Not literally. [That would be weird and scientifically impossible. But mainly weird.]

But by the magic of modern technology, I can do it. Sorta.

As you know, I blog five or so times a week. I tweet five or so times a day.

And yet somehow I still have more to say.

And more music to share. And recipes. And thoughts. And jokes. [I love jokes.]

And I’m trying to be a “real” author and people say that “real” authors send newsletters. [And they have books in stores, I know. I'm working on it. Sheesh.]

So, click this button and sign up. The first one will be the July edition, which means sometimes on or before July 31.

There will be some freebies, by the way, only offered to newsletter folks. Not that I’m bribing you, I’m just saying.

[By the way, how well do you respond to bribes? Just good info to have for future reference.]

I went to water aerobics this morning.

And I loved it.

I had been warned by friends [mainly Skip] that it would be me and a bunch of grannies.

I said FALSE. [Cause I'm always right.] I knew my friend Molly was going with me, so I was more inclined to believe that it would be me and Molly… and the grannies.

I put the question out on twitter last night as to whether it would be grannie-ful or not, and most people said yes.

Emily directed me to this post by Megan and it got me all excited. I knew I would probably be the baby of the class, and the only one without ruby red lipstick, but this did not deter me. Nay, it spurred me on.

And this morning did not disappoint.

Sure, 6:45am came early. But when we got to the pool, four or five grannies were already strapped in to their safety belts and doggie-paddling their way to the deep end.

Molly and I started into the pool when we got stopped by another class attender, encouraging us to put on the belts. “You know this whole class is in the deep end, right?”

No, actually, we did not. But boy howdy, four minutes into the traveling bicycle move, we were both mighty glad that we had the belts on. Because water aerobic is TOUGH, y’all. Especially when she offered us the advanced option of standing on TWO separate noodles.

Laugh if you will, but try it sometime. That junk is hard.

So, an hour later, while we stretched out in the shallow end, and Grandma Becky shared about her 2nd place finish in Bridge yesterday, my body actually felt tired. And I realized that I had worked out for a solid 60 minutes and never once thought, “if I walk out now, will anybody notice?”.

Not to get all serious on you, and especially since I don’t really blog about diet/exercise/the size of my pants, I won’t say too much down this path. But I will say that the fact that I enjoyed exercising for an hour speaks VOLUMES to me. And like I just told my roomie Jamie, it’s not the most intense exercise ever, but if I enjoy it and want to keep doing it, by gosh, the angels probably started singing.

Oh, and I may or may not have agreed to be a sub for a Bridge Club.

It seems to be what God keeps saying to me.

“Hang in there, sister. This is part of a beautiful process.”

At this moment, writing this post, I don’t hate process. Usually, I tend to hate process. Because I have a strong distaste for change, for the unknown, and for hard work.

[You're welcome for that bit of ugly truth.]

There is a classic field trip location in Atlanta called the Cyclorama. You pretty much sit in a chair and rotate in a circle, seeing different Civil War scenes painted on the walls. I picture my life like that. So if you were to sit down in the Cyclorama of Annie’s Current Life, every scene shows me in a process:

The plants with the other Annie.

Africa. [Which I promise I have more to say about, but the processing is deep.]

My writing career.

My heart.

All in process. I think that’s why the plants meant so much to me last week. My hands were getting to do something to express the condition of my heart, reminding me that my work on the front end will yield good results on the back end, but not without some waiting in the middle.

Waiting that looks like death.

But it is actually pre-bloom. Very different.

The plants are going to be a short process, I think. Just a practice run in patience. Other things, like my book getting published and on your bookshelf, or me being almost 29 and wanting to get married [yeah, I don't blog about that], those processes feel long. And like death.

But there is just something about those hanging plants. God uses them to whisper hope into my heart. “The flowers will come up.”

God said in Ecclesiastes 3:11 that He makes all things beautiful in His time.

So I don’t doubt that the flowers will come. It’s my ability to be patient that I doubt. But last week I realized that it’s time to hug the process. Do you know what I mean? Not that I have to always love it, but I need to settle into all these stories and let them play out. God has literally FILLED my life with situations that are pre-bloom. Mid-process.

Why now?

Phil Wickham sings “That my heart beats to the rhythm of Your heart…”

I think I can hear that rhythm more clearly in the waiting. At the beginning, my focus is the goal and how to get there. And in the end, my focus is the reward, the completion, the prize.

So it’s here, in the beautiful process, that my heart has the opportunity to sync with His.

