The Patty Murphy Song

When I was but a wee lass, my grandfather, Big Joe, taught me an Irish drinking song that we'd sing all the time, but especially on St. Patrick's Day. So today, I would like to share this beloved song with you. :)

Oh the night that Paddy Murphy died, is a night I'll never forget

The whole darn town got stinkin' drunk, and some ain't got sober yet;

The awful thing they did that night that filled my heart with fear...

They took the ice right off the corpse and put it on the beer!!

Chorus:

Oh! That's how they showed their respect for Paddy Murphy

That's how they showed their honor and their pride.

Oh baby, that's how they showed their respect for Patty Murphy;

On the night that poor 'ole Patty Murphy died.

So there you have it. Evidently when I was about 5 at my other grandmother's house and singing the song, she nearly passed out when I said "the whole darn town got stinkin' drunk and some aren't sober yet." I don't blame her, what kind of 5 year old sings about a town getting smashed and taking the ice off of the dead body to put on the beer?! Oh well.

Anyway, today's a day to lift your glass, because, my friends, today we're all Irish! :)

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!

Canoeing

Spring is ALMOST HERE!!! HALLELUJIAH!!!!!!!!!! I strictly believe that spring doesn't actually start until the Dogwood trees have blossomed... and they should be budding about now. :)

So it has been a little while since I have blogged, and although I've started a couple and just not finished them I figured that today I'd write about a funny story (inspired by what I love to do in the spring: go canoeing).
Growing up my parent's Sunday School class went canoeing down the Buffalo River every spring, just after the water has risen. There was about 8 couples and everyone brought their kids.

We always stayed in a small town called Gilbert with a population of 48 (no lie), and there was at least a dozen dogs that ran free in the town. When you checked in your cabin it was like a dog assigned himself/herself to your family. When you'd walk up, they would just sit on the ground at the bottom of the porch, and when you were leaving to go to another cabin or the general store they would loyally follow you down the dirt road. I guess we fed the dogs a little bit, but nothing substantial. Nonetheless, they always seemed fed.

There were only 4 places you could go while you were in town: the river (which, of course, I was never allowed to go to by myself), one of the other cabins (usually the group would pretty much rent out all of them, so it was like we ran the town for the weekend), the cafe (the only place to eat in town), or the General Store.

My brother, Sean, and I would save our allowance for a couple of weeks (which probably amounted to a whopping $15 bucks)

and blow every cent on candy. I mean it is a wonder that our teeth didn't rot out after the end of the trip. Our parent's didn't really mind much though because we'd just go play with the other kids from the group and all be hyper together. (I disticntly remember one time getting in trouble for climbing on the roof of one of the cabins with my friend Emily. Our parents were all sitting around a bonfire less than 20 feet away hanging out and drinking beer when someone told them that their rowdy kids were on the roof of the cabin. All they did was yell, "HEY! Get down off the roof!!" That was it, didn't get up to scold us or anything. It was awesome).

Gilbert is probably one of my favorite places on earth because of all the things I remember doing: climbing trees, playing with the random dogs, swinging on the tire swing, playing baseball, and, most of all, canoeing.

So, here's my funny story about canoeing:

I was about 7 years old and up until this point in my life my family had always rented one big raft which would usually result in my dad being the only one who would paddle. So by 1993 he had decided that it was time for us to upgrade to canoes. He and I were in one, my mother and my brother were in the other. I had no idea what I was doing, my mom figured she should know what she was doing, and my brother just got frustrated being in the same canoe with my mom and going in circles.

For some reason I swear we tied the canoes together (why? Probably because my mom and my bro flipped about 3 times in 20 minutes), which was brilliant... until we came upon rapids (and by rapids I mean nothing life threatening, but this particular set of rapids was pretty small). What you are already thinking would happen did. We flipped... all of us...

So now imagine little 7 year old Shannon with her orange life-vest bobbing downstream, my father swimming after me and takes me to the bank of the river. He then grabs the canoes (still connected, in case you were wondering) and says, "Shannon, I need you to hold on to these, can you do that?" Shivering, I replied, "Yes."

Now, what you don't know at this point is that all the while I was bobbing downriver and panicking that I was going to be bit by some snake or worse eaten by a bear while holding these cursed canoes, my brother was holding onto a flimsy tree in the middle of the rapid that caused us all to topple over. Yes, Sean was holding on to this little tree and screaming for dear life. Seriously. Sean had a pretty high pitched voice when he was a kid (thankfully he grew out of). I have a very clear mental image of my brother desperately holding on to this little tree and my mother standing in the water 2 feet from him (and his high voice), looking over at me and my dad and shrugging her shoulders as if to say: "It looks like both of his legs are in-tacked, I'm not sure why he keeps screaming."

