I've heard a lot of people moan and complain about God being "distant". Back during my BSU days - I recall it being quite spiritually vogue for the speaker at a special event or worship service to just:

"...shut things down. Let's even stop the music. Just stand and concentrate on God's presence...right here among us..."

I don't recall ever being in one of those moments in a service that I didn't get tickled or poked by someone who was trying to get me tickled (not a difficult endeavor at all). It's funny to look back at what spiritual giants we supposed ourselves to be - at age 20. Good grief.

My problem, especially as of late - is not His distance. I feel like He's on a campaign to bug me to death. Not full blown nausea conviction (I guess He knows I really need to keep a job - and have great difficulty enduring that kind of conviction without a bawling fit.) No - it's like the person poking me while I tried to keep my eyes closed and head bowed and think only about God. The Lord Himself keeps poking me. 

When I least expect it - I feel his finger on my shoulder...

"Listen, really listen to what is being said. But look in her eyes and see the pain before you blow up". 

"You could not imagine what that little boy endured before he ever got on the bus this morning. He's being a pill, yes. But just stop the lesson and sing a fun song. Take My challenge to put a smile on his face before music class is over'.

"Stop what you're doing and think. Think about how this will affect your health. Count the cost".

"We've got to deal with this issue in your life, Sandy. When are you going to turn your heart toward Me and let us really talk about it? Come, let us reason together..."

"How many comments will your brothers and sisters have to make about your writing before you do it again? Are you ever going to really use that gift for My glory? Or just pick it up and fiddle-fart around with it for a few weeks when there's nothing better to do?"

And yes - it's entirely reasonable that the Lord would use the words "fiddle-fart around" when referring to me. Anyone who knows me well knows that the phrase could well have have been created ESPECIALLY for me. It's one of my spiritual gifts.

Don't worry that I have aspirations to write another "Jesus Calling" devotional that tells you what Jesus is saying to you today. That book bugs the snot out of me. I just don't think I (or anyone else, by the way) has the right to tell you what Jesus is saying to you for the day - and it be something THEY wrote or even compiled. Just my opinion. (you're going to get a lot of that.) 

I've never heard God speak to me in an audible voice. But I've had coincidences happen in my life that canNOT be explained away. And then there are these pokes and prods constantly in my heart that I KNOW are from Him - because there is no good in me. If I have a thought that is good - it's Him. And even as bruised as I feel lately from all the poking - I am so thankful. 

So thankful that He bugs me to death. So thankful that after the first 9,659 times He tries to prick my heart about an issue and I quickly find something fun to do to shut out His voice - He doesn't say, "Whatever. Have it your way."

Oh my sweet Lord. "Having it MY way" is the source of the majority of the pain, shame, regret, and brokenness in my life. This life ain't Burger King, boo. "Having it your way" will not inspire a catchy little song (I still know all the words to that, by the way). "Having it your way" will steal away every song in your heart and leave a barren wasteland of silence.

Several weeks ago I picked up a Bible study on "fear" that I started and never got past the second chapter. (Fiddle-farting around, exhibit A)  On one of the first pages, I had to list the three things I most feared in my life. Three things that I thought had the power to destroy me. Here was my list:

1. That Matthew will leave me and go live in Georgia to live with John and Colleen.

2. That we will have to move out of our house.

3. I'm not telling this one.

I'm REALLY not telling it. So don't ask.

But guess what? In the past three months, every single one of those things has happened. Every. Single. One. 

And guess what else? 

It's ok. I'm ok. Grace is ok. Matthew is ok. It's been a nightmare of raw emotions, confusion, rage, bawling fits, and paralyzing hurt. But it's ok.

I have been held in the palm of the Hand who created me. And I've felt it. My soul sister would disagree - since she is that one person everyone has who hears all the bad. All the trash. All the bawling - and then has to endure a Facebook post the next day where I'm being all funny and "ain't life grand" and I'm sure she wants to drive up and strangle me. But she doesn't.

And He doesn't give up on me or strangle me either. He's given me MUCH more than I can endure. But the key is that HE is enduring it for me. His love and provision are in every little poke. Reminding me to remember what should be in the absolute front of my brain constantly. Fix your eyes on Me.

The pokes about my writing are REALLY getting to me. I need to do this. I'm never sure why - but it's just in me and needs to come out. If I can inspire one person with my ramblings - it's honestly worth it. 

