If you have stuff dry cleaned, you know those bags I'm talking about.
thin, filmy, almost insubstantial, but still potentially lethal to babies, small children, and pets.
I don't have any babies in the house at the moment, but I do have a dog, so I try to dispose of those bags safely.
Here's how I do it:
First, smooth the bag into a long strip, by running my hand down the length of it and twisting.
Then tie knots in the bag every few inches.
Tie the knotty strip into a couple more knots, just for good measure.
Then throw it away.
This way, if the bag does manage to sneak out of the trash can, it is too compressed by the knots to be a safety hazard.
Of course, if your dog (or your child) manages to swallow it, you have another problem.
But that is another post.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Going to the Dogs
When we moved into this apartment, we were asked for a picture of Frankie, our Pomeranian, and his medical records (rabies shots, etc.), and informed that the weight liimit for dogs in this complex is 30 pounds.
Since Frankie weighs about 10 pounds on a heavy day, with full fur coat (not his summer cut), we were well under the limit.
Apparently, the managers only consider the weight of the dog or puppy at the time it is aquired, however.
Yes, there are many small dogs here. Scotties, mini-pinschers, toy poodles, rat terriers, and fluffy little mutts whose looks and personality are much more important than their pedigree.
However.
There are some who apparently did not read the terms of the lease.
They have overgrown the standard, some more than others.
For example, in the apartment directly above ours is a dog who started out as a bundle of white fluff not much bigger than Frankie. I think it has turned into one of those huge white Pyrranese dogs used for herding sheep--and it sounds like a baby elephant when it runs across the floor above our heads in the middle of the night.
In the apartment next to that one, we often see a black Labrador on the balcony. He is a young dog, with the sleek shiny coat of a puppy, and he is obviously lonely, since he whines in the most pitiful way when Frankie and I walk past below him. I just hope he never decides to jump off the balcony, because he would most certainly squash Frankie if he landed on him.
Another fellow apartment dweller has three dogs on leashes when we meet early in the morning. One is a definitely legal size scottie.
The other two--well, let's just say that if you put a saddle on one of those puppies, he would be in the same league as a Shetland pony.
Once in a while, we get a glimpse of a large dark hulking shadow peering at us through a patio door-I suspect it is a Rottweiler, but it is hard to say for sure, because we never see him outdoors except after dark.
Which is why Frankie and I take our long walks in daylight hours, and after dark run to the nearest fire hydrant and then duck back into the safety of our apartment.
Frankie is our fur baby, and we love him, but as a body guard he comes up rather short.
Of course, living in an RV, and now in a tiny apartment, what we need--and what we have--is a pocket sized dog.
Obviously some of our neighbors just had no idea how big their puppies were going to get, when they adopted them.
I would have thought that the size of those paws would have been a small (or rather a large) clue.
Since Frankie weighs about 10 pounds on a heavy day, with full fur coat (not his summer cut), we were well under the limit.
Apparently, the managers only consider the weight of the dog or puppy at the time it is aquired, however.
Yes, there are many small dogs here. Scotties, mini-pinschers, toy poodles, rat terriers, and fluffy little mutts whose looks and personality are much more important than their pedigree.
However.
There are some who apparently did not read the terms of the lease.
They have overgrown the standard, some more than others.
For example, in the apartment directly above ours is a dog who started out as a bundle of white fluff not much bigger than Frankie. I think it has turned into one of those huge white Pyrranese dogs used for herding sheep--and it sounds like a baby elephant when it runs across the floor above our heads in the middle of the night.
In the apartment next to that one, we often see a black Labrador on the balcony. He is a young dog, with the sleek shiny coat of a puppy, and he is obviously lonely, since he whines in the most pitiful way when Frankie and I walk past below him. I just hope he never decides to jump off the balcony, because he would most certainly squash Frankie if he landed on him.
Another fellow apartment dweller has three dogs on leashes when we meet early in the morning. One is a definitely legal size scottie.
The other two--well, let's just say that if you put a saddle on one of those puppies, he would be in the same league as a Shetland pony.
Once in a while, we get a glimpse of a large dark hulking shadow peering at us through a patio door-I suspect it is a Rottweiler, but it is hard to say for sure, because we never see him outdoors except after dark.
Which is why Frankie and I take our long walks in daylight hours, and after dark run to the nearest fire hydrant and then duck back into the safety of our apartment.
Frankie is our fur baby, and we love him, but as a body guard he comes up rather short.
Of course, living in an RV, and now in a tiny apartment, what we need--and what we have--is a pocket sized dog.
Obviously some of our neighbors just had no idea how big their puppies were going to get, when they adopted them.
I would have thought that the size of those paws would have been a small (or rather a large) clue.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
RV Woes Update
As I may have mentioned before, a few times, we used to live in our RV. But it has been in dire straits since the last week in June.
The extended warranty company says they are not going to pay for repairs to the inverter, the refrigerator, the sleep number bed, the tvs, vcr, dvd, etc.
Our problems started the third week in June. It's been a mighty long dry spell here in Texas, and no rain fell, as far as I know, anywhere in north or east texas in June--we live in east TX, and we were camping in north TX when the problems began.
The extended warranty company says they are not going to pay for repairs. Why?
They claim that the damage was done by lightening.
Lightening.
In the middle of a drought.
The RV has been waiting since 27 July at the RV repair shop for the extended warranty man to make a decision.
We finally had to rent an apartment, until the RV gets well.
Because we had to rent an apartment, we had to buy a couch, a bed, and a washer and dryer.
Because, as I said, we used to live in the RV, and the RV had all those things, but not working, of course.
Because of the lightening.
Which somehow we missed seeing.
or hearing.
or maybe we just didn't notice.
Weren't paying attention.
Right.
Lightening hit the RV, with us in it, and we didn't notice?
So the extended warranty guy said, turn it in on your vehicle insurance.
Now I'm getting paranoid.
What if the vehicle insurance guy says no it was not caused by lightening, and the extended warranty company should pay?
But the EWC has already said no.
Then what?
I'll be posting about all this again, when we find out what the vehicle insurance guy thinks.
If you're still interested.
The extended warranty company says they are not going to pay for repairs to the inverter, the refrigerator, the sleep number bed, the tvs, vcr, dvd, etc.
Our problems started the third week in June. It's been a mighty long dry spell here in Texas, and no rain fell, as far as I know, anywhere in north or east texas in June--we live in east TX, and we were camping in north TX when the problems began.
The extended warranty company says they are not going to pay for repairs. Why?
They claim that the damage was done by lightening.
Lightening.
In the middle of a drought.
The RV has been waiting since 27 July at the RV repair shop for the extended warranty man to make a decision.
We finally had to rent an apartment, until the RV gets well.
Because we had to rent an apartment, we had to buy a couch, a bed, and a washer and dryer.
Because, as I said, we used to live in the RV, and the RV had all those things, but not working, of course.
Because of the lightening.
Which somehow we missed seeing.
or hearing.
or maybe we just didn't notice.
Weren't paying attention.
Right.
Lightening hit the RV, with us in it, and we didn't notice?
So the extended warranty guy said, turn it in on your vehicle insurance.
Now I'm getting paranoid.
What if the vehicle insurance guy says no it was not caused by lightening, and the extended warranty company should pay?
But the EWC has already said no.
Then what?
I'll be posting about all this again, when we find out what the vehicle insurance guy thinks.
If you're still interested.
Monday, September 11, 2006
9-11-2001
I was walking down the hall when my assistant principal stuck her head out the door of her office, and said, "Go turn on your tv in your room. I think we are under attack."
From her tone and the look on her face, I knew something serious was happening.
I went directly to my classroom and turned on the tv. I stood there in shock, watching the images on the screen. By the time the second plane crashed into the towers, my room was full of students.
Tears were streaming down our faces. I literally felt sick at my stomach--actually, more like someone had punched me in the stomach.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted to call all my kids and bring them home with me. Like a mother hen, I wanted to gather all my chicks together in one place.
I wanted to know if Jeana's husband was at the airport, and if he was, I wanted him to leave.
I wanted all my grandbabies in my lap, right then, so I could hold on to them, feel their soft skin and their clean scent and their soft breath.
But I had a room full of kids.
And they couldn't go home either.
So we sat there together, watching in helpless horror, as the towers fell, the air filled with debris, thefire fighters and police cried for the lost heroes, the emergency workers ministered to those who had escaped.
We hugged each other, wiped each other's tears, held hands.
It was horrible.
But we couldn't stop watching.
Every time the images of the airplanes crashing were replayed, there was a sort of collective breath-holding, as if this time it wouldn't happen. But it did. Every time.
Babies born to those fathers killed in the carnage are five years old this year. Five years without their daddies.
Men and women live with memories, instead of their spouses.
Families sit down to eat, with an empty chair at the table.
Fire fighters miss their buddies.
Police officers struggle to hold back their tears at the sound of bagpipes.
Oh Lord, creator of the universe, father of us all, help us to make sense of these events. Hold those who grieve close to your heart.
From her tone and the look on her face, I knew something serious was happening.
I went directly to my classroom and turned on the tv. I stood there in shock, watching the images on the screen. By the time the second plane crashed into the towers, my room was full of students.
Tears were streaming down our faces. I literally felt sick at my stomach--actually, more like someone had punched me in the stomach.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted to call all my kids and bring them home with me. Like a mother hen, I wanted to gather all my chicks together in one place.
I wanted to know if Jeana's husband was at the airport, and if he was, I wanted him to leave.
I wanted all my grandbabies in my lap, right then, so I could hold on to them, feel their soft skin and their clean scent and their soft breath.
But I had a room full of kids.
And they couldn't go home either.
So we sat there together, watching in helpless horror, as the towers fell, the air filled with debris, thefire fighters and police cried for the lost heroes, the emergency workers ministered to those who had escaped.
We hugged each other, wiped each other's tears, held hands.
It was horrible.
But we couldn't stop watching.
Every time the images of the airplanes crashing were replayed, there was a sort of collective breath-holding, as if this time it wouldn't happen. But it did. Every time.
Babies born to those fathers killed in the carnage are five years old this year. Five years without their daddies.
Men and women live with memories, instead of their spouses.
Families sit down to eat, with an empty chair at the table.
Fire fighters miss their buddies.
Police officers struggle to hold back their tears at the sound of bagpipes.
Oh Lord, creator of the universe, father of us all, help us to make sense of these events. Hold those who grieve close to your heart.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
A Pause for Technical Difficulties
I am not a technical type person. I can run the washing machine and the dishwasher and clean the bathtub and change the sheets.
