Parenthetically Yours

Where am I?

What is this thing here? Oh…yeah. I have a blog. Sometimes in the hustle and bustle of the season, one can forget what really matters. Important things like peace on earth, goodwill to men, the Christ-child in the manger, and blogging. Not necessarily in that order.

Yeah, it’s been a little busy at the Williams homestead. We’re putting the finishing touches on two Christmas projects, both of which require a great deal of work. Nothing difficult, just time consuming…and no, I will not go into detail regarding the above-mentioned projects because they’re gifts and some of the recipients check this site out from time to time…so GET OUT! I’m trying to wrap presents in here.

To further complicate things, I left Tennessee last Wednesday to be the tour rep for Compassion International on the Point of Grace Winter Wonderland tour. I’ve done this all four years the girls have done this tour, so here I am again. In fact, I met Katie when I was on this tour in 2005. She was helping out when the tour came to Denton, TX and my heart jumped a little as if it recognized an old friend when I saw her. The rest is history, but not necessarily her-story.

Well, my friends, the morning is waning. We’re pulling into Wichita and I need to get back to work on one of the above-mentioned projects. It requires the use of a pretty intense photo-editing program that was designed to be used with newer computer technology. Let me just say that in computer years, a five-year old laptop is 118 in human years. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. But…we do what we can, we soldier on…but not before putting my head through a dozen walls waiting for photos to upload.

…it’s the most wonderful time…

(rw)

A Long Time Comin'

Indulge me for a second. Beyond the politics, beyond the issues, beyond red and blue, history was made last night. The sight of men and women, young and old, black and white, embracing, sobbing told me that this was bigger than issues and, I’m ashamed to say, bigger than I’d realized. In the quiet darkness of the house last night I wept. I wept for a community and a culture that has now been more than symbolically, but literally released to their empowering destiny. Legislation has released them in bits and pieces—a shackle here, a human right there—over the past 100 years. But legislation only gives the potential for opportunity. The real hope for opportunity lies in the everyday interactions between man and woman, young and old, black and white—how we treat our fellow man and the opportunities we give each other. The citizens of our country extended a new level of opportunity, not just to one man or one family but to an entire generation and culture, not just for now, but forever.

My mother was a student at Little Rock Central High School during its historic integration. The stories I’ve heard from her about the private goings-on in classrooms, the hushed conversations, and the barbaric actions of some moronic students have always been a touchstone I return to whenever racial issues surface. It stings me, it always has. And when I hear Sam Cooke sing, it makes me cry. When the president-elect referenced the song in his acceptance speech last night, it was all I could do to keep from standing up in the middle of my living room and shouting “YES!”

I'd love say I voted for him and that I helped create this moment, but I didn’t. I may seem like a hypocrite, like I'm talking out of both sides of my mouth, but hear me out: I didn’t vote for Obama because it would have been merely a racial vote. I so desperately wanted to see an African-American as president in my lifetime, sooner than later, but I didn’t want to vote for anyone based on the color of their skin. That’s the point—to get beyond race. I voted my conscience on the issues. I’m proud of my vote. I’m also more proud of this country than I’ve been in a long time.

Somewhere in deepest south, one final chain has fallen from the hands and feet of plantation ghosts, releasing them to finally, finally, rest in peace.

I was born by the river in a little tent

And just like the river, I've been running ever since

It's been a long time coming

But I know a change is gonna come

 

It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die

I don't know what's up there beyond the sky

It's been a long time coming

But I know a change is gonna come

 

I go to the movie, and I go downtown

Somebody keep telling me "Don't hang around"

It's been a long time coming

But I know a change is gonna come

 

Then I go to my brother and I say, "Brother, help me please"

But he winds up knocking me back down on my knees

 

There've been times that I've thought I couldn't last for long

But now I think I'm able to carry on

It's been a long time coming

But I know a change is gonna come

 

(rw)

F-F-F-F-Freezing

So, Katie and I have been walking quite a bit lately. We've gone every day this week, sometimes in the evening and always in the morning. Fall mornings in Franklin are cliché: bright, crisp, and still. It's seriously something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. We love it. Of course, it's ridiculous (for us) to try to get up early enough to get a walk in, fix a quick breakfast and coffee, and for her to get to work on time. But I have to say, we've done a pretty good job of it. So far.

We had a revelation a few weeks ago that any day we walk in the morning, we are totally alert and energetic for most of the day. I would hardly call what we do "exercise," but it definitely gets the blood flowing. Now there's a phrase that makes no sense to me: "gets the blood flowing"--as if our blood has been sitting in our veins motionless throughout the night. I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure one of the bedrocks of biology is that our blood is always moving. But again, I'm no doctor.

