Holly Ann Fisher

A new assignment I added this semester is the creation of a class blog in which all the students have access to the blog and post journalism-related comments. They procrastinated for two weeks before one was finally brave enough to post something (and I gave a stern warning about not doing all five required posts the last day of class — that would make Professor Fisher very angry.)

So check it out here. But please don’t post any comments — it’s for the students only. Enjoy! 🙂

Even though I have no children of my own, I can imagine hearing the doctors tell you that your 2-year-old son has cancer must be like a like a bowling bowl hitting the pit of your stomach. Your eyes burn, your throat constricts. Surely, life is not this cruel.

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When Clint and I moved to Charleston, we attended a “newcomers” event at the Air Force Base. We happened to sit next to another couple with a baby girl about 6 months old. We exchanged some pleasantries and I didn’t really expect to see them again. We all ended up at the same Nazarene Church a couple weeks later. I believe God wanted us to meet again.

The four of us became friends and a year later we even bought their house when they moved to a larger one. They expanded their family with a son and several months later were relocated to an Air Force Base in Florida. They had another son, Micah, now 2 years old. A few weeks ago, we received word that Micah has an aggressive form of cancer. He is undergoing chemo and treatment in Nashville. It’s a challenging time for this young family, to say the least.

Every day I ask God for a miracle. I ask God to be with our friends, with their older children and with Micah. I can’t even fathom how you all explain this to a 2-year-old. I ask God to give them strength, comfort and just to wrap His arms around them. I believe in miracles and I believe God is faithful.

Interestingly, I’m attending a Bible study on James, which deals with trials. Trials are a test of our faith and if we aren’t sure how to stand up under a trial, we are to ask God for wisdom.

I pray Nate and Jacque will take comfort in the fact God tells us we are to rejoice in our trials because they will ultimately make us mature and complete in Christ.

If you are so inclined, please pray for Micah and his family. They have created a Web site with updates, so feel free to follow his progress and watch as God works a miracle like only God can.

Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. James 1:12

Last night I actually went to bed and read for about 40 minutes before going to sleep. I haven’t done that in ages. I’ve been reading The Devil Wears Prada since July and my goal is to finish it before Christmas. I have a ton of new books to read, recent purchases from the last two Friends of the Library book sales.

I always swear I won’t buy any more new (or used) books until I read all the books I have.

But when it comes to books, I have zero self control. I’ve always been this way. Ask my mom, who read me storybook after storybook after storybook until she (and I) knew Richard Scary’s Great Steamboat Mystery by heart.

I just love the feel and the smell of books. I love the sound of a new book spine as it cracks up to reveal a host of imaginative treasures. I love escaping into the story, of living someone else’s life if just for a few brief moments.

In fact, I think I might go to bed early tonight and curl up with a good book.

Wanted: A personal assistant to keep me organized, run errands, clean house, cook dinner, buy my lunch, keep my calendar, take dictation for my blog, organize my huge piles of magazines pulling out articles I might like, and jot down reminders when I think “Oh, I need to…” (Actually, don’t jot down reminders, just do them.) Pay: The sheer satisfaction of knowing my life is slightly less stressful.

The real kicker here is that I am an organized person. I’m often complimented on my organizational skills and ability to juggle many tasks as once. But today I realized I had scheduled a focus group with Business Journal readers for a Tuesday morning. Duh – I teach my class at the College of Charleston on Tuesday mornings. I can’t really miss this focus group so I’ll probably cancel class (the students will be sooo disappointed).

Once I realized what I done, I also realized I am OVER BOOKED BIG TIME. The solution is to find a personal assistant willing to work for free or eliminate some commitments from my life. Actually I may need the assistant to help me eliminate some of those commitments. Any takers?

“Snip”

In a nanosecond I knew I made a mistake. Bangs. I haven’t had serious bangs in at least seven years, but utter hair frustration will make one do stupid things. So last weekend I told my hairdresser to give me a few bangs. At first she styled them at an angle, and by angle, I mean they were obstructing the view from my left eye. Not exactly practical for someone who spends all day reading and writing. So she cut them a little shorter, styled my hair and I decided, well, maybe they looked OK.

Of course once it came time for me to style them myself, all bets were off. I’ve received several compliments from friends and co-workers, including at least three people who told me I looked younger. Surely, that can’t be bad.

I’m still not sold, though. Maybe a few more days with my new do will convince me. If not, I guess I’ll start the growing out process.

It seems I’ve come out of every decision lately completely second-guessing myself. I decided last week to accept a new position within my company. Essentially I’ll be our Web editor (exact title yet to be determined). We are launching a new Web site in the coming months and expanding our e-mail products. We’re also launching a statewide business magazine, which will most certainly have a Web site component. This is also a brand new position for my company, so I’ll really be breaking ground.

I want to broaden my skills and make myself a more marketable journalist. After all, so much of our industry is headed down the digital path. And I have a real interest in learning some new technology — video streaming, podcasts, etc. Plus, I can make a mark for myself. I’ll have a chance to build a new position and shape the future of the company. Big stuff.