I can not seem to master anything more complicated than my twenty year old steam iron (which has lasted so long because I hate to iron and hardly ever use it).
Wick was gone this morning, and I had several small projects in mind for my morning alone in the apartment.
First, I tried to empty the ice trays. The ice would not come out. I tried running water over the bottoms of the trays, which did indeed get the cubes out, but melted them to half their size before I could scoop them up out of the sink.
Then, after stripping the bed, gathering up all the towels, bath mat, dog bedding, and other assorted laundry, I started the first of six loads of laundry. That went well enough that I decided to try vacuuming.
We bought a spiffy new upright vac when we moved into the apartment. It has all kinds of attachments, gadgets, even a self-cleaning duster. What it does not have is instructions printed on the vacuum cleaner itself.
I started in the bedroom, where there is not much traffic, and not much dirt on the carpet. I noticed that it didn't seem to have much suction, but I kept moving it back and forth.
Then I bent over to pick up a bit of lint that didn't seem to be affected by the vac, and suddenly the end of the hose (where all the little brushes and attachments hook on, I guess) tried to suck the hair off my head.
That's when I realized that the brush part of the vac was not sucking--only the hose part was sucking. Which is how I was feeling about this whole carpet vacuuming thing.
I wiggled and jiggled every part of the vac, pushed and pulled, tweaked and twisted, and could not figure out how to get the suction to go to the spinning brush thingy instead of the hose.
The hose, however, sucked just fine.
By this time I was on the fourth load of laundry. I had cleaned the sink and countertops, loaded the dishwasher, folded, hung, or otherwise disposed of the clean laundry, and worked up quite a sweat with the vac.
So I thought I needed a little break.
I thought I would watch Animal Planet and drink a coke, and cool off, while I tried to figure out how to make the vac vacuum.
I poured the diet coke into the glass, over the pint-size cubes I had already half-melted, and turned on the tv.
It came on just fine.
The only problem was that I could not figure out how to change the channel.
We went from Dish TV to a weird cable thingy when we moved into the apartment, and while I was not fully qualified to use the Dish remote control, I could at least change the channel.
I have not yet mastered the cable remote.
I can not change the channel.
So here I am, unable to get ice out of the ice cube trays, unable to get the vacuum cleaner to suck properly, and I can't even change the channel on the tv.
And Jeana keeps asking me if I have a site meter.
Hmmmph.
Can we say technologically challenged?
I can not seem to master anything more complicated than my twenty year old steam iron (which has lasted so long because I hate to iron and hardly ever use it).
Wick was gone this morning, and I had several small projects in mind for my morning alone in the apartment.
First, I tried to empty the ice trays. The ice would not come out. I tried running water over the bottoms of the trays, which did indeed get the cubes out, but melted them to half their size before I could scoop them up out of the sink.
Then, after stripping the bed, gathering up all the towels, bath mat, dog bedding, and other assorted laundry, I started the first of six loads of laundry. That went well enough that I decided to try vacuuming.
We bought a spiffy new upright vac when we moved into the apartment. It has all kinds of attachments, gadgets, even a self-cleaning duster. What it does not have is instructions printed on the vacuum cleaner itself.
I started in the bedroom, where there is not much traffic, and not much dirt on the carpet. I noticed that it didn't seem to have much suction, but I kept moving it back and forth.
Then I bent over to pick up a bit of lint that didn't seem to be affected by the vac, and suddenly the end of the hose (where all the little brushes and attachments hook on, I guess) tried to suck the hair off my head.
That's when I realized that the brush part of the vac was not sucking--only the hose part was sucking. Which is how I was feeling about this whole carpet vacuuming thing.
I wiggled and jiggled every part of the vac, pushed and pulled, tweaked and twisted, and could not figure out how to get the suction to go to the spinning brush thingy instead of the hose.
The hose, however, sucked just fine.
By this time I was on the fourth load of laundry. I had cleaned the sink and countertops, loaded the dishwasher, folded, hung, or otherwise disposed of the clean laundry, and worked up quite a sweat with the vac.
So I thought I needed a little break.
I thought I would watch Animal Planet and drink a coke, and cool off, while I tried to figure out how to make the vac vacuum.
I poured the diet coke into the glass, over the pint-size cubes I had already half-melted, and turned on the tv.
It came on just fine.
The only problem was that I could not figure out how to change the channel.
We went from Dish TV to a weird cable thingy when we moved into the apartment, and while I was not fully qualified to use the Dish remote control, I could at least change the channel.
I have not yet mastered the cable remote.
I can not change the channel.
So here I am, unable to get ice out of the ice cube trays, unable to get the vacuum cleaner to suck properly, and I can't even change the channel on the tv.
And Jeana keeps asking me if I have a site meter.
Hmmmph.
Can we say technologically challenged?
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Wednesday Works for Me--LC sweet snack
Pork rinds have all kinds of uses for those of us trying to cut down on the excess carbs. This recipe gives you a crunchy sweet treat with few carbs and not much effort.
1 package pork rinds
butter flavored no stick spray (like Pam)
cinnamon
sugar substitute (I prefer Splenda)
or a brown sugar substitute
Spread the pork rinds out on a large baking sheet. Spray lightly with butter flavored spray. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar substitute. Bake at 350 for about 10 minutes, so that the pork rinds don't get limp from the spray, but stay crispy.
Let cool.
Sort of like cinnamon toast, but without the bread, and with more crunch.
The spray gives it that buttery flavor, and helps the cinnamon and Splenda to stick to the pork rinds.
Works for me.
Enjoy.
For more Wednesday Works for Me, check http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/
1 package pork rinds
butter flavored no stick spray (like Pam)
cinnamon
sugar substitute (I prefer Splenda)
or a brown sugar substitute
Spread the pork rinds out on a large baking sheet. Spray lightly with butter flavored spray. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar substitute. Bake at 350 for about 10 minutes, so that the pork rinds don't get limp from the spray, but stay crispy.
Let cool.
Sort of like cinnamon toast, but without the bread, and with more crunch.
The spray gives it that buttery flavor, and helps the cinnamon and Splenda to stick to the pork rinds.
Works for me.
Enjoy.
For more Wednesday Works for Me, check http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/shannon/
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Dead Lizards and Hanging Dolls
Yesterday we went to visit daughter Jeana and family. Now, with four grandbabies, all lively, intelligent, and full of energy, maybe I shouldn't be surprised at anything that happens.
But some things....
well.
Jeana has one of those full-glass storm doors, with a solid wooden door behind it. It stays open most of the time, so perhaps one can understand how a little lizard might think of the edge of the door as a relatively safe place to perch. The lizard would be wrong. This lizard looks as if he has become permanently squashed into the grain of the wood, being caught on the edge of the door when someone slammed it shut.
Later, we were invited to see a doll bungee-jumping from the top bunk in the boys' room. What we actually witnessed, however, was a doll hanging from the ceiling fan, slow dancing in circles on the end of a long cord, with its blue yarn streaked hair streaming out in the breeze.
Dead lizards.
Hanging dolls.
I'm beginning to wonder if voodoo is in the home school curriculum.
But some things....
well.
Jeana has one of those full-glass storm doors, with a solid wooden door behind it. It stays open most of the time, so perhaps one can understand how a little lizard might think of the edge of the door as a relatively safe place to perch. The lizard would be wrong. This lizard looks as if he has become permanently squashed into the grain of the wood, being caught on the edge of the door when someone slammed it shut.
Later, we were invited to see a doll bungee-jumping from the top bunk in the boys' room. What we actually witnessed, however, was a doll hanging from the ceiling fan, slow dancing in circles on the end of a long cord, with its blue yarn streaked hair streaming out in the breeze.
Dead lizards.
Hanging dolls.
I'm beginning to wonder if voodoo is in the home school curriculum.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Wednesday Works for Me--Fauxtato Casserole
Wick and I have gotten more serious about how we eat since he got an infection from what started out as a fairly minor scrape on his leg. Blood sugar problems cause slow healing, so we feel that getting and keeping our blood sugar under control is really important. We both like baked potatoes, but since potatoes are not on our menu, we came up with this "faux" potato casserole.
Two heads of cauliflower, steamed and mashed (I use the mixer)
grated cheese
sour cream
chopped onion
chopped chives
crisp bacon, crumbled (or bacon bits)
butter
salt and pepper to taste
Add the ingredients to your taste, just as you would add to baked potatoes. Blend well. Pour mixture into a greased casserole dish. Top with more grated cheese. Bake at 375 until cheese is bubbly and beginning to brown.
Yumm. Works for us.
Two heads of cauliflower, steamed and mashed (I use the mixer)
grated cheese
sour cream
chopped onion
chopped chives
crisp bacon, crumbled (or bacon bits)
butter
salt and pepper to taste
Add the ingredients to your taste, just as you would add to baked potatoes. Blend well. Pour mixture into a greased casserole dish. Top with more grated cheese. Bake at 375 until cheese is bubbly and beginning to brown.
Yumm. Works for us.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Book Meme
Jeana tagged me for this, and although it took me a couple of days to get around to it (school just started Monday), here are my answers:
Bear in mind, though, that I have totally ignored the "one book" edict that appears in every question--how can a true book lover answer with just one?)
1. One book that changed your life: The Bible. Of course. Five Love Languages. The Purpose-driven Life. Pilgrim's Progress. Little Women. All the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
2. One book that you've read more than once: I read the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder almost every year. Usually in the winter. I guess because so much of the action takes place during the winter. I find them soothing and comforting. Jane Austen's Persuasion. And Pride and Prejudice. I've probably read these more than 30 times. I love Jane Austen. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (another winter time read). Little Women. Anything by Agatha Christie--there are so many that I forget the solutions by the time I reread the mysteries. Beowulf. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. The Canterbury Tales. The Harry Potter books. Some of my students are diligently looking for clues as to what will happen in the last of the seven, and I have to keep checking their research. Besides that, I like them. Harry is learning that life is not only a battle between good and evil, but that each of us has a choice--each of us has to choose, ultimately, which side has our allegiance.
3. One book you'd want on a desert island: my Bible. A survival manual. How to build a boat would come in handy, I think, also how to tell edible from inedible mushrooms, and how to make salt water potable. How to make pottery. Mostly, How to get rescued.
4. One book that made you laugh: Anything by Erma Bombeck. I sure do miss her. Especially the Grass Grows Greener Over the Septic Tank. A couple that I can't remember the authors of at the moment--Raising Demons. And Please Don't Eat the Dasies.
