To truly understand how much I love the Oscars you might need to be in my home last night at about 5:50 (ten minutes before Barbara…) as I gathered snacks and turned the furniture just how I wanted it and literally jumped up and down from the giddy feeling that the show was about to start. And when it did, a deeper sinking into my comfortable chair and a happy sigh of relief. Neil Patrick Harris was singing, women in feathers were popping out of nowhere, and it was just as magical as I’d hoped.

My usual Oscar party hostess was out of town this year. She sent her son to my door a few days ago with a gift basket overflowing with sweets, a chic flick on DVD, and two Oscar ballots to keep track of my predictions. I could have thrown my own party – and maybe that’s what she meant for me to do. But this year I decided to go retro. The last time I remember watching the Oscars alone, Michael and I were first married – I don’t remember where he was actually – and I curled up in a chair in my own apartment, mere feet from my television and discovered for the first time just how much I loved this show. That was the Titanic year, and I’ll never forget that. For a girl who’d been living in a hotel-dormitory for two years and probably had to watch with tons of other people equally adoring and mocking, and who probably didn’t even get to see the entire show because it lasted past curfew, that first year in my own home was heaven.

So last night reminded me of that, only now there are a few little boys around.

Now, I don’t know what it is, but it’s very difficult for me to live in the moment during the Oscars. The whole thing feels more like a memory than something actually happening. I think it’s because they come back every year with all new actresses coming out of nowhere, all new beloved veterans finally getting their due, all-new fashion hits and misses. It’s sort of cyclical, because each one points to others too. And, of course, there’s that little part of me that still says, “Hey, you never know….maybe someday.” So I’m living forward and I’m living back, and I can’t even imagine how much it must be that way for the people who actually go.

The highlights of last night for me – the moments I’ll remember fondly like I remember that year in my own apartment with Kate Winslet’s green, Titanic-y dress – are as follows:

1. The opening number, as mentioned.

2. Christoph Waltz – because I didn’t see his movie (Inglorious Basterds) but I saw him win the Critic’s Choice and the SAG and the Golden Globe, so I had him comfortably marked on my ballot. And, well, that dude is weird. At the Critic’s Choice his speech was all about choices. At the Golden Globes he talked about global things. And I wondered how he would do the Oscar speech. Turns out, his theme for it was exploring new territory and frankly, I didn’t understand it at all.

3. Tina Fey and Robert Downy Jr. I adored their opening for the screenplay categories in which they bantered about what writers expect of actors (just memorize, People) and what actors expect of writers (stay in the background and provide lots of amazing monologues).

4. Geoffrey Fletcher, because he spoke directly to me. He won for adapted screenplay, and he said it was “for everyone who works on a dream every day.”

5. George Clooney. No, he didn’t really do anything. I just like having him around.

6. The surprises. Neil Patrick Harris? Yay! An eighties reunion? Totally cool! A horror film montage? Wait… That one can go. Although I do love me some Jaws.

7. Sandra Bullock, because I can’t help it. I like it when box office numbers and Oscar ballots finally seem on the same page. I like it when a person is honored for playing somebody pleasant. And I like Sandra Bullock. That is all.

8. Young Hollywood. They were everywhere, and it was a nice generational balance to the classics (a la Meryl, James Cameron, etc), whom I love as well. On the red carpet, Zac Efron said we are just at the beginning of a new age of film. And I don’t really know what he meant, and I may not approve of that Age for all I know, but I so appreciated the passion and the confidence of a young person with something to say.

My favorite dresses are basically the poofy ones. Although the statuesque forms are very beautiful, it’s the full skirts that I’d rather be in. Still, for favorite looks I’m picking Sandra (with maybe a slightly less fluorescent lipstick), Amanda Seyfried, Jennifer Lopez (yep, I liked that one – it looked fun to wear), and Anna Kendrick – the color was a little to bland, but it looked like it grew on her and it draped there so beautifully. I don’t like to gag at any of the dresses really – I’m very generous with other people’s fashion choices. But in this case, Charlize Theron freaked me out. Beautiful color, bad placement of decorative roses. Ew, ew, ew.