I gave the position a great deal of thought. I prayed about it and no negatives came to light. I couldn’t think of a reason not to take the job. But now … I think I’m just doubting myself and my abilities. New ventures are scary. And yet, I can’t help but wonder if I made the right decision.

I pray about these things and yet don’t always hear a clear answer from God. (Skywriting would be so very helpful, Lord.) Or maybe I’m just running at such a fast pace, God is talking and I don’t hear Him. Or maybe he needs more time to decide, and I’m working on my own timeline, which is NOW.

Several months into my 30s, I find myself at a crossroads. I’m making a job change, I’m teaching at the college level (could that lead to a career change down the road?) and I’m pondering my future with the Society of Professional Journalists board of directors (my term as regional director ends next fall and I don’t intend to run again). Should I pursue higher office? It’s a four-year commitment and a heady responsibility.

The next three to four years also seem to be the critical time to decide whether to have children. This decision takes the prize for most complicated and difficult. If the answer is “start a family,” major life changes have to happen and my career may have to take a backseat. If the answer is “don’t start a family,” will I wake up 20 years from now wishing I could look forward to grandchildren?

I’ve made a lot of important decisions in my life: moving to Texas, marrying Clint, pursuing a master’s degree. And all these decisions enhanced my life in ways I can’t even describe. I made those decisions and never looked back.

Yet those decisions came at different stages of my life and now it seems I’m faced with several important, life-changing decisions all at the same time. And yet, it’s possible I’m just thinking too much. I’m spending too much time analyzing and maybe the best decision is “just do it.” The trick, though, is figuring out what “it” is.

Whew! What a week!

Monday was a holiday, so in theory it should have been a good week — quick and painless. Instead, it was exhausting. Not to mention the week started on a sad note with the death of Steve Irwin, better known as the Crocodile Hunter.

I had several large projects at work and ran into some frustrating problems. By the time, Friday rolled around I was zapped.

And, with our busy schedules, we haven’t done much to our house. While the upstairs is much better and certainly livable, the downstairs is still a mess. And Clint has a business trip this week so our progressed will be slowed.

The only saving grace — the television is hooked up so I can escape reality for a few minutes a day.

CHICAGO — Clint and I were addicted to the first season of “The Apprentice” with Donald Trump. The apprentice who was ultimately hired — Bill Rancic — opted to oversee Trump’s latest project, the 78-story Trump International Hotel & Tower here in Chicago. Turns out it’s under construction just down from my hotel.

CHICAGO — Yesterday I arrived in Chicago for the Society of Professional Journalists Convention & National Journalism Conference. I always enjoy spending time in big cities–they have so much energy and life. I love the skyscapers and hustle and bustle.

It’s been busy so far with workshops and board meetings but I took a few minutes this evening to walk on a couple streets near the hotel. I snapped a few photos I’m posting here — enjoy!

Last night while standing in line at Atlanta Bread Co., I noticed a young woman sitting at a table.

“Doesn’t that girl work at Lowe’s?” I said.

Clint looked at her. “You’re right, I think she does,” he said.

Clearly, I have been spending way too much time at Lowe’s if I can recognize cashiers in a non-Lowe’s setting. This can’t be good.

We are still in full-blown renovations but starting to see progress. Almost the entire second floor is painted (except the room over the garage and the master bathroom). We’re still in discussion about what to do with those. I’ve painted a ton of trim and door frames. Clint, who has boundless amounts of energy, will stay up into the wee hours painting the walls.

Today’s chores include taking down doors for cleaning and painting and beginning the flooring process. We’re hoping to have a significant amount of the second floor done by the end of the weekend. I certainly hope so – it will be nice to have some sense of normalcy.

This morning I brewed coffee in my kitchen.

You’re thinking, “OK, no big deal. People do that every morning.” But for weeks I’ve felt homeless. Despite staying with family and friends who are like family, it’s just not the same as having your own space. And since we closed on our house more than two weeks, it’s been nothing but renovations. Even in my own home, I felt homeless.

Last night, I unpacked several boxes of kitchen items, filling cupboards and drawers with utensils, plates, glasses, cookware, sandwich baggies, dish towels — the usual mix of kitchen items.

In one of the very last boxes, I found the coffee pot and the coffee grinder. So while the rest of the house still looks like a construction site, the kitchen is starting to look a little more normal. We even moved our patio furniture into the eating area so we would have a place to sit.

So, this morning (I took the day off from work), I sit at my patio table with my laptop on my lap and a view of the spacious backyard. The construction site is at my back and a steaming mug of coffee sits on the table and for a few moments, I’ll pretend my house isn’t a wreck and life is normal– all this because this morning I brewed coffee in my kitchen.

I have taken a break from the exhausting home renovations process to announce that we are officially living in our new home. I use the term “living” loosely.