5. One book that made you cry: Little Women. Two parts actually: when Beth dies, and when Jo ends up with her old German suitor, Professor Baehr.
6. One book that you wish had been written: anything that made more than a million dollars for the author. Then I could retire, and just write the kind of stuff I enjoy, without worrying about making a living.
7. One book you wish had never been written: The DaVinci Code. Too many people mistake fiction for reality, and many of them lack sufficient grounding in their faith to distinguish truth from balderdash.
8. One book you are currently reading: A Wizard Alone by Diane Duane. I read a lot of "young adult" fiction, because I enjoy much of it, and because I want to know what my students are reading.
9.One book you've been meaning to read: Oh my word, how can I name just one, when my list runs into the hundreds?
Bear in mind, though, that I have totally ignored the "one book" edict that appears in every question--how can a true book lover answer with just one?)
1. One book that changed your life: The Bible. Of course. Five Love Languages. The Purpose-driven Life. Pilgrim's Progress. Little Women. All the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
2. One book that you've read more than once: I read the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder almost every year. Usually in the winter. I guess because so much of the action takes place during the winter. I find them soothing and comforting. Jane Austen's Persuasion. And Pride and Prejudice. I've probably read these more than 30 times. I love Jane Austen. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (another winter time read). Little Women. Anything by Agatha Christie--there are so many that I forget the solutions by the time I reread the mysteries. Beowulf. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights. The Canterbury Tales. The Harry Potter books. Some of my students are diligently looking for clues as to what will happen in the last of the seven, and I have to keep checking their research. Besides that, I like them. Harry is learning that life is not only a battle between good and evil, but that each of us has a choice--each of us has to choose, ultimately, which side has our allegiance.
3. One book you'd want on a desert island: my Bible. A survival manual. How to build a boat would come in handy, I think, also how to tell edible from inedible mushrooms, and how to make salt water potable. How to make pottery. Mostly, How to get rescued.
4. One book that made you laugh: Anything by Erma Bombeck. I sure do miss her. Especially the Grass Grows Greener Over the Septic Tank. A couple that I can't remember the authors of at the moment--Raising Demons. And Please Don't Eat the Dasies.
5. One book that made you cry: Little Women. Two parts actually: when Beth dies, and when Jo ends up with her old German suitor, Professor Baehr.
6. One book that you wish had been written: anything that made more than a million dollars for the author. Then I could retire, and just write the kind of stuff I enjoy, without worrying about making a living.
7. One book you wish had never been written: The DaVinci Code. Too many people mistake fiction for reality, and many of them lack sufficient grounding in their faith to distinguish truth from balderdash.
8. One book you are currently reading: A Wizard Alone by Diane Duane. I read a lot of "young adult" fiction, because I enjoy much of it, and because I want to know what my students are reading.
9.One book you've been meaning to read: Oh my word, how can I name just one, when my list runs into the hundreds?
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Where I'm From--thinking
Tomorrow begins a new school year. Part of the first week of school is letting students know about me, my expectations, my standards. Part of the week is getting to know them, where they are from, what they expect from themselves and from me.
Our first writing activity will be a poem. All the poems will share the same title, "Where I'm From."
The original poem is by George Ella Lyons. I am posting the "think sheet" I give my students, so if you feel so inclined, you can write your own.
Here's the original poem.
I am from clothespins,
From Clorox and carbon tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
the Dutch elm
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I am from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from perk up and pipe down.
I’m from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.
I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under the bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments –
snapped before I budded –leaf-fall from the family tree.
Here's the "think sheet."
Objects play
Images
shapes
Central events
church experiences
Tastes
voices
Other people’s words
town or street names
Stories
hiding places
Smells
what grew in your yard
Relatives’ names
parents work
school
other/miscellaneous
Tomorrow I will post my own version of the poem. If you decide to play, let me know so I can come visit your site and see where you are from.
Our first writing activity will be a poem. All the poems will share the same title, "Where I'm From."
The original poem is by George Ella Lyons. I am posting the "think sheet" I give my students, so if you feel so inclined, you can write your own.
Here's the original poem.
I am from clothespins,
From Clorox and carbon tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
the Dutch elm
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I am from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from perk up and pipe down.
I’m from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.
I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under the bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments –
snapped before I budded –leaf-fall from the family tree.
Here's the "think sheet."
Objects play
Images
shapes
Central events
church experiences
Tastes
voices
Other people’s words
town or street names
Stories
hiding places
Smells
what grew in your yard
Relatives’ names
parents work
school
other/miscellaneous
Tomorrow I will post my own version of the poem. If you decide to play, let me know so I can come visit your site and see where you are from.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Works for Me Wednesday--Coke Can Chicken
I confess: I changed the name, since this is a family friendly blogspot. What we really call it is B.e.e.r B_tt chicken.
Here's how to make it.
You will need:
A whole chicken.
Half a can of the liquid refreshment of your choice (b.e.e.r, fruit flavored cooler ( I really like the cherry or margarita flavor), coke, fruit flavored carbonated drink, whatever).
Salt, pepper, butter or olive oil, garlic.
I sprinkle the seasoning inside and outside the chicken. Then peel the skin of the breast back enough to stuff in some pats of butter. Or rub the whole chicken with olive oil. This will make the skin crisp up and brown something lovely.
Next, sit the chicken down on the can of liquid. If you push the chicken down on the can, it should balance on its tail end. Set it on the grill and let it cook until brown and tender. Usually this takes about an hour to an hour and a half, depending on how hot the grill is.
The liquid will boil as the chicken cooks, keeping the meat juicy, and infusing it with flavor. If you use an alcoholic beverage, the alcohol will boil off, leaving the just the flavor.
It's even better than marinating or basting, and a lot easier. I always forget the marinade until I am already ready to cook the chicken. And I can never remember to come back often enough to baste.
You may want to put a little foil on the wing tips and the ends of the drumsticks so they won't burn.
Easy, delicious, and my darling is always willing to take care of the other half of the b.e.e.r, and to cook the chicken on the grill.
Works for me.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Am I in the Right Place?
Have you ever had one of those dreams where you think you are where you are supposed to be, but then suddenly you realize that you are somewhere totally different, but it still seems like where you are supposed to be, only it's not, so where are you, and where are you supposed to be?
Well. I have that kind of dream a lot. And since I started teacher training days at my new school, I am having that kind of feeling a lot, even though I am awake, not asleep and dreaming.
The building looks like a school. It has the right name on the front. The people inside are wearing name badges that say they are teachers or principals or counselors or coaches.
So....what is the problem?
Um....it's not really a problem. It's more like.....I'm afraid I'm dreaming and I'm going to wake up.
Every person I have met---
Every single person---
has been glad to see me.
Has greeted me like a long-lost friend.
Has told me what a blessing I am going to be to them, to the school, to the kids.
Has offered to help me.
Has blessed my heart.
Has demonstrated love of God, and the indwelling of His spirit.
Today, during a small group activity focusing on our hopes and expectations for our students, people were holding up their hands, praising God, and quoting Scripture.
Especially Hebrews 11:1.
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
We prayed that God would send us where He wanted us to be.
He has answered that prayer more richly than I could ever have imagined.
Well. I have that kind of dream a lot. And since I started teacher training days at my new school, I am having that kind of feeling a lot, even though I am awake, not asleep and dreaming.
The building looks like a school. It has the right name on the front. The people inside are wearing name badges that say they are teachers or principals or counselors or coaches.
So....what is the problem?
Um....it's not really a problem. It's more like.....I'm afraid I'm dreaming and I'm going to wake up.
Every person I have met---
Every single person---
has been glad to see me.
Has greeted me like a long-lost friend.
Has told me what a blessing I am going to be to them, to the school, to the kids.
Has offered to help me.
Has blessed my heart.
Has demonstrated love of God, and the indwelling of His spirit.
Today, during a small group activity focusing on our hopes and expectations for our students, people were holding up their hands, praising God, and quoting Scripture.
Especially Hebrews 11:1.
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
We prayed that God would send us where He wanted us to be.
He has answered that prayer more richly than I could ever have imagined.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Thursday Thirteen--Who's In Charge Here?
As I have been discussing for what seems like months, we have just acquired new jobs, moved into a tiny apartment, and have major problems with our RV. Here are a few of the things we have been dealing with.
1. We signed our contracts 31 July, after being offered jobs at the Job Fair on 22 July.
2. When we were signing, we asked about new teacher training.
3. We were informed that we would have had to sign by 21 July to qualify to go to new teacher training.
4. But, as I mentioned in item #1, the Job Fair was 22 July.
5. At which time we were told we would be called on Monday, 24 July, for a time to come in and sign contracts, and hand-deliver our teacher service records, official transcripts, etc.
6. But we only received an appointment after two phone calls from my husband, and four from me, over five days.
7. After signing, we were told to report to our campuses immediately, where we would be told what to do for the rest of the week.
8. But the principal would not be expecting us, since he would have assumed that we were attending new teacher training.
9. And, since we didn't sign before 21 July, and thus missed the beginning of teacher training, we will be docked a day's pay for not attending new teacher training.
10. When we arrived on our campuses, the principals were in meetings, were totally astonished to see us, and had nothing for us to do.
11. So we went to the lake to pick up a few things, such as a clock, our dinner plates, and a few other things we seem to feel necessary for living.
12. All of which, we thought, was stored in the barn, where the temperature was approximately 125 degrees, and I felt like I was having a stroke,
13. So I went to take a cold shower, while my darling persevered, finding the dinner plates, but not the clock, despite our conviction that we have at least four somewhere among all those boxes in that hot, cavernous space.
So, today we take the RV back to the service center.
Again.
And tomorrow, we report for work.
Again.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Wednesday Works for Me--Trash Can Liners
I have a small trash basket in every room. Mostly, they catch paper--bills, catalogs, kleenex, stuff like that. But occasionally someone throws away a sticky peppermint, a wad of bubble gum, or something equally messy/yucky/disgusting, that is hard to get out of the basket.
So I always try to keep some kind of liner in the basket. I've bought boxes of small trash bags, but I just hate buying something just to contain trash. I mean, I'm actually buying something, so that I can throw it away.
So I tried Wal-mart bags. We certainly have plenty of them. In fact, if we got a rebate for Wal-mart bags, we could probably retire a year sooner.
But the bags are bigger than the trash basket, and the part that drapes over the outside covers up my cute little woven basket.
