well, as promised in my last not new years resolution post... i am posting once a month, just barely squeezed February in... i cleaned out my computer last weekend, or the files in my computer, and found the start of the book i've re-wrote over ten times... due to my overwhelmingly busy schedule (thanks chi omega, banana republic, senior level fashion classes, pike, and two stepping...) i decided to post the beginnings of my novel in hopes for perhaps feedback...? and time saving, as i am currently late to big sis/lil sis revelation. 

enjoy. 

I have wanted to write a book ever since I took literature my senior year in high school. I have, since then, written and re-written five different starts to this said book. Writing was always something that came easy to me. The being good at writing is still yet to be determined, regardless of what my parents say. It isn’t so much the writing that I struggle with, as much as it is the grammar aspect. In sixth grade I was thrust into the profound world of Shirley Grammar. (As we speak, or as I type, I have misspelled grammar two times and the red squiggly line is obnoxiously blaring my lack of grammatical skills). Not only was sixth grade the year I was introduced to all things grammatical such as classifying sentences, the importance of jingles, and prepositional phrases, but also sixth grade was the first time I ever attended real school.

            The oldest of eight comes with its pros and cons. I was not allowed to get my ears pierced until I was thirteen, but as all oldest children can predict, my younger sisters got theirs pierced at progressively younger ages. PG-13 meant I had to be thirteen, however, my five-year-old brother’s favorite movies included Spiderman and The Dark Knight.  Obviously, as all people say, the pros much outweighed the cons. So much so that writing about them would take hours and provide a story that would do nothing in my quest to discover if my parents are truly right about my writing skills. But the fact that I grew up with eight siblings plays an important role in my story. The mere notion that I did not attend school outside my home until I was twelve becomes a major player in the game of my life. Oh and the soul most important factor contributing to my life, well anybody’s life for that matter, is their mom.  My mom: Suzanne Mathews Manning.

            Suzanne almost aborted me. She was lying there, on the table, money paid, hospital gown on, and then “bam”, she decided not too. I wish I could sit here and tell you it was because of some miraculous voice of God booming over the loud murmur of the office staff, or she had the sudden urge to get to know the baby growing inside her, however, my actual life, my breath and being life, can be contributed to my mom’s best friend, Penny Elaine Phillips.

            Penny knew my mom since eighth grade. They were those best friends that did everything together. You know, the really annoying kinds that braid each other’s hair and finish each other sentences, the best friends we all wish we had and pretended we didn’t want.  Penny knew Jesus and my mom didn’t.  Penny introduced to my mom to Jesus. Then my mom knew Jesus. It was pretty much as simple as that. That’s why I like Jesus, because he can be so simple.

            I can’t seem to organize all the thoughts that I want in this book. I have this vision for how I want it to sound, read, the message I want it to share. I guess being a good writer includes easily being able to accomplish all those things? So don’t expect a storyline, a chronological line of events that happen to make up my amazing life. I feel like this is going to be a collection of stories that in the end make up my life, a life that I find worth writing about, obviously.

            The moment my Mom chose not to abort me, I was blessed with the ability to be able to entertain the thought that I was put on this earth for a purpose, to achieve something fantastic. I wasn’t planned, or even wanted, yet the same Jesus that healed the blind, drank red wine, and died on the cross, knew that at the moment my mom and dad “really loved each other”, my life would be created, almost destroyed, spared, and then celebrated. I was born in Florida, but was one of those kids that got to Texas as fast as I could. And while we are on the subject, I am a firm believer in the south, southern cooking, summer nights, iced tea and pink lemonade, and the freedom to own a gun.  Speaking of guns, I will forever be indebted to my Granddaddy, Bobby Leroy Mathews. He is my hero, one of, if not my only, favorite person in the world. (Oh and I tend to exaggerate all the time). 

Since at the moment I have started at the beginning of my life, we must talk about him. He grew up on the farm, typical farm boy. Fed cows, chickens, played with his siblings all day, lived through the war, went to college, married a beautiful women, had two daughters, made decent money as a insurance man, separated from his wife, and now spends Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at the bar. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays he gives his liver a break.  He lives in a cute house in the same town he has for forty years, drives a pick up truck, and claims that if me, my sisters, or cousins ever brought home a Democrat for a boyfriend he would shoot him, and unfortunately he is not kidding.  My Granddaddy is one of the most generous people I have ever met. He reluctantly let my mom attend her freshman year of college at The University of Texas, paid for school even though she failed a class, but more importantly he paid for the long distance phone bills between my Dad and her. For that I am truly grateful.  Because he paid for these bills, My Mom and Dad arranged for a special reunion in November, and bam one cold night and the fondness of their hearts toward each other created by recent absence led to nine months later, August 15^th, the greatest day of their lives. My mom has a code warning she has given me many a time when I go to hang out with a boy... it goes like this...