So wherever you are today, remember that there is purpose before the blooming begins. In the quiet of the inbetween is an opportunity to lean your head on God’s chest and hear His heart beat a rhythm that, if you listen really close, kinda sounds like “I love you.”

First, because I know you’ve been uber-concerned all weekend, I ended up taking Oreo cupcakes to the party. MUCH easier and MUCH tastier. Some of the recipes in the comments look delicious, so I will be trying them. And don’t you worry, I’m trying those homemade Oreos again. Annie ain’t no quitta. I will make these again and they will be good, darn it. You’ll see.

On to more successful ventures.

I’ve had these two handing pots outside my house since we moved in February. Obviously, that was not the right time to repot them. And, I’m not sure we’ve ever discussed this, but I am NOT GOOD WITH PLANTS.

At all.

I kill them. Easily. And on accident. Every time.

So I’ve been hesitant. But my friend Annie [from here on out refered to as "other Annie" for your sake] has quite the green thumb and I decided that not only did I want to repot these hanging baskets, I wanted to learn about the process.

So I took my sad hanging plants to other Annie’s house…..

And we went to Home Depot to buy these…..

Then we went back to other Annie’s house to do this….

And after much blood sweat and tears, we had removed all the old yuck and replaced it with beautiful new flowers and viney-thingies and fern kinda lookin’ guys and some tall ones in the back. [My plant vocab is very refined.]

Then other Annie sent me packing with the plants, a bucket, and some fertilizer. Now the pressure is on to keep them hydrated, fed, and alive.

Why does Nanny McAnnie have far more success in these three ventures than Farmer McAnnie? I always keep the kids hydrated, fed, and alive. Plants, on the other hand, not so much.

But we’re on day 5 and all but one little section of the one hanging plant seems to be doing great. Of course, I’ve been late everywhere because I always forget to add in an extra 10 minutes to water. I also woke up this morning and thought, “Oh man I gotta go water those plants. It’s sunny today.” And that may be a little TOO cognizant of said plants’ needs.

Or maybe Farmer McAnnie is actually going to pull it off this time.

I can’t wait to see the hanging plants in six more weeks- when the dirt has settled and the roots have grown deep into their new home, when the flowers are just comfortable enough in their environment to bloom something miraculous for me to see.

Six weeks should be about enough time. Right around August 1. Right around my one year anniversary in Nashville.

Hmmm. That will be quite a process.

This has been quite a process.

See you tomorrow…..

I was in such a good mood when I found the recipe for homemade Oreos. A friend of mine is having a birthday party tonight, so I set aside Thursday to bake the night away for the party. Because if there is one thing I don’t [usually] screw up, it’s birthday baked goods. [Now refer back to the title of the post. Sigh...]

Here you can see the ingredients, my dear computer/recipe holder, and Emily, who apparently would rather you not know she was even involved in this debacle. Frankly, I can’t blame her.

Things started out fine. I was following the directions exactly. Except the part that said “use your mixer”, cause I don’t have one. Maybe that was the problem? Who knows. Without a second thought, I used my hand-held mixer thinking the two machines were interchangeable. And it went fine…

..until the motor blew up, the spinners quit spinning, and some sound came from the back that scared me. So, after that, it was all by hand. I felt like I worked at the Oreo factory in 1893.

But once the dough was made, we began the baking process. And as sheet after sheet of cookies came out of the oven, it was clear that something was going terribly wrong. Of all those cookies, oh… I don’t know… about 7 of them were edible. SEVEN. Because the rest looked like this.

Anybody order cookies with burned crispy edges and raw centers? CAUSE I HAVE CLOSE TO 100 OF THEM.

And while we helplessly watched the cookies burn, I made the icing. Again, the mixer was broken, so it was a workout. I’m smiling in this picture not because I’m happy, but more to keep from crying.

So what happens when you put raw-burned cookies together with not-fully-fluffy icing? This. Yep, that’s supposed to be an Oreo.

Here’s what I’m thinking in this shot:

#1. “This is humiliating.”

#2. “This is hilarious.”

#3. “What in the WORLD am I going to make for this party?”

Because really, nothing will get me excommunicated from our friend group quicker than showing up with this tray of disappointment.

Luckily I have all day to come up with a) another dessert and b) a good answer to the question, “What happened to the homemade Oreos you bragged about?”

Lessons learned.

#1. Don’t brag.

#2. Leave Oreo making to the professionals.

Sheesh.