Then I tried the thin plastic bags we get in the produce department to sack up fruit, vegetables, onions, etc.
Voila! Perfect. They are just the right size. They are thin and transparent, so they don't hide my cute little baskets. And just to make sure I always replace the sack when I empty the trash, whenever I unload the groceries, I stash the bags in the bottom of the basket, under the one currently lining the trash basket. So I don't have to go looking for a bag, or find that someone has thrown away my stash. They are right there, ready to replace the one being thrown away.
And best of all, they are free.
Free always works for me.
Moving Misadventures Redux
The agony of moving continues. We ordered a washer and dryer. The store advertised free delivery. However, what the ad didn't say was that it would be 3 weeks until delivery, and someone would have to take off work to be there to accept delivery.
So Wick said he would pick it up himself.
But the store said it would take a couple of days to get the washer and dryer from wherever it was stored.
So we waited.
sigh.
Then when he went to pick them up, the store still had not brought the washer and dryer down from wherever, so we waited for it to be brought down to the pick-up area.
He brought them back to the apartment, brought them inside, and discovered, once the box was removed, that the front of the washer was caved in.
So back to the store went the washer, another wait for one to be brought down to the pick-up area, and another trip to bring the washer into the apartment.
Sigh.
Next on our list of misadventures is the tv cable situation. Cable service is supposed to be included in our rent. It was supposed to be functioning when we moved in, last week.
It's not working.
So we called the office.
The manager said to call the cable company.
The cable company said this address was not on record.
We called the office again.
The manager called the cable company.
The cable company said oh, yes, that address is good, and the service is operating.
But it is not.
So we called the office again.
The manager sent a maintenance person to our apartment with a list of things for us to do:
things like, turn on the tv.
Put the tv on cable settings.
Set up the menu functions.
All the stuff we have already done.
So we called the cable company again.
They are going to send someone out right away.
Well, not right away.
In three days.
And someone has to be here, or the guy won't come in.
Sigh.
I'm beginning to think that staying in an apartment, which was supposed to make our life easier, is not such a good idea after all.
But the RV still has major problems, like no working refrigerator.
And it may be another couple of months before the RV service center has all the parts, all the permissions from all the warranty companies, and someone available to fix everything.
SIGH.
That "to-do" list seems to be getting longer, instead of shorter.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Moving Misadventures
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When we started looking at apartments, we thought we knew what we wanted, and how much we wanted to spend.
We found out pretty fast that we didn't want to live anywhere that was available for what we wanted to spend. So...we expanded our search.
We found two different places that we were really interested in, and talked to the managers at both places. We didn't want to sign a lease until we were certain about our job situation--as in signed contracts. Last Thursday we got assurance that we do indeed have jobs, so we called our first choice.
Unfortunately, the apartment we wanted would not be ready for 6-8 weeks.
So we went with second choice, and got to move in the next day.
We had a kitchen table and chairs, a small tv, two chairs, and an old dresser.
Didn't take long to load it up, or unload it at the other end.
Then we went shopping.
We decided we would buy an air mattress to sleep on for the first month, and each month make a major purchase when we get paid.
We bought the air mattress.
Unfortunately, it was not as much fun as it appears in the picture.
It was sort of like sleeping in jello.
Bouncy.
Difficult to roll over without rolling over each other.
And once I got rolling, I rolled right off the edge onto the floor.
So the air mattress went back to Wal-mart.
The we bought a futon.
We brought it home and assembled it.
The mattress was about an inch thick.
The frame was so flimsy that the back sagged when one of us sat down on it.
We returned the futon.
We bought another futon.
This time, we asked for one that was already assembled, so we could see what would happen when we sat on it. It seemed much sturdier.
So we bought it, and took it back to the apartment.
When we cut open the plastic and clipped the strapping that had the mattress rolled up, it was much thicker, and much more comfortable.
Unfortunately, where the zipper was sewn into the cover, about two feet of it had come unsewn.
We looked at each other for several minutes, debating whether to load it up again and return it. We had already waited three days.
I got out my sewing kit and hand sewed it up again.
Then we went to Penney's to buy a set of pots and pans which was advertised for $24.00.
But that price was after the mail-in rebate
and I am prone to lose the coupon,
or forget to mail it,
or mail it and not get it,
but lose the address,
so I can't follow up on why I didn't get it.
so we went to another store, and got almost the same thing, for even less.
Between the shopping, and the assembling, and the taking back, and shopping again,
I think it will be more restful once we start back to work.
I hate moving.
I hate shopping.
I really hate returning stuff.
So the past few days have been more misadventure than adventure.
Friday we start new teacher training.
I just hope it doesn't involve shopping.
When we started looking at apartments, we thought we knew what we wanted, and how much we wanted to spend.
We found out pretty fast that we didn't want to live anywhere that was available for what we wanted to spend. So...we expanded our search.
We found two different places that we were really interested in, and talked to the managers at both places. We didn't want to sign a lease until we were certain about our job situation--as in signed contracts. Last Thursday we got assurance that we do indeed have jobs, so we called our first choice.
Unfortunately, the apartment we wanted would not be ready for 6-8 weeks.
So we went with second choice, and got to move in the next day.
We had a kitchen table and chairs, a small tv, two chairs, and an old dresser.
Didn't take long to load it up, or unload it at the other end.
Then we went shopping.
We decided we would buy an air mattress to sleep on for the first month, and each month make a major purchase when we get paid.
We bought the air mattress.
Unfortunately, it was not as much fun as it appears in the picture.
It was sort of like sleeping in jello.
Bouncy.
Difficult to roll over without rolling over each other.
And once I got rolling, I rolled right off the edge onto the floor.
So the air mattress went back to Wal-mart.
The we bought a futon.
We brought it home and assembled it.
The mattress was about an inch thick.
The frame was so flimsy that the back sagged when one of us sat down on it.
We returned the futon.
We bought another futon.
This time, we asked for one that was already assembled, so we could see what would happen when we sat on it. It seemed much sturdier.
So we bought it, and took it back to the apartment.
When we cut open the plastic and clipped the strapping that had the mattress rolled up, it was much thicker, and much more comfortable.
Unfortunately, where the zipper was sewn into the cover, about two feet of it had come unsewn.
We looked at each other for several minutes, debating whether to load it up again and return it. We had already waited three days.
I got out my sewing kit and hand sewed it up again.
Then we went to Penney's to buy a set of pots and pans which was advertised for $24.00.
But that price was after the mail-in rebate
and I am prone to lose the coupon,
or forget to mail it,
or mail it and not get it,
but lose the address,
so I can't follow up on why I didn't get it.
so we went to another store, and got almost the same thing, for even less.
Between the shopping, and the assembling, and the taking back, and shopping again,
I think it will be more restful once we start back to work.
I hate moving.
I hate shopping.
I really hate returning stuff.
So the past few days have been more misadventure than adventure.
Friday we start new teacher training.
I just hope it doesn't involve shopping.
Friday, July 28, 2006
TGIF # 1
TGI Friday was suggested by Katoushka, whose blog is passworded, so no I can't give you the link, but I will say it is hilarious, and yes I am bragging on my granddaughter.
Why TGI Friday this week? Because it is my birthday! No I won't say how old. But since I have already admitted to being married for 36 years, having three kids and seven grandbabies, I'm sure you have a pretty good guess. Oh, and yes, I was a "child bride" (well, not exactly...).
How are we celebrating? We are moving from our RV into an apartment. The RV is staying at the lake, and we will be staying in it on weekends. During the work week, we will be living in a tiny little apartment near the schools where we will be teaching.
The apartment manager has put down new flooring (looks like hardwood), new carpet in the living room and bedroom, and painted one wall in the dining room a deep red, which will be lovely with the red plaid cushions on my kitchen chairs.
I hate moving, but can't wait to get settled. Y'all have a great Friday!
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Bloggy Tour of Homes
All southern girls love home tours. We want to know how everyone lives, how they decorate, what their favorite colors are. And Boomama has graciously set us up to find out, with her Tour of Homes today.
I wasn't sure if we could participate, since we live in our RV, but sweet, hospitable dear that she is, Boomama said sure! So here we are.
We have been living in this RV for about two and a half years. It's very cozy. Sometimes, it is a little crowded, like when we have company.
But for just the two of us, it's fine. We have a tiny kitchen, a tiny bath, a tiny bedroom--just enough room to walk sideways down beside the bed and get into bed, or open the closet door.
When we lived in a house, Frankie had a crate to sleep in. But there is no room for the crate here, so he sleeps wherever he wants to, which is mostly with us.
The only problem with the bedroom picture is that it is not mine. For some reason, blogger is being uncooperative, and I can't seem to upload my own, but it let me upload this one from the web. The differences are:
1. Wrong colors. Our bedroom is a soft sage green and beige plaid.
2. Too clean. My bedroom is always cluttered with craft stuff, yarn, fabric, or clean laundry.
3. No books. My night stand is always loaded with a stack of books waiting to be read.
Other than than, it's exactly like mine.
The things I miss most about living in an RV instead of a house?
Having room for all our family to gather.
Decorating for Christmas.
So I'm posting a few pictures from previous Christmases. The top and bottom ones are at my mother's house. The one in the middle is at the house we lived in before we started RVing full time. Top: Wick and me. Middle: me. Bottom: my mother with some of her great grand children (several of them are our grandchildren. The others belong to my sister).
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Thursday Thirteen--Driving Lessons Needed
Wick and I went shopping today, while the RV was in the shop again.
Normally, neither of us is much on shopping. We decide what we need, where to go to get it, get in and out as quickly as possible.
Especially since I have had back trouble.
Since I have to use one of those little electric cart thingies the stores provide.
But today was fun. We were looking at stuff for the cabin we hope to start building soon.
1. We found some really neat brick pavers that look just like used brick, in a rosy red color, not the usual brownish or orangy color.
2. I nearly wrecked the electric cart at Home Depot, trying to back up. Sometimes the aisles are too narrow, or something is sticking out from a shelf, or whatever, and I have to back up.
3. Since I don't back up very well, I usually run into something.
4. But this time, I was actually going forward, and I still ran into something.
5. The guys who work in flooring at Home Depot had a great laugh at my expense--I think I made their day
6. because when we went to the tile department, two aisles over, I could still hear them laughing.
7. In the tile aisle, I of course immediately picked out the most expensive, which turned out to be real marble, which I don't want any way, because it would not be very durable, even though it is pretty,
8. So next I asked about butcher block--not formica, but real wood--which would fit the rustic look we are going for, but is also expensive, and not very practical.
