Patrick Swayze, Dirty Dancing and My Friend Heather

I was so sorry to hear that Patrick Swayze died. I loved to watch him dance. We watched Dirty Dancing for the first time in its entirety a few weeks ago. (I'd seen snippets on t.v. before). I wasn't at all sure it would be our kind of movie, but it was actually pretty good. I especially enjoyed, what else, the dancing! I went to school with one of the dancers and was very close friends with her sister, Julie, in middle school. Her name is Heather Gerdes and I met her when she was a 7th grader with waist length hair. I spent time with her talented family, even went to their rehearsal and a recital once, so I guess I "knew her when." She was featured quite a bit, even dancing briefly with Patrick Swayze at one point. I knew she'd gone all over the world to teach dance and do choreography after the movie came out. I found a bio of her here. Apparently she's a script supervisor now. We enjoyed the movie much more than we expected we would, and I was impressed with how often she was shown. I thought I might post about it some time, but then when I heard that Patrick Swayze had died, I decided to pay tribute to him as well. I knew him only as an actor and dancer, but my heart goes out to his family and friends who really knew him as a person.

Ode to Bread (and Lawry's!)

I love to make bread of all kinds. It is so much heartier and more flavorful then store bought. It has texture and substance and it smells wonderful. Plus it is fun to make. I used to do all of my bread making completely by hand. Kneading large balls of dough for up to 10 minutes at a time is quite a workout! At some point, my husband used his entire bonus to buy me a top of the line Kitchen Aid stand mixer with a bread hook and large bowl with my name engraved on it! It became my new best friend.

Sometimes I make just loaves of plain, white bread, transformed by being hot, crusty and fresh. Whole wheat and grains of various kinds make a hearty bread that is practically a meal unto itself. Cinnamon-brown sugar raisin bread is more of a dessert than a staple. I make my own pizza crust, too. But I think maybe my favorite is garlic bread! First I make two long loaves of French bread. I mix and knead the dough in my amazing mixer, let it rise for an hour, then punch it down and form it in to loaves. After it rises some more, I pop it in the oven until it is golden.
Then for garlic bread, I would mix Lawry's Garlic Spread with a stick of margarine, heating them both until they melted. Cutting the slightly cooled bread down the middle, and then across the sides into pieces, I would carefully spoon the hot mixture on to the individual pieces and after it soaked down in to the bread, back in the oven it went to crisp up a bit. Unbelievably good with spaghetti and meatballs, this bread was a major hit in my house. It was good with salad the next day, too!
But then Lawry's stopped carrying the spread. Yikes! What to do, what to do. I tried just using the minced garlic mix they sell in jars, but that didn't have the right texture because of the bits of garlic in the oil. I started making Parmesan Garlic Breadsticks, and they were very good, but not as good as our former bread. Finally, a tad discouraged, I resorted to just having store-bought bread with butter while I gave it some thought. But this past week in the grocery, my husband decided to try to find something else that might do. And lo and behold, he discovered four jars of Lawry's Garlic Spread! Naturally we bought all four! We are hoping very much that Lawry's saw the error of their ways and decided to begin making the spread again, but one can't be too careful. But for now, I have my spread; so tonight is spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread! The sauce is homemade and simmers in the crockpot all day. The meatballs (yes, of course, from scratch!) are in the oven as we speak. The french bread is rising. Later I will boil the noodles (no, I did not make them myself, although some day I intend to try). A few veggies or a salad and we have a winner! Here, have a cyber bite!

Sunset Beach

This past weekend, we headed out to the beach for a sunset stroll. We've been going about once a week since spring and it is a highlight of the week. As soon as we step out on to the sand, I can feel my blood pressure going down a few notches. Taking a deep breath of the salty brine, we walk along the shore, seeming to keep pace with all manner of boats skimming across the bay. There are sailboats, yachts, Coast Guard cutters, barges, speedboats, Sunset Cruise boats, and many more.
My honey holds my hand, making sure I don't trip on driftwood, leaving me free to gaze clear to the horizon. Mullet jump while seagulls, herons, and other sea birds wheel and dive, their raucous cries filling the air. Often the tide is low, leaving tide pools to explore, full of baby horseshoe crabs, starfish and living shells. Often we will spot a dolphin swimming parallel to the shore fishing for dinner.
Lots of people come to fish for dinner as well, some with poles and some with nets. Others paddle kayaks and canoes, swim, look for shells, fly kites, sail, walk, and picnic. Sometimes the sky is clear and blue, with blazing sun; other days storms blow in, stirring up the waves in to froth and making interesting patterns with the clouds.
When the sun gets low enough, all eyes turn to see what colors it will bring this time. Sometimes it is delicate, pale pastels, edging the clouds and turning the sand pink where the tide has filled little pools on the shore. Other nights it is a bold orange and melts like butter down in to the sea. We watch in awe until the last bit of color is gone, then turn toward the magnificent moonrise to head home, sleepy and content with the beauty God has provided.

Knights and Door Knobs

My youngest son spent the long weekend in Ocala at a King's Coronation, as well as Carnivale. The Society for Creative Anachronism crowned the King of Trimaris and celebrated the new Queen's birthday. The SCA (linked here) basically is about all things medieval. Every winter there is a Medieval Faire, (where jousting is my favorite activity) - this is an extended version. Everyone dresses in period garb, and people feast, ride really big horses, dance at a Masque, have sword and rapier fights and tournaments, shop in booths full of handmade items, learn juggling, archery and knife throwing, and play a wild game of living chess. A very fine way to spend a weekend!

Meanwhile, hubby and I shopped at Lowe's for doorknobs and deadbolts. We were about to settle for the cheapie knobs when, in the ta-da, nick of time, we discovered an amazing sale on really primo ones. They had been $60 a piece, but because that brand is being discontinued in this store, they were going for $7.50 each. The "cheapie" ones we had been prepared to buy were $8.50! So we did good. These are heavy, solid brass, and very classy. Not to mention how much easier they were to install, according to hubby. Often Lowe's has clearance sales of unbelievable proportions, esp. on Sundays.