During my junior year at Ruston High - I took Creative Writing with Mrs. Ree Pearce. More than 500 times during that semester long class, she pulled me aside to say, "You have a gift, Sandy. Always, always, always keep writing. Never stop." Now that she is in heaven - I've imagined her being the driving force behind all the "write again pokes". I'm sure there is absolutely no Biblical basis for this - but it just seems like something Mrs. Pearce would make sure got taken care of by the Almighty. 

I love every one of you who begged me to start blogging again. Gonna have to change the name here - since the crew has relocated... 

...but for now - this is the news from Pizza Hut Heights.

Well, I'm back. I'm not making any promises- and don't want a long, dumb “why I've been gone” story. But I think I once I realized that people were actually READING my blog- it became kinda like turning in a paper every other day to Mrs. Hilda Taylor in senior English. Except worse. I felt like it had to be perfect. And that there needed to be a really deep spiritual point to everything I wrote about.

But guess what- the blogs I love to read and the speakers I love to listen to don't make a deep spiritual point in everything they write. They just share about their everyday lives and the funny things that happen when they least expect it. And- just like humor that cuts into a boring day or even a tense situation – sometimes the Lord will give insight that begs to be shared. So- here we go again…

That actually really sounds like a long, dumb “why I've been gone” story. Sorry.

Cell phones can be very damaging to social interaction. First- because people are constantly looking down at their cell phones and not looking into the faces of the ones they love and listening to what they have to say. This is the real, serious reason that many deep, spiritual articles are written about. And posted on Facebook. So you can read it instead of looking into the faces of the folks you are with at the time.

But that's not why we're here, remember?

I want to talk about another, much more fun and hilarious way that cell phones are damaging to social interaction. With cell phone texting- you can say something to the person beside you silently. Something that you would never even lean over and whisper- for fear that the other people around you might hear.

One example would be a text I once received during a funeral: “Did that man in front of us just fart???”

See- that's funny. I don't care who you are. You are laughing. (If you're not- then just close this out now. I don't think this is the place for you).

It's VERY funny. Especially if the man in front of you at the funeral did, indeed, fart. A rolling expulsion of hot air that bubbled up on the hard wooden pew back and made a sound just loud enough to be disruptive. Only- you can't laugh during funerals. This situation- combined with a text coming from the pew behind you- is enough to take down Billy Graham, in my opinion.

I was strong. Almost. Everyone thought I got strangled and had a coughing fit. Except for the people who also heard the man fart.

So yesterday we were sitting in a doctor’s office. The “we” being Katie, Zeb and me.  It does not take three people for a doctor’s appointment- but since it was out of town- we made a day of it. We, of course, found somewhere good to eat, and also went shopping at the outlet mall – where  we saw three obviously foreign tourists posing for a picture in front of the Nike outlet. Thus proving the international popularity of my favorite brand of shoes, AND the impressiveness of the spectrum of retail shopping experiences we enjoy here in America as opposed to other countries in our world. Good grief…

Back to the doctor’s office. While we were sitting in the waiting area, which was quiet save for the loudness of the LSU colored daisy headband the receptionist was wearing, Katie noticed something. (Katie notices EVERTHING- managing occasionally to keep some things to herself. Occasionally.) Anyway, she noticed something about the lady sitting across from us. She texts this to Zeb, while smiling. Zeb texts it to me, and here the situation escalates. I receive the text “That woman over there is reading Green Eggs and Ham”. I look up to see an older, nicely dressed woman indeed reading the epic novel. Written by the noted author, Dr. Seuss.

Now- I love children's books. Love them. But something about the way this woman was reading this book struck me funny. She was intently concentrating on each page- reading slowly and thoughtfully before turning the page with scholarly preciseness. I've seen few people read medical magazine articles with such fervor. The nonsensical, rhyming, sing-song words of this epic novel began to run through my head. And I let out a small giggle.

This was akin to touching a match to an open can of kerosene. Zeb began to laugh. His entire body was wracked with uncontrollable giggles. He bolted for the door and went out to the hall to try and compose himself. It didn't work. Katie and I began to get tickled just listening to this infectious sound now echoing from the empty corridor. People began to look at us, including the reading lady. She did not stop- just looked over her glasses like an annoyed school marm. Zeb came back to get the car key. While standing by Katie, waiting, he let out a snort while trying to hold in his mirth. Now EVERYONE looked over. He finally made it to the elevator and left the scene.