And that’s my Oscar post. I really love this show.

P.S. I had 17 out of 24 correct on my ballot. Oh for 4 on the shorts and foreign films. Ah well.

Photo by Roobee on Flickr.

Yes, yes it is.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that I was using a lot of extra gas to drive (slightly) out of town for a couple hours a day (four days a week) and that I was losing precious minutes of actual work in order to drive to and from. And, although I found an initial creativity surge for my work by being around the travel talk and such, that boost kind of faded too.

But the thing I’ve noticed is, people help. I like people. I like how they care when you come and go. I like having someone to say things to, like, “I can’t not talk with a drawl when I’m on the phone with a southern girl” or “I love this song; Pandora wins again.” I like that no one is tired or blue or having a Monday at exactly the same time. When you’re blue, I’m perky. When I’m having a Monday on Thursday, you’re hanging shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day. I like not doing that whole 9-5 thing alone.

Because the thing is, I am an alone kind of person. I’m in my head a lot, thinking about things, following analytical rabbit trails that there’s no way any other person could stay with me for. And you know what I love? When I end up in a conversation with someone and realize – oh my goodness, they think about things too. And I can’t follow all their rabbit trails either, but it’s so validating that I’m not the only one who has them. It’s like the line in P.S. I Love You: If we’re all alone, then we’re together in that too.

And it’s not just in a work day that people help. There is so much happening on my computer these days – I mean, work happens there, my dream (i.e., the novel), and leisure (i.e., blog reading, Peoplemag.com, and Scarecrow and Mrs. King on in2tv.com). I could probably – though not without severe mental and eyeball fatigue – spend morning until night on my laptop. You can even sort of half way feel like you’re with people, thanks to facebook and twitter, email, and blog comments.

But then I leave the house. I breathe fresh air, I go to something like my son’s fourth grade Wax Museum of Famous Missourians (did you know Bob Barker is from here?!) and I run into good friends, new friends, my son’s friend’s parents, my children’s teachers, and there’s talking and shared exasperation over our crazy preschoolers and the long line of cars in the McDonalds drive-thru lane because we weren’t the only ones who couldn’t manage supper between work and a school function. And that’s when I feel fully alive, when I’m with people.

It seems weird to write a blog about how I need to get off this darn computer more. But that’s what’s on my mind. Because this week has been stuffed with good friends, lovely sisters, cousins at a basketball game (the picture above), and the aforementioned costumed 10-year-olds delivering speeches about Brad Pitt, Walt Disney, and Joyce C. Hall (huge points for the person who doesn’t have to google him, the man whose name my son drew from the hat). And I feel glad. Glad that I live in a world, with people.

I don’t think I’ve told you about the first time I read Tale of Two Cities. It was Language Arts III, I think. My mom was the teacher, and she took us through it line by line as we worked to figure out what the heck the knitting women were doing and what it means to be “floppin’ again” a person.

And I don’t know how it’s possible, but I didn’t see it coming – the end I mean. So when it all came together, and we realized it was Charles Darnay in the carriage at the end and that therefore Sydney Carton had done the unspeakable – the ultimate sacrifice – I LOST IT. I burst into tears. If any teenage girl ever actually burst into tears, I did it then. I’ve never been quite so affected by any book I’ve ever read since. Lucie Manette became one of my favorite heroines, Charles Darnay the picture of manhood, and Sydney Carton the first unregenerate I ever saw redeemed.

Thus, my immediate respect for any book that references both Anne of Green Gables (oh yes it did) and Charles Darnay. And it was Sunday afternoon while that beautiful book sat untouched by my side as I attempted to work on my own novel that I decided something. I am a CRAZY PERSON. I am missing good books, great movies, and brilliant mediocre television all the time because I’m trying to create instead. I mean, People, there are plenty of other crazy ones out there adding to the books and movies on my to-be-experienced list. And I’m pretty sure I could fill every waking moment just enjoying those. (Exhibit A: The new t.v., Just imagine Pride and Prejudice on this baby.) And that’s not all. If for some reason I got to the bottom of those lists, life would provide. There’s no way I’d ever be bored. Especially with all these kids and dishes and laundry piles around. I mean, I’m set here. I’m SET.

