Thursday, March 24, 2011

Come Fly With Me

Brace yourself, blog-readers. Big news is coming your way.

Today (which happens to be my baby sister's twelfth birthday: marking the start of the last year of her numerical childhood), I was delighted to discover that Ol' Blue Eyes and I share a birthday. On December 12, 1915, the world welcomed my musical idol into its arms; seventy-six years following, it opened its hands up for me, too. I don't know how this fact managed to hide from the first nineteen years of my life. However, now that I know, from this year forward, I vow to listen to so much Frankie every December 12th. A voice this legendary not only deserves for my future pup to bear its name but also to be celebrated all day long at least once annually. So, on my birthday, don't whine if you don't like swing: it's Frank's day (as in Frank Sinatra and Frank my future dog because my dog will love Sinatra, too), and if you're one of the whiners, do skip out on my wedding reception-- I'm going to be sure that the live band (thanks ahead of time, Dad) knows all of my Frank favorites.
Oh, and one other important note on Sinatra: he never learned to sight read music but rather learned his music soley from hearing. Boom. Baller. Beast. This makes me feel much better about my inability to sight read music. I often think myself untalented because I lack this ability, however, no one can argue that the man Elton John said, "was simply the best - no one else even comes close," was untalented. So, though I'm nowhere near Sinatra, with this knowledge, I decided I can still think of myself as musical.

So, what have I been doing with my life other than listening to Frank Sinatra? Well, for starters, spring break was last week. My family stayed in Treasure Island on St. Pete Beach near Tampa. I had a wonderful, relaxing time. I saw no one I knew (who's last name wasn't Jager) as well as more snowbirds than I'd ever seen before. Our days consisted of nothing more (or really nothing less) than tanning (which for me means napping as I'm prone to falling asleep everytime I sit still) on the beautiful and unusually big beach until just before dinnertime when my sisters and I piled back into the hotel room and argued over shower times and mirror spaces. Once all four of us finished our primping, we piled into the luxurious royal blue (I like to think its color has everything to do with the potential of my family being secretively royal) Dodge Caravan (with automatic doors, opening only at the mere lift of a pointer-finger), ate dinner out, and retired to the suite for the rest of the night, only to repeat this schedule the next morning. Perfect.

I really enjoyed spending quality time with my family and forgetting about the world. Highlights of the trip that aided the previous are as follows:
1. Bern's Steak House (this is the only highlight I will elaborate on so immensely)
Words truly cannot describe; however, if I had to pick just one to try, it would be nothing less than fancy. If you ever have a chance to experience this unique, classy, and rather large hole in the wall, seize it. From the outside, Bern's looks like a giant concrete block just like any other on a street corner in Tampa; from the inside, Bern's looks like a vintage magazine clipping of high society's favorite Parisian inspired restau, circa 1920's, perfectly restored to its orginal beauty. The food is divine and fresher than any food I've ever had before-- literally: they have a private farm a few miles away where all approximately 900 meals per evening's ingredients originate. The wine is even better than the food... and one day I will be able to tell you about it, too, but not for another two years). Bern's has its own enormous wine cellar whose currently most expensive bottle will go for $30,000 (and no, I didn't add a couple extra 0's... and no, I will never be able to tell you about that one whether it's been two years or two hundred). My favorite part of the Bern's experience, though, is the Harry Waugh Dessert Room, housed at the top of a magnificent staircase in the back of the restaurant. The entire upper floor of Bern's makes up the dessert "room", which itself is made up of a maze of who knows how many private dessert booths where a separate server brings you the most exquisite desserts your heart could dream of. By this point in the evening, my young family was beginning to wear it's welcome, which made me think of how nice it would be to one day enjoy Bern's with my husband. If F. Scott Fitzgerald were writing the luxurized version of my life in a short story, this restaurant would without a doubt be my husband's and my favorite restaurant, and we would be Bern's favorite regular couple. Fitzgerald would write about the way we had a favorite server who knew exactly what we'd like before we ordered. Everytime we went, I would wear a new dress that I ordered from some European boutique, and my husband would look nothing less than absolutely dapper and debonarie in a suite that Fitzgerald wouldn't miss a detail of in describing.... Bern's is just so wonderfully romantic, and I'm determinded to not let my past visit be my last. It's my dad's very favorite restaurant, and I've decided that it is now mine, as well.