"Mollie, what are you doing tonight...?" 

"Just hanging out with... [insert boys name].." 

"Okay... well... don't make any pies... you know what that leads too..." 

"Umm, no, Mom, I don't..." 

"I made pies with your dad on the night I got pregnant, cold Novemember, Thanksgiving time... don't do it.." 

"Oh, okay, got it Mom, since that was on the agenda anyway...." 

Makes perfect sense right? Doesn't warn me about dark movie theaters, empty houses, back seats, or wandering hands, just making pies. Good thing I'm a really bad cook. 

My Granddaddy paid for everything, diapers, baby food, bought me a stuffed animal every time we went to Piggly Wiggly (the grocery store), and loved me more than a lot of people in my life do, truly loved me.  One of my fondest memories is sitting in his lap and reading Dr. Seuss, yes, a common childhood memory for many, however, my Granddaddy was my Daddy for all intensive purposes, and he embraced the sudden thrust of being a Grandpa with open arms. 

 

 

i haven't written since before school started. and the semester is over. i fail. you should all know, by all i mean the five people that actually read this... that fail is my new favorite word. fail and "i know right". sorority girl has truly taken over my life, thank you Dr. Charles Richardson and company.   

i just got home from celebrating my first new years away from my family ever. my first new years as a 21 year old. and my first new years not in dallas, texas. 

fair warning. i haven't yet decided the moral of this post... the crux of the plot. but not to worry, follow along with my random thoughts and perhaps we will both find ourselves at the end of a delightfully philosophical road. 

point about new years. im sitting in my apartment, messy shower hair that looks nothing like girls in movies who try to get their hair to look perfectly unfloofed while in fact it has been floofed for hours (floof=fix), sweats, tank top, semi-messy room, eclectic decorations, half eaten pb&j, grape juice... i feel like im in a movie, a scene where a middle aged girl finds time to write about her life and ends up opening her mind to endless possiblites.. dot dot dot

i was just bored. and got tired of facebook creeping. 

but i have been thinking about the fact that it is now 2011. when i first got to college i was given a free tshirt with "class of 2011" on the back... and guess what.. it's 2011. sorry dad, even the unconscious effort of unt marketing failed at an on time graduation. but don't worry... this major of mine will buy you all the sweet tea and sporting event tickets you could want later in life. rabbit trail. i'm graduating in 2011. getting off dads paycheck, signing up for insurance... do you sign up for that...? paying bills, paying taxes, thanks obama, and whatever else it means to be an adult. lots im sure. this is weird for me to think about. so im not going to. not yet anyway. 

but 2011. whew. what to do in 2011, what to do. my mom says expect a miracle, good idea. my pastor turned missionary aka best friends dad says read the new testament all the way through, ambitious. my two best friends say to work out more. duh. my fourth sister aka best friend since age 2 says to grow up. i don't like that idea rachael. my older brother for all intensive purposes and his sweet wife says to embrace change. which is big coming from him. my dad says to truly enjoy the heavenly father. typical dad, typical, but swell idea. but what do i say. la-de-da-la-de-da... 

i don't believe in resolutions. i mean i suppose i believe in resolutions when there is an argument... someone needs to be right... 

i don't believe in new years resolutions. never really have and always was that kid that made one up when dad gathered everyone up to discuss the happenings of the new year. BUT the idea of setting yourself up for something greater, expecting something bigger... is very appealing to me, i like to see the impossible, be different, demand higher. 

for example, i think it would be amazing to write a book this year, or at least start. i think it would be cool if i could actually post on here once a month. i think it would be cool if i could find a small group to be a part of, i think it would be cool if i found an internship (thats more a necessity that i might be putting on here to cross off to feel productive) i think it would be cool to write an encouraging note to a different person every week, i think it would be cool to start to learn to cook (that goes along with growing up, fail), i think it would be cool to actually learn how to budget... not just not spend money and then spend money, i think it would be cool to own a fish, i think it would be cool to find somewhere where i volunteer on a weekly basis, i think it would be cool to actually listen to my little brothers when they are talking to me, i think it would be cool to take a road trip, go camping, get my belly button pierced, memorize a whole book in the bible, research a topic, spend hours in the library, write a letter to george w. bush, work in an orphanage... dot dot dot dot 

not resolutions. things i want to do to be better/cooler/smarter/sweeter/godlier/older/wiser, things that i wouldn't normally expect to happen, things that you can only accomplish if you think about accomplishing them. 