September is Back and So Am I

I thank you for your kindness in bearing with me, after what may have seemed like a melodramatic statement when I posted last. I wrote it in the impulsive aftermath of an emotional night. My dislike of August has nothing whatsoever to do with the weather, but with a deep sorrow. After all these years I had thought it would not be so sharp. Indeed I get through some Augusts almost unscathed. Other years I am blindsided by what amounts to a tsunami through my heart. I would have liked to say a tsunami of my soul because to my writer's ear it sounds better. But I cannot because despite my pain, God has kept my soul firmly in His grasp. But as anyone who has a hidden sorrow - and I am beginning to think that is all of us - I needed a time of solitude and renewal. Prayer and Scripture, physical activity and creative endeavors have helped me with my grief. After all, God says precious in His sight are the death of His holy ones. We who are yet clothed in weak flesh need sometimes to rediscover that death is not the end of life.

I Hate August!

I will see you all in September.

The Mother of the Groom is Back!

We are back from the most beautiful wedding I've ever attended. Visually, it was stunning, but I am talking about content here. There were opportunities to praise God together for blessing this young couple; the vows they wrote spoke of love being a commitment, not just an emotion; they had communion together and received a blessing on their marriage, as well as admonishment on what God expected of them according to scripture; and their care of and concern for their many guests was heart-warming.

When the cake was cut, they fed each other very gently, which I thought was sweet. (I was told that this ceremony symbolizes trusting each other and taking care of each other).
Since the groom is 6' 5" and the bride is 5' 2" the couple's first dance was a source of amusement, but it was also really sweet, and they looked tremendously happy together.
Then came the part where the mother of the groom (that would be me) dances with her baby boy. I thought I would be nervous, but once I was looking (wwwaaayyy up) in to my son's shining eyes, I forgot anyone else was in the room. I couldn't help thinking of when I used to stand him on my feet to dance, or later, when he was about 6 and loved to be a little gentleman and dance with me in the kitchen. I have to say I enjoyed this time thoroughly even if I can't dance - it just didn't matter. I got in a nice hug after, too.

Some of the wedding party managed to sneak out and adorn the car and the honeymooners left for the Canadian Rockies.

Tomorrow Is Another Day

"Our car broke down. After bumming rides everywhere for weeks, we had a mechanic come here and he put in a new starter - but the old one broke teeth off the flywheel so it's a pain to start and it cost plenty! It dies all the time.

Our washer broke down, for the third time in 3 months, with the same problem each time - and all the Sears people do is bug me about getting a maintenance agreement. If they'd just fix the thing right, I wouldn't need a maintenance agreement!

Our plumber-friend fixed our toilet so it wouldn't leak out the bottom and now it's leaking somewhere else. He told us someone needs to take it out and shoot it. He spent all afternoon putting in new valves in the shower and tub (he had to cut a hole in the wall) and when he got it all in, it shot water out because there is a pinhole, and it has to all be taken out and returned, exchanged and put back in again. But he can't do it until Monday, then we have to take it back Tuesday and he'll replace it Tuesday night. Monday is also when my washer guy is coming, as well as when the week of Vacation Bible School begins (I teach). Also the tax job came in so hubby will have to work long hours. He had to work today, his day off, (fixing the ROOF at the shop!!!) and also get our flat tire fixed, so he came home with a headache, but then had to help the plumber all afternoon, so he had a migraine when the plumber left, and it was also too late to go to the grocery, so we can't go to church tomorrow, because no one can take a shower and we have no food. We had to call people to see if they were willing to cover for us by teaching two classes, passing out materials for Sunday School, doing the attendance stuff for all the classes, rescheduling a meeting. The fan is shooting flames out the back. The tape player ate a Bible tape and ruined the player. Our son broke the key off in the front door lock while I waited on the step with groceries. I had a nightmare, cut my finger and punctured my hand with an ice pick. To top it all off the wood in the back of my chair broke so my bottom sinks way down and my knees are even with my nose."

I was going through some things and found this journal entry from at least 20 years ago. Even though it probably didn't seem funny at the time I wrote it, it sure made me laugh when I read it today. What a bad week we were having! But everything turned out ok in the long run and we got through it. Other problems have been far more serious, devastating even, and God brought us through those as well. As a veteran camper, I really relate to the verse about God's Word being a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our path (Psalm 119:105). One time we were camping at a place that was over-run with armadillos. They are pretty cool, prehistoric looking little beasties by day, but trust me, you don't want to step on one in the dark of night. We had a little lantern, and if we held it just right, it would illuminate the spot where we were about to step. We had no idea what might be outside of that spot, but we knew that for that one step, we were not going to tread on any armadillos. So often that is how God leads us. One step at a time and no idea what else is out there, threatening or beckoning. I don't know what the future holds, but I sure know Who holds the future.

I will be out of the loop for a few weeks, what with vacation and my son's wedding and good stuff like that. But I know not everyone has things to celebrate right now, and that there is a lot of unhappiness and uneasiness. I thought I would leave you with this thought.

"And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose." Romans 8:28.
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jer 29:11 (NIV)
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths." Proverbs 3:5&6

School Daze

Why, you might ask, would someone who loves to learn as much as I always have, hate first grade so much? But I despised it.

I went to 6 schools in my 12 years, 4 of them in the first 5 grades. But that didn't affect first grade, of course. I suppose I was too young emotionally to handle the full days, though. Usually children begin with half-days in Kindergarten, and so far I was no exception. But my afternoon Kindergarten classes lasted a grand total of 2 weeks. Ten sleepy afternoons, following swimming lessons, a few teenage girls attempted to acquaint my wide-eyed classmates and me with the foreign concepts of sitting quietly in our chairs until called upon, raising our hands to speak, and writing our names on simple coloring pages. There may also have been singing. I only wanted a nap. Then, at the tender age of 5, I began the full days of first grade. But the work was no problem. Upon hearing that I was to go to school, I insisted on being taught to read. I felt it would be the height of embarrassment to show up at school unable even to read. I was highly motivated - my mother says I learned by osmosis.

Unfortunately being able to read actually became an obstacle to my happiness in school, however, because the other kids were constantly asking me questions, for which answers I would incur the wrath of the teacher. And the teacher was my real problem. I was positively terrified of her. In this particular school there were known to be 2 first grade teachers - the nice one and the mean one. In what was to become an unfortunate pattern in my school life, I got the mean one. I was only slightly apprehensive because I tend to get along easily with people and I felt perhaps she'd been misunderstood. Alas, she had not.

