper story" stuff. I'm a little shocked you'd even need that explained - you ought to know me better by now. Granted, my sentences usually ramble so much that basically NOBODY can follow my thoughts from one end to the other, but still...

Never mind. *sigh*

So, the young lady sat down at the next table, right in my line of sight to the window. (Sweet - she'll just assume I'm looking out the window...)

That was borderline creepy - sorry.

She had her bagel sandwich and beverage, along with a ponderous handbag and an even larger tote bag. I assumed that she was waiting for someone - the seat across from her was empty, and she seemed to be waiting. Charging her phone, checking various and sundry things.

Some sniffling, indicating either a slight cold or some other seasonal issues. Kind of a down expression, looking around, almost seeming a little lost. And so it went for the next 45 minutes or so.

Took a couple of little bites from her sandwich, then threw most of it away.

I kept getting an overwhelming sense of "alone." She was looking, she was waiting, but she was very much alone. She wasn't sure what the next step was... a car stalled at a green light.

I'm prepared to be told that this analysis is a whole bucketload of hooey, by the way. I'd be totally NOT shocked to find that I am, as is so often said about my existence, clueless.

But I also felt quite sad for her. As I said, she felt so alone.

I couldn't engage her in conversation - refer to the aforementioned references to "creepy guy" to understand why, so there wasn't an opportunity to learn her story, to look into her world, or to try to bring some light into darkness.

Or at least the darkness I was perceiving. Like I said, it could all be hooey too.

So, I simply prayed. I asked the Lord to meet her where she was at, and to bring His light into her world. To speak into her sadness, to invade her loneliness, to bring hope to her since I had to remain silent.

Could I have spoken? Could I have tried to reach out? Was I dodging my job by using the "she'll think I'm a creepy guy" excuse?

Honestly, I don't think so. But it made for some great dramatic tension in this little thingie.

Just kidding. I crack meself up, I do I do...

Truthfully, I was trying to keep my heart and ears open, to see if there was a window, an opportunity to speak. There was none - or at least none that I felt or saw. I'll admit I'm not the sharpest tool in the drawer, so I could easily have missed something, but it seemed to me that all I could do was observe, and then pray.

And sometimes, that's all we're asked to do. At times I think we actually do damage, we actually harm instead of help, by pushing into situations where we're not being given a green light to go.

Sometimes, we just notice, we observe, we watch...

And we pray. Like for the girl at the coffee shop.