"You Live for Fashion!"

Current InStyle

The title comes from an episode of Sex and the City called "The Real Me" and is spoken by Charlotte York to Jen Savery, I mean, Carrie Bradshaw. 

The September issue of all fashion magazines is the largest of each calendar year. Vogue's September 2007 Issue weighed nearly 5 lbs. The current InStyle for this month is 652 pages. Fall is, as you learn flipping through pages showing how to wear cheetah print boots and burgundy skinny jeans, not for the fashion fearful.
InStyle is my favorite magazine.* Colorful, well organized, diverse pieces and smart pairings for real women, it sings a seductive siren song of all the things, literally things, missing from my closet and therefore, a higher quality of life.

But does owning -------- (insert current item of lust) actually improve my quality of life?

2007 September Issue 

The ad below unapologetically flaunts what all ads, what all secular culture tells us-- this will fill your void, this will satisfy your desires and longings and you will never be the same after.

I admit that I have fallen for this trap far, far more than I would like to admit. And if you've seen my closet you'd think I was filled up by now.  I own more shoes than anyone I know. I am talking Toto, we aren't in double digits anymore-- but than why do I keep looking at fashion magazines?

Because fashion can quickly become my idol and, thus, my sin.

Anna Wintour, Editor-in-Cheif of Vogue. Oh, you devilishly stylish
woman, you. 

When discussing my long hiatus from blogging with a friend she suggested I write more just about food and clothes, less about "your life. I mean, I really like what you wear and when you talk about food." She did not mean this to hurt my feelings or to say my life isn't important, but let's be honest-- if all I am good for is fashion and food, it isn't.

That void I mentioned earlier, the one people try to fill with a purse or a drink or a one night stand or a bit of gossip, can only be filled and satisfied by God. We are guilty of becoming "culturally Christian," meaning we choose social practices that seem Christian, but we end up becoming judgmental and  complacent. Our idea of morality is defined by comparison. Good is subjective to what it is being compared to. Francis Chan really nails this one on the head in his book Crazy Love. We accept and even embrace our sins so long as we aren't "as sinful" as someone else. Abstaining from drinking, cussing, premarital sex, murder, drugs are not what make us Christians. Only through recognizing (read: loving as He did, talking about, praising, living as an extension of Him, loving, loving, loving, loving) Christ as our savior are we actually Christians. I have let myself shop because if that's my weakness, it's really not as bad as making alcohol or sex or drugs my idol. I don't intentionally hurt anyone, so what's one more pair of shoes?

If I am not wearing my faith as prominently as the red soles of my Christian Louboutins, I am the worst kind of sinner of all. St. Augustine, who was quite the partyboy, wrote "Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet." Translation in modern vernacular: Lord make me sinless in your eyes.... unless sinless means seeking your glory before my selfish desires, than in that case maybe just kind of sinless.

Those red soles are among the most brilliant marketing
 techniques in fashion history 

The Chic-Fila controversy aroused emotional reactions from all different sides. People who side with the franchise lined up to buy chicken sandwiches and those who disagreed, boycotted. (By the way, I am remaining impartial on the topic, this is to prove a much bigger point.) I saw a picture in Facebook that had a caption reading something about there have never been that many Christians lining up to volunteer at a homeless shelter or food bank. My thought process here was 1) That was a rude caption, especially considering the controversy surrounds equality and rights and my faith is a reserved right 2) At the same time, that people had more to say and stand up for over a fast food restaurant than they do for their faith-- no amount of chicken sandwiches will outlaw gay marriage, nor will the plummet of chicken sandwiches sales legalize gay marriage.


When asked if I am a Christian, I am not being asked if I eat at Chic-Fila or or if I own cross jewelry or have a fish bumper sticker or if I even go to church (My list inspired by Not a Fan by Kyle Idleman).

I am being asked if I love Christ and if I live to glorify God. 

I like love hearing people say they love my outfit. It totally validates the time spent picking it out and making sure I have the right balance of color, texture and coverage. What this really means is I need to spend more time being a Christ-like example in an ever-darkening world than I do selecting my clothing ensembles. 