I can't honestly say I was singled out for her sharp words. I don't recall her liking any of us. We all got in trouble if we talked; but it didn't matter why. When confused classmates whispered desperate pleas for help and I tried to explain something, we both were called down sharply. Finally I learned to put my head on my desk when I had completed my work, shutting out the whispers and the tugs on my shirtsleeves.

The constantly sour attitude and sharp rebukes made me nervous enough, but had it ended there I might have adjusted. One day something occurred that cemented my fear and made every day an anticipation of disaster. We were finally at lunch, to be followed by recess - every child's favorite part of the school day. My friend and I were at the back of the lunchline, which was very long and very slow, and we began looking around us, and fell to daydreaming. Something brought my eyes back around to my friend, and with a start I realized the line had long since left us behind and we were standing alone near the door we came in at. "Go!" I commanded my friend, giving her a little push to emphasize my words.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, seeing how far back we were, and she hurried forward. As I lifted my foot to follow her, I was suddenly snatched up by both shoulders and shaken very hard. My head flew back and forth, tender baby teeth clashing together, feeling much like I imagine a field mouse must when an owl snatches it from the ground. As the violence of the shaking diminished, I could see the angry face of my teacher close to my own frightened one. "Don't push people," she screamed. Eyes wide with shock, I attempted to sputter out an explanation. Unfortunately I began with the words, "I wasn't-" and before I could get another word out, the shaking began again, much harder than before, as she yelled furiously that I was not to lie to her! "Ok," I gasped and she released me. I stumbled forward to get my lunch, stunned and rattled. Leaving as quickly as I could to go to recess, I discovered that the treasured plaything I had carefully placed in the toy cubby had been absconded with. Discouraged and unhappy, but afraid to complain, I went and sat under a tree. My mother was furious when I told her what had happened, and she tried in vain to get me transferred to the other class. She did discover that my teacher was very ill and that's why she was so tense.

Following closely on the heels of this incident was another, adding to the feeling of uneasiness because of the unnerving quality of it. I was sitting in reading circle with the sun streaming in, a little sleepy with the dull business of listening to other first graders stammer out their reading lesson. Suddenly the quiet was shattered by a shy, timid girl, who leaped to her feet, screaming. She danced frantically, slapping at herself and emitting little shrieks while we all watched in horrified fascination. The teacher rushed to the girl's side, trying to discover the problem. Just as she reached her, the girl burst in to tears and the teacher hustled her out of the room. We all stared in amazement at one another, totally at a loss as to what had just occurred. We were later informed that the girl had been stung by a bee that got inside her sweater. This episode did not make me fear bees, but my fear of my teacher became a bit mythical as I associated her with the bizarre episode.

One weary, dreary Monday morning, I dragged unwillingly in to school, weighted down by a very large, heavy cast on my aching arm, shattered in 3 places in an unfortunate incident at the Jaycees picnic over the weekend. It was my right arm, too, so all the careful work I'd done so far in learning to write had been completely undone. When I arrived, it was not my teacher who waited for me. We had a substitute, a very pleasant looking lady named Mrs. Whited. She explained that our teacher was going to be out for some weeks due to surgery and recovery, and she, Mrs. Whited, would fill her place as best she could. While feeling sympathy for the sick teacher, I can't say I was sorry to have relief from the constant dread of the school day. Mrs. Whited was as pleasant as she looked and I thrived under her smile like a flower in the sun. She was patient with me when I had trouble doing my work because of my broken arm, and she laughed when she found that rather than raising my hand for attention, I was just resting my heavy cast on the back of my chair. We got along famously. The crowning touch was the school-wide Student of the Month competition. I craved going forward in assembly in front of the entire school to receive the certificate and accolades given to the favored student. But our teachers had to nominate us. I had given up hoping, so I was genuinely surprised when my name was called. I went forward, beaming, and saw my new favorite teacher beaming back. Not long after that our regular teacher returned. Everyone in the class mobbed her to say welcome back. Well, everyone except me. I was over with Mrs. Whited having a tearful farewell.

There wasn't much of the school year left by this time, and perhaps our teacher was feeling better after her surgery, because there were no more particular incidents. As long as we stayed silent, and didn't complain at recess about the bullies, things weren't too bad. We even had an art project one day, and I enjoyed it so much that I remember it still. The owl I made is preserved as magnificent in my memory, the actual work of art not having survived to contradict my visions of grandeur. The owl art project done on black paper was the single good memory I had with that first grade teacher. She was almost nice to me that day! I've had a fondness for owls ever since.

Spider Art

Update on Gates

My friend, Karrie, continues to post here about the adoption of her little son from China. After many obstacles, Paul is in China right now, patiently plodding through all the many steps of officially adopting his son. They have a Skype account set up, so Karrie can see her new son as he plays. He's adorable! She asks for continued prayer for the process, the trip home, and Gates' acclimation to his new family. Thank you all for your interest and prayers.

June Roses

Are Bugs Pretty?

No one thinks flies are pretty?! I'm shocked. I mean, look at the little guy, with his huge red goggles, his shimmery blue-green hide, and his little hook to hold on with! Though, to be honest, if he had been on my kitchen counter I'd of whacked him without a second thought. For me the demarcation line is inside versus outside. I've always been an outdoors girl, and I marvel at the beauty of all kinds of unusual things. Snakes, for instance. My mom says there's something heathenish about my fascination with snakes. But have you ever really looked at, say, a coral snake? They are really gorgeous. We have large indigo snakes here too. Once my young son was leaning against a tree by the pond and felt something on his leg. He looked down and there was a 5-ft. indigo climbing him! He did a frantic little panic dance and the startled snake dropped off. Evidently he'd never seen a tree behave like that.

I find many spiders and other unpopular creatures to be beautiful too. My sister and I loved ants when we were little and were always trying to make homemade ant farms, with moats around them. An awful lot of ants drowned themselves rather than stay with us! Maybe it's from growing up in Florida where you either get used to things or stay nervous a lot. We always did a lot of camping, so when we went swimming or canoeing, it was usually in a pond or lake, and there were often alligators nearby. Mostly they leave you alone, especially if no one has been feeding them. Unless they've been fed, alligators are pretty shy of people. I did get to swim with a manatee once, back before it was illegal to touch them. They have hides like elephants and faces only a mother could love. We have oodles of lizards and frogs. We watched quite a drama in our bathroom window one day. We heard what sounded like a girl screaming and ran to find the source. There were 3 frogs on the outside of the screen, but there was the glass of the window kind of trapping them. They were what was screaming! A snake was crawling up the screen, wanting to eat them. While he was trying to pick out the juiciest looking frog, a tiny spider started sidling sideways toward him, ever so slowly. Finally he reached the snake's head, climbed on and bit him right between the eyes! The snake jerked, then fell from the window. So the little spider saved all those frogs! Sort of made me think of the story of the mouse saving the lion.