Shortly afterward, Katie was called back. I was left by myself on the plush couch, getting the “stink eye” from the reading lady every few moments. She finally finished the book- savoring it until the climactic ending. I eventually settled myself down and read my book on my Ipad. Zeb, however, never returned. We found him in the car once the whole appointment shebang was over. He was, of course, playing on his cell phone.

I know that thirty years from now- we will still remember fondly “the lady reading ‘Green Eggs and Ham’”.

Speaking of thirty years from now- and the concept of my still being alive thirty years from now-   give the following “New Years Inspirational Thought” to end this meaningful entry:

If you need to make lifestyle changes – do it as soon as you can. Don't wait until you HAVE to make them. It's not nearly as much fun to make them because you HAVE to.

Yuck. And sigh…

Happy New Year, Y'all. From all the gang at Pizza Hut Heights.

It's the holidays. I have a thirteen year old daughter who is completely and totally driven by hormones and emotions. And I recently found out I had the big "M" going on. (Not malaria or meningitis. Either might be preferable to menopause). 

This is why I haven't blogged in a while. If this makes no sense to you - then just return to your everyday life. There is nothing for you here.

I have now been taking a tiny white pill every night for almost two weeks. And I'm coming up on the first twenty four hour mark of not crying. A record I have been keeping since early November. Dealing with depression is something I have unfortunately gotten used to in my life. Chronically. However- I recently hit a wall and realized something was really really really not right. 

Enter the tiny white pill. And hopefully some more even keeled emotions. (Well- for me, anyway...)

I'm sure some of you have concerns about taking hormones. I really don't want to hear about it right now. First of all- I trust my doctor and his judgement. Second of all-  I understand that there can be side effects - but there are also side effects to being locked in a padded room at Angola stringing Cheerios for recreation time due to the fact you threw a fourth grader through a window because he was tapping his pencil on his desk while you were teaching the words to "Frosty the Snowman". 

Suffice it to say that I've been a little on edge. 

(I actually have harmed no children at all while teaching happy holiday songs this season. Only because I have Jesus in my heart.)

I do not look nearly as beautiful and stricken as Olivia Walton did when she went through the change in 55 minutes, including commercial breaks. And I also haven't had Grandma to shoo away the bratty kids and give poetic explanation about the "seasons of life" while sappy music played in the background.

Before I make a spiritual point (which I surprisingly intend to do), I just want to share that our stupid cat has chewed through two iphone charger cords. While they were plugged in- charging. I cannot understand how this is possible without a fatality. I fully intend to force him to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation in the next few days. Maybe the sound of Dennis Quaid drawling "that's fried pussycat" will open his eyes to the possible ramifications of cord chewing. It's worth a try, anyway. Those cords aren't free. 

Anyway...

Not long ago, I took an early morning drive through the frozen tundra. Or maybe just through frozen Louisiana parishes with exotic names like Catahoula and Tensas. Places that sound very impressive but are really just row upon row of crops and pasture land. I was on my way to pick up the kids after Thanksgiving break- driving from Alexandria to Meridian via Tallulah. I decided to listen to the New Young Messiah. Larnelle Harris was singing "every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low". I have sung that song all my life. Quoted the verse all my life. But the Lord tapped me on the shoulder.

For the first time I considered the first part - that every valley shall be exalted. I've always focused on the mountains and hills being made low. That's a very nice thought for someone who has climbed up as many mountains as I have. Especially lately. 

But a valley being exalted. Hmm...

I've also been in my share of valleys. Some I have pitched head first into without really knowing what hit me till I woke up lying on the mirey bottom. Some I have slid down into gradually- bit by bit- trying desperately to avoid it, but still having to finally admit I was in a pit. 

There are all kinds of things I can do to try to cheer myself up. Lift my spirits. Keep my chin up. I have even learned through the years how to "pull myself up by my bootstraps". But to "be exalted"? That's something only my Almighty Father can do. 

As I drove through the frosty morning- He reminded me of how many times he has done just that- exalted my valleys. Raised up the bottom of the pit until I could look back and see how far He has brought me. Look ahead to see a future full of promise and hope- no matter what my circumstances. 

