Oy.

So, I got a new wheelchair in April. Since April, there have been 12, YES, TWELVE service calls for repairs on the chair. Thankfully, they've all been a warranty issue, but still.

So, last night, I am having dinner with my friend, Sissy, and as we are leaving, minding our own business and what not, my chair makes this HORRIBLE screeching sound, and a loud snapping sound. Oh, shit. THAT cannot be good! Several people get out their cell phones, and start looking around for anything that might have come disconnected. No luck. Everything is still connected to where it should be connected, yet my joystick is lit up like a Christmas tree. There is a little picture of a wrench, which is the polite way of my chair letting me know that, well, I am SOL.

The problem? Well, I gotta get home. I am immobile without my one-seater cadillac, as I like to call it. Help me, Jesus. 

So, we call the fire department. Thankfully, this time, my ass is not exposed. They come. They're not cute, by the way. Cute firemen only come to the rescue in the movies. These men are looking at my chair the way new fathers look at a diaper that they have to put on their child for the first time. Yep. They are clueless. Then, one of them speaks! "Well, this light right here is flashing. So, there is some sort of problem." I start applauding. I inform him that he is a quick study.

So, they help me to my car...but they can't help me once I get to my apartment, because, well, that is out of their jurisdiction. Fantastic. Really. That's just outstanding. My friend just kind of rolls her eyes a bit, but then she follows me home. Thankfully, I have an old chair as a back up. She just has to get the dead chair out of my car, and the back up chair from my bedroom, outside, and into my car so that I can navigate. I am seriously so thankful for the old standby. Without it, I would be up a creek, not even being able to go to the bathroom. I have been down that road. I do NOT wish to revisit that avenue ANY TIME SOON.

So, as I wait for a new motor to be ordered and put on my chair, I am so, so thankful that I was not by myself when this happened. Jesus provided. He definitely heard my heart's plea, and I am thankful.

Ugh, NO!

So, I try not to be overly critical of people, and I have a hard time remembering that everyone is made in God's image when I place my two cents in to the opinion jar, but some things are just too easy.

I was watching Miss America last night, as I have done EVERY year since I was a little girl. So, tonight, I kept with the tradition. I was really underwhelmed by the talent portion of the competition. There was a violin player. Now, don't get me wrong, I LOVE the violin. It really is my favorite instrument. I mean, it can really be the part that tugs at the soul when it comes to music. Kansas' Dust In The Wind. The Beatles' Eleanor Rigby. Hell, even Celine Dion had a song that had a powerful violin portion in it. I love the violin.  Miss Mississippi played some opus on the violin, and it straight up sounded....well, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard to me.

Then there were people, who, God love 'em, have been told that they have beautiful singing voices. Someone needs to tell the majority that they have been deceived. They don't. Unless tone deaf is a talent, (IS IT?!) the vast majority of singers fell flat. And sharp.

But, perhaps the most head scratching moment was when Miss Colorado got up to do her talent in her  nursing uniform. Now, don't get me wrong, I love nurses. My mom is a nurse. A super nurse, at that. I am not making light of her career. But, I dunno. A monologue? Can wine drinking be considered a talent, then? Cause I'd be the most talented person anyone had ever SEEN.

Then came the interview portion. Man, some of those answers....I don't envy being in their position. I get that it is nerve wracking, and I'd probably fall on my face with some of the questions asked....BUT, some of those answers were just....uh uh. Miss Alabama, however, (who finished fifth overall) had the most intelligent answer to the question asked of her.

Miss America sure has changed over the years. I wouldn't necessarily say it changed for the better, except for the fact that women of color are recognized as being beautiful, too.

Where were YOU?

In college, I always slept with my tv on. I did this partly to drowned out dorm noise, but also to be able to watch the news, and catch the weather in the mornings, so I'd have a clue of how to dress for the day. 

September 11, 2001, I had a math class at 9:15. I had overslept, and woke up at 8:40. I was frantically trying to get out of bed, get dressed, and get my rear in gear. 

And then I saw it. Boom. This plane slammed into the side of the WTC. At first, I thought it was some movie promo the Today show was showing, to alert us viewers of who would be sitting down next with Katie Couric. 

But then a four letter word at the top left of my screen told me otherwise. The word? LIVE. I literally said, "What the Hell?!" Chills ran down my spine. Dear God, No. The images of the buildings on fire, the plane slamming into the WTC, the people jumping, it was all too much. It truly was like a nightmare, only it was not anything from which any of us could awaken. 