I love watching all the little dramas unfold as long as the creatures are outside where they belong. Even birds, which are so beautiful and fascinating flying free, I've had no luck with inside. Once we had a parakeet named Midnight. It was basically psychotic. I figure it was because it was caged. Another time we came home to find a peach-faced lovebird clinging to our screen door. Someone's pet that had escaped, we thought at first. My son made a pet of it, and at first it was adorable. It would sit on his head and sing and act all innocent. Soon, though, it became an attack bird, refusing to allow anyone in to his bedroom except him - and then, it turned on him too. We came to realize that it had probably been booted out by it's original owner in self-defense! I use to like squirrels, too. Until one got down inside our bedroom wall! So, if any bugs could read this, the moral of the story would be - stay out of my house! The bugs in the pictures I posted were all found outside and left to live and let live, except the red and black one that I trapped in my kitchen! He was left in a jar to be admired until he expired.

(This was first posted when I began blogging a year and a half ago; Dishy's post about her daughter's little fly friend reminded me of this, so since almost no one was reading back then, I thought I could re-post it without boring anyone too much. All of these photos were taken outside of my house (the jar one was inside).

For Your Amusement...

(I've had this skit script since we performed it as a radio play in high school, and thought you'd enjoy it. I did not write it but it is possible that -

the author of the skit is a semi-retired pastor by
the name of Warren W. Wiersbe of Lincoln, Nebraska. He wrote it decades
ago while a youth worker with Youth For Christ. It tells about it in his
autobiography, "Be Myself." He's written about 100 books and been on
radio for years.

I haven't been able to confirm that yet. It is pure silliness and very "punny." Enjoy the melodrama!)