Anyway, now that you know what was going on in the background of my father and my conversation, the next thing he said to me was, "Shannon, I'm going to go over there and take care of your brother. Are you going to be okay?"

Brilliantly, I responded with "Yes, I'll just wait for the helicopters." I will have you know that this response was completely logical to me. See, back in the day I watched Rescue 911 with William Shatner. If you ever watched the show you knew that anytime there was danger, a helicopter was nearby with firefighters and a camera crew.

So that was it, that was my first experience with canoeing. Can you believe I want to go canoeing again?

Great Expectations

Isnt' it funny how we think by a certain time in our lives we are supposed to have it "together."

Next week I will be turning 25. "A quarter of a century, makes a girl think." (That's a quote by Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot. If you haven't seen it, go see it now... or after you finish reading my blog. But seriously, it's one of my favorites)

Over the past week or so I have found myself rather frustrated. Last week I lost a deal that I have been working on for nearly 2 years. I have several deals that I really thought would have closed by now and haven't. And I have also found myself wanting to go be with friends, but feeling so exhausted that I can't. I also have been evaluating my priorites (like missing kickball so I can go to church), and still feeling like I am on the fence with others.

Anyway, if I think back I can always remember feeling like I should have it more "together," but especially now. 10 years ago I would have said that by now I would be in love/engaged/married, working a great job, spending lots of time with my friends, and able to go do lots of trips and such. My reality is that while some of these things have taken place, not all have. I do love my job. I work with some wonderful customers and have the best boss in the world (my dad). But that also comes with a price: high expectations. I find myself constantly feeling pressure to have higher numbers and fill my father's shoes (in sales, that is, not in owning the company -although there is a slight pressure of if I'll ever do that or not). So I come into the office at 6:30 in the morning and work till 5, or come in at 8 and work till 7. Not to mention traveling around the state a lot. But I really do love my job. I know that this hard work is what allowed me to accomplish my goal of having a Mini Cooper ("Pepper"), which I have wanted for so long.

Sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on some of the "greatest days of my life" though. I'm 25 and working my tush off. I am blessed to go to a wonderful church and work with a great bunch of youth (who I love and would gladly take a bullet for any of them).

I guess it raises one question: If my life isn't where I thought it would be by now, I have to rewrite my current expecations to avoid disappointment. So what do I expect my life should look like by 25?

If I stop and think about it, I think I'm probably not too far off. Are there things I still want? Yes. But do I feel like the choices I have made in my life have lead me to here... and I'm pretty happy with those choices.

Looks like I'm rewriting my expectations already...

Dash: I Love You More Than My Luggage

So I have decided that I want to write a little bit about some of my friends.

First, is my darling friend Dash... okay, apparently, that isn't her real name. Her name is Rachel. She's actually not even a native Arkansan, she is an Iowan (?). I am choosing to write about her first, because she has been on my heart and on my mind so much lately.

Rachel and I met while working at the Lutheran Camp on Mount Petit Jean during the summer between my Freshman and Sophomore year of college ('05). Although I wasn't raised Lutheran, I went to a Lutheran High School and knew the camp director so I figured it would be a fun job.

When I pulled up to the camp for the first time with a carload of my "basic necessities" for the summer, I was a little anxious. Sure, growing up I went to church camp (TANAKO), but nothing like this outdoors-y kind. (At our camp we still did our makeup and straightened our hair before breakfast and after swimming. T-shirts and shorts? WHAT?! We had each and every outfit meticulously planned.)

Right after arriving I began to unload my trunk-o-crap in the cabin where I was instructed when Rachel walked in. After about a two second "Hi, I'm Shannon"/"Hi, I'm Rachel" conversation she immediately said, "Oh, thank God you're normal."

Naturally, this grabbed my attention, "What do you mean?"

"Well," she said, "everyone here is really nice, but they have been talking about Star Wars and I just don't get it."

That was it for us, we were amigas. Oh, don't get me wrong, we love those other crazy Star-Wars counselors, but Dash and I just clicked.

Dash got her nickname when we went for a hike to the "waterfall," which pretty much never appeared all summer. She had been selected to lead the group and was "dashing" ahead of everyone. So there it was. My nickname was "Squirt" after accidentally squirting a fellow counselor in the eye with an orange as I bit into it.