9. When the sweet little girl in that department said well, you can't cut on it, and you can't put raw meat on it, and especially you can't put chicken on it, becaused of salmonella,
10. I quickly moved on. Salmonella. I mean. Yuck.
11. Then we went back to the flooring department so we could look at antique oak flooring, and
12. I promptly ran into a display rack,
13. Which really made the day for the flooring department guys, so we gave up, turned in the cart, and went home.
At this rate, it's gonna take us a long time to get this cabin built.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Works for Me Wednesday--Stinky Laundry Hampers
If you have a child in your household, your laundry stinks. Whether it is poopy clothes, smelly sweatsocks, or grubby uniforms, the smells can be overwhelming whenever you lift the hamper lid. So here's a way to cut down on the yucky odors.
Start with nylon netting. You can buy it for next to nothing at Wal-mart. It's usually about 3 yards wide, so one yard will go a long way.
Cut three or four squares, about the size of a coffee filter. Stack them up. Put a couple of tablespoons of baking soda in the center, bring the corners together, and twist. Secure with a rubber band, or a bread twistie, or a clothespin, whichever you can find in your junk drawer. Don't deny it. I know you have one. Everybody does.
Plop the resulting packet into your laundry hamper. The baking soda will absorb odors, the netting will confine it so you don't have baking soda all over the clothes, and the effect will last a couple of weeks.
When you replace the baking soda with fresh, pour the old down your kitchen drain and run hot water for about a minute to deodorize your sink.
Or use it to scrub your sink, then rinse it down the drain.
If the netting starts to look grubby, just run it through your washing machine, let it air dry, and start again.
Works for me.
Checking My To-Do List
Yesterday, bright and early, I started working on my to-do list. Here's how it went.
1. How amazingly polite and appreciative people were when I called to decline interviews, since I already found a job. Was that actually a sigh of relief that they don't have to interview me?
2. Can someone explain to me exactly what it is that apartment locators do, and what they expect me to pay them for? Because all they have done is call/e-mail me with lists of apartments, all of which I had to then look up on the internet myself, make calls myself, and then go look at myself? So exactly what have they done for me?
3. Can anyone explain to me how it is that I can walk into a major suburban school district HR office, request paperwork, and get it in five minutes, but when I want files from a tiny little east Texas school district, I have to wait at least 24 hours for them to locate the files?
4. I have only a week until I have to be in another city, at work, and my dentist here can't see me until September 25. So I will be looking for another dentist, in the city. I guess it is a good thing that I am not in n excruciating pain.
5. Frankie was not as thrilled as we were about his going to Krista to be groomed.
6. Apparently everyone in the property owners association who knows anything is gone on vacation. The only people still in town don't know anything. I just hate waiting. Of course, it's not as if we are planning to start building the cabin tomorrow.
7. Since we still have to complete our paperwork, find an apartment, move, and get our professional clothes cleaned, I don't think we are going to have time to celebrate by taking a trip.
8. On the other hand, since our RV inverter, TVs, video player, DVD player, GFI outlets, and refrigerator are still waiting to be repaired or replaced, taking a trip might not be as much fun as I anticipated.
9. However, despite minor disappoitments, delays, and frustrations, there has been no interruption in prayer, so thankful prayers are continuing.
1. How amazingly polite and appreciative people were when I called to decline interviews, since I already found a job. Was that actually a sigh of relief that they don't have to interview me?
2. Can someone explain to me exactly what it is that apartment locators do, and what they expect me to pay them for? Because all they have done is call/e-mail me with lists of apartments, all of which I had to then look up on the internet myself, make calls myself, and then go look at myself? So exactly what have they done for me?
3. Can anyone explain to me how it is that I can walk into a major suburban school district HR office, request paperwork, and get it in five minutes, but when I want files from a tiny little east Texas school district, I have to wait at least 24 hours for them to locate the files?
4. I have only a week until I have to be in another city, at work, and my dentist here can't see me until September 25. So I will be looking for another dentist, in the city. I guess it is a good thing that I am not in n excruciating pain.
5. Frankie was not as thrilled as we were about his going to Krista to be groomed.
6. Apparently everyone in the property owners association who knows anything is gone on vacation. The only people still in town don't know anything. I just hate waiting. Of course, it's not as if we are planning to start building the cabin tomorrow.
7. Since we still have to complete our paperwork, find an apartment, move, and get our professional clothes cleaned, I don't think we are going to have time to celebrate by taking a trip.
8. On the other hand, since our RV inverter, TVs, video player, DVD player, GFI outlets, and refrigerator are still waiting to be repaired or replaced, taking a trip might not be as much fun as I anticipated.
9. However, despite minor disappoitments, delays, and frustrations, there has been no interruption in prayer, so thankful prayers are continuing.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Monday's To-Do List
1. Call three school districts to decline interview appointments, because we have jobs.
2. Call apartment locators, because we have jobs two hours away from where we live, and that is too far to drive every day.
3. Call last year's school district to ask for employment documents, because we have jobs in another district, and the human resource office needs official copies of our transcripts, service records, and evaluations.
4. Call the dentist and make an appointment to get a jaw tooth capped, which we can now afford, because we have jobs.
5. Call Krista at Grand Paws and make an appointment for Frankie, since now we can afford to have him groomed, because we have jobs.
6. Contact home owners' association to get cabin plan approved, since we can now make plans to start building, because we have jobs.
7. Make plans for end-of-summer celebration, since our summer is almost over, because we have jobs.
8. Revise prayers, giving thanks that now we have jobs.
9. Praise God, we have jobs.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Jobs!! God gave us jobs!!
When we agreed together to resign from our jobs last February, we committed to completing our contracts in a professional manner, which we did.
We also started filling out job applications.
We filled out applications for school districts the length of Texas, north to south.
We went to job fairs.
We wrote letters.
We asked for letters of recommendation.
We requested official copies of our transcripts.
We e-mailed.
We telephoned.
We prayed.
Most of all, we prayed.
We both wanted jobs, yes. For one thing, we have grown accustomed to eating regularly.
For another, Frankie the pomeranian just couldn't be expected to give up his Kibble and Bits for Ol'Roy,
or his Alpo, for Hi-top,
or his Pupperoni for Good Value dog biscuits.
Rest easy, friends of Frankie.
He will not be reduced to being groomed by us, with our dull scissors and cheapo clippers.
He can continue being pampered by Krista at Grand Paws.
And we will still be eating regularly.
Even though it would probably be to our long term advantage if we did miss a few meals.
Our prayer was to be open to where God wanted us to be,
to achieve whatever He wants us to achieve,
to learn what He wants us to learn.
I was offered a job this morning, at the job fair, by the first school I interviewed with.
Within half an hour, Wick was hired to teach at a middle school just a few blocks from the high school where I will be teaching, so we will be riding together still, even though not on the same campus.
Both the principal and assistant principal who interviewed me were interested in my faith story, how we left our jobs trusting that God would put us where He wants us to be. In fact, I believe that is why they offered me a job.
God is so good.
Now, we pray that we will use the gifts He has given us to His glory, and according to His plan. Please pray with us.
In the district where we will be teaching, we are going to need all the prayers we can get.
We also started filling out job applications.
We filled out applications for school districts the length of Texas, north to south.
We went to job fairs.
We wrote letters.
We asked for letters of recommendation.
We requested official copies of our transcripts.
We e-mailed.
We telephoned.
We prayed.
Most of all, we prayed.
We both wanted jobs, yes. For one thing, we have grown accustomed to eating regularly.
For another, Frankie the pomeranian just couldn't be expected to give up his Kibble and Bits for Ol'Roy,
or his Alpo, for Hi-top,
or his Pupperoni for Good Value dog biscuits.
Rest easy, friends of Frankie.
He will not be reduced to being groomed by us, with our dull scissors and cheapo clippers.
He can continue being pampered by Krista at Grand Paws.
And we will still be eating regularly.
Even though it would probably be to our long term advantage if we did miss a few meals.
Our prayer was to be open to where God wanted us to be,
to achieve whatever He wants us to achieve,
to learn what He wants us to learn.
I was offered a job this morning, at the job fair, by the first school I interviewed with.
Within half an hour, Wick was hired to teach at a middle school just a few blocks from the high school where I will be teaching, so we will be riding together still, even though not on the same campus.
Both the principal and assistant principal who interviewed me were interested in my faith story, how we left our jobs trusting that God would put us where He wants us to be. In fact, I believe that is why they offered me a job.
God is so good.
Now, we pray that we will use the gifts He has given us to His glory, and according to His plan. Please pray with us.
In the district where we will be teaching, we are going to need all the prayers we can get.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Thursday Thirteen--Stuff I Learned This Week
Since our Rv, which we live in, has been in the shop for a week, we have been visiting our kids. These are things I have learned this week.
1. It always takes longer to get where you are going than you think it will.
2. Every time we stop, I *need* a coke.
3. Every time I get a coke, I Need to stop again.
4. The more times we stop, the more cokes I drink.
5. The more cokes I drink, the more often we have to stop. (anybody else seeing a pattern here?)
6. Leaving one Pomeranian alone with five cats is probably not a good idea.
7. The cats can get into places where the Pom can not go, but the Pom can't find a place that the cats can't go.
8. Kids love helping to strip a chicken carcass, because it is greasy and messy.
9. There is an amazing amount of meat left on the carcass even after you think it is stripped.
10. All little girls raised in the South need to know that *white* meat chicken salad is the only acceptable version to serve to company, although leftover *dark* meat is perfectly acceptable to serve to one's husband for lunch.
11. My daughter Jeana does not know how to pronouce "victuals" and neither does my husband.
12. Two of my grandchildren prefer to watch movies at maximum volume; I'm talking loud enough to rattle the windows.
13. My dil Jamie is a great cook, and if I stay here much longer, I won't be able to fit into any of my clothes.
1. It always takes longer to get where you are going than you think it will.
2. Every time we stop, I *need* a coke.
3. Every time I get a coke, I Need to stop again.
4. The more times we stop, the more cokes I drink.
5. The more cokes I drink, the more often we have to stop. (anybody else seeing a pattern here?)
6. Leaving one Pomeranian alone with five cats is probably not a good idea.
7. The cats can get into places where the Pom can not go, but the Pom can't find a place that the cats can't go.
8. Kids love helping to strip a chicken carcass, because it is greasy and messy.
9. There is an amazing amount of meat left on the carcass even after you think it is stripped.
10. All little girls raised in the South need to know that *white* meat chicken salad is the only acceptable version to serve to company, although leftover *dark* meat is perfectly acceptable to serve to one's husband for lunch.