John 20:15 (NAS) Mary is searching for Christ Easter morning. Before she recognizes him, he asks, "Whom are you seeking?" When translated into Greek, seek is synonymous with crave. This conjures not only images of delicious cupcakes, but all the material things I have saved to my Shopbop WishList. 

So here is the challenge to myself: No shopping in September.** None. Instead, working on making God what I crave.

What do you crave? What do you fill your life with?




* I enjoy Vogue, but there are more ads than content in most issues. Ahhh, the symbolism. 
** THE  fashion month. As in, fashion's birthday...basically. 

Phamily Time

Polly and I have made the journey to the land north of the Mason Dixon. These are our stats thus far:

Times I have been told I have an accent: 2 (False, in my opinion)
Times Joe has said he is glad that I am here: 100
Times that I have gotten mad for forgetting some article of clothing: 28
Bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch I have eaten: 11
Friends I have made: 12
Friends Joe has made because of me: 12
Laps Polly has run around the fully carpeted apartment: 22
Time Polly has been waking up and, thus, woken us up: 6:32 AM
Times I have introduced myself as, "Jennifer Wegmann, I mean, Savery" : 3
Days it took me to find Target: 2 hours after landing in Philadelphia
Times I have told Joe how thankful I am that I can be here: Not enough

My new friends and I hoping the grass isn't too wet

We participated in Family Day, which is geared more towards those who actually have more than 2 people in their family. Two other players' girls and I stood around joking about needing a prop child to fit in. It was precious watching all the kids in their uniforms run the bases, fall down, run the bases again and then jump on dad. Christmas card photo op if I ever saw one.

Joe's mom asked if I was doing well. His response went something like this, "Well, she got us on a triple date; tonight she is going to a wives' dinner; we are modeling in a fashion show. She is doing pretty well."

And, yes, we are in a fashion show. A charity one, not a legitimate one. My dress is gorgeous and fun and my shoes are bejeweled Christian Louboutin's with all the colors of the rainbow.... and they match Joe's shirt. I am sure he will make his multi-colored shirt very handsome, and if nothing else my shoes will make anything near it look good. Trying on the clothes was enough fun for me. Big thanks to Neiman Marcus and the Shane Victorino Foundation for the event and letting us have big girl dress up day.

My beauties. Move over, Cinderella. 

As tenuous as our position is here, we are thankful for the many modes of kindness people have shown us. If the rain and the cold weather can go away, I will be even happier!

Different jersey sizes? 

Here and already leaving soon. Joe played in Baltimore over the weekend so I came a little further south to visit a friend. In Baltimore, the hotel gave Polly a doggie bed and bowls and treats. Not 5 minutes after we got in our room the door rang with comforts for the princess. Must be nice to be so cute, huh?

I have a friend's wedding next weekend in Mississippi (sweet tea, anyone?). I am over the moon excited to see my friends next weekend. I know they will all agree when I say that all time has done is make us more appreciative for the friendships we have with one another. And what better way to reunite than our friends big Southern wedding? Stay tuned for the prodigal daughter to return to the South.....

I know, this is cheesy, but we will appreciate it in the future. 

Don't Mess with (me when I am leaving) Texas

I move very, very soon. My messy mid-packing apartment is a constant reminder of the rapidly approaching departure. Currently, we don’t know where exactly I am moving to; this includes both city and type of residence. Joe has bounced up and down and then up and then down again and then back up this season enough that we haven’t settled on what we should do about the roof over our heads. Polly says she isn’t worried about it.

We totalled up how many miles I have traveled this year thus far: 18,000 miles between January and today. The world is 24,0000 around so I am almost guaranteed to have traveled “around the world” by the end of the season. To those of you who have jobs like George Clooney in Up in the Air, you have far more patience than I. 

Can you imagine if Clooney sat next to you on a flight?
I might not get off the plane.
Oh, come on, even Joe might stay on the flight next to George!