Cause I’m a giver.

That’s not entirely true. Actually, my friend Brad is a giver.

You may remember that I blogged about his book Finding Home in October. Here’s my review, just in case you missed it.

Brad has decided that instead of selling his book to you, he just wants you to have it.

HAVE IT.

Just have it.

So, when I run across something free, and I think its good, I want to make sure you get it. Which is one of the main reasons I’m involved with Bloggable Music Network. Cause you always get free music that’s really great. [Well, that and I really love Kat Jacobs, so if she asks me to do something, I usually just do it.]

Speaking of free, let me disappoint you for a minute… I have a new music group that I really like and they were giving away their EP. So I ran by their website this morning to grab the link so you too could have the free EP. And… they quit giving it away. I’ve sent an email asking if you could have it anyways. If I hear back, I will tell you who it is. If I don’t, they are dead to me.

Ok, that’s severe. They won’t be dead to me, I just won’t tell you about them.

Sheesh, I’ve got to quit being so extreme.

And unfocused.

Wowsa. Finally, HERE IS THE LINK to get Brad’s book for free. And play around on the website- it’s kinda like an amusement park. Lots of bright colors and things to click and read and…. well, no rides or cotton candy, but you know what I mean.

Go ahead and download it, then just read it when you have time. Read it now, read it in October. Who cares? Just grab it while it’s still free.

Because as I sadly learned today from the artists-who-shall-remain-nameless-until-they-decide-that-you-should-get-their-EP-for-free, these creative folks can be a fickle bunch.

Book club, that is.

As you know, one of my favorite parts of my Marietta life was my book club. In fact, I wrote an article about it. And so when I moved to Nashville, and a new friend told me that she was in a book club, I asked to join. Sure, I didn’t know any of the girls. Sure, I had only been here 2 weeks. But I love books. So game on.

I’ve blogged about our Nash book club before, but Sunday night was the first night I got to host. And it was super-dee-duper special because the AUTHOR CAME TO BOOK CLUB.

We read Flies on the Butter by Denise Hildreth. You remember her- she interviewed me a few months ago. So because she is the coolest author I have ever dared to befriend, she came to book club.

There we are. Christina, Annie, Amber, Brooke, DENISE HILDRETH, Rachel, and your’s truly.

It was an awesome night.We sat outside on my porch [notice the awesome lights courtesy of my two Jasons]- the weather was virtually perfect. The conversation was sweet and fun and easy and enlightening.

We discussed the book, ate peach & tomato pizzas [seriously delicious- try them!], and drank coke from the bottle- a habit we picked up from the main character in Flies on the Butter.

It was just such a fun night. These girls have grown to mean a lot to me and I love the books they pick, the conversations we hold, and the time we get to spend together.

If you want to read the book we picked [or any of her other stuff because seriously the woman can put some good words on paper], you can order them HERE at Denise’s website. I am so super grateful to Denise- not only because she is a rad author, but because she is a great friend and a wise and wonderful woman.

And since we are in a book kind of mode- tomorrow, I have a free book for you from another great author. Yes, you. Free book. Get pumped.

200 languages are spoken by more than 1 million people worldwide.

I’m pretty sure I have a working knowledge of English. Sorta.

So that leaves 199 for me to learn. Starting with French.

And here is why.

I tend to overshare. Hence the reason I have this blog. Hence the reason I didn’t get any work done yesterday at Frothy Monkey and instead just caught up with friends that were there. Hence the reason I sent upwards of 50 emails last night. Because HELLO MY NAME IS ANNIE AND I DO NOT RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SAY.

And Cape Town seriously challenged that. Because I don’t know Xhosa. In fact, I’ll be honest, I didn’t even know there was a language named Xhosa until I was preparing for this trip.

Once we got there, I got to hang out with some seriously cute kids. Like these dudes (from L to R: Eric, Logan, Ayanda, me, and Patrick).

Saturday afternoon of our kids camp, I watched Eric as he walked into the dining hall, sat down, and laid his head on the table. I walked over and put my hand on his back- just to say hey. He began to shake, weeping. If you are new to these here blog parts, you may not know that I used to be a teacher- in fact, 4th/5th grade boys were always my favs. So this moment seriously broke my heart.

I tried to ask him what was wrong. But his English was so limited; my Xhosa, surprisingly, also limited. So instead of helping this sweet dude, I had to get Wonga, one of the local college guys, to come take care of it. It ended up being fine, but the Wanna-be-a-Mama in me hated that I was unable to fix the situation myself.