11. My daughter Jeana does not know how to pronouce "victuals" and neither does my husband.
12. Two of my grandchildren prefer to watch movies at maximum volume; I'm talking loud enough to rattle the windows.
13. My dil Jamie is a great cook, and if I stay here much longer, I won't be able to fit into any of my clothes.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Works for Me Wednesday--Salvaging Left-overs
Don't you just hate to waste food? I do. That's why I save up all those little dabs of food--a spoonful of green peas, a bite of mashed potatoes, a tad of meat loaf. At one time, I save all those little bits, kept them in the refrigerator until they turned green, and then threw them away. Somehow it seemed less wasteful than just chunking them immediately.
Next, I tried eating those last few bites as I cleared the supper table. OOOPS......every bite went straight to my hips and stayed.
And stayed.
Obviously, that was not the best solution.
So.
What to do?
Having parents and in-laws who grew up in the Depression has marked me for life.
Use it up.
Wear it out.
Make it do.
Or do without.
So here is how to use it up, and make it do, without wasting food.
Depending on the size of your family, and the number of teenagers you feed regularly, you will need some kind of freezer container, somewhere between a quart and a gallon capacity.
It needs a lid that seals securely.
Make a space for it in your freezer.
Now, every time there is just a dash, pinch, or smidgin of something left over, throw it in the freezer container.
A few bites of roast.
The last five green beans.
Squash.
Carrots.
Peas.
The zucchini you had such good intentions of making into zucchini bread, but never got around to.
Beans.
Potatoes.
Rice.
Pasta.
Don't ever throw anything away.
Save it all in the freezer container.
When it is full, make soup out of it.
Depending on what kinds of leftovers you have, your mixture may be a little dry. If so, add a can of tomatoes, or tomato sauce. If you haven't put in anything starchy, add a cup of rice, or a couple of potatoes. If you like your soup spicy, add a couple of spoonfuls of salsa.
If it doesn't seem flavorful enough, add some ham base, or chicken base.
If you think it needs more veggies, add a can of mixed vegetables.
If you have plenty of time, make a big iron skillet full of cornbread.
Or serve the soup with crackers or garlic bread, and a fresh salad.
You might even want to top it with a handful of grated cheese.
It turns out different every time, depending on what you've been cooking, but it is always good. However, if there is any left, feed it to the dog.
Once is good.
Twice is better.
But leftover soup is the end.
Monday, July 17, 2006
The Phantom Paw
Last Tuesday we took our RV to be repaired. The service manager told us it would take at least a week to make the necessary repairs. So, since we live in our RV, and living in it while it is in the shop is not very much fun, we decided to go see our eldest, Ron, and wife Nikky, northwest of Houston.
We have one small dog, Frankie the pom. They have two outside dogs, black mouth curs named Sunshine and Moonbeam, and five indoor cats: Gizmo, an oriental; Jaden, a white long-hair; Twitter, a lovely smoky blue-grey; and the twins, Castor and Pollux, nearly identical grey striped tabbies.
Frankie thinks he would like to play with the cats.
The cats think they would like to ambush Frankie and tear him to shreds.
No one has actually come to great harm, but small puffs of fur often float through the air after one of their confrontations.
Night before last, Frankie ran around the end of the couch and found himself surrounded--ambushed by three of the five. The other two were sitting on top of the aquarium, snickering.
The twins like to climb up their cat "tree" and leap down suddenly, when Frankie least expects it.
Sometimes they hide in the dining room chairs, and jump on him as he walks underneath the table.
The other night, about 3:30 a.m., Frankie, who was sleeping in our bedroom, started barking. Wick told him to be quiet.
He was quiet for a minute.
Then he barked again.
This time, I told him to hush.
He did. For about 30 seconds.
Then he really started barking.
And he wouldn't hush.
So finally, I decided maybe he needed something. I don't know. A drink of water?
To go outside? What does a dog want, at 3:30 in the morning?
So I got out of bed and reached for my robe.
That's when I saw it.
A paw.
A cat's paw.
Hooked menacingly.
Waving to and fro under the bottom of the door.
By the time I opened the door, the paw and its owner had disappeared, but Frankie was on the trail.
Barking.
Loudly.
I'm sure Ron and Nikky wanted to throw something at him.
By the time I caught up with him, drug him back to the bedroom, and shut the door, I was wide awake. Frankie barked once more, then curled up on his pillow, as if nothing had happened, and started snoring softly.
Wick was snoring loudly.
No one else was stirring, not even a mouse.
So I did what any sensible person would do, at 3:30 in the morning.
I lay in bed, counting cats, until I finally fell asleep again.
Fortunately, the cats were also asleep, or had lost interest.
Tonight I'm planning to roll up a rug and put it against the bottom of the door.
Just in case the Phantom Paw tries to strike again.
We have one small dog, Frankie the pom. They have two outside dogs, black mouth curs named Sunshine and Moonbeam, and five indoor cats: Gizmo, an oriental; Jaden, a white long-hair; Twitter, a lovely smoky blue-grey; and the twins, Castor and Pollux, nearly identical grey striped tabbies.
Frankie thinks he would like to play with the cats.
The cats think they would like to ambush Frankie and tear him to shreds.
No one has actually come to great harm, but small puffs of fur often float through the air after one of their confrontations.
Night before last, Frankie ran around the end of the couch and found himself surrounded--ambushed by three of the five. The other two were sitting on top of the aquarium, snickering.
The twins like to climb up their cat "tree" and leap down suddenly, when Frankie least expects it.
Sometimes they hide in the dining room chairs, and jump on him as he walks underneath the table.
The other night, about 3:30 a.m., Frankie, who was sleeping in our bedroom, started barking. Wick told him to be quiet.
He was quiet for a minute.
Then he barked again.
This time, I told him to hush.
He did. For about 30 seconds.
Then he really started barking.
And he wouldn't hush.
So finally, I decided maybe he needed something. I don't know. A drink of water?
To go outside? What does a dog want, at 3:30 in the morning?
So I got out of bed and reached for my robe.
That's when I saw it.
A paw.
A cat's paw.
Hooked menacingly.
Waving to and fro under the bottom of the door.
By the time I opened the door, the paw and its owner had disappeared, but Frankie was on the trail.
Barking.
Loudly.
I'm sure Ron and Nikky wanted to throw something at him.
By the time I caught up with him, drug him back to the bedroom, and shut the door, I was wide awake. Frankie barked once more, then curled up on his pillow, as if nothing had happened, and started snoring softly.
Wick was snoring loudly.
No one else was stirring, not even a mouse.
So I did what any sensible person would do, at 3:30 in the morning.
I lay in bed, counting cats, until I finally fell asleep again.
Fortunately, the cats were also asleep, or had lost interest.
Tonight I'm planning to roll up a rug and put it against the bottom of the door.
Just in case the Phantom Paw tries to strike again.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Thursday Thirteen--Pork Rinds
Wick and I have been working at low carbing for quite a while now. Truly living the low carb way means either giving up most of our comfort foods, or finding ways to replicate them without so many carbs. If you are low carbing, pork rinds are your friend.
1. Pork rinds as a substitute for chips with a sour cream based dip.
2. Mix melted butter with a little salt and pour over microwaved pork rinds as a sub. for popcorn.
3. Mix melted butter with cinnamon and brown sugar substitute for a sweet snack.
4. Combine pork rinds, mixed nuts, and pumpkin seeds, as a sort of trail mix.
5. Mix pork rinds with pecans and cashews, then add the same kinds of seasonings you would use to make Chex Mix (garlic powder, butter, worcestershire sauce, among other things).
6. Crush pork rinds and use as breading on chicken or fish.
7. Crushed pork rinds can be the basis for faux stuffing for turkey--e-mail me if you want the recipe.
8. Use crushed pork rinds on top of faux-tato casserole (made with cauliflower instead of potatoes) instead of bread crumbs.
9. Pork rinds come in a variety of flavors:
10. Barbecue
11. vinegar and salt
12. cheese
13. Use crushed pork rinds as the basis for faux bread pudding, instead of the usual bread.
Number 13 is the one to which Jeana is referring in her Thursday Thirteen today. I'm sure she will be happy to explain the experience to you ;)
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Works for Me Wednesday--Keeping in Touch
Some of us are blessed with large families; on the down side, some of our family members don't live close enough to visit frequently. Little ones forget names (and sometimes faces) between visits.
Our solution is mini-picture albums.
Get a couple of those pocket-size picture albums--you will want one for each child. Gather up photographs of distant relatives, or close relatives who live at a distance. Use a permanent Sharpie to label each picture on its transparent sleeve, including relationship to the child.
Once or twice a week, take your little one on your lap and page through the mini-album. Tell stories about each person. Little ones love to hear the same stories over and over, and the stories will provide a "hook" for remembering who the various family members are.
When you see the relatives in person, you can remind your child, "This is Aunt Maude, who makes the best pineapple cake in the world!"
Or, "This is Uncle Jerry, the one who got bit by the chipmunk!"
The kids will feel more comfortable, because the names, faces, and stories are familiar. The relatives will love knowing that the babies they love so much are learning who they are.
Just be sure that the pictures are reasonably up to date, and actually look like the people.
It works for me. Let me know how it works for you.
P.S. The reason you need one for each child is that the older kids won't want the babies to slobber on *their* book. This is according to Emily (4), who doesn't want baby Will to slobber on her book.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Company in an RV
We had several family members visit last week, and people have asked how we manage to have company, living in an RV.
It takes a lot of creativity.
A lot of patience.
And a lot of love.
The RV paperwork says it sleeps six, but doesn't say anything about space for all their stuff.
The couch makes a queen sized bed.
The table makes an almost double size bed, big enough for two small children, or two adults who really love each other.
One kid slept in the recliner.
The three dogs are all small, so they curled up with whomever would give them a few inches under the quilt.
So the sleeping part we had figured out.
The next part was what to do when Peepaw gets up at the crack of dawn, and the kids want to sleep until noon. That's when we started playing musical beds.
The couch bed turned back into a couch, and whoever was sleeping there came and got in bed with Mimi (that would be me).
The table bed turned back into a table, and whoever was sleeping there came and got in bed with me.
Usually, by this point, I gave up and got up.
Then all the bedding, pillows, and bags were gathered up and put on my bed, around and on top of the children sleeping in it.