Things I will miss about Texas:

Good Co. barbecue 

Goode Co. on Kirby

Dr. Pepper
My familyPeople saying Coke, but really meaning any carbonated beverage
“Y’all”
Cowboy boots in a non-novelty way
The Guadalupe River. By the way, this is my first summer in 4 years to not be working at Mystic and my first summer in 16 years to realize I can't go back and work there.... or be a camper.

The Guad at Camp Mystic's Waterfront

My friends
Steak
The Galleria
My church
Finding any item of clothing you can imagine can, in fact, bear the Texas flag

I think my sister owns one of these
shirts. They have
the real thing too, if that's what you're
looking for

The Rodeo
St. Arnold’s and Shiner Light Blonde
Swimming in October
Texas Country Music

In honor of my hiatus from Texas (as if four years of college were not enough), I am going to write a few little vignettes about the Texas I know, the Texas that has been created around me and the one we so love to romanticize when we have to be away.


Water from the sprinkler turned to steam on the concrete. Everything was wet and hot. Even the cars’ hoods looked like water as the heat rippled over them.  Somewhere in the distance an ambulance drove by, its siren’s tone getting lower as it passed. Zoe played in the soil with naked Barbies. Her toddling sister slept inside, her hair curling on her forehead from the baby sweat. Later their father would come home with his dry cleaning and golf shoes. Later they would eat Kraft macaroni and cheese and drink milk from cups they bought at the circus. Zoe’s was a pink elephant. Its trunk was the handle and it had long black eyelashes. She made the Barbies do the splits and tried to make them hold handstands in the grass. One of the Barbie’s hair was brown, which meant she wasn’t really a Barbie, but Barbie’s friend Susan. Or Brenda. Some name that was not Barbie and did not have an “i” with a heart on her box. A boy rode his bike, without training wheels, down the street. Zoe wanted her baby sister to wake up so they could fill up the inflatable pool and make the Barbies, and Brenda, go skinny dipping. Zoe liked to go under the water and open her eyes. She could see the pebbles and sticks poking at the bottom of the soft plastic pool and her hair stuck to her face when she finally came out. Her mom did not like it when she put her face under. Her mother, now, was moving the sprinkler to make sure her begonias and monkey grass got enough to drink. It had been many days since she watered the plants so much of it was dead. Little brown buds fell off and ran in streams to the hot, wet street.

The second canoe was smoother than the first. The Guadalupe water was still and green before the dam and we could see turtles heads pop up and the outline of their shells. Sweat prickled on my back like the insects that landed on the water. Their legs twitched and spasmed, then they flew to another spot. Or went to the tall grass on the road side of the river. I asked West if he wanted to turn back before the dam; he said no. We didn’t talk for a while after that, just listened to the sound of our paddles dip in the water and scrape against our old metal canoes. Sometimes my Dr. Pepper cans rattled by my feet. Sometimes West was so silent I could have sworn he was a Hill Country Indian. His bandana was tied around his head and his shirt, long discarded, was tucked into the seat of his shorts over his butt. He stopped paddling and looked at me while he took a drink from his water bottle.
“You’re doing a pretty good job there,” he said to me.
“I like the river.” He smiled but didn’t say anything and went back to his silent paddling. West’s back was burning and I was sure that mine was red, too. Later we would have to take turns putting cold aloe vera on each other’s backs. West would tell me to put it on my hands first before rubbing it in. I wouldn’t say anything. And maybe he would pat my shoulder as a way of telling me he was finished. The dam was upon us. We had to pick up the canoes one at a time and walk them down. Though the water was more shallow, the river floor was clay and dipped down in tubs. West got a leech on his forearm. He pulled and flicked at it till the leech fell off.
“So do you have to suck the poison out?” I asked.
“No, that’s snakes. This will just need to be cleaned. Plus, if I was bitten by a snake, you would have to suck the poison because I would be too weak.”
“I would do that. For you.”
“I know.”
The current moved us for a while without having to paddle except to stay straight. We would need to turn around soon to make it back before dark. Or we would just stay on the river till the breeze picked up and the water turned black beneath our canoes.