Isn't it wonderful how God provides you with the exact friend that you need at the moment you need them? Yeah, that was Rachel for me. Since that one blessed summer, she and I have remained wonderful friends. Although we have only seen each other twice since that summer, we talk almost every week these days. Currently, Dash resides in New York City and I can hardly wait for the opportune time to visit her.

I guess the reason she's been on my mind lately is also because it is so great to know that you have a friend who has been there for you through so much, even if you don't get to see each other every day (or even every year in our case).

I think it is exactly what long-distance friendship is supposed to look like: not so distant.

Fayette-nam (My Other Home)

This weekend I spent some much needed time in Fayetteville for work and stayed there for a little bit of fun to hang out with mi amigos. So, I figured I'd write a bit about one of my favorite places on earth.


The first time I can ever remember going to Fayetteville was when I traveled there with my dad during the fall of my senior year of High School to tour the campus. Papa Bear and I took the Pig Trail (mostly because he had a new car that was a 5-speed and wanted to make me hurl -as if I wasn't freaked out already about going to college), so I didn't get to experience that wonderful rush of joy when you just come over the last hill on I-540 (around mile marker 60) and there it is. The first thing that you see is the University of Arkansas campus and immediately your eyes go to the Old Main Towers and the Reynolds Razorback Football Stadium. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.

At the time, I was certain that the University of Arkansas was the absolute LAST place I wanted to attend college. My high school brand new and was pretty small (I graduated with less than 50 in my class), but I loved High School so that surely meant that I would hate attending the largest college in the state, with 18,000 students. But alas, I fell in love with it. I loved the campus, the traditions, the fact that the business college was so highly ranked, but not the city of Fayetteville. (Mostly because I was too freaked out to look around me too much).

The second trip to Fayetteville was for orientation. Again, I was freaking out, so there's not too much to tell.

So, the third trip was for the move to my dorm, Futrall. (Oh Futrall, how I loved you). As I drove around the city a little more I noticed something rather strange. As you drive down I-540, past the U of A campus, past all of the apartment complexes, and just about a mile away from the mall, there it is… a big farm. Stuck right in the middle of town. This bothered me for a long, long time (“Why doesn’t the city just buy that land and use it?!”). As time went on it became one of the most charming features of my fare city.

Now I'm pretty lucky because my job gives me the opportunity to travel to Fayetteville a lot.

I'm also so very blessed to have several wonderful friends who still live in Faye.

Katherin, Becca, Tara, Julie, Aaron, Richard, and Wes. I still get to hang out with them pretty often (especially Katherin, Becca and Tara) and consider them amongst my dearest friends.

This is a picture of me, Becca, and Katherin at the Pat Green concert 2 years ago.

And this (right) is Katherin, Ann (who got married and moved to Oklahoma), Tara, me and Julie at the Pat Green concert last fall.

I guess you could say that we love Pat Green.

But not nearly as much as we love Fayetteville. :)

What's in a name?

When people describe you, what words do they use? Funny? Smart? Witty? The best gosh-durn line dancer this dance floor has ever seen? While the latter of these choices has never been used to describe me, I always note exactly what it is that people see in me.

I guess it all starts with the basics. How do I see myself? Christian. Girl. Personable. Sales representative. Semi-responsible. Employed (thankfully). Blessed. Busy.

I guess the reason that this has been on my mind is because last week I had a rough week. Someone I've known for many years called me fake. I used to struggle a lot with living a double life. It was easy for me to go to Campus Crusade on Tuesdays, Bible Study on Wednesday; and go to out searching for mischief on Friday and Saturday; while still making it to church on Sunday. (Monday and Thursday must have been my only study days?)

So I did both, hoping that God would turn a blind eye to Friday and Saturday nights. The result was a very long battle of figuring out who I am. One day God revealed to me, “SHANNON I MADE YOU THIS WAY!! I made you the crazy, fun loving, passionate, girl who likes beer and has a short filter between what she thinks and what she says! A girl who is able to talk to ANYONE (man, woman, or child) and make them feel comfortable. A girl who is able to do ministry by talking to anyone, and is not easily intimidated. You are made in my image and you are wonderfully made. And, Shannon, I have called you mine.” For me that was it. No more double life. I am going to be me.

Well, I'd say that the result of that wonderful conversation I had with God brought out the best in me. I finally began to feel comfortable in my own skin.