FRONTIER MORTICIAN

Announcer: The makers of Fatrical present (MUSIC) –Frontier Mortician…

Are you skinny and run down? Are you so thin you have to wear skies in the bathtub to keep from going down the drain? When you turn sideways and stick out your tongue, do you look like a zipper? When you drink strawberry pop, do you look like a thermometer? Then you need Fatrical—the drink that adds weight to you. Fatrical is not a capsule, it is not a solid, it is not a liquid—it’s a gas that you inhale. Fatrical comes in one delicious gas flavor—mustard. It costs only $4.95 a case, and the equipment for inhaling it costs only $5,678. This includes a 10,000 cubit foot tank, 300 feet of hose, three pumps, two filter tips, and a partridge in a pear tree.
Now for our story—Trigger Mortis, Frontier Mortician. The scene opens in the residence of Sam Alamode, wealthy rancher and owner of the Bar B Q ranch in Sparerib, Texas. Sam is dying and is talking to his lovely daughter Piney Alamode, whom he lovingly calls Pie…
Sam: Pie, honey, I’m dying again. Go call Trigger Mortis, the frontier mortician. Have hearse, will travel.
Pie: What’s wrong with you, daddy? What’s your ailment?
Sam: I swallowed the thermometer and I’m dying by degrees.
Pie: I’ll go call Trigger Mortis right now…
Announcer: Unknown to Sam Alamode, his head foreman, Joe Silver, is hiding outside listening to the conversation. He’s a full-bloodied Indian. And Sam always called him his faithful Indian companion, Silver. Sam doesn’t hear Joe speak…
Joe: Let old Sam die. I wish he would. Then I can get the ranch and be set for life. He’s always got some fool disease. Last week he swallowed a dynamite cap and his hair came out in bangs. Before that he swallowed a hydrogen bomb and had atomic ache. He’s suffering from flower disease—he’s a blooming idiot. Hey—here comes Pie Alamode’s stupid boyfriend, Arnie…Poor kid…he’s an orphan…little orphan Arnie. I’ll just sneak away…
Arnie: I haven’t seen my girlfriend Pie Alamode for two weeks. Boy, she has lovely eyes—one is brown and the other two are blue. Last time she rolled her eyes at me, and I picked them up and rolled them back. I remember the first time she kissed me…it made chills go up and down my spine…then I found out her popsicle was leaking. I’ll knock at the door. (KNOCKS)
Pie: Who is it?
Arnie: It’s me, honey—and I call you honey ‘cause you have hives.
Pie: Oh, my cookie…and I call you cookie because you’re so crummy.
Announcer: We interrupt this love scene to bring you a message from Peter Pan makeup. Use Peter Pan before your pan peters out. This is the makeup used by the stars—Lassie, Gentle Ben, and Phyllis Diller. Listen to this letter from Mrs. Mergatroid Fluglehorn from Liverlip, Mississippi. “My face was so wrinkled I had to screw my hat on. Then I used Peter Pan makeup and I don’t look like an old woman anymore—I look like an old man. I had my wrinkles tightened up, and now every time I raise my eyebrows, I pull my socks up. I give all the credit to Peter Pan.” You can be beautiful, too…Now back to Frontier Mortician. Trigger Mortis, the frontier mortician, is answering his telephone…
Trig: Oh, it’s you, Miss Pie Alamode…You want me to come to see your father? Well, my hearse has been giving me trouble—I think I blew a casket. I’ve got to quit using embalming fluid in the gas tank, because the motor keeps dying. Yes…yes…well, I have to finish my breakfast. I’m eating Shrouded Wheat and Ghost Toasties…Well, I’ll hurry right out. Goodbye – I must be shoveling off.
Announcer: Pie Alamode hangs up and goes to meet her lover, little orphan Arnie, in their favorite meeting place…the family graveyard.
Pie: It’s so romantic here in the graveyard. There’s the grave of my Uncle Earnest. Look…there are some maggots courting in dead earnest.
Arnie: Darling, may I have your hand in marriage?
Pie: My hand? Oh yes! In fact, you can have my arm, too.
Arnie: Here, I’ll put this ring on your finger.
Pie: Awwww, your face is turning red.
Arnie: yeah, and your finger’s turning green…after all, we’ve been going together for twelve years now.
Pie: So what do you want—a pension? Let’s do tell my father.
Announcer: This program is brought to you by the Double Insanity Insurance Company. Mothers, do you have children? Then protect them with a double deal policy. We pay $100.00 if your son is killed by a herd of white elephants going east on Thursday. If you lose an arm, we help you look for it. If you get hit in the head, we pay you in one lump sum. We have a double indemnity clause, too. If you die in an accident, we bury you twice. Now, a report from the National Safety Council. It is predicted that 356 people will die in accidents this weekend. So far only 135 have been reported. Some of you aren’t trying. Now back to our story. Joe Silver is plotting to kidnap Pie Alamode and hold her for ransom. He thinks Sam Alamode is dying, but he really isn’t. Trigger Mortis, frontier mortician, is on his way to the ranch…
Trig: Well, here I am. When you are at death’s door, I will pull you through.
Sam: Good to see you, Trigger…Can you give me a good funeral?
Trig: I’ll give you a good funeral or your mummy back. Could I interest you in our new layaway plan?
Sam: I’m a sick man, a sick man. The doctor told me to drink some medicine after a hot bath, and I can hardly finish drinking the bath.
Trig: You need some of my Whistler’s Mother medicine – one dose and you’re off your rocker.
Sam: Trigger, I can trust you, can’t I?
Trig: Of corpse, of corpse…have I ever let you down?
Sam: I don’t trust my faithful Indian companion, Silver. He has a sneaky look.
Trig: I happen to know, Sam, that Joe Silver wants to kidnap your daughter and keep her from marrying little orphan Arnie.
Sam: Trigger, we gotta do something. Think of a plan.
Announcer: Will Trigger Mortis think of a plan? While he thinks, here’s a word from Honest John Pendergast, the used car dealer. Honest John has bargains in used cars that you can’t afford to miss. Here’s an 1887 Essex—this is a revolutionary car—Washington drove it at Valley Forge. The tires are so beat that you not only knock the pedestrians down, you whip them to death. This car has low lines—in fact, it’s so low it doesn’t have doors—it has manhole covers. This program is also brought to you by Glum, the toothpaste that gives your bad breath the Good Housekeeping seal of approval. Are your teeth like the Ten Commandments--all broken? Do you have a Pullman car mouth—one upper and one lower? Then use Glum…Glum contains eucalyptus oil, flown in from Australia…this eucalyptus oil is the secret of Glum. Millions of users say, “Man, you Clipt us.” Be true to your teeth and they will never be false to you. Now, back to Frontier Mortician. Sam, Pie, Arnie, and Trigger Mortis are trying to figure out how to get rid of Joe Silver.
Sam: I have a splitting headache.
Trig: Have your eyes ever been checked?
Sam: No, they’ve always been blue. Trigger, why don’t we put Joe in one of your coffins and ship him out of the state?
Trig: A tisket, a tasket, I’ll put him in a casket. I was in love once, so I know what Arnie and Pie are going through.
Pie: You were in love?
Trig: Yes. I was stuck on a girl who worked in the glue factory. She had a schoolgirl complexion…with diplomas under her eyes. Her lips were like petals—bicycle pedals. Those lips…those teeth…that hair…that eye…
Arnie: Hey—here comes Joe Silver. Get your coffin ready, Trigger.
Pie: Daddy, lie on the bed and act like you’re dead.
Announcer: Sam lies on the bed and holds his breath. Trigger takes off his shoes and everybody holds their breath. At this breathless moment, we bring you the daily police calls. Calling car 15, calling car 15—Happy Birthday, car 15, you’re now car 16. Car 56, Car 56, rush to the Bungling Brother’s Circus. The fat woman has hay fever and is crying so much three midgets are about to drown. Car 23, car 23—return the 10-gallon hat bought for the mayor. He has an 11-gallon head. Car 19, go to the corner of 6th and Main. The Chinese cook has just committed chop sueycide. Back to the story…Joe Silver enters Sam’s bedroom as the other people hide.
Joe: So I finally caught you, you scoundrel. You’ve cut my check so many times I have to endorse it with Mercurochrome. I want to marry your daughter, Sam, and nobody’s gonna stop me. Sure, I’m tough…I’ve been sent up the river so many times I get fan mail from the salmon. The last time they caught me I got ten years in jail and two in the electric chair. Even when I was a baby people were pinning things on me. Now, I’m gonna get you.
Sam: Get him, Arnie.
Trig: Quick, I have the casket opened. Push him, Arnie.
Joe: Help! Help! You’re pushing me! (MUFFLED SOUNDS)
Trig: That takes care of him. Now I have to run for a body. A fellow in town swallowed a quart of shellac and died. He had a lovely finish.
Arnie: How can we thank you? You’ll come to the wedding, won’t you?
Trig: Yes, I plan to give you a tombstone for a present, but don’t take it for granite.
Sam: Thanks, Trig. By the way, stop over and we’ll play golf someday.
Trig: Don’t ever play golf with an undertaker—he’s always on top at the last hole.
Arnie: Now we’re alone, Pie, my love. Someday you’ll have my name.
Pie: I never did find out—what is your last name, Arnie?
Arnie: My name is Arnie R. Square.
Pie: What a lovely name I’ll have…Mrs. Pie R. Square.
Announcer: And as the sun sinks slowly in the west, we leave the lovers as they plan their future. Tune in tomorrow for a new adventure, brought to you by Bleeties, the cereal for old goats. Bleeties contains 55% iron, 22% copper, 78% steel, 14% bronze and 11% zinc. It doesn’t snap, crackle or pop—it just lies there and rusts. Bleeties isn’t the breakfast of champions—it’s for people who just want to get into the semi-finals. In closing, be sure to visit your local dime store where they’re having a monster sale. Haven’t you always wanted to own your own monster? We have vampires at special prices and they‘re excellent for curing tired blood! These are experienced vampires who all worked as tellers in blood banks. Now, tune in tomorrow for the first episode of the new story, “I Was a Teen-Age Spinster,” brought to you by the gardener’s magazine, Weeder’s Digest.

Happy (Slightly Late) Birthday, Youngest Son!

Twenty years ago last Sunday our much-anticipated youngest son arrived. Fun-loving from the start, he has also loved books apparently since birth, and is very well read. He used to enjoy acting, doing all the different accents spot on. He has always been fond of the water, swimming and boating, and playing soccer. He is a graphic artist volunteering in missions work. He can play a mean game of pool, since he is ambidextrous, but is also formidable at Chess, good at both offense and defense in the same game. Sometimes I wonder if his mind is also ambidextrous! He's talented, fun-loving, cheerful, serious, a great conversationalist, intelligent and a joy to his family.