They sat on top of the picnic table with their feet on the bench, just like they had done in high school. They’d eat cafeteria yogurt and talk about their days, uniform skirts tucked between their thighs as to attempt modesty. They had on jeans and boots so there was less balancing involved now. There was also no yogurt, just some beers in plastic cups and a poorly sugared funnel cake. Marcy wore a push up bra that night and it was riding up her back and she was certain one of the straps was twisted. When she got dressed she looked like a sexy cowgirl, she thought. But now, sitting next to Allison and a few hours into the night, she felt like she had tried too hard. You could tell she had tried to look like a sexy cowgirl, and what she really was was a sexy cowgirl’s overly primped friend. Allison, who did not own a push up bra, wanted to get a cinnamon roll and maybe ride the ferris wheel. They got up to find the tent with the cinnamon rolls, but there was a cluster of high school students flirting and laughing too loudly. Marcy suggested they still wait in line, but Allison said she changed her mind about the cinnamon roll and she just wanted to go sit and watch the ferris wheel and finish their beers. Marcy had wanted to finish her beer in line with the high schoolers, but followed Allison back to the picnic table that now had two Hispanic boys playing with one of the prize stuffed animals. It looked like a squid. Marcy almost made a joke about things that look like squids; she decided against it though.  They watched the boys play for a while then looked back wordlessly at the blinking lights of the ferris wheel.

The Heels Were Made for Teaching

Bookshelf at Shakespeare and Co. in Paris, France
One of my study abroad trips in college

“Wait, what do you mean ‘Free Read Day’? I don’t get it." This was the general response from my students when I told them to bring a book, no iPads, Kindles, eBooks, magazines or comics, to read in class last week. (Note: A student brought Captain Underpants and actually tried to make an argument as to why he could read it as a junior for Free Read Day. A book that comes with stickers is not going to fly for Free Read Day.)

This face would probably shock
my students

When they were unable to bring a book to school, I let them borrow some of mine.  
I shocked my students with the fact that the books I gave them were not 17th century poetry or written in Old English. The books I gave them were by modern and contemporary authors with some elements I know they weren’t expecting (“Uhm, this book says the word ‘beer,’ is that okay?”*) and with endings they certainly were not anticipating (“Why does he just walk away? Why did she still love him?”**). But I loved that they were holding books from my personal library, with my old notes and scribbles in the margins. I know they felt like they were looking into my diary or something, and in a way they were, by my diary as a reader not as a writer. 

Student A: “Are we going to find notes to ex- boyfriends in here?”
Me: “Would I still have the book if I wrote notes to other people in them?”
Student A: “Guess not.”
Me: “Besides, I would never let an ex-boyfriend keep my books.” Student B: “ Wait, You have ex-boyfriends?!”


This is the same reaction to my having a doctor’s appointment, as though we, teachers, do not go to doctors or get sick or leave the school campus for anything. Did I think that about my teachers? I guess to some degree I did, but when I came back to school after the doctor they were very inquisitive then as well.
Student A:“Are you sick?”
Me: “Nope.”
Student B:“Are you getting sick?”
Me: “No, just a check up.”
Student A again: “Were you faking sick?” 
Student B:"I bet you were faking."

Me: “Okay, time for a pop quiz.”

With this year winding down I keep wondering if I have made any impact on them besides my clothing-- which is still commented on daily (“I don’t think you have worn the same shoes twice,” said a male student to me. “Yes she has, she wore those before Christmas break. That is two times this school year, gosh, you idiot,” said a female student in my ‘defense.’)
But I think about my most influential teachers, the ones that made me want to be a teacher; I wonder if I have done even half of that, a third of that, for my students. I know they will not leave my class dreaming of being an English teacher. I know they will not go out and buy every Barry Hannah, Miranda July, Mary Karr book they can find.*** I know that they don’t think Shakespeare is cool or that Old English is easy. But I want so badly for them to think something, to learn something and most importantly, to feel something. That is what reading and writing does that no other subject really can, it makes you feel. I want my students to have read something, even if it was just a page and the rest was Sparknoted**** I hope they read it and had to look inward at themselves in a way they hadn’t before. We have talked about pride and greed and lust and love and death and creation and isolation and abandonment and fear-- oh goodness have we talked about fear. The most fearful thing, after all, is that someone can look at us and see us for who we truly are. Reading is that, it forces you to look inward. I want them so badly to have studied these themes and thought, I know what he/she feels, I have never killed anyone to become king, but I know how it feels to want something you can't have or I know what it feels like to be alienated, I know what it feels like to reach out and have no one reach back-- I didn't know other people ever felt that way.


