Dancing in the dark

Pull in the driveway, push the button on my garage door opener, wait for it to roll up into an open position, pull in, hit the button again to close.

Flip on the kitchen light, open the freezer, pull out tonight's frozen pizza dinner, preheat the oven.

Turn on the bathroom light, turn on the water and wait for it to get warm, wash my face, turn off the water, turn off the light.

Last night when I got home I went about electrically-powered business as usual. It wasn't until Scott and I walked into the kitchen and noticed the green glowing numbers of the oven were absent that something was off. (Another sign should've been that the kitchen was dark because I have a bad habit of leaving a trail of lights turned on behind me whenever I leave a room.)

At first we decided to wait it out. It wasn't storming and there was no obvious reason for the power to be out, so surely it was a fluke and would be on in a few minutes. After all, there was Arkansas basketball to be watched. After 45 minutes of waiting and dwindling sunlight, we decided that we had to acknowledge our growling stomachs.

The frozen pizza on the counter that had once been waiting on the oven to preheat now found itself outside on the grill. Thankfully we'd just bought charcoal on Saturday.

Another thing I was extremely thankful for were our two little flashlights. Attached to the ribbon of our Christmas presents a couple of years ago, these little guys and a gifted candle were our only light sources. So, thanks to Kim and Floyd! 

We ate our pizza by candlelight while my dad texted Arkansas/Tennessee scores to us. Our minds wandered to the fridge that had just been stocked with fresh groceries 10 minutes before the power went out. It was like a ticking time bomb. How long did we have? Thanks again to Scott's mom, we learned that as long as we didn't open it, we had 10-12 hours before things turned sour — literally. However, being told not to open the fridge is like being told not to think of polar bears. You think of polar bears, and you want to open the fridge. There's a world of wonderful just behind those doors and you can't have it. Narnia could be in there for all you know.

We spent the rest of the evening playing cards with a flashlight hanging from the light-less light fixture, serenaded by sirens from the streets. Between the darkness and the sirens, you would've thought we were in some kind of post-apocalyptic movie. There were probably zombies begging for brains outside our window, but we didn't look.

We were in bed by 8:30 — something I haven't done since "Home Improvement" was still on TV and the end of the show marked bedtime. Luckily it wasn't super cold, but the house was beginning to be a bit chilly, and being covered in blankets sounded like a good place to be — despite the fact I was already wearing leggings, sweatpants, and a hoodie. I'm pretty sure I was out by 9:15. Scott's lamp on his nightstand clicked on at midnight, our cue to make sure the oven wouldn't continue its interrupted preheating from seven hours earlier. 

This morning, I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that when I flipped on the switch in the bathroom — something I'd attempted several times the night before with no luck, even directing my flashlight to the wall to find the useless switch — light accompanied it. I may or may not have flipped on a bunch of others just because I could.

(And, yes, we did sing a lot of Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark" last night. Courteney Cox dancing not included.)

What I'm loving Wednesday

I always love when Nicki does her What I'm Loving Wednesday posts, so I thought I'd follow suit today. It's nice to give yourself a mid-week shot in the arm, especially when the past two days seem to have lasted for years.

I'm loving Tuesday night Bunco nights. When I first signed up last year, I rolled my eyes because it sounded like something I'd give my mom grief for. But from the first time we met up, I was hooked — not just because you get an awesome prize even if you lost (which I do a lot). I've loved getting to talk and laugh with 15 lovely ladies every month. Plus, when else do you get to dress up for a tea party?

I'm loving pomegranate green tea. Since I kicked coffee to the curb (really just caffeine in general), I've been searching for an acceptable warm breakfast drink substitute. I feel like I'm doing myself a favor when I drink it because I don't add cream and sugar to it like my coffee and doesn't send me into crazy jitters by 10 a.m.

I'm loving that spring is almost here. I'm not a big fan of winter, and once the excitement of Christmas wears off and we're stuck with two or three more months of it, I have little drive to perk up. Plus, this year I'm armed with my allergy shots, so spring won't be as miserable as it has been in the past.

I'm loving how God is working through difficult circumstances to show his love and how unbelievably powerful prayer is. I hope that I can carry this with me and never pray feeling that it will not change the outcome.

I'm loving the new online version of Harding magazine! (Shameless plug.) Really, though, you should go flip through it (because you can in this new online format). It's so neat to see our hard work in a new format. Fret not, though, the magazine will still pop up in your mailboxes like always. My grandmother loves having it to put on her coffee table. Note: If you're reading this on an iPad (Hi, Kim!), you won't be able to view the magazine because iPads don't support Flash. Sorry.

Bits and pieces: Words with Friends (my username is JenH829), this painfully adorable French girl telling a story, my Bath and Body Works' lavender and chamomile candle, this "UP!" house (in real life!), Cookie Basket lunches, this "Hey Jude" flow chart, and that it's finally Cadbury Egg season!

"Epic" fail

Dear world,

The time has come for me to address a very pressing issue. You've got to stop saying everything is "epic."

I just can't take it anymore. Epic is the new "awesome," a hyperbolic expression about something which is nice but not nearly as nice as you are proclaiming it to be. A taco. Twilight. Something on YouTube. Your shoes. Concert tickets. Diet Coke. These things are not, as you continue to say, "epic."

It's like Inigo Montoya says, "I do not think it means what you think it means."