By the time Steve Green had his turn- singing "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth"- I had my hand and heart raised in praise. To the One I KNOW I shall see 'stand in the latter days upon the Earth'. 

Praise and thanksgiving to the One who exalts my valleys.

Gonna try now to charge up with my ONE remaining cord as the lights go out here in Pizza Hut Heights.

I've had people tell me that I am a patient person. No one who lives with me, however, has ever told me that. And with good reason.

Oh, I can be patient. I can deal with children and the elderly. Crazy people love me- and I will talk to them and enjoy the conversation for hours at a time. I can even be really good in a crisis. But when it's all over- have a stretcher ready. Cause I will just flat fall out.

And once my patience has run thin, there's a good chance I'm going to pitch a fit. Nine times out of ten, the fit is over some silly issue that means little to nothing. It's just the straw that breaks the camel's back. And I can pitch an impressive fit. A snot slinging, hillbilly, bawling, stomping, hollering out fit. 

There's just nothing that makes me feel quite as Godly as one of those. Not.

I usually sit down when it's all over and just survey the damage: crying kids, stunned dog, disgusted cat. And sometimes I even manage to include a friend in the incredulous audience, which heightens the embarrassment. It's a sick feeling, that post-fit nausea.

This evening one of my dear young friends said "I'm just tired of acting like an idiot". In my infinite wisdom I replied, "then just stop. Don't do it anymore." Yeah, Sandybunn- it's just that simple. Good grief, Paul wrote an entire chapter of the greatest book in the Bible about how it's NOT just that simple (see Romans 7).

I cherish something written in the handwriting of someone I love. I'm all about texts and Facebook messages- but something in beloved handwriting can bring a tear so quickly. There's something soooo special about handwriting that is familiar. Over eight years after she's gone- seeing something in Mama's handwriting brings a catch in my throat. A lot of things in life are sealed with a signature.

Can you imagine holding something in your hand that was written in the personal handwriting of God? Let that sink in a minute while you read Exodus 32:15-16: "Then Moses turned and went down the mountain. He held in his hands the two stone tablets inscribed with the terms of the covenant. They were inscribed on both sides, front and back. These tablets were God's work; the words on them were written by God himself." 

Wow. Bet those are in the International Museum of the Bible.

Except they're not.

Somewhere in the desert- under layers and layers of hot sand blown for hundreds of years- lie shards and fragments of stone that have on them the HANDWRITING OF ALMIGHTY GOD.

Fragments and shards...because Moses pitched a wall-eyed hissy fit, threw them down, and smashed them.

Yes. Really.

Now I know what some of you Bible scholars are thinking. Yes- but it was righteous indignation. He was furious that the people had busied themselves with making and worshipping the original Chick fil a cow. Only it was really a golden calf. And Moses was fresh from the mountain where he had visited with the Lord face to face- and he could not imagine the people creating and honoring such a ridiculous substitute.

But the fact remains- he pitched a hissy fit. And smashed the tablets that The Lord had written on HIMSELF. 

(Plus- they were front AND back- which we are all impressed with- after having to endure some assignment in high school English, which we decided we could probably stretch out to be four pages. Until she said it had to be front AND back. Sigh.)

Well, the rest of chapter 32 continues the story. It's a doozy- take time to read it for yourself. It's filled with a ridiculous rendition of the calf incident by Aaron, accounts of Moses running back to God on behalf of the people- while also trying his hardest to make the people understand just how terrible they had sinned. There was also the obligatory "great plague" that God sent to once again try to inspire this bunch of slow learners to get things straight.

Only they weren't slow learners. Just humans, trying hard to fill in the gaps in their hearts and lives with something other than Him. Just like I do so very often. And even if I've never smashed tablets written on by God- I have smashed spirits and emotions and relationships around me during my hissy fits. I've probably even hurt the dog's feelings.

Chapter 33 is great too- filled with repentance and clothes renting and mourning and no more jewelry wearing (of course they had probably melted most of it, anyway). There are a couple of incredible phrases in chapter 33- like "the Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend" (v.11) and "I look favorably on you, and I know you by name" which God said to Moses in v. 17. 