I personally fear that I did nothing but show them how to write a proper thesis statement and insert page numbers on a Word doc.

A student from the other 10th grade teacher’s class said that all we do is color in my class. He said this to two of my girls who are not making very good grades and that all they have to do is stay in the lines in my coloring books and they will get an A. My teacher friend teaches the class that this conversation was taking place in. She said the girls stood up for me, but mostly for the rigor of my class.
“It is, like, hard. Like, we really have to read and learn stuff. She grades our essays hard and she makes us like, go deeper”
“Yeah, you don’t even know. It is a hard class and we are trying really hard to make good grades. It is hard.”
                         
The girls also told me about this the next day. We joked as a class about if that was actually the case, than they should all have made A’s on the test I just handed back, which they did not.


Being the young, new teacher I am an easy target. 
Being the young, new teacher means I will quip right back at you. 

My teacher friend said I should come meet this boy, the naysayer/hater, so I did.
Teacher Friend introduced us: “Boy (name omitted to protect his identity), this is Mrs. Savery. She wanted to meet you.”
I smiled big, gave a firm hand-shake and said, “Hi, Boy. I hear you really want to come to my class to color.”
He looked at me wide eyed and shocked, “Uhm, no.”
“Really? I think you should just stop by sometime. I have plenty of extra coloring books if you want a break from Mrs. Other 10th Grade Teacher’s class.”
“I like Mrs. Other 10th Grade Teacher’s class.”
“Oh, that’s great! I will let her know. But in case you need a break from all of your learning and test taking, I have all of the Crayola crayons you can imagine and we don’t even have grades. Just stick figures.”
Still shocked and stammering he said, “Oh, okay.”
“Okay, great! Well, come by sometime. It was so nice to meet you!”

My girls, who were listening from the hallway, all hugged me after like it was an episode of Saved by the Bell and I had confronted the bully. They thought it was, like, so awesome. Which it kind of was.
(Boss, if you are reading this, please don't fire me. I was standing up for my students! I was standing up for literature!)

What was even better was that the next day a few students stayed after class to tell me how much they had learned this year and what a good teacher they thought I was.
“I would take your class every year if I could. Even if there was a coloring class, I would take yours instead!”

What did we learn from this, class?
We learned that teachers talk. That you shouldn’t talk about what you don’t know.  That maybe I have done something for my students.

And don’t mess with the teacher in the red-soled shoes.







*Reading Larry Brown's Big Bad Love; which is not, in fact, about love being big or bad. Well, maybe a little bad.
** Reading "Up In Michigan" after I told them that Gertrude Stein told Hemingway it was the cruelest story she had ever read. And it is pretty cruel. So of course, they wanted to read it.
*** All amazing authors, very contemporary and not for everyone.
****Sparknoted: a verb meaning read the first and last page of a book and used Sparknotes for the rest.

"Never go on trips with anyone you do not love"

 There is a scene in Ernest Hemingway's novel A Farewell to Arms in which the main character, Fredrick, has a conversation with the priest while he is injured in the hospital. Fredrick tells the priest he does not "love much." To which the priest responds: 


"Yes," he said. "You do. What you tell me about in the nights. That is not love. That is only passion and lust. When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve." 
"I don't know love." 
"You will. I know you will. Then you will be happy."
"I'm happy. I've always been happy."
"It is another thing. You cannot know about it unless you have it." 