We’re really living in a construction site with a bed and some clothes. We closed on our house two weeks ago, and in that relatively short period of time, we have:
–Removed the popcorn ceilings (a messy undertaking that only should be done if you don’t mind destroying everything).
–Removed ALL carpet and carpet padding (don’t even get me started about what you’ll find under your carpet pad).
–Removed all drywall from master bedroom. Yes, removed all drywall. It was the only way to remove the granite paint (think sandpaper attached to walls).
–Put in new drywall (sheetrock is heavy).
–Used a power drill. OK, Clint was experienced with the power drill, but this was my first foray into power tools.
–Wore a nail apron (another new experience for me, but I thought I looked cute – like Pamela Anderson when she was the Tool Time girl on Home Improvement)
–Cleaned the entire gross kitchen and put shelf paper in all cabinets.
–Painted pantry.
–Started priming ceilings and walls for paint.

We’re making a little progress and falling into bed completely exhausted each night. Stay tuned …

Clint and I spent last week in his hometown of Mulberry, Ark. Population: about 1,600. He grew up on a farm, where his parents still raise turkeys, cattle and Yorkshire Terriers. They also have an assortment of other dogs, horses and a lamb. He, of course, loves a trip back to Arkansas where life runs at a considerably slower pace than our everyday lives in Charleston.

I, on the other hand, get a little stir crazy after a couple days and insist on a trip to the mall in Fort Smith (about 25 minutes away) and a White Chocolate Mocha from Starbucks. Ahh, civilization.

While in town, we spent some time just driving around. For a couple of years Clint attended the community college in Fort Smith–now a branch of the University of Arkansas. So we drove by the campus and he pointed out new buildings and talked about how things had changed. We also drove by the place where he used to race remote control cars (now closed). We stopped by a used bookstore (still open!), Snooper’s Barn, where Clint spent plenty of time buying used paperbacks as a child.

We even had lunch at the Pizza Parlor, a local pizza joint Clint insisted has the best thin crust pizza with chopped Canadian bacon. The place hadn’t changed a bit, he said.

When you move away from your hometown, you tend to miss the little things. And you tend to reminisce about every experience, every detail with a rosy vision clouded with the happy hazy of time. I do the same thing. When I go home to Ohio, I want to eat at my favorite pizza place. I want to drive by Ohio University. I want to shop in my favorite stores. I want to remember “the good ‘ol days.”

It’s tough to go back and see what has changed, so we hang on to those memories that have stayed the same. And if we’re comforted by a slice of pizza that’s been the same for 20 years, so be it.

On our trip to Arkansas Saturday … our 16-hour trip … we passed a sign for a town with probably the greatest name ever: Toad Suck.

I couldn’t make this up, people. I almost stopped along Interstate 40W in Arkansas to take a picture. I asked Clint if there was any possible way we could make a detour through Toad Suck. I was quickly calculating the number of T-shirts and coffee mugs I would need for friends and co-workers. Unfortunately, it would have been a two-hour (one-way) detour on our already painfully long trip (did I mention it was a 16-hour drive?).

It almost would have been worth it. I may still go to the Web site and order a T-shirt for Toad Suck Daze, a music, food and arts festival.

If you’re like me, you just have to know how the town got its name. According to toadsuck.org:

Long ago, steamboats traveled the Arkansas River when the water was at the right depth. When it wasn’t, the captains and their crew tied up to wait where the Toad Suck Lock and Dam now spans the river.

While they waited, they refreshed themselves at the local tavern there, to the dismay of the folks living nearby, who said: “They suck on the bottle ’til they swell up like toads.” Hence, the name Toad Suck.

That’s perfect. You just can’t make that up.

We finally closed on our house Friday and now we’re officially homeless. The buyers were a father and son. The father is the primary owner and the son looks to be about 24. He seemed like an incredibly cocky jerk, and I feel certain the flowers I have so lovingly cared for the last five years will die a painful death in the South Carolina heat.

*Sigh*

But, I can’t dwell on things I can’t change, so I’ll dwell on things I can: like the new house. Come July 19, we’ll be doing all sort of home improvements and I can start planting in a new yard. Clint even suggested he might build me a greenhouse next summer and I’m not going to let him forget it.

Unfortunately, we’re homeless right now. This week we’re visiting Clint’s family in Arkansas and then we’ll be staying with friends when we return. (Might I add these friends are angels to let two humans and two dogs stay with them along with a ton of junk that wouldn’t fit in our storage unit — thank you!)

I’m just happy to be done with this first phase of moving. Next: closing on new home.

We have spent a small fortune on boxes, bubble wrap and packing tape. Now, we’re renting a storage unit because we can’t move into our new house until July 19 and we need to rent a moving truck. We may need a second mortgage to pay for the move to the new house.

AND, the buyer of our house is insisting we pay for all the repairs that showed up in the inspection. Two of them in particular we really shouldn’t have to cover (they’re nothing major) and initially said we wouldn’t.

But the buyer is intimidated by home improvements, his real estate told our real estate agent. Is he kidding? He’s buying a house and is intimidated by home improvements. Being a homeowner is nothing but home improvements.

So, a tiny evil piece of me hopes something really big breaks two weeks after he moves in–maybe it will involve a plumber, an electrician and a general contractor. OK, OK, that’s probably wrong of me but I can’t help it–the profits from the sale of our home are being nickeled and dimed by a plethora of greedy people and all sorts of mysterious closing “fees.”