 

I was the first one up this morning and put on my warmest approximation of "active" clothing (does H&M have an outdoor line?) and opened the front door. Frost. Uh-oh. This won't be pretty. Katie and I have very different temperature tolerances. I have a bit more of a laissez-faire relationship with weather and temperature. My beloved, however--any sudden change in temperature has some sort of effect on her brain where she feels like she's being either broiled or cryogenically frozen, depending upon the up or down movement of the mercury. I'm not saying she's overreacting but that her brain actually triggers her fight-or-flight mechanism. In warmer climes, she's been known to stand up and strip down to the bare necessities in a blink leaving behind a small pile of clothing on the floor as if the rapture has occurred. And in colder times, she can simultaneously ball herself up and pull a blanket across her, perfectly tucked, faster than santa eats cookies.

Knowing this, and seeing the frost, I knew I needed to start scraping off the icy residue from her windsheild. Since I'm an awesome husband, I did this without provocation or bribery. But since I'm an idiot, I did this without mentioning it. She proceeds to walk out after me, door locked behind her and says, "you've got a key, right?" Uh, no.

At 29 degrees, the Rockwellian fall morning became a frozen circle of hell as we looked around the house for an unlocked window or anything to jimmy the door with. Since the attempted break-in, though, we've been vigilant to make sure all the windows stay locked and have put extra measures in place to keep things locked tight. It's funny how in only 90 seconds I let panic start setting in. I began imagining that we may never get back in the house, that we'd freeze to death sitting comfortably in our rocking chairs on our porch. They'd make a Lifetime movie about us--the moronic couple that froze to death instead of breaking a window to get back inside. Then I remembered our landlord only lives a few blocks away and the panic subsided.

About then a friendly neighbor came outside on his way to work and saw us wandering aimlessly in the middle of the street. It's funny, the things you do when you don't know what to do. We looked like people who mindlessly meander while talking on their cellphone, except we didn't have any gadgets up to our ears. It was a confusing feeling. What do we do? Where do we go? Starbucks? Our neighbor Chuck thought we were in the beginning stages of hyperfrost-induced dementia and invited us in for coffee. As the feeling came back into our faces and other extremeties, we explained our situation and asked if he had a gift card or library card, if so we could get into our front door. He let us borrow his Kroger card. 

I love Kroger cards.

Big savings and unlocks our door.

(rw)

It's WATERCOOLER WEDNESDAY time

Shameful Self-promotion

Dear (insert name here)

First of all, my heartfelt apologies (not really) for the lack in humorous observational content as of late. Typically I try to write these (as Katie calls them) “bloggy-boos” in the morning hours between 8-10. After that, my day is rolling along like a train running 45 minutes behind schedule. Of course, if I would prepare these things in advance, my train would always be on time. I think I can, I think I can.

This, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m writing about today. I just started writing a brief apology to those of you (about 100 altogether) who find some sort of joy (torture?) to type in my little ole web address and read my words. I appreciate it. I really do. It’s pretty cool that anyone would find it that interesting. For me to go to website it pretty much needs to deal with guitars, music, or Macs.

But you, you are my faithful, loyal few. And that’s why I’m asking this of you today: give me $1,000 in small, unmarked bills, do not touch the silent alarm, and... Wait. Oops. That’s a note for later on today. You didn’t read that. Ok…here’s what I’m getting at. If you like what you’re seeing here, why not share it? In an incredibly vain (and a little embarrassing) way, I’m asking you to do some marketing for me. I’m trying to increase my readership and, as silly as it is, I’m kinda serious about this blogging thing. I’m proud of it, committed to it, and maybe one day it’ll pay for my kids college. Or a chicken sandwich.

So…all that to say (can you tell I’m not so good at asking people to do me any favors?), if you have any friends who enjoy a funny story from time to time, or like an anecdotal, observational thought here or there, or don’t have anything better to do, invite them over here to the party. To make it easier, I’ve written you a sample email to send out.

My dear good-looking, smart friend.

Let me clue you in to a great opportunity. No, you don’t have to sell anything, you simply be yourself and the checks will begin arriving in a matter of weeks.

Wait. Once again, that is an email intended for another group of people. Take two.

Dear smart and funny friend, (you may consider including their actual name. It makes the note seem more “personal.”)

Let me invite you to the party. What party, you ask? I’ve never been invited to a party, you mutter under your breath, especially by this person sending me this unexpected email. Why haven’t they called lately? They still owe me $50. (I’m taking some liberties here, but the point is that your note will get them “thinking.”)

I’ve been spending valuable work/study time reading what could probably be described as the funniest, most culturally important blog of our time. It’s by a man who is sometimes described as “funny,” or “articulate” or, “deluded” by himself and/or others.

To get there, go to www.randywilliams.com (if you’re a nerd, you can make this a “hot link,” but in the Williams house, a “hot link” is something you grill) and enjoy a little free entertainment during these taxing financial times. You’ll be glad you did and I’ll get a $50 referral fee which I can use to pay you back (you won’t really get a referral fee, but this will create “trust” in your “friend” and will “trick” them into coming to the site).

You’re welcome,

Your good friend (“buddy” works just as well here)

Copy. Paste. Send.