perhaps thats the beautiful grassy opening at the end of the delightful philosophical road. don't set yourself up for failure. don't plaster resolutions all over your house and car and office, don't set up a regiment that you get so engrossed in keeping up that you forget the true meaning behind whatever you're choosing to accomplish. but simply. notice that you're acknowldeing the desire for an accomplishment... and then truly enjoy the transformation. 

i love to write. i don't know why i don't do it more. probably because i could for hours. and school, and chi omega, and work, and family, and yadeyadeyadah usually take over my life. not on winter break. not after my first new years away, not when all my roommates aren't here, not when you see the same TLC shows over and over. 

expect a miracle. read the new testament. embrace change. fall madly in love with jesus. write a book. volunteer. budget. encourage. camp. venture out. 

hats off to you 2010, you've left quite an impression on my memories, gpa, liver, closet, new murano, cowboy boots, journal, and much more, i send you off with a hearty, joyful, and grateful, adeu. 

2011, you have a lot to live up to. heres to a year of sweeter memories, higher gpa's, still working livers, continuing changes to the closet, a fixed murano, black cowboy boots, many more journals, and of course, much much more. i welcome you with a high five, butt slap, fist pump, hooray. 

my fingers get numb when i type too long. im at that point. this whole write a book thing may be a ten year accomplishment. 

this is when the movie star sits up, smiles her quirky but utterly irresistible smile, presses enter, cloeses the computer and has a wondeful nights sleep (and will wake up looking stunning as well... fail real life) 

im not going to smile, i will close my computer, and hopefully have a wonderful nights sleep... maybe after one more "say yes to the dress" or "little people".

 welcome, 2011. 

 

it has literally been ages since i have written. basically all of summer. wow. thats what summer will do though. wrap you up in texas heat and spin you so hard by the time you realize what has happened school supplies lists are published and tan lines have been clearly drawn. 

if you know me, you know how much i adore summer. the freedom, the experiences, the sheer fact that staying up till 3 am laughing and making memories will not make you feel guilty the next day for a) skipping class or b) not studying enough. i love every minute of it, EVEN the texas heat. that tingly feeling that over takes your body the second you push open a movie theatre door and experience the blinding light of sun is something i look forward to all winter. and i made a vow, i would not complain once this summer about the magnificent bigger than life hotter than hell texas heat, and i can proudly say, so far, so good. no complaints. mind you, come talk to me in mid January when i am traipsing through snow in rain-boots and a light jacket because it was 65 degrees that morning, and you will hear many a whine about texas weather. 

this summer has been filled with an array of memories that will live forever in my mind's book of stories to tell. i got a B in accounting, more of a miracle than a story to be remembered, attended one of my best friends weddings, probably one of the most breathtaking weddings my 20 years of life has seen, visited Canadian parliament, went to six rangers games, to the beach and back in 48 hours, oklahoma in 6, ate yogurt story consecutively for almost two weeks straight, re-learned the importance of best friends, cried and rejoiced with sweet friends as they journey to a new life in a new country, broke my camera, bought a new one, memorized scripture, realized how much i enjoy texas stars, fell in love with two stepping, became a country music junkie, wrecked my car, made six wishes on shooting stars, ALL of which came true, threw a whole jar of crisco at a light post, tried and failed to play beer pong, cliff dived.... whew, and oodles more. good gracious i love me some summer time. 

i bet you're waiting for my super philosophical part of the blog that always wows your mind and you become instantly impressed with how my parents raised me and the education i was given....? yes? not to worry fellow appreciates of writing, here goes. 

my sister and i were sitting on her bed the other night, discussing death and life and how to put it into words that actually make sense of the feelings your experiencing. we came to this conclusion, we aren't crying/sad for the actual person who passed away, as much as we are crying/sad for the things that will no longer happen due to such person's absence.

for example. Bob Mathews was my grandpa, my best friend, one of the main reasons i exist today. sweet water's fifth bar stool from the right will not occupy him on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays anymore because he died, the squirrels on woodhaven drive in denton, texas will not get tasty treats from his back porch anymore because he died, denton country hamburger will not receive a frequent increase in their daily sales because he won't go in and buy his granddaughter lunch, a coke, AND ice cream, all without her mom knowing, because he died. progressive insurance will not receive emails in his ridiculously large font and perfect grammar because he died. eleven grandkids will no longer receive the most boring and insensitive birthday cards that are made interesting and sweet by a birthday check, because he died. 

you see? i don't cry because Bob Mathews no longer exists, i cry because the things he did that made him exist, can no longer be done.

i never even thought about the death of my grandparents as a child, it isn't something that crosses your small realm of reality, and even as i got older and ventured into the real world and my horizons of reality became larger and more clear, death was never something in the path or line of sight... and then all the sudden it hits you, literally like a slap across the face. and grandparents are different, different than the death of a mom, or dad, or sibling or best friend, and something i can't begin to possibly fathom, but i never thought it would frequently affect my life the way it did. 