But the thing is, the creation of Charles Darnay was pretty much brilliance all by itself without Marisa De Los Santos writing that book I’m reading in order to point it out to us. And yet she did it. Because she had some other story to tell that I’m pretty sure I’m going to thoroughly enjoy as well. And I can’t stop either. So I’m going to press on. But I just wanted to get it out there that I’m really kind of put out with myself about it.

I miss Milk Duds because I’m pretty sure they’re the food that broke my tooth one night at the movies that eventually led to the Great Drilling-a-Go-Go that recently made me wonder what Jack Daniels tastes like because I was thinking the effects of it might be the only way I’m getting back in that dentist chair EVER. So now, in light of that horrendous experience, I think it’s time to say goodbye to the candy that saw me through The Little Mermaid when we all breathed a sigh of relief that Disney. Was. Back. And Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, which led to an Everything-I-Do-by-Bryan-Adams obsession so great I used to haul my boom box into the bathroom when I took a shower lest I miss one of the three dozen times it played on the radio in any given day. While You Were Sleeping only days before I got my own “first stamp in the passport”, Steel Magnolias with my mother and a passel of other women who personified the characters in the movie, and Titanic. Three Times. And that’s not even all of them from that decade.

My only consolation? Is the Reeces Pieces. They may have just as much sugar, but they’re very easy to chew.

*the book is Love Walked In by Marisa De Los Santos

I’ve been thinking for a while I’d like to have a blog that looked sort of like the pages of an InStyle magazine. I think this one comes close.

I’m a little worried, though, that I’ve already said everything I have to say. Motherhood rocks, I heart Hollywood, I really love the Anne books, and I get all philosophical about life over breakfast cereal and pancakes. Really, every time I write I wonder if that’s the last thing I’ll ever have to say. Every time I find a unique way to say something common I figure that’s the last time I’ll manage that trick again.

It’s pretty cool when inspiration strikes again and I realize I was wrong and then I’m all – That wasn’t the last thing I ever had to say! This is.

So, anyway, here’s the new decor, and I promise to try and fill it with new words now and then. If you’re just tuning in, you might need to know these things about me.

I’m not cool. I use way too many paper towels to be green. I like music, movies, and reading, but I’m not so well-versed in any of it that you’ll be amazed in any way. I love my kids and I usually find that being a part of their lives is the best part of mine. I periodically burst into song, movie quotes, Friends lines, or Things I Learned on LOST. You’ll probably never see a recipe here. And all of my tips about pursuing publication boil down to two words: Keep trying.

My name is Serenity Bohon. And this is Serenity Now.

"Not without my effects."

Well, it’s time to get to work. Throughout January, I vegged. I mean, I really vegged. I didn’t even read that much in January. Before the holidays, I pushed so hard to get my novel to a point that I wasn’t embarrassed to show it to someone, and once I sent it off to that someone, I set aside the dream.

I mean, that’s sort of what I did. I didn’t set it aside forever, but I definitely let it go for a while. It’s hard work having a life and a job and another job and more life, and to still pursue a dream. So I think in January I decided to just remember how perfectly content I am with just Being Mama and Wife and Admirer of All the Great Books and Movies Other People Have Worked For.

And if January was step-back-and-chill month then the beginning of February began as the month in which to consider going insane. I didn’t like the status quo after all. Not when it came to the work I do. But would I ever get a chance to make creating stuff a real live, authorized part of my day? I really hoped so.

Now, the brilliant Holly has read my novel and given me stellar advice for improving it. And I’m back. I couldn’t chill now if I tried. And I don’t feel nearly so insane. And I have an actual assignment to get me moving.

So if you see a new blog design pop up in the next week or two, it’s not that I’m procrastinating. If Jake is dressed as a different super hero or movie character every time you see us, don’t worry that turning them right side out has kept me from revising. And if I can tell you exactly what’s happening on LOST and American Idol and pass any quiz backwards and forwards from either Little House on the Prairie Season Six or a number of chick flicks from my cabinet at home, that doesn’t mean anything either. I’m working. Working really hard. And someday…there’s going to be a novel to show for it.