The Lord's forgiveness and restoration is already being shown. But the part I can't wait to share right now is at the beginning of chapter 34. The Lord tells Moses to chisel out two stone tablets like the first ones. MOSES does the chiseling. The God of the universe- who fashioned mountain ranges and oceans with his hand, could have whipped up a couple of stone tablets pretty quick- I'm guessing. 

But the Lord made Moses do it. And I'm willing to bet that while he was chiseling away- he had plenty of time to think about what he had smashed. And I'm sure all that chiseling was hard work. Not fun at all. Yet, the whole time he was doing it- he had to be thankful that His Father gave him another chance. Just like He always does.

Moses got new tablets.

I'm so thankful that I get a new tablet. Every time I mess up, pitch a fit, lash out, or simply act like an idiot- I get a new tablet. It's there for the asking, thanks to the incredible gift of forgiveness and new beginnings we have in Christ.

Always, always another chance. What a gift...

And the lights go out on another night here in Pizza Hut Heights.

Sleep tight, y'all. Tomorrow is a fresh tablet! What will you write on yours?

We walked out of the house Sunday morning and I was hit with a blast of cold air. 

Except that we have not moved - we still live in Louisiana, so what I am referring to is an outdoor temperature of 53 degrees. Heavenly. And compared to the recent norm of 99 degrees and 450 percent humidity - it WAS cold air.

My favorite moment of the year. The annual "magic cold front" that inspires me beyond words. By the time Matthew and I arrived at church in Alexandria, I had committed to memorize the book of Psalms, lose 100 pounds, exercise aerobically for 45 minutes a day, save 30 percent of my income, and use only kind words and gentle redirection while speaking to my children.

It's the kind of weather that really makes me feel like I can do it. All.

At least, I felt that way until we got halfway across the church parking lot and Matthew kicked a rock. On purpose. Just to see how far it would go. By the time I finished my tirade about God's house, other people's property, and potential harm to others- I realized that I had set the bar a little high. 

Matthew is currently discouraged with the immense stress of third grade. Because "once you learn something new- they don't even give you time to be happy about it. There's something else you already have to work on." This is based on his experience of "I FINALLY passed my twos test (timed multiplication) and do you KNOW what they gave us the next day, Mama?? Threes. The very next day!"

I haven't had the heart to tell him that is pretty much how life works. And I'm waiting for him to realize what comes after the threes....

I myself had bought into this panic, picturing months of after school math fact practice (about as appealing as oral surgery). Then my years of higher education kicked in- and I realized that the more we learn- the more he already knows. For example: when we get to the sixes, he already knows all the facts through 6 times 5. So we just have four to learn. 

If this confuses you, please don't give yourself as hard time. I realize that I am a mathematical genius, and cannot expect the majority of the population to keep up. (Yes- that is sarcasm.)

The only thing I have to make sure he understands is that 6 times 2 is the SAME fact as 2 times 6. Same knowledge- he just has to look at it a different way.

Then it dawned on me that this is pretty much how life works. The same snares trip me up- over and over and over and over. But until I learn to look at things in a different way, I will continue to be tripped up. 

(Much like the time I was tripped up by orange plastic construction fence webbing and fell for two blocks through downtown Ruston. Yes, "through". Bringing several hundred feet of the webbing down with me- along with the plastic cones it was attached to, and the dog, and Matthew. Who commented "Wow, Mama. It sure did take you a long time to actually get through falling and land."

Just your mental image chuckle for the day.

You're welcome.)

I pray that the Lord will open my eyes to realize that there is a LOT He has taught me. And that He expects me to use every bit of it. EVERY bit. His education is continuing. I need to hide the lessons He teaches me in my heart, and be ready to use it in new ways. Or, for goodness sakes, just use it to keep myself from making the SAME mistakes over and over again.

That's as deep as it's getting today, y'all. Because I have a yucky cold,  all three of us are wearing our clean clothes (as in...our ONLY clean clothes), and....

Gotta learn these threes. The fours are coming....

Happy October from Pizza Hut Heights!

If y'all tuned in today for a deep spiritual thought- you might as well hop over to another blog. Because that is just not the kind of day we're having around here. But, then again - after the week we've had, I think it is nothing short of a miracle that we are all in the same place at the same time and there is no fight going on. In fact - we're having a lot of fun.