Though this is not my favorite Hemingway book*, this scene certainly strikes a cord to any reader. Those who love know, those who do not, won't until they do. 


Another favorite quote of mine is in this novel (I promise this is not a literature lesson, so bear with me): "The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places." 


I once told Joe I knew I wanted to marry him when my plans changed because of him. Whatever silly timeline I had come up with, whatever check list of life accomplishments I had before him, changed when he came into my life. 

Such an attractive couple

And plans have changed again. Next fall I will not return to teaching full time; I will travel with Joe and take care of our marriage full time. I have loved teaching in the way you love things that make you struggle, that break you and make you stronger, and I hope to one day come back to the classroom full time. But for now, my family (however small it is) has to come first. 


But God is good and were we are needed he will find a way to have us there. My boss came in my classroom two days after I wept in his office about how I couldn't teach next year and offered the creative writing class to me through an online course-- I didn't even hesitate to say yes! There will be a presiding teacher to basically administrate the class, but the syllabus, grading, teaching and instruction will be "mine." The Lord has lead me to this school and has a purpose for me here, one I am even more certain of now that we are able to make an arrangement that satisfies all of my roles. 




At Camp Mystic for Girls**  there is always a Sunday we talk about putting God first. It is visually demonstrated through a giant fish bowl, rice and some golf balls. When we put worldly things first, represented by rice, God's will doesn't always fit, shown by trying to fit golf balls in the already full fish bowl. But putting the Lord first, meaning the golf balls, the rice sifts through and the Lord provides. I guess I forgot this in all my crying over what to do about next year. 




                                 Put your golf balls in first and your rice will fit, too. 

One of my favorite camper photos ever       

Photo Ode to Mystic 


**I went to Camp Mystic since 1998, with a hiatus between 2005-2007, quickly to return to be a counselor. Aside from my parents, I don't think anything has been as impactful and formative as Mystic. The river, the Hill Country, the tradition and the people make you renew your spirit and your body like nothing else can. God's hand has made Mystic as a place for girls to find their faiths, walk in hope and grow in love. 

Camp Mystic Dance 2011; sister and Rita 

Asking campers to back up so I can do the worm
at a Mystic dance party 

A little HBR
That's horse back riding to those of you who have never
filled out a Mystic Activity Card 

Reading at Mystic on CC Day, aka best day ever.
Yeah, I am a freak, kind of. 

My Mystic friends and the directors, Dick and Tweety at my wedding.
You don't go somewhere for 12 summers and not get attached to some folks.

* Read Hemingway's short stories or A Moveable Feast or The Sun Also Rises.  A Moveable Feast is a collection of short memoirs about his time in Paris. Better yet, read it in Paris. You'll never be able to stop loving the city. The title of this post is a quote from A Moveable Feast, and I couldn't agree more. 

UPDATE: Since this post went public Joe was called up to the big leagues again! Another player is injured, so there is no telling how long he will be there; however, it is nice to know that he is the next guy in line when something like this does happen! 

Polly Will Be Signing Autographs Later

Maybe it was the massive American flag. Maybe it was the Air Force flyover during the National Anthem. Maybe it was the Phillies Phanatic dancing to "Proud Marry." Or maybe it was just getting to see Joe smile on the big screen at Citizens Bank Park, but I was completely swept away by the romanticism of baseball on April 9, 2012.

Don't worry, I won't wear
it to a live game. 

And why shouldn't I be--my husband made the Opening Day roster for arguably one of the best teams in baseball history.


Tuesday night I was dressed to work out, but never made it. ESPN ScoreCenter app* kept updating me on the many pitching changes of the last pre-season game and Joe's name was continually not called. I folded laundry and bit my nails to ragged nubs and Polly wondered why I kept moving the clothes she was trying to sleep on.

iPhone photo of field because I can't find the cord
that connects legit camera
to laptop 

"It's been a long day," he said when I answered. I nodded and exhaled ready to get past the small talk.
"It has. How are you?"
"Good. I am good. Do you want to meet me in Pittsburgh tomorrow?"
I started crying hysterically and told him how proud I was of him. After numerous mass texts and phone calls, my parents and his brother "Potty" came over for a glass of champagne while I packed--


for 30 degree weather!