At that point, we could start breakfast.
We made big batches of pancakes, bacon and sausage, and everyone zapped their breakfast in the microwave as they got up.
We used paper plates to cut down on dishwashing.
We cooked on the smoker and grill outside as much as possible.
We spent most of our time outside, in the water, on the boat, or in the yard.
My darling put up a clothes line outside for the abundance of towels, swimsuits, and damp clothes, since the tiny bathroom has only one towel bar, and all the stuff hanging from the shower made it a little difficult to take a shower.
The trick was getting the kids to actually hang their stuff on the line.
Another difficulty is that the line is higher than my head, so some of us had a little trouble reaching that far.
The adjustments, the aggravation, the inconveniences are all worth it, to have so much time to spend with those we love.
As I have said every year for the past four years.....
Maybe by next year, the cabin will be built.
It takes a lot of creativity.
A lot of patience.
And a lot of love.
The RV paperwork says it sleeps six, but doesn't say anything about space for all their stuff.
The couch makes a queen sized bed.
The table makes an almost double size bed, big enough for two small children, or two adults who really love each other.
One kid slept in the recliner.
The three dogs are all small, so they curled up with whomever would give them a few inches under the quilt.
So the sleeping part we had figured out.
The next part was what to do when Peepaw gets up at the crack of dawn, and the kids want to sleep until noon. That's when we started playing musical beds.
The couch bed turned back into a couch, and whoever was sleeping there came and got in bed with Mimi (that would be me).
The table bed turned back into a table, and whoever was sleeping there came and got in bed with me.
Usually, by this point, I gave up and got up.
Then all the bedding, pillows, and bags were gathered up and put on my bed, around and on top of the children sleeping in it.
At that point, we could start breakfast.
We made big batches of pancakes, bacon and sausage, and everyone zapped their breakfast in the microwave as they got up.
We used paper plates to cut down on dishwashing.
We cooked on the smoker and grill outside as much as possible.
We spent most of our time outside, in the water, on the boat, or in the yard.
My darling put up a clothes line outside for the abundance of towels, swimsuits, and damp clothes, since the tiny bathroom has only one towel bar, and all the stuff hanging from the shower made it a little difficult to take a shower.
The trick was getting the kids to actually hang their stuff on the line.
Another difficulty is that the line is higher than my head, so some of us had a little trouble reaching that far.
The adjustments, the aggravation, the inconveniences are all worth it, to have so much time to spend with those we love.
As I have said every year for the past four years.....
Maybe by next year, the cabin will be built.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Something's Fishy
It's been a doggy kind of week. In addition to our pomeranian, Frankie, our son and dil and their three kids, we also had as guests Oreo the Boston terrier, and Gracie the pug mix. Remember, we live in our RV, so things sometimes seemed....well....just a bit crowded.
Last night I was making barbecue brisket sandwiches for supper, and noticed....ummmm.......an odor.
Not a pleasant odor.
Not rose petals.
Not the wild honeysuckle that grows between our place and our neighbors.
Not the doggy odor of three wet dogs---well, yes, that too, but something else......
Some indefinable odor....
An unpleasant odor.
A bad odor.
A really bad odor.
So, being a mama and grandma, I asked if anyone had forgotten to flush the commode.
Or stepped in doggy poo, of which we had an abundance, especially since the canine trio are expert panhandler, and (especially Gracie the pug) pros at the sad, deprived, starving expression that elicits hot dog bits, stray chips, and all kinds of other non-doggy treats from gullible humans (naming no names, to protect the guilty).
It wasn't stinky sneakers.
Not damp towels that had been used again and again over three or four days.
Not something in the trash, since the trash had been taken out earlier.
It smelled like dead fish.
That's exactly what it was.
One of the dogs had found a dead catfish in the shore, and of course did what dogs do--she rolled in it. Apparently several times.
Unfortunately, baby shampoo, which is what I bathe Frankie with, does not take away eau de dead catfish.
Neither does lemon juice.
Or Febreze.
You just end up with a combination of flowers, dead fish, and a hint of citrus.
Not exactly the home fragrance one dreams about.
Poor Gracie. All those baths, and she still stunk.
But she still has those gorgeous eyes that just melt your heart.
(Note: I tried numerous times to upload a picture of a Boston terrier, but for some reason it just didn't work right. Sorry, Oreo.)
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Thursday thirteen--What's Been Happening This Week
1. Son Scott and two of his kids, Buddy and Sunshine, have been with us at the lake.
2. We have gone out in the boat.
3. We have been swimming.
4. We have been smoking---no, no, not that kind of smoking--cooking brisket and chicken in the smoker.
5. Scott has stacked up firewood, picked up all the kindling, and raked the dead leaves and burned them. Yay!
6. The washer and dryer have been on double duty this week.
8. I did actually hang three loads of laundry today.
9. Then it actually rained, so the clothes on the line may be a little moldy by tomorrow.
10. Gracie the pug mix and Oreo the Boston terrier and Frankie the pom have learned to share the couch, and sleep in an untidy bundle. They all snore.
11. Wick and Scott cleared the brush around the storage barn, and it looks much better.
12. I got hit in the head by the boat canopy bar, the kitchen cabinet, and by falling over in a lawn chair, but I didn't spill my grape cooler.
13. Pie and her soccer team won their regionals, and will be going to nationals in Iowa!
Thursday thirteen bonus points:
14. Watching the kids blow up fireworks last night.
15. Snuggling with Sunshine on the couch under a quilt while watching a family friendly movie.
16. Having time to talk, at leisure, about trivialities and about heart thoughts.
17. Weather in the 80s during the first week in July!
18. Instead of 100-105!
19. Scott's home made peach ice cream--yummmmmm!
20. Chicken salad made from the leftover smoked chicken--also yum.
21. God is giving me peace about the fact that we neither have jobs yet for this fall.
22. Did I mention rain? The lake is low again, so we are hoping for a downpour tonight, and then sunshine tomorrow.
2. We have gone out in the boat.
3. We have been swimming.
4. We have been smoking---no, no, not that kind of smoking--cooking brisket and chicken in the smoker.
5. Scott has stacked up firewood, picked up all the kindling, and raked the dead leaves and burned them. Yay!
6. The washer and dryer have been on double duty this week.
8. I did actually hang three loads of laundry today.
9. Then it actually rained, so the clothes on the line may be a little moldy by tomorrow.
10. Gracie the pug mix and Oreo the Boston terrier and Frankie the pom have learned to share the couch, and sleep in an untidy bundle. They all snore.
11. Wick and Scott cleared the brush around the storage barn, and it looks much better.
12. I got hit in the head by the boat canopy bar, the kitchen cabinet, and by falling over in a lawn chair, but I didn't spill my grape cooler.
13. Pie and her soccer team won their regionals, and will be going to nationals in Iowa!
Thursday thirteen bonus points:
14. Watching the kids blow up fireworks last night.
15. Snuggling with Sunshine on the couch under a quilt while watching a family friendly movie.
16. Having time to talk, at leisure, about trivialities and about heart thoughts.
17. Weather in the 80s during the first week in July!
18. Instead of 100-105!
19. Scott's home made peach ice cream--yummmmmm!
20. Chicken salad made from the leftover smoked chicken--also yum.
21. God is giving me peace about the fact that we neither have jobs yet for this fall.
22. Did I mention rain? The lake is low again, so we are hoping for a downpour tonight, and then sunshine tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Wednesday Works for Me--Another use for Zip Bags
Last week I talked about using zip bags for packing daily changes of clothing.
Another good use for these little bags is when picnicing.
I saturate several wash cloths, fold into quarters, and pop each into a sandwich size baggie. Then I drop them into the cooler.
They are great for wiping sticky hands and faces.
If someone falls down, that frozen washcloth makes a great mini-ice pack, flexible, and not too lumpy if you need to lie on it (for bumps on the head).
And they are re-usable, unlike packaged wipes. After a few hours, the cooler ice will have melted, so there is some water in the bottom. Rinse out the washcloth in the cool water, and reuse.
I keep my oldest raggediest washcloths for this purpose.
And you can rinse out the baggies, let them dry, and reuse--just be sure you rinse well, because soapy residue, although it may not be visible, will certainly affect the taste of your sandwiches.
Works for me.
Another good use for these little bags is when picnicing.
I saturate several wash cloths, fold into quarters, and pop each into a sandwich size baggie. Then I drop them into the cooler.
They are great for wiping sticky hands and faces.
If someone falls down, that frozen washcloth makes a great mini-ice pack, flexible, and not too lumpy if you need to lie on it (for bumps on the head).
And they are re-usable, unlike packaged wipes. After a few hours, the cooler ice will have melted, so there is some water in the bottom. Rinse out the washcloth in the cool water, and reuse.
I keep my oldest raggediest washcloths for this purpose.
And you can rinse out the baggies, let them dry, and reuse--just be sure you rinse well, because soapy residue, although it may not be visible, will certainly affect the taste of your sandwiches.
Works for me.
Knockin' My Noggin
You know, sometimes God just has to knock me upside my head to get my attention. This time, it was more than once.
A couple of days ago, we took our son and two of his kids out in the boat to swim in the middle of the lake, away from the jetskiers who love to zoom through our little cove because there are no snags or trees there.
My darling put up the canopy so I wouldn't get burned, and off we went with an armload of towels and a cooler full of drinks. We anchored in deep cool water, and everone jumped in. Within twenty minutes the wind blew up hard, the waves were whitecapping, and the sky was dark. So we headed back to the dock.
We were within sight of the dock when WHAM! One of the canopy straps broke, and the metal bar fell on my head.
Ouch.
Next day, I was cleaning out the cabinet under the sink. I found that about half a bottle of dish detergent had leaked out and turned into a kind of goopy paste, we had both paper plates and paper bowls that I had thought were used up, and a small electric grill that I had completely forgotten we had was hiding way at the back of the cabinet.
I raised up to get a rag out of the sink to clean up the goopy soap stuff, and banged my head on the top of the cabinet.
That smarted.
Then, yesterday afternoon, we were sitting out in the yard talking, while son tended the smoker, on which were cooking a big brisket and a juicy chicken, which meant I would not have to cook for two or three days. I was sitting in one of those molde plastic chairs,on a slope, in soft ground (sandy soil), and husband had just handed me a cold frosty wine cooler, when I felt the downhill legs of my chair start to sink into the ground.
It was like a cartoon, slow motion fall. Very slow, but without time to catch myself, jump out of the chair, or even yell "help". I smacked my head again, scraped up my arm and leg, and now have a purple knot on my other knee.