2. Yoder's Restaurant
Featured on Man vs. Food. Defeated by the Jager family. For a family that is five-sixths female, we love food entirely too much. I literally liked a plate (mostly to embarrass my mother-success- but also because it was that good).

3. JCrew Factory Store
... Need I say more?


It was a wonderful week, and now I am happily settled back in Auburn for only a mere less than 6 more weeks! Then SUMMER! War Eagle to that. The Best Is Yet to Come.

Monday, March 7, 2011

In the meantime,

I also wanted you to know about the blessing of a weekend I had.

As disappointing as this may be to some of you (Dad), I have not yet accomplished any form of a social life... So, don't think that's what I'm about to say....

Instead of doing that, I spent the majority of my weekend quietly recharging alone (three cheers for being introverted), and alas, I had the chance to be creative again and do things I love! YAYYY!

Saturday had no agenda whatsoever. It was magnificent. I don't even know what times the different parts of my day occurred but it went some leisurely way like this:
woke up
cleaned our room to sparkling spotless
ate lunch in the room
showered and threw on a tshirt
mosied (past tense spelling of mosey?) over to Wrapsody and J&M
mosied back to the room
painted, painted, modge-podged
bonded with the B-Tram
went to sleep

Could not have been more perfect.

I wouldn't consider myself artist, but I love to make art, and even more than I love to make art, I love to sing.
On Saturday, I combined both of the above for about five straight hours. There is no better therapy than doing what I was made to do. Such a blessing.

Happy birthday, Kathleen!!!

Happy birthday, Molly!!!
P.S. Molly LOVES flowers- as in she is a Horticulture major- so the verse reads, "... walk out into the fields and look at the wildflowers." (Matthew 6:28)


Joy

I would like to start this particular blog post off with an apology for how overly emotional my blog has recently become. I really do just think it's awkward.... However, my life has gotten a little overly emotional, too, (and when has it not been awkward?), and is this blog not about my life? So, if you are not into me talking about emotions and feelings and cheesy blah, blah, blah... just don't read my blog for like... well, maybe the rest of my life-- right now, I am wondering if this is what I'm permanently going to be like.

So, with that entire ridiculous introduction out of the way, you must now know (if you did not already) that I am an absolute mess. Yep. No other way around it. Can't manage my time, can't manage my heart, can't manage pretty much anything these days-- BUT let's not forget that the title of this post is, in fact, Joy.
Joy.
That's my mum's name (Shout out to you, Mom; you are probably one of about three people who read this blog; it's about time I gave you one.), and it is perfect for her. Without a doubt, Joy Jager is hands-down, the most joyful person I know. I would not be surprised if my grandmother, when choosing my mother's name, had an experience similar to Mary's with the angel Gabriel when he told her Jesus' name. The name Joy really is that perfect for my mother.

For my whole life, my mom has set an excellent example of joy to me. Ecclesiastes 3:12 says, "I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live." Right now, my selfish little heart would have life a different way than it is, but let's be real: I'm crazy blessed. My heart may be broken, but my life is great. What's the point in going on in my dreary ways because I'm not getting what I want, when I want it? Oh, wait, there isn't one. There is nothing better than for me to be joyful.
Now, I wouldn't say that means being dishonest. God does not tell me not to be sad, and he likes me to tell Him when I am. Nevertheless, the whole reason He wants me to do so, is so that he can replace my sadness with His joy. He may not change my situation to what I want it to be, but it's because he has a better plan. One of my dearest little friends (shout-out to Mags) recently said that even though we know God has a plan, sometimes it just doesn't seem like a good one, but we can take comfort in the fact that there is a plan, and somehow that plan will end up being the better one- even if we never understand how it was- it was, is, and will be. Amen, Maggie. The sub-plot of the plan may not seem joyful to me, but the resolution sure does. Heaven is going to be the freaking best, and that's the one thing I know I'm guaranteed in this plan. Nothing can take the joy of that away from me.

So, praise the Lord: I'm saved. It's as simple as that. I'm not getting my way, and I could tell you all day about how much I don't like it, but I'd rather tell you that I have a joy that, though I try to steal it from myself, no matter how big the pity-party, cannot be ruined.
Hope you didn't mind the emotions, and I apologize if cheesy makes you gag (I know the feeling). I just wanted you to know that I'm a joyful little mess, and you can be sure that any good you see in my life is for sure the grace of God: I'm a selfish disaster. Soli Deo gloria.

Oh, and as for my mom, she's coming pretty close to mastering all of the above.