Then whisper, blossom, in thy sleep

How I may upward climb

The Alpine path, so hard, so steep,

That leads to heights sublime;

How I may reach that far-off goal

Of true and honoured fame,

And write upon its shining scroll

A woman’s humble name.”

-from “To the Fringed Gentian” as quoted by Lucy Maud Montgomery in her memoir

Guess what happened at work a couple weeks ago? I got mail. Real live mail with my name on top and the company address beneath. The day after that? My first phone call. Having only worked from home until last fall, I didn’t exactly have an established presence at work. Even once I started going to the office, I barely had a desk. I took one artificial bouquet from home so that it sort of felt like mine. But I’m only there two hours; so each morning I would come in and find the flowers shifted and boxes and things dumped onto the desk like that table in the storage room where you put things for which you don’t have any other place.

I’ve since moved to a more permanent desk, and I got a project that involves people outside of the company and thus the mail and the phone call. Receiving my first phone call of course necessitated the recording of an actual voice mail message, which quickly snowballed into assigning me an extension, adding my name to the company directory, and conducting a Google search that now qualifies me to find my way in and out of the system administration on a Norstar company phone in like ten seconds flat. I can even tell you how to change the digital display so it actually says your name. Though, I’m probably going to have to Google it again if you ask.

Do you see this pretty picture? This is the kind of stuff I do at work. I write about places like that. It’s why on a bad day once, my twitter/facebook status read, “I’m writing about places I’d rather be.” It’s not that I’d rather be there than at home so much as I’d rather be there than be writing about it. That’s not always true, either. Some days it thrills me right to my toes that I can write about the white church on this hill in Paris while Jake runs between the dinosaurs in his very own bedroom and my chair where he asks me to turn various and sundry costumes right side out before he puts them on. And if I was actually on the hill, Montmartre, which I’m not even sure how to pronounce, then I wouldn’t be able to pick up the other two at 3 either, and I do like that 3 o’clock return to everything right with the world.

But I think this is what I like: If at this time last year there were people at work who didn’t even know I was an actual coworker instead of some stock video the IT guy uploaded onto the homepage and now I have my own extension, voice mail, and digital name display…then who knows what could change by this time next year. Just the thought that something within my job or outside of it could one day necessitate a reason to brush up my eighth grade French, makes me happy.

I don’t know for sure when I switched from a girl who never wanted to go anywhere or experience any change at all to this girl who kind of craves it. But I’m thinking it was somewhere between getting to marry my childhood sweetheart and the day I enjoyed learning the Norstar code for logging into the System Administration so I could change “Shane” to “Serenity”. And it might also have been after The Year when I wondered if I’d never get to see anything change again.

In eighth grade my French name, by the way, was Nicole.

(Photo by http2007 on Flickr.)

I’ve come to enjoy the predictability and the little thrill of seeing his fingers inch their way to the zipper should he decide to settle in.

I also enjoy the poetry, the empathy I feel for that need to reserve whatever part of yourself you can from getting sucked into a moment you’re not all that cool with. It’s familiar, because in other ways – I do it too. I think we all do. We carry things with us or hold thoughts inside that we know for sure no one can take from us. They may not even know about them.

In elementary school I used to pretend if I touched my ear I could hear my stuffed animals at home hanging out in my room. (Proof that I thought of Toy Story first). Now I carry a big purse that I love, with my iPod inside and my day planner (filled with much more than just what’s happening on Tuesday), and even sometimes the book I’m reading – just to know it’s there. Jake takes a toy from home almost every single day. He shows it to everyone on the way in and then compliantly puts it in his backpack for the duration of the school day. Drew often does the same thing. John wears about five million of those colored rubber bracelets every day, including one that says his name. Michael just switched from standard issue black boots at work to nice Cabelas brown he bought for himself. And, seriously, this isn’t even the half of it. Right? I mean thumb tacks were probably invented by the first person to get assigned a cubicle. “You want me to work at that particle-board desk with gray walls? Sure thing, but I’m putting up a picture of Spring Break 87 and my trusty dog who waits at home every day for me and never steals my stapler.”