What does it mean then? Well, gather 'round Aunt Jen, and we'll find out together. To find it in the dictionary, epic is "a long narrative poem telling of a hero's deeds" or "constituting or having to do with or suggestive of a literary epic." The Iliad, War and Peace and even "The Godfather" movies — these things are epic in its rightful definition. You can see where getting "Letters from Juliet" from Netflix in the mail doesn't quiet cover it.

So please, proceed with caution while you throw the word "epic" around. I'm looking at you, Charlie Sheen.

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Searcy living

If you would have told freshman-year Jennifer that she would live in Searcy after graduation, she would've laughed in your face. I guess freshman-year Jennifer was a little rude. But, in all seriousness, my plan was to get that diploma and march right back to Nashville where I was safe and comfortable. I met a boy, though, and they tend to throw a wrench into some plans, no matter how worth it they are.

So here I am, three years on the other side of graduation, and I cannot think of a place I'd rather call "home." Granted, Searcy lacks some things. I'm an hour away from Target, Friday night dinners out revolve around three usual restaurants, and I'm pretty sure I got frostbite in the movie theater. 

But whenever Scott and I bemoan these shortcomings, comparing them to more glamourous places, I say, "I wish we could just pick everyone up and plop them there."

Because what Searcy lacks in stuff, it absolutely makes up in heart. I am surrounded by some of the most caring, servant-hearted people in my day-to-day. A place where, if you're sick, have a baby or lose a family member, you've got dinner lined up for the next month quicker than you can say "casserole;" where whatever heartache you face also breaks the hearts of those around you; and where you are never without a hug, listening ear, word of encouragement or prayer. I am amazed at how God is working and active through his people.

God has been helping me realize all of this lately, especially this week. Whether it's how everyone has rallied around a sick baby boy and his family or in a simple interview for the magazine, I cannot help but be overwhelmed with gratitude for the people I come in contact with.

Is it perfect? No. But it's home. And I'm extremely thankful that I get to say that.

Day 30: My favorite song this time last year

For Valentine's Day last year, Scott gave me "Let It Roll: Songs by George Harrison." It was apparent that someone had been snooping my Amazon wishlist. Or he just knows me really well. Or he knows me well enough to know to snoop my Amazon wishlist. Needless to say, I loved it.

It quickly found its way into my car. Since my morning commute is a measly six minutes, I feel that I've really got to make the one and a half songs I listen to count. I played "My Sweet Lord" at least four times a day — to work, to lunch, back from lunch, and going home — for a solid two months as a result.

And there we have it, the last of the 30 song challenge. I hope I haven't annoyed you with my constant posting to Facebook or awkward walks down middle school memory lane.

Fun fact: The Beatles or a member of the Beatles make up 17% of my 30 songs. 

Day 29: A song from my childhood

Scott likes to play "Name That Artist" with me using iTunes song clips. It's not so much that he enjoys testing musical knowledge but that he loves to see how little I know. A few weeks ago, Scott had iTunes pulled up on his iPad and decided he was going to test me on love songs since it was near Valentine's Day. I definitively (and embarrassingly) dominated the country portion. 

90s country is my specialty. That's all I listened to as a kid. My favorite country music singer was Collin Raye. I would listen to his cassette tape in my Walkman on the bus. When I started dating Scott, his stock increased immensely when I learned that he was from Collin Raye's hometown. What are the odds? Scott doesn't see this as nearly as impressive as I do, but, then again, who's the country music "Name That Artist" champion? Yeah, that's right.

So, a song from my childhood would have to be "That's My Story" by Collin Raye because I just thought this was the coolest song ever.

Days 26-28: Nearing the end

While I was certain that this year would be my year to beat Scott in our Oscar battle, I lost by one. Scott assures me that to come that close after all of his years of Oscar watching is a success, much like it's "an honor just to be nominated." I should've stuck with Randy Newman. I mean, the man has made two appearances in my 30 song challenge, yet I went against him.

Anyway, let's move along to the weekend's songs, shall we?

#26: A song you can play on an instrument

Back in the day, I played flute in middle school and junior high band. I was so small when I began that I had to have a special kind of flute for my little arms. It looked like this.

Anyway, it's been a long time since I picked up the ol' flute (mainly because mom sold it because it'd been a long time since I'd picked up the ol' flute), but in my prime I could play many a pep band favorite and a few movie scores — not to mention my scales and arpeggios. This was my favorite though. 

Theme from "Jurassic Park"

(Not to brag, but I can also play "Hot Cross Buns" on the recorder. So there's that, too.)

#27: A song that you wish you could play

This is difficult because I often find myself extremely envious of the musical skills of others. Not in a covetous, "I'll cut you" sort of way, just a "Can I get a sprinkling of that?" sort of thing. I blame Mumford & Sons for my recent desire to play the banjo and Ben Folds for my longing to play the piano half as well as he.

"The Cave" by Mumford & Sons

"Still Fighting It" by Ben Folds

#28: A song that makes you feel guilty

For this song, maybe "guilty" is the wrong word, but Dave Matthews Band's "Funny the Way It Is" definitely makes me feel more aware. I know I have a blessed life — an easy life by most accounts — and it's easy to lose perspective on how difficult others may have it and what we take for granted. I look in a well-stocked refrigerator and gripe that there's nothing to eat. I complain about getting up early and driving a few minutes to work when others get up much earlier to travel much farther to do much more demanding work than I do.