I bundled up in my best version of cold weather spring style (cream coat, tomato colored dress, black tights, black booties) and met my parents and sister Yulie in Pittsburgh. Even though the real show was a few days later when we were the home team, it was pretty amazing to see him run out and knuck with Charlie Manuel. The staff was very nice, kindly leading us to the traveling family room and brushing the dust off our stadium seats (this was a little excessive, but sweet nonetheless).

After Pamela's incredible pancakes

No trip is complete without some eating so I will give a quick run down of the best places we went. Primanti Bros prides themselves on a sandwich made with your choice of meat, topped  stuffed with cheese, cole slaw and french fries. If you have ever seen the videos of a snake eating a gazelle, than you have seen what one has to do to eat these sandwiches.** Totally worth the TMJ though. Pamela's was the breakfast place of choice, Michelle Obama's favorite as well. I ordered chocolate chip pancakes with bananas, also known as all of my favorite things. The pancakes are very thin, like a crepe and the cheesy scrambled eggs were made with Velveeta. I don't remember what anyone else got because mine was so good I didn't look up or breath for my whole meal.

Primanti Brothers 

One of my wife friends, Brooke, suggested I change my flight so I would leave out of Philadelphia. I told her this presented the dilemma of not having a car to get to Philly from Pittsburgh.
"Just fly on the team plane."

Uhm, yes.


I will be a huge bratface princess and say that flying privately is freaking awesome. Hospitable friends of my father have let me go to on their planes, but this plane was Delta without security, lines, other passengers or waiting. I cannot say that it was not sans motion sickness (me) or flight anxiety (Joe), but it was really great and the team is very lucky to be able to travel that way. And I am lucky I got to mooch.

Highlight of the flight? Joe is basically a fraternity pledge and has to carry different players stuff, so I tried to be as invisible as possible while he did his rookie stuff. A former Astro  was walking down the aisle of the plane and stopped to introduce himself, something that was very uncalled for and very polite. I jumped up, and I mean jumped up, and smacked my head on the low ceiling over the seats.


I only hope he forgot my name and has doesn't associate Joe with the head trauma patient.


Philadelphia was incredible. I choked up several times thinking about how happy I was for Joe. I thought about a particularly rough time last season when I visited him in A ball. He was hitting then and not getting enough playing time to even show what he could do. The stress of no playing time only made his at bats less than ideal, perpetuating the cycle.
"I don't even know what I am doing here. I don't like being treated like a little boy. Tell me I suck, tell me I need to retire. Hell, release me," he vented that morning. My heart broke for him. I prayed to God that I would sacrifice anything, anything at all, if he could feel like he had a purpose again. Because even that early on, I knew Joe was ultimately where I felt my greatest purpose and that is what happens when you love someone in a real way-- you fight for their happiness more than your own.


So when Joe smiled walking down the "red carpet," high fiving fans that lined the field and a boys' choir sang some song about Philadelphia-- I was singing songs of praise that what I had asked for in Florida less than a year ago had been answered.


Joe played in that game. Allowing one run, but holding his composure as he always does.


Tonight Joe was moved to AAA and had to take the longest route possible to Buffalo, NY to meet up with the team (Philadelphia to Detroit to Buffalo--what?). This is not to say that Joe won't go back up with the big boys, nor is it to say that he will. We don't know what the rest of the season holds.




But Joe has played in  Major League games, he has played in a Major League Opening Series game and God has used him to make an inspirational story that can make even a cynic smile.

Worn out from all of her publicity 

*I only have this to know Phillies game stuff during baseball season. I get alerts but don't get a lot of them. What I do understand is "FINAL" means the game is done.
** I looked at some pictures to put with this snake-eating-gazelle comment and decided that they were really too gross to post on here. Save yourself your breakfast and don't Google Image it either, I sure regret it.