In little ways, all the time, we find a way to keep our coat on. Which makes it all the more miraculous when you find those places or those people with whom you want to take it off.

You know what I love? I mean, yet another thing I love – since I talk about things I love all the time on here… I love unexpected friendships. Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, Captain Jack and Will Turner, Legolas and Gimli (apparently I especially like unexpected friendships when one of the players is Orlando Bloom…) and, you know, ALL of the characters on LOST with each other.

From the beginning, it was the people and their crazy-dramatic back stories and the unexpected friendships that grew between them that kept me coming back for more. I loved the way a plane crash on a mystical island allowed a murderer to be friends with a neurosurgeon, a con man with a lotto winner, an Iraqi soldier with a spoiled American girl.

This book, The Gospel According to LOST by Chris Seay, agrees with me and elaborates on that plus so many other things to love about this show. I think my biggest complaint is that I wished I was sitting in a living room with Chris Seay instead of reading the book. I didn’t want to be the person actually talking to him, though. I just want to sit nearby and watch him talk about LOST with some equally intelligent, equally admiring fan. Seay and this imaginary person could enlighten each other on all the philosophical theories referenced throughout the television series and the many names and story lines that mirror biblical ones and the possibilities they’ve considered based on the many ways all of the characters (called “Losties” in the book) are connected to each other and always have been as well as how they are connected to other characters like the mysterious, god-like Jacob. I would sit by and listen with wide eyes and an oh-my-gosh-I-hadn’t-thought-of-that sort of grin and occasionally say things like, “Locke gave me the creeps even before he was possessed by the mysterious dark side” and “I heart Jack.”

If you frequently dissect LOST with other people, you may not read a lot in this book that you hadn’t thought of before. And on the flip side, if you don’t catch any of the connections and references sprinkled throughout the series on your own, there are better places to look than in this book. It’s hardly a book of revelation. It’s more like a celebration. It seems to say throughout, “Embrace messy humanity, embrace Story, and embrace the mystery. The answers are in the journey, not in an absolution.”

Apparently this isn’t Seay’s first attempt to elaborate on meaning in popular culture, and I’d definitely pick up anything else he wrote. He’s great at celebrating art that has intention and that has the ability to drive us to yet more learning, yet more discovery, and many, many more questions.

Another thing I loved about this book? Felicity pointed out a new version of the Bible recently. It’s called The Voice by Ecclesia Bible Society of which Chris Seay is the president. It’s this version that Seay uses when quoting Scripture in this book. I found this sort of beautiful, because the point to The Voice, I understand, is to represent the story of the Gospel message. And similarly, LOST is all about story, and how much we can discover by just diving in and participating in it.

**

I requested this book as part of the Thomas Nelson program now called Book Sneeze – which is WAY easier to say than their old title. I got the book for free but with no obligation to review it favorably. The title of the book and bible, above, are affiliate links from which I’ll receive a commission if you click the links and make a purchase. I say all this to keep from being arrested by the FTC. The End.

After a day of analyzing over and over whether or not I’m living my place in the world just how I should and of reading all the noise online that alternately inspires me, frightens me, depresses me, thrills me, or sends me into the throes of jealousy from which I have to talk myself out with the rational knowledge that each of us has our own story to live – after all that, or smack dab in the middle of it, there’s nothing like a hug from this guy to make everything make sense again. But still, I stand by my title.

My family will have expected a post like this today, because Parents as Teachers came again. Oi to the Vay. Why does pure sunshine turn to pure stubborn the moment that woman says, “What’s this a picture of?” Why? I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t. Michael was here for moral support and to help with the post-apocalypse lecture. There were tears. And I know we just have to keep enduring the agony and the despair because if we tell that sweet little woman to stop coming and to stop making him participate in life then he will win and he may never participate in any part of life he’s not thrilled about. Right? I mean, I think this is right. But it’s Exhibit A, People. Parenting is hard.