I didn't make it to math class. Before I knew it, my mom was knocking on my door. We embraced so tightly at that moment, and I cried for so many that were not afforded the same opportunity. I'll never forget.

Then, the following day, there was a ceremony of rememberence. Man, it was hot. (I posted the following on my facebook page yesterday, but wanted to give a more expanded recount here, if you're interested)...

I still remember where I was, what I was doing, what I was thinking. So. Horrific. So. Tragic. I also still remember when this picture was taken. I remember the very words that someone said that broke my heart. Those words: The BCM campus minister got up to speak. He was emotional, as was everyone else. He stated that he was awakened by his little boy the night before crying out for him because he had had a bad dream, and then he said it stopped him in his tracks when he thought of SO MANY who were crying out for their parents, who were no longer there to comfort them. I mean, even still, I get choked up thinking about it.  So, there I am, grieving for our country, and this heavy set man with a beard taps me on the shoulder. I glance to my left, he's flashing his badge from the Anniston Star, and gives me a form to fill out, giving him permission to use whatever photo he just took. I cautiously accept, printing my name very clearly: 


First name: J-U-L-I-E (hyphen) A-N-N-E


Last name: D-E-N-T-I-C-I.

I give my hometown information, etc., and he goes on his merry way. I then get out Zack Morris (version 2.0) Nokia cell phone, and call my dad. You see, here's the deal: My dad and I were not on the best of speaking terms for about a year and a half.  So, the fact that I called him was huge. God moves, man. God moves.  "So, I'm not completely sure, but I think I'm going to be in the paper..." His response? "Don't EVER sign something, unless you're 100 percent sure what you're signing." Then, he said, "Well, what paper?! I want to get every copy they print!" So, sure enough, a few days (maybe the following?) later, there's my mug in the paper. Thankfully it wasn't too much of an ugly cry moment (it easily could have been. I don't cry gracefully. At. All. People vacate the premises when I cry)...but, wait...does that say "Sentici?!" It does! Hmm. I get REALLY annoyed when people get my name wrong. I am so used to people mispronouncing my last name, that, really, I have stopped correcting people. But, if you jack up the spelling? Yeah, no. It bugs me. Julie bugs me. My name is Julie-Anne. If you ask me my name, and I tell you "Julie-Anne," then, damn it, that is what I SHOULD be called. The only person I really allow to call me Julie is my mother, because, well, she gave me life. She also NAMED me, so there really is no excuse, in my opinion, but that's a different battle for a different day. 


So, not only did 9-11 bring unity among us, it also provided me an alias. Just a little bit of humor for you on the 14th anniversary of a sobering, tragic event in our Great Nation's history. I am Julie-Anne Sentici, and I will #nevergorget.

Here We Go....again.

So, three years ago, I composed a blog that chronicled my journey to California. Apparently lots of people read that blog. Many people enjoyed that blog, and if you are one of those people, then thank you.

Periodically over the last few years, I have been asked, "Hey, so, what are you blogging about these days? When I respond with, "Nothing, really." The response is always, "...but you write so well." Well, again, if you said that, thank you. I appreciate the compliment.

Thinking back, I have never cosistantly written in journal form. I mean, when I was younger, and I would get a journal or something, I would be all sorts of convinced that I was going to be the next Anne Frank. Someone would find my journal after days gone by, and publish it. Yep. But, that'd only last for a few days. I never really felt like I had a whole lot to say. Nothing of interest, anyway.

When I was 16, I decided to make a teal colored five star notebook my secret keeper. I still have that notebook. When I look back at it, I just think, My God, there is no denying that I was SUCH a sophomore. To a 16 year old, everything is SUCH a big deal. Looking back, though? Not so much. I survived math class. That cute boy isn't so cute anymore. That party I was grounded from attending? Well, I probably didn't miss much anyway. :)

When I was in college, I kept a blog. Seems like EVERYONE did at the time. Xanga was the place to  be, man. So, I'd chronicle the goings on of my life. I actually kept with it for maybe two years, and then....well, it disapperead into the great unknown of the interwebs.

So, really, aside from my journey to California, I don't feel like anything is earth shattering. My life has been in a bit of a spin cycle, too. Living that has been hard enough. I don't really feel like writing about it would be a good thing. People wouldn't wanna read it, thats for sure. :)

So, that brings us to now. The title of this blog is kind of...well, gloomy. That's pretty much my prospective. I am trying to navigate the storm in my dingy. Storms can't last forever. I will continue to  trudge along. If the disciples made it through theirs, Jesus will bring me through mine...however long that is.

So, bear with me. Some posts may be gloomy. But, they say things are their darkest right before light comes, right?