Isn't it funny when people say that you remind them of someone? I always love it, while at the same time holding a slight fear that they might secretly be annoyed by whomever I possess similar traits to. I used to have this horrifying fear that I was/am, in fact, TOO loud. I have always been a bit of a loud mouth and my laugh is rather intense (and often causes me to be embarrassed when I laugh loudly in quiet rooms).

... but I digress...

My darling friend, Noel, told me once: "Shannon, do you know what I love about you? You're like a wholesome Karen Walker." For those of you sad, people who don't know who Karen Walker is please see the photo below. Karen is a character from Will and Grace and is described as "a spoiled, shrill, gold-digging socialite who would sooner chew off her own foot than do an honest day's work". She is also a shallow, alcoholic/pill popper, who is absolutely crude and completely selfish, often with a tenuous grip on reality and very few morals. But she is also surprisingly charming and completely hilarious.

So, what about my personality is like Karen's?

Recently, another one of my friends told me that if I was a character from SATC I would be Samantha Jones (only without her approach to men and all that). This was a bit surprising to me. I always identified myself with Charlotte because of her romantic perspective on love. Again, if you take out the character's approach to men, am I more like Samantha? I'm not Miranda, sometimes see a bit of Carrie in me. But, really? Samantha? Well, I guess I do tell it like it is, much like Samantha does.

Ironically, I know what it is that I have in common with both of these characters: if I didn’t know and love Christ, and have the Holy Spirit living in me, I would be a tragic combination of those two characters. I am big enough to admit it. I would probably be so reckless in my life that people might tolerate me, but not respect me. If I wasn’t a Christian, I would be a combination of those two desperate women.

I am very entertained by both of these characters. They are funny in their own ways, and, at the core, both of them are good people. Neither of them play the villain on their shows, and both of the shows are clearly comedies. So is that all I would be? A desperate funny girl with a list of traits a mile long that are negative?

So why do others see those characters in me? I guess that’s just it. I was made that way. I strive to honor God in all that I do, but I’m still blunt and outspoken like Samantha and sometimes self-centered like Karen. But Samantha and Karen are very loyal, and always look out for their friends.

All of this being said, I am thankful for the woman God made me to be. I AM SO THANKFUL THAT HE SAVED ME FROM BECOMING EITHER OF THOSE CHARACTERS!!

When I was little I learned a song that said:

“I’m just as glad as I can be, that I am no one else but me. I like myself. My funny nose, my two big ears, and my wiggly toes. I even like the way I grow. I may not always like the things I do, but I like me and I like you.”

So true. So very true.

Blood

So last time I gave blood they told me my blood type. They even gave me a handy-dandy card! However, last April, some turd broke into my car last year and stole my wallet that accomodated my handy-dandy DNA card. So, consequently, I am not able to start this blog out by identifying my blood type. Boo.

So, blood. It's kind of the core of... well... life. It absolutely makes me squirm when I see it on TV, especially when it is squirting out of some guy's jugular after being stabbed in the neck with a rusty pair of scissors... or something like that... I'm just saying... that's gross. When I was in college I remember saying, "I'd rather have a thousand paper cuts and take a bath in lemon juice than study any more." In reality, that would hurt... a lot... and I would rather study than have that unfortunate occurrence happen to me.

But it's everywhere and, like I said, it is in the core of all of us. So that is why I'm starting this blog on this topic. Because it is the core.

Here's a little information about my blood:

• I'm filled with lots of it.
• Most people would consider my blood to be Irish because of my kin-folk. I also have a bit of French and Czechoslovakian.
• It is red... like Razorback red. (Oh, and blue too when it is not filled with oxygen, but I don't associate myself with any blue teams).
• The DNA inside of my blood is a combination of the chromosomes from my father, Geoff, and my mother, Kathy. People often say that I look like my mother, but act like my father (This is a good thing, because why would I want to look like a balding, bearded man?).
• "Nothing But the Blood of Jesus" is one of my favorite hymns. I know that this doesn't directly pertain to my blood, but it is in there. His blood is what I am most thankful for.
• Things that get my blood pumping fast are: laughing hard; being in super uncomfortable situations; driving fast (I mean REALLY fast); heights; and, of course, jumping jacks.

I have named this blog Simple Shananigans because it's basically the best way to define my life. I have been nicknamed Shananigans since I was in high school. Shenanigans is defined as: silly or high spirited behavior; mischief. I think most would agree that I'm usually high spirited and rather silly... so there you have it. I sincerely hope that this blog will also cover more than the daily, random occurrences of my life; but also some ideas of what is most important in my life and why.