By the way- everyone within the sound of my voice is cordially invited to come hear Zeb Mathews in a mini-concert at Twin Bridges Baptist Church in Alexandria. For tickets, call 1-888-HEARZEB or visit ticketmaster.com.

Not really- but just give this boy a few years, y'all:

http://youtu.be/UeNIPvTKsfU

It's been a great hand-me-down day for Matthew. Thanks to Toby, he now can dress in camo from head to toe. Rendering him practically invisible. (Except for the noise). He is also sporting a pair of Toby's outgrown boots- a contribution that was very quickly regretted, since they are a size and a half too big for him and he sounds like a herd of Clydesdales stomping through the house. But he's looking good...

And here's Grace and Sadie. Cute little resemblance here, huh?

And here we have Mike Wysowski's girlfriend. An image created during the inevitable digression of our time management skills called "Cam Wow".

So that's where we are, y'all. But you know what? Most of my happiest memories happened on regular, hanging-out, relaxing Saturdays. We plan and orchestrate special occasions in our lives- but the everyday moments hold the treasures.

I hope y'all have had a great Saturday too. Especially the 16 people in Indonesia who have visited my blog. That just amazes me - but then, a lot amazes me. An eternal childlike viewpoint of things IS one of the things I enjoy about myself. It just makes life a lot more fun.

This is Sandybunn, reporting live from Albert Street for The News From Pizza Hut Heights.

Ok y'all- I'm pretty sure Satan is reading my blog. 

And I'm pretty sure I've pissed him off. 

(If my use of the phrase "pissed off" offends you - it's another warning bell that you're on the wrong blog. Just saying.)

My pal loves to remind me that I'm a slow learner. And in sooooooooo many ways - this is the truth. For years...and years...and years- friends have been telling me to write. Many, many people. And now that I've had a small glimpse that my words may actually be encouraging others who read them - I'm dumbfounded. 

Writing is like playing the piano for me - it comes from my heart. From a place that I KNOW is the Lord. I go back and read stuff I've written, and it speaks to ME. That's just hilariously ironic to me. 

I can remember many times that I've heard someone talk about how they could tell the Lord was using them and working in their life because Satan was obviously working against them. I would wistfully think, "wow - I wish that would happen to me. It would be so neat to feel that something I was doing for Him was important enough to rile up Satan". 

That was an incredibly stupid thing to wistfully think.

And apparently, to use the phrase "life is good" in a blog is incredibly stupid, too. 

Because that was day before yesterday, and by today life is SO "not good" that I've lost two pounds in two days and I have pretty good proof that it was two pounds of snot and tears.

Plus - remember my tendency to holler out things at my kids that I would NOT want everyone in the world to read? Yeah, that. 

"Above all, put on love". What a joke, Sandy.

It's been a rough couple of days. 

Last night as I leaked out another gallon of tears onto my pillowcase- the thought crossed my mind to post a prayer request on Facebook. I was going to say: "if you know me, please pray for me". I immediately decided not to. After all - my Facebook friends have seen that I've posted a blog about my life. Some have said it encouraged them. How in the world would it look for me to post a whiny-butt prayer request?

Just then the Lord near about popped my jaws. 

(That sentence right there is a product of my rich Southern heritage. A heritage in which the phrase "near about" means "almost" but just says it better. And how many times did I hear Mama threaten to "pop my jaws"? I don't think she ever actually did it - but the sound of it was ominous enough to right the wayward soul.)

Anyway, I use that slightly irreverent analogy to describe a stab of conviction so sharp and painful, it was almost like a slap to my spirit. I am never more than one small step from certain ruin. The instant I think that even for a brief moment I am capable of anything - ANYTHING in my own strength, I have crashed and burned. 

Life IS good - even when it's not good, if it is the life He gives. A life where struggles can be shared and miraculously find new life as encouragement. Where lifting someone else up in prayer also lifts us up, because time spent talking with Him about anything is NOT "time well spent"- it's the preview of eternity.

Only through His strength is there any hope. Satan is alive and well, and would love nothing more than to silence even a small, pitiful voice like mine that speaks of the hope that IS found in His strength. So pray away, my sweet friends. Anytime. 

And you might want to reeeeeeally step it up tonight, y'all. I'm pretty sure Satan won't be pinning this blog entry on his "My Favorite Things" board on Pinterest.

And the lights go out on another day here in Pizza Hut Heights.