(rw)

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

Franklin is a ghost town. By that, I don’t mean that it’s uninhabited. I mean it in the same way one might say, “Arkansas is RAZORBACK country,” or, “Nashville is a guitar town,” or, “Rome is a Pope town.” In other words, they like their ghosts around here. Last year around Halloween, Katie was at Bible study one evening, so a couple of friends and I went on the Haunted Franklin Ghost Tour (yeah, I get the irony). We spent 90 minutes touring various buildings downtown behind a sarcastic thespian-type wearing a civil war-era get up as she filled us in on the local haunts of Franklin’s sordid past. It was actually really informative and since I’m a history nerd, I loved it. I also know which downtown buildings I DO NOT want to spend the night in. Scary stuff. Who knew my town was Tennessee's most haunted? I mean, if you believe all that.

My memories of Halloween revolve around KISS because I only remember dressing up as Ace Frehley for three years in a row. I also remember watching KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park on Halloween night one year. It had to be 1978 or something. Mom and dad were at a party so we got stuck next door with our neighbors. After returning home from tricks and treats, our bellies full of discount candy, we settled down by the warm glow of the television. It was my generation’s Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show. Of course, the main difference is that the Beatles were geniuses and KISS were buffoons. Tell that to a 10 year-old boy with stars in his eyes, though. It was bigger than Star Wars for me. 

I’ve never lived in Franklin, though, until after the wedding in January, so this will be my first official Halloween here. Apparently, it’s a pretty big deal downtown where we live. Our neighbors said they spent hundreds on candy last year and that kids are literally lining up the sidewalks. One lady used a counter to keep track of her ghoulish little visitors and by the time the night was over, she had clicked the thing over 1,500 times. Up and down Main and Fair streets people have begun decorating like it’s Christmas. One family is readying their garage to be transformed into a haunted, um, garage (?) with a GIANT pumpkin façade. Kids will walk through the mouth of said pumpkin to get inside. I’m not kidding when I say they’re REALLY into Halloween here.

But before some of you get up in arms about the theological correctness of “celebrating” All Hallow’s Eve—don’t. It’s all in good fun here and the kids get to play dress up and get free candy. That’s it. Hopefully my (and your) faith and theology can withstand one night a year giving away sweets to 6 and 8 year-old Spidermen and Hannah Montanas. And I can’t wait. I already have my Ace Frehley mask.

Check back next week for my Top 10 Ways to confuse trick-or-treaters.

(rw)

OH yeah...it's Watercooler Wednesday!

Death row, Steve Jobs, and other nervous ramblings

I don’t understand why I’m so nervous. It’s only a dentist appointment yet I feel like I’m sitting on death row awaiting my turn in the executioner’s chair. I’ve even come up with a few last words.

“I don’t belong to you, and you don’t belong to me—yeah, yeah. Freedom! Freedom! Freedom! You got ta give-uh whatcha taaaake!”

So, the best I’ve been able to come up with is lyrics from a George Michael song? That’s just pathetic. Oh well. I has elements of Braveheart in it, so it’ll do.

But yeah, I’m waiting on the couch to head down the street to the dentist. When I went three weeks ago (my first dentist visit in three years), they discovered that I have three cavities. They’re just going to keep an eye on two of them but the third one…well, it has to be filled now.

I haven’t had a filling in over 15 years so I’m hoping there’s been some technological developments that have made the tooth-filling industry quick and painless. Like, maybe Apple has designed something new to revolutionize the business. I’d love to hear that Steve Jobs keynote address. “We revolutionized computing with the Mac. We revolutionized music with the iPod and iTunes. We changed the cell phone industry with the iPhone. And now we’re taking it to dentistry. I give you iTooth.” Then he would go on to explain how teeth could be doing so much more than just chewing and crunching. The new iTooth would remove calories, fat, and carbs and electronically change your food at a molecular level to veggies and fruit. “We’re all vegetarians now! Except without the snobby opinions.” All the Apple faithful in attendence would cheer, they’d sell five million dentist kits the first weekend, and so on.

But, I’m afraid that’s not in the foreseeable future for me. Unfortunately, dentists are still in the dark ages; I’ll be getting a face full of novocaine and will be unconsciously drooling all afternoon. Unless, of course, Steve Jobs has something up his sleeve. He usually does.

I’d give my eye tooth for that.

(rw)

This post is FINALLY part of Watercooler Wednesday!

The Daylights

Busy busy day today, so I thought I'd share these videos from my friends, The Daylights. Ricky, Ran, and Sven will one day be bigger than Dallas, so you can say "I heard about them before they were famous." Ricky and I played during communion at the wedding this past weekend and the brothers sang in my wedding back in January. They're simpatico, my blood brothers, believers, and their talent comes from somewhere beyond. Enjoy your Wednesday. And go buy their stuff on iTunes!

You'll never love if you protect yourself...Lay down, lay down your weapons, boy.

Oh, sure, this is part of Watercooler Wednesday over at ETHOS!

(rw)