The children’s church teachers, lovingly called “The Mamas”, helped in the kitchen a lot. Because I am a self-professed foodie, I thought it would be awesome to hang with them and learn from them as they cooked. I don’t know how much you know about apartheid [probably more than me], but it still affects the people of South Africa- especially (and probably only) the adults. And I could feel it.

I wanted so badly to show them how much I respected them, tell them that white girl was in the kitchen to learn, not to hover. [I don't know.... I'm trying to explain all this to you without ruffling any racial feathers. How do I say this?] I guess I just wanted to serve WITH them. And there were walls between us- not so much language, but deeper stuff. We had bonded pretty well by Sunday morning, but I would have given anything to show up and be able to ask questions about their recipes, ask how I could help, and communicate love and respect to them in their own language. I felt like I was unable to minister to the women as deeply as I wanted because I didn’t know Xhosa.

And I don’t want that to ever happen again.

Five days after leaving Cape Town, this is one of a short list of things I can identify from the trip that has changed me. [I'm sure more are to come... just give me some more time.]

So I’m starting with French. It seems useful and fun and I love crepes. [So, a very scientific decision, obviously.] I wish I could learn Xhosa, and maybe one day I will. But I really have no clue when I’ll get back to Cape Town, and a very small population speaks that language. So French makes more sense.

But Xhosa is on my list. Because even if just a few people worldwide speak it, the ones that do are pretty important to me now.

We’ll talk about Africa soon. I promise.

But there are some looming situations [one main looming situation] that we need to deal with.

I’m less than 400 days from being 30.

Approximately 13 months until 30.

[Hence the little graphic here- wherein my face is way more discouraged than I really am. I just thought that picture was funny. And, I mean, I paid for the headshots, I should find a way to use them all. Right?]

I’m not stressed about turning 30. 29 feels like it’s gonna be a bit weird [on July 7th- I heart my birthday], but 30 doesn’t make me sad. This isn’t one of those “I’m scared of the next phase of my life blah blah blah…..”

I promise.

I do have some serious goals I want to meet by the time I’m 30. It’s just a good round number to work with, so I picked it. There are three main things that I want to accomplish by July 7, 2010. [I mean, there are a few more... but these three are the ones I'm willing to blog about... at this point.]

Ready? Here we go.

#1. I want to learn to play the piano.

• I’ve been looking for a creative outlet/hobby for when I need a break from writing. So the search began for something that I could do in my free time that doesn’t involve words or my computer. In the past few months, said outlet has been television. What. A. Waste. So I decided to learn to play the piano. I found a rather inexpensive teacher, I have a keyboard from high school, so I start lessons soon. Hilarious, right?

#2. I want to sew a blanket.

• I purchased a beautiful large piece of fabric in South Africa. And I want to turn it into a blanket- which involves using a sewing machine to sew together the fabric, batting, and a back. So my goal is to make this blanket and gain a working knowledge of how to use a sewing machine.

#3. I want to be fluent in French.

• Okay, I agree. A bit lofty. So let’s just say I want to be on my way to fluent. The actual goal is to learn every language on Earth. [I'm going to blog about that tomorrow.] But I’m going to start with French. I figure it will be beneficial in Canada, Europe, and Western Africa. This is the only goal that I don’t really have a plan for yet, but I will.

So here’s what I’m going to do. Every month, on/near the 30th, I’m going to update you on my goals. Hopefully by June 30th, I will have had a piano lesson… and I will have some idea of how to learn French.

And it will be 12 months until 30.

Weird.

And that’s about all I have to offer you today.

Next week, I’ll be back on the bloggy train, I promise. I just don’t know what to say about Africa yet, and I know you want to hear about it. I want to tell you …. I just don’t know how yet.

Here’s what I can tell you:

1) I’ll show you lots of pics next week as well. Don’t worry about that. I didn’t wear a lot of make-up in Africa and I didn’t get the chance to wash my hair all that often. The pics depict these sad truths. I’m sorry.

2) I still cry when I watch this video. Hearing Ernie sing makes me miss him (and the rest of our team) terribly.

[for you feed reader peeps, there's a video over here, so click on over.]

3) I’m still really tired. I don’t know if it’s jet-lag or just exhaustion, but it makes my eyes hurt and my head droop at unexpected times. Which can get awkward for the people around me.

And sadly, that is the fullness of material that my brain is managing well right now.

Yikes-a-rama.