okay team, HERE is where the moral of the story/ahhh gotcha moment comes in, at least it did for me. the continuing thought of being sad about the things that can no longer happen because someone doesn't exist, is to make sure you live a life full of things that keep on existing after you no longer walk this earth. build a life of physical, emotional, and most importantly spiritual existtations (i just made that word up, pronounced "exist-tations") of yourself. plant a tree, write a book, carve a chair, embody a scripture, start an organization, do something, that even though your small time on this earth came to a close, people can look at what you did while you existed, and a) rejoice about the fact that you did indeed exist and ultimately b) praise the creator/author of it all. 

can you tell i'm still on my chose life kick? by the way, i lost my life charm at the beach, my mom suggested that meant my life was going to end soon, i hope not, i still have many a things to accomplish before my existence is up. 

long time since i've written. long post. long life to live. 

be back soon. 

ps: Jordan Dodson, i apologize for my plethora of grammatical errors, for some reason the thoughts in my head are never grammatically correct. 

schools out. for. the. summer. 

unless you have to/get to take accounting 1... then its only out till 9 am June 6th. womp womp. 

i think my next post will be a bucket list, although, i would like to come up with a new name... list of things to do before you "kick the bucket" sounds not only incredibly southern and possibly somewhat red neck, but also eludes to a negative thought on all the things you want to accomplish before ending your life... "all the things you accomplish" is a pretty big feat to a) overcome and b) have the idea/goal to actually do the overcoming... not negative at all. 

choose life. thats my new filter.

"this day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses... now choose life, so that you and your children may live..." deuteronomy 30:19

 

In college, you come to learn, appreciate, and crave; the weekend. Saturday and Sunday become anticipated days of rest and pleasure... so was the plot of my weekend. 

After a run in with politics, in which I constantly chose to open my rather large passionately one sided mouth, I found this sign while driving. It doesn't surprise me, I do live in the southern bible belt where sweet tea, hospitality, and Ralph Lauren Polo's make appearances almost as much as "ya'll" and "do not plan anything on that Sunday, it's football season". 

It totally caught me off guard, then caught me in trouble because I realized I had come to a complete stop on a very busy farm road heading to south Flower Mound. I had realized previously, post opening my mouth for another redundant political debacle, that peoples political views have now become personal. No longer is it what's best for America, or strictly a political ideology. I share a strong belief regarding pro-life because it is something close to me. My fellow Democratic friends share a strong belief in the new healthcare bill because it is something that will benefit them directly, thus making it personal.  

So. bottom line, and hopefully something that will zip up my strongly opinionated loosely speaking tongue, don't attack someones political beliefs without the understanding that you too are attacking something personal, which is much more hurtful. 

But this picture made me smile, then gave me a heavy heart. This is where my political beliefs stand. 

On a much happier note, I was given the privilege of attending a sweet friend's wedding shower... something that my family, my best friends, and I have been anticipating for quite some time. 

I have been ridiculously blessed in so many ways with the presence of the Evans family in my life . Memories I can't even begin to count, lessons I am grateful to have learned together, growing pains that would have been much more painful without the Evans sweet family. AND NOW AMY AND REAGAN ARE GETTING MARRIED! :) What a story of God's faithfulness and sovereign plan. Dear Jesus, thank you for letting me be able to be on the sidelines, watching Your will and pure love for Your children play out in such a glorifying manner. Amen.

But seriously, all that business they tell you as a young girl about protecting your heart, waiting for the right one, letting Jesus be in the middle of your relationship, and trusting God to bring the right guy.. I never really bought into it.. but Amy proved me wrong.. and is now walking down the isle of with one of the most superb men I have ever known. It's a love story. 

Lastly, no sorority girls weekend is complete with out a Greek event. Duh. Thanks Corey Sadler for taking me to your Zeta Chi Beta Formal, despite my man like ability to eat a large amount of food. Twas fun, and entertaining. Westin Stonebriar is beautiful, and lesson learned; if you cut your toe open on a water slide, milk it for all its worth, you may get a free hotel room. What a fun experience. 

And that my goal this year, experience. Life is too short to collect material things (except designer shoes), and waste it on non-productive emotions and words. Chose the experience and build the memory. 

And after a rather long and drawn out post, the weekend is over, Global Industries is calling my name, and there are four more days till next weekend. 

I always said I would never blog... blog is such an odd word... for some reason it reminds me of a large, green, slimy monster...

But I'm glad I was swept away by the wonderful world of technology. Alas, it is far to enticing to resist. 

Here goes.