I would have wished him a Happy Birthday earlier, but I'm having a little trouble with the concept of having no more teenagers. I keep having this dream where I am walking down a long, winding path, pushing my youngest son in a stroller. As we walk, he grows, until when we finally reach our destination he is a grown man, crouched in the stroller glowering at me, angry because I won't let him out. Of course, we all know what that means - time for grandchildren!

Seriously, though, I do wish him a Happy Manhood and since he's just as cool as he always was, I'm sure I shall enjoy this phase of our lives as well!

Gates Waits

A close friend of mine is in the endless process of adopting a child, nicknamed Gates, from China. The paperwork and red tape has been relentless, and now, at zero hour, the swine flu has thrown another huge cog in the wheel. Karrie could really use your prayers and support. I am linking to her blog here if you would like to read about her struggle and her beautiful, waiting child.

Bolivian Flute Music

We had a lovely evening the other night. We were invited to an intimate little gathering at the Ten Thousand Villages boutique to hear a Bolivian pan flute musician named Efrain (pronounced Eee.fra-in). There were 15 of us scattered at little tables around the transformed shop. Lights were dim and cozy, textiles and tapestries softened the walls and ceiling, and incense wafted through the still air. My husband found a little rattan love seat that we could snuggle on to enjoy the beautiful music.

Efrain, a native of Bolivia, had long, jet-black hair and traditional, colorful dress. He played a mix of traditional folk music, self-composed instrumentals, and Christian songs such as On My Knees by Jacqui Velasquez, and El Shaddai. In between the songs, he spoke of growing up in a small village, his early love of music, and his journey toward playing music professionally. Eventually, he developed a deep faith in Jesus Christ and a ministry to be a witness to Him through his music.

There was an intermission featuring a variety of fruit, a chocolate fountain, coffee and cheescake. We all had a chance to chat with Efrain as well. We learned that he made all his own instruments, which included quite a mix of flutes. He innovated a finer bamboo mouthpiece for the pan flute, made single bamboo flutes and even aluminum flutes. He also showed us other instruments, like a 10-string one that resembled a ukelele. Efrain has played concerts all over the world, in venues small and (very) large. We were very priviliged to enjoy such a special concert. Thank you, Melody, of He, She and Me, for hosting the event!

Just Stuff

I had a splendid Mother's Day! First and foremost, all three of our "boys" (who are really men, but hey, I'm a Mom and they'll always be my boys), came over. We had a wonderful visit, both all together, and individually. We always have a great time when we get together, with lots of conversation and laughter. Then I always enjoy them individually as well. They are so unique and endlessly interesting. Our oldest son had Engagement photos to show us, that were just wonderful. I am putting my order in for several! He also gave me texting lessons, since I didn't have a clue. I'm really bad at it, as it turns out, but at least now I understand how to do it! You never know when I might need that information, and I appreciate the patient lessons. Then we had a good talk, which is a rare treat these days. I am so gonna miss him when he moves away to begin his married life.

Our middle son brought me some beautiful plants that I am so excited about! One is a Dipladenia, which I have been wanting for years, with big, pink, trumpet-shaped flowers. We got it planted yesterday, right where I can see it from the kitchen and back porch. There's another one with pretty, yellow flowers; I'm not sure exactly what it is, but it's beautiful. I love plants with yellow flowers. They are always just like sunshine. Hubby is making a special place for me to plant it in front of lattice. He (son) even brought a little pot of red gerbera daisies, that I'm keeping in my kitchen. They are so cheerful! He was the recipient of my practice texts, as well, and exhibited great patience with my silly messages. He is such a generous man.

Our youngest brought some beautiful Nepalese pottery. You light a candle in the bottom, and the little bowl in the top holds a scented cube (White Chocolate Berries! Smells heavenly). It went straight in to my new bathroom, for use during a leisurely bath. He was his usual cheerful, thoughtful self, which I find a very pleasant combination!

I am so proud of our boys, they are strong, sweet, intelligent, funny, amazing Christian men, and I love 'em to pieces. I am very happy and proud to be their Mother. I also enjoyed spending time with my own mother and my mother in law, both of whom I am cherishing more as the time with them grows shorter.


Thanks be to God, it is finally raining! It has been so, so dry. Spring is always dry, but they are saying this was the driest spring in 75 years, and everything has been screaming for rain. There have been such terrible fires, including the one above, behind the golf course and near the Nature Center, a few miles from our house. Roads have been closed, including major ones like Alligator Alley, which is the preferred route from the west coast to the east. Recently, when we were watering our poor, thirsty plants, hubby started noticing movement from every direction. To our amazement, small lizards began running over, along and beneath the fence, straight to the water. They were licking it off leaves and out of small puddles, and there were dozens of them. We've never seen that before! The summer rains are quite early this year, and we are very grateful. During the hot, humid days, the clouds gradually begin to build up larger and darker in the sky, until, with an impressive roll of thunder, the wind freshens and the rains come pouring down. I love storms, and I love the huge, fluffy clouds; I would be quite content in heaven just to float around on my own, special cloud for a few thousand years. For now, I'm content to watch them rolling lazily along above me, bringing the promise of much needed rain.

Sunset

I took this photo many years ago, as the sun set on the lake behind our house. It won an Honorable Mention in a photo contest. I just found the slide and thought I'd share it with you. If you click on it, you can see it a little bigger. Isn't God amazing? Enjoy His handiwork!

Here's a Little Story For You...