Exhibit B. When I drop Jake off at school, he is the soul of independence. Goodbye, Mom, don’t walk me to the breakfast table, I need to “Hey Guys” my friends and high-five my table-mates and take on the day. Your work is done here. But when I pick him up, and the teacher sees me coming up the sidewalk, she calls his name and releases him through the door, and it’s like I’m the best part of his day. So he runs.

He runs to me. Arms flailing, feet flying, voice yelling my name. It’s awesome. The problem is, he does it DIRECTLY AFTER BEING TOLD, “Now don’t run, Jake. Use your walking feet.”

So I watch every single day as they tell him that, knowing he has every intention of completely ignoring every single word of it, and then he runs to me and I have to decide whether to swoop him up and thank him for running to me and stick my tongue out at the school and spit. Or to scold him for disobeying the order they give – for his safety – and which he definitely knows by heart now.

The truth is, my response varies. Today I scolded – gently, smilingly, attempting to attach to the scolding the subliminal message that I’d rather he run to me than not – and so he cried. He cried pitifully and heartbreakingly so that the teacher herself came out and tried to help him not feel badly anymore. I was still trying to talk him through it when I got him to the car. And you know what he said then? “I can’t walk. I have to run.” To which I said, “I adore that about you, Jake Kenneth.” And parenting is hard.

I’ve offered to guest host Serenity’s blog a few times, mostly in jest (she doesn’t trust me – with good reason), but I finally decided that I should really take a shot at it. Seren, I promise to behave myself. What’s the worst that could happen to me, right? I mean, it’s not like she has a bunch of writers on here, critiquing my every word…

I’ll preface my post by acknowledging that I could not be more out of my element than right at this moment. I am akin to a fish that is waterless. However, given my present lack of good judgment, I will press on. I am a supreme novice when it comes to the world of blogging, although I do think I understand its most basic concepts. I realize that in the grand scheme of things, I’m writing this more for Serenity than anyone else, but I also realize that my topic of choice could not be more commonly shared by so many people. So, all of the writers that are logging in, I kindly thank you in advance for keeping your editorial comments to yourself. All non-writers, don’t even think about it.

I, like most men, am not a complex creature. I have a few hobbies, things that I’m interested in, but nothing all that fascinating. I think about things: Religion, politics, will the Tigers stay in the Big 12? But that doesn’t mean I have an overwhelming urge, or even an underwhelming urge, to share those thoughts with anyone. I have friends, although I’m not sure they know that. I have things I want to accomplish in life, and even though it may take me longer than I thought, I’ll get there. I’m just your average, run of the mill guy who married a hot chick way out of his league.

My life is arranged simply: God, my wife, my kids, family, friends, and Clay (my Lab –last but not necessarily least). That’s it. If I find myself giving more importance to things other than what’s on my list, it’s time to stop and reevaluate. I don’t like things complicated, I want to keep it simple. And for those who really know Serenity, I’m sure you’re laughing right now. Yeah…complete awareness of the one you marry – did not have it.

On June 16, 2005, my simple life got messed with. Cancer. Seren and I had been thinking about our third child that would arrive in 8 months, and now we were wondering if she would even live that long. What do you do when everything you’ve been given, even life itself, is being threatened? Well, you live. I couldn’t be more proud of how Serenity made the decision that she was going to live, for however long that might be. And over the last five years, we’ve tasted the bitter and the sweet that life has to offer, and we’ve kept putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes we were taking steps into what seemed like a great unknown, not sure if there was going to be solid ground under our feet when they landed, but we always seemed to find our way. Our faith was tested time after time. And if we stumbled, there were always friends and family members around to help us along. I’m not suggesting that Serenity beat cancer because of our faith in God, but I will tell you, we’ve lived because of our faith in God. And however many days we are given, we’ll live.

So Seren, thanks for not leaving me. When I wake up early in the mornings, I’m very grateful that you are still lying next to me in bed…then I get up, go pee, and go back to sleep – stupid diet coke right before bed.