Just Exactly What I Wanted

All I did was go to church. Some nurses were taking blood pressures in the foyer and mine was way, way too high, earning me a trip to the emergency room. While there, a routine blood test revealed diabetes. This discovery led to a doctor visit and a dietitian, and now I was home, my head swimming with facts and figures, warnings and advice. Realizing my husband would be home soon, I mulled over what to say to him.
My sweet husband had once told me that he didn’t care if I got so fat he had to roll me around, as long as I was happy. That made me laugh, which was a relief to us both because I had been griping at the time about how ugly and miserable and huge I was, but doing nothing about it, and we were both sick of hearing about it. But I knew he worried about my health, and if I told him I had diabetes, he would want me to follow the doctor’s diet. And there was simply no way I was going to do that. I’d had it with diets and besides, I knew plenty of diabetic people who ate what they wanted. I stopped there and didn’t think about the consequences, just like my diabetic friends hadn’t until the damage was done. My mind was made up. Even though I never kept secrets from my husband, this one would simply have to be kept.
That evening, when my husband walked in the door, he kissed me and then he said, “What did the doctor have to say?”
I burst into tears. “She says I have diabetes!” I wailed. So much for secrets.
Had he tried to help me by offering to be my coach, I’d have rebelled entirely. “Stop!” I would have begged, making a time out sign. “I don’t want to be coached. I don’t want to be a project. I don’t want to do this at all! I feel fine. Forget I mentioned it.”
But as usual, he surprised me. “You don’t have to do this,” was the first surprise. “WE have to do this,” was the second. “We’ll do this together,” he quietly assured me. “We’ll start with a walk after dinner.” And then he did what he does best. He wrapped me in a big, old hug, and kissed the top of my head and for the millionth time I thanked God I had married this man when I had the chance. But I still had no idea how we were going to do it, and after dinner I stayed in my chair.
Over the next few days I tried to decide what to do. “What difference does it make?” I muttered to myself. “I need to lose, like, a million pounds and nothing I do will make any difference anyway.” I decided to do only what I wanted. It is my body, right? Everyone else does what they want, don’t they? The skinny ones who lecture me while the cigarette dangles from their lips?
“But what is it that you really want?” I asked myself suddenly. This thought blew me away. This I wasn’t expecting. I knew what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to diet. I didn’t want to exercise. I didn’t want to be told what to do. I had a lot to think about.
So I cleaned out my purse. No, I wasn’t procrastinating. My purse, known to my family as “the black hole” because what goes in disappears forever, is like an extension of myself. I could survive on a desert island with just the contents of my purse. I rarely clean it out because I figure at some point I’ll need everything in there, but once in a while when my thoughts get too tangled, cleaning out my purse seems to be the only way to clean out my head. Despite all the fuzzy breath mints and shredded tissue, today was no exception, because suddenly I was pulling out a wad of papers. The pamphlets from the dietician’s office! I’d never given them a second thought, which is a good thing because if I had I would of pitched them. But now I was curious.
The first little paper was about all the complications of diabetes if I didn’t control it. I set it aside and began reading something called “The Plate Method.” It was kinda cool, because it was so simple. All I had to do, it explained, was mentally divide my plate into fourths. One section gets protein, such as chicken, a burger or eggs. The second section holds the carb. This might be a serving of potatoes, pasta, rice or bread. The other two sections got veggies. A salad and some broccoli, perhaps, or a whole bunch of greens that take up half the plate. I could add a fruit on the side if I wanted to, or wait and eat it a couple of hours later. Milk with breakfast and yogurt or sugar free pudding in the late afternoon would take care of the dairy requirements. I thought this sounded a little easier than some methods I’d heard of, and I was relieved to see that breakfast didn’t have to include anything green!
Ok, practical and easy. Nobody would even realize what I was doing, although they might think I was a real pig when it came to veggies!
The next pamphlet talked about portion sizes. Yuck. I’d already done the whole weighing and measuring routine. But before I could toss it aside something caught my eye; a little fist. Apparently my fist is roughly the size of a cup. Who knew? The palm of my hand is about 3 ounces, a serving of meat. The first joint of the small finger can represent a teaspoon and a tablespoon is roughly the size of the first joint of the thumb. How cool, a portion measuring device literally in the palm of my hand! This sure beat cups and spoons and scales. This could be done surreptitiously and more importantly, easily! I could do this. I could do this and not even resent it. Shoving the last pamphlet, the one on diabetic complications, back in my purse, I went and asked my husband if he was still up for that walk he’d mentioned. Sweetheart that he is, he didn’t mention that it had been a week since he’d offered to walk with me. He just suggested that we wait until that evening after dinner, when it was cooler.
I was eager to try my new information out and see if my husband noticed. I hoped he wouldn’t. I just eyeballed things with my hand size in mind when I served myself, and I tried to think of the plate in fourths as I chose what to eat. The mashed potatoes looked miniscule on my plate - I tried to get roughly 1/2 a cup - but honestly, when I ate them it was plenty. Especially considering how long it took to chew through that huge salad! I’d loaded that baby down with every veggie I could think of, plus chunks of chicken. It was delicious. I didn’t remember salad being so good. Of course, I usually just put in lettuce and carrots.
Before I could even think about seconds, my husband was asking me if I was ready to go for a walk. We decided to just stroll up and down our block a couple of times and we set off. It was really nice outside. We got talking, just small talk at first, but soon we were talking about things that mattered to us. With no one looking at the clock to see when a show came on, no phone ringing, no dirty dishes calling, we talked in a way we hadn’t done for a while. Soon we were holding hands and talking of our hopes and dreams like we did when we were teenagers. The time flew and the more into the discussion we got, the faster we walked. A gorgeous sunset turned into a cool, pleasant evening and still we walked, back and forth, enjoying each other’s company without interruption. “This is what I want,” I suddenly thought. “A simple, uncluttered life. Time to really connect with my husband and energy enough to enjoy it!”
I never even thought about a snack, and that night I slept like a baby. The next day I was a little sleepy and yet I could hardly wait for our evening walk. My legs were a little sore. “I’m really out of shape!” I admitted ruefully. I thought about all the things I’d always wanted to do. I’d never done them because I never had the energy. Judging from my aches and pains, I still didn’t. “But could I get it somehow?” I wondered. My mind seemed invigorated, anyway, and all day I couldn’t get the question out of my mind. “What do you want to do?” Answers were beginning to drift around in the air like confetti.
That evening after dinner, we could hardly wait to get out the door for our walk. My husband was animated and almost immediately launched into a discussion of the water features he’d like to build in our fledgling garden. His excitement fueled my own, and I was soon eagerly planning a new flower bed by the fence. I’d always loved gardening. How else can a woman my age justify playing in the dirt? I hadn’t done any gardening for a while though. Too hot, I always told myself, or too many bugs. But tonight when my husband asked if I’d like to go to the local garden center on Saturday and “see what we could see” I instantly agreed.
Saturday came and off we went. The variety of flowers and plants got my gardening juices flowing again and I filled my cart with petunias, mulch and manure, ready for a day of planting. At home, we set right to work, my husband planning out his water garden near where I was happily digging and enriching and otherwise playing in the soil. All too soon, my husband said, “Wow, it’s past 3 o’clock. Ready for some lunch anytime soon?” We both looked at my filthy, sweaty, sun burnt self and burst out laughing together. “Tell you what, hon, you go get cleaned up and I’ll take you out to eat!” my husband offered. As I headed happily in to shower and change, I mulled over my day. I couldn’t believe I still had so much energy after working so hard today. And I’d missed a meal without even noticing! When had that happened last?
Pulling out of the driveway, headed to our favorite restaurant, I looked over at my new petunia bed. The ruffled petunias always looked like girls’ pinafores to me, young and wholesome, beautiful and clean. “This is what I want,” I realized. “Energy to garden. Time to focus on beauty.” I hadn’t thought about food all day.
Another week flew by. We would eat our meal and never even think about seconds. We were in too big of a hurry to get out the door for our “walkie-talkie” as we had dubbed it. Soon it was again the weekend. I woke up early Saturday morning and stretched luxuriously. I’m not much of a morning person, to say the least. But lately I’d been waking up rested, and today I realized even my aches and pains were gone. My husband suggested a ride and we headed off in the car, talking and laughing. I soon realized he was taking us to the beach.
The truth is, I love the beach, everything about it. The salty smell alone relaxes me before we even get the car parked, and I come home feeling sleepy and rested all at the same time. But the whole bathing suit issue usually stops me cold. “I want to look decent in a bathing suit,” I realized. “I don’t have to look smashing. Just decent..” For the first time in a long time, as we walked hand in hand beside the waves, I felt like this might be a reachable goal. Later we went out to eat and this time, I asked for a box when I ordered my meal. I put half the meal in as soon as it came, left satisfied instead of stuffed, and still had a scrumptious lunch to look forward to the next day. We went and bought some lovely little dessert dishes that only held a serving and Sunday we enjoyed some ice cream after our walk.
Monday came and instead of dreading it, I felt a cleaning jag coming on. I put on my College Fight Songs CD and bopped my way around the house, humming and cleaning. Cleaning out a box shoved in the corner of the closet, I came across some old workout tapes. “Wow, I haven’t seen you guys in a while,” I said. “I wonder if you still work!” On a whim, I popped Richard Simmons in the VCR player and soon I was dancing up a storm. I tired quickly, but right then and there I made myself a promise. Whenever I did a workout tape, I would keep moving for the duration. Even if I couldn’t do all the exercises, I’d try at least one of each, and meanwhile, I’d keep moving even if it was just marching in place. After that Richard and I met for daily dance sessions and before long I could do the twist to make my momma proud. I began to search around for other workout tapes I could do at home.
About two weeks later, I put my bra on and it did not lift or separate. It just hung there, on its tightest setting, loose as could be. “What’s this?” I wondered. Probably just old, worn out elastic. Perhaps it was time to get a few new ones. Come to think of it, some of my other things were feeling a little baggy. I headed off to the Mall and went straight to the Plus Size department of my favorite store. To my surprise, nothing fit! I mean nothing. Everything I tried on hung on me. This couldn’t be right. Finally I sidled over to the ladies’ department, feeling like a criminal. A svelte, young clerk saw me and headed my way and I cringed, remembering the time not so long ago when just such a clerk had totally humiliated me by loudly assuring me nothing in her department would fit and directing me upstairs to the “big clothes.”
“Can I help you,” this young lady asked cheerfully. I considered for a moment telling her I was shopping for a friend.
“Uh...I was looking for an outfit,” I said stupidly. I waited for her to tell me I was in the wrong department as she looked me up and down.
“Well, okay, so what are you looking for?” she asked. “We have these new skirts in that are just adorable! You’d look great in this one,” and she picked up a teenybopper skirt, offering it to me. I looked at her face. No, she wasn’t playing me. “Uh...okay, I’ll just look around,” I said.
“Whatever,” she agreed companionably. I slipped the skirt back on the rack, but I found another, longer one, and a tank top that matched it perfectly. “No way these will fit,” I told myself as I headed to the dressing room. And they didn’t. They were too big! I went out and got the next smaller size in each. They fit perfectly. I preened and pranced in front of the mirror. Resisting the urge to make an announcement over the mall loudspeaker, I paid for the clothes and tried to act as if I wore this size all the time. Emboldened, I tried on bras. Not the kind in the box, the ones hanging on a little hanger, all lace and silk, with price tags to match. I found an unbelievably sexy one and on this enchanted day the bra fit too. I bought some matching panties and floated home. That night when I modeled them for my husband, his eyes lit up and he said “Wow.” I thought, “This is definitely what I want!”
Six months is up and today I go back to the doctor. I hate going to the doctor. I have this funny feeling that this will all turn out to be an illusion, that the doctor will find some way to snap me back to the reality of my inadequacy. While I wait, I discover the last pamphlet in my purse. The one on complications of diabetes. Finding it fitting reading for a doctor’s waiting room, I pull it out and morosely peruse it. Kidney disease, blindness, heart disease, losing limbs - “I definitely don’t want this!” I admit. Am I back to this? Thinking about what I don’t want. But this last six months has been a discovery of what I do want. And the greatest discovery of all has been that it’s mine for the taking. I used to think that I had so much weight to lose, one little donut wouldn’t make any difference one way or the other. I was so out of shape, what was one achy, sweaty exercise session going to do? Suddenly I realized that if I applied that to brushing my teeth, they would be long gone. After all, what good does one day of brushing do? But day after day and one day you realize, hey, - my teeth never fell out! That’s how eating right, exercising and all the rest was. Not a pointless exercise in futility, but a cumulative way to wake up one day with energy; shop with confidence; get my husband to say “Wow”.
By the time the nurse called me in, I was not surprised to find that I had lost weight. She took blood and ran a quick A1C test, then took my blood pressure. She looked surprised and took it again.
“The doctor will be right in,” she said, and for once she really was.
“What’s all this?” she said with a big grin. Your weight is down, your A1C has dropped a whole point. Even your blood pressure has dropped. And I gotta tell ya, you look great! What have you been doing?” she asked.
“Oh,” I said, as casual as could be, “I have been doing just exactly what I want to do!”