At least I didn't spill the grape cooler.
so that is three times in three days.
Three bumps on the head.
How does this have anything to do with God?
Well. Last night I was squeegeeing the shower, thinking about putting in a load of laundry, and wondering in the dim misty back part of my mind why we still haven't found teaching jobs for the fall.
Suddenly, plain as anything, I heard Him say, "The place is not prepared yet."
Wow.
Oh. My.Word
God speaking to me in the shower, stark nekkid, thinking about laundry and cleaning the shower walls. Is that sacriligious? I don't even know how to spell that.
Wick and I agreed when we resigned that we no longer belonged at the place we were last school year. We agreed that God had some other place in mind for us, plans for us to accomplish something for him somewhere else.
Why hasn't He showed us yet where?
"The place is not prepared yet."
Okay, God, you have my attention.
Just as surely as if You had knocked me upside the head.
Prepare us.
Prepare the place.
We're waiting.
A couple of days ago, we took our son and two of his kids out in the boat to swim in the middle of the lake, away from the jetskiers who love to zoom through our little cove because there are no snags or trees there.
My darling put up the canopy so I wouldn't get burned, and off we went with an armload of towels and a cooler full of drinks. We anchored in deep cool water, and everone jumped in. Within twenty minutes the wind blew up hard, the waves were whitecapping, and the sky was dark. So we headed back to the dock.
We were within sight of the dock when WHAM! One of the canopy straps broke, and the metal bar fell on my head.
Ouch.
Next day, I was cleaning out the cabinet under the sink. I found that about half a bottle of dish detergent had leaked out and turned into a kind of goopy paste, we had both paper plates and paper bowls that I had thought were used up, and a small electric grill that I had completely forgotten we had was hiding way at the back of the cabinet.
I raised up to get a rag out of the sink to clean up the goopy soap stuff, and banged my head on the top of the cabinet.
That smarted.
Then, yesterday afternoon, we were sitting out in the yard talking, while son tended the smoker, on which were cooking a big brisket and a juicy chicken, which meant I would not have to cook for two or three days. I was sitting in one of those molde plastic chairs,on a slope, in soft ground (sandy soil), and husband had just handed me a cold frosty wine cooler, when I felt the downhill legs of my chair start to sink into the ground.
It was like a cartoon, slow motion fall. Very slow, but without time to catch myself, jump out of the chair, or even yell "help". I smacked my head again, scraped up my arm and leg, and now have a purple knot on my other knee.
At least I didn't spill the grape cooler.
so that is three times in three days.
Three bumps on the head.
How does this have anything to do with God?
Well. Last night I was squeegeeing the shower, thinking about putting in a load of laundry, and wondering in the dim misty back part of my mind why we still haven't found teaching jobs for the fall.
Suddenly, plain as anything, I heard Him say, "The place is not prepared yet."
Wow.
Oh. My.Word
God speaking to me in the shower, stark nekkid, thinking about laundry and cleaning the shower walls. Is that sacriligious? I don't even know how to spell that.
Wick and I agreed when we resigned that we no longer belonged at the place we were last school year. We agreed that God had some other place in mind for us, plans for us to accomplish something for him somewhere else.
Why hasn't He showed us yet where?
"The place is not prepared yet."
Okay, God, you have my attention.
Just as surely as if You had knocked me upside the head.
Prepare us.
Prepare the place.
We're waiting.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Trailer Trash with PinkFlamingos
Ever since we lived in our Airstream after our house burned, (see Adventures in Camping below), daughter Jeana has jokingly (at least I think she is joking) referred to us as trailer trash. And since we now live in our RV, it's sort of true. And if you are trailer trash, you just gotta have pink flamingos . Ooops, no, not live flamingos, pink plastic flamingos.
It all started at a school Christmas party, with a Chinese gift exchange. My darling thought the pink flamingos were cool, and we needed to put them in our yard.
Jeana was ...ummmm.....shall I say, not impressed? But my sister and her husband made them into one of the best jokes we ever experienced.
First, we came home from church one Sunday to find the yard full of baby flamingos, miniatures of the original pair.
Then, suddenly, one of the original pair disappeared. We finally got a note from Pinks, explaining that he had been kidnapped--birdnapped?--and he sent us monthly notes about his travels. With pictures.
One in a hay barn. One where he was in danger of being herded by a sheep dog. His mate, Flossy, seemed very quiet, but she took his disappearance fairly philosophically. she didn't seem all that much happier when he reappeared as suddenly as he had vanished.
Then, on one of our trips to Louisiana, we found a life size wooden flamingo at a flea market. We just had to bring him home, and give him a position of pride on our hearth.
Every time Jeana came over, she moved the flamingo to the patio, next to the hot tub, saying that flamingos need to be near water. As soon as she left, my sweetheart moved the flamingo back to the hearth.
Now that we live in our RV full time, we have no place to put the big flamingo, but the original pair are still dispayed in our yard. Along with flamingo string lights. And a flamingo ring toss game. And I also got a flamingo picture frame from daughter Jamie, for one of the pictures of Pinks on his travels.
Hmmmm. Maybe we could coat the wooden flamingo with spar varnish, and mount him on the boat dock.
That might really send Jeana into spasms of decorating joy.
or maybe not.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
The Wall
While we were in Branson a couple of weeks ago, we had the opportunity to visit the traveling Viet Nam Memorial. It is a replica of the "Wall" on which the names of soldiers who died in Viet Nam are recorded.
A close friend of mine, David McClelland, is named on that wall. He and I grew up in the same neighborhood, just a few houses apart. We went swimming together, played touch football in our front yard, went to high school together.....Dave was my friend, and a Marine, and he died at the age of twenty, on patrol, along with everyone else in his patrol. His body was not recovered for more than six weeks.
Danny Robinett was my husband's friend. I never met Danny, but I watched as my husband traced Danny's name on that wall.
I cried. So did he.
A kind lady who was working as a volunteer hugged me and wiped my tears. She said she travels with the memorial, and every time she helps put the wall up or take it down, she cries.
We cry for the friends who never came home. The young men who never saw their babies. The sons whose mothers still mourn, whose fathers hide their tears in the dark nights. The brothers, sons, fathers, who are frozen in our memories, forever young, forever brave, forever at the edges of our thoughts, forever in our hearts.
Tuesday is the fourth of July, the day we celebrate our independence. It is a holiday, and many people will be having picnics, going camping, shooting fireworks. I hope you all have a great day.
But I also hope that you will take a moment to remember those who bought our freedom with their blood, who believed that there are things worth dying for, who await us on that farther shore when the circle is complete again, and there will be no sorrow or crying, only rejoicing.
If you know a veteran, give him--or her--a hug.
And thank God that they made it home.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Thursday Thirteen--Packing for a Trip
If you have ever had your child walk out the door wearing an orange and pink t-shirt, with red plaid pants, and one blue sock and one yellow sock, today's post is for you.
1. Get a box of gallon-size zip bags.
2. Pick out a shirt, shorts, and socks that match.
3. Lay the shirt on the table.
4. Fold up the shorts.
5. Put the shorts, a pair of undies, and a pair of socks on the shirt.
6. Fold the shirt around the aforementioned garments.
7. Insert the resulting bundle in one of the zip bags.
8. Repeat, until you have a number of outfits bagged that corresponds to the number of days you plan to be gone.
9. Repeat at least twice more, to allow for extra changes of clothes.
10. Every day of your trip, hand a bag to your child, and put his/her dirty clothes in the empty bag.
11. When you get home, the dirty clothes will not have had the opportunity to odorize your remaining clean clothes (if any), or your suitcase.
12. If your husband has ever turned your suitcase inside out looking for his clothes, undies, socks, razor, etc., make a set of baggies for him too.
13. And if you, like me, have trouble coordinating an outfit in the dark (because you don't want to turn on the light and wake up the kids) after only two hours sleep (because one of your kids threw up all over you, the bed, and the floor during the night), make a set of baggies for yourself.
Enjoy your trip.
P. S. If you (like me) are too cheap to buy the baggies, Wal-mart bags work equally well, except that once you put dirty clothes in them, you need to tie a tight knot to keep the scent confined to the bag, and not all over your remaining clean clothes.
1. Get a box of gallon-size zip bags.
2. Pick out a shirt, shorts, and socks that match.
3. Lay the shirt on the table.
4. Fold up the shorts.
5. Put the shorts, a pair of undies, and a pair of socks on the shirt.
6. Fold the shirt around the aforementioned garments.
7. Insert the resulting bundle in one of the zip bags.
8. Repeat, until you have a number of outfits bagged that corresponds to the number of days you plan to be gone.
9. Repeat at least twice more, to allow for extra changes of clothes.
10. Every day of your trip, hand a bag to your child, and put his/her dirty clothes in the empty bag.
11. When you get home, the dirty clothes will not have had the opportunity to odorize your remaining clean clothes (if any), or your suitcase.
12. If your husband has ever turned your suitcase inside out looking for his clothes, undies, socks, razor, etc., make a set of baggies for him too.
13. And if you, like me, have trouble coordinating an outfit in the dark (because you don't want to turn on the light and wake up the kids) after only two hours sleep (because one of your kids threw up all over you, the bed, and the floor during the night), make a set of baggies for yourself.
Enjoy your trip.
P. S. If you (like me) are too cheap to buy the baggies, Wal-mart bags work equally well, except that once you put dirty clothes in them, you need to tie a tight knot to keep the scent confined to the bag, and not all over your remaining clean clothes.
Adventures in Camping--A Cautionary Tale
We've been camping all our lives. Sleeping on the ground, on picnic tables, in the car, in the bed of a pickup. In a home made camper. In a tent. Then we graduated to a pop-up tent trailer. Wow. Semi-real beds. A three burner stove. A Porta-potty, instead of hiking into the woods, or up to the shower house. And because my darling hates being hot, especially when he is trying to sleep, he installed a little air conditioner. We thought we were up town.
Then we got a little more ambitious, and bought an Airstream.
32 feet long, great condition for a 30 year old trailer, and we loved it. Well, that is, until our house burned and we spent 6 months living in it. Then, not so much.
But we kept it, and eventually lived in it again for about 3 months, when we moved and hadn't found a house yet.
Then we sold it.
Later on, we wished we hadn't, despite the fact that we had no place to park it, and would have paid its purchase price many times over, if we had paid to rent storage space for it.
Then we discovered full-timing.
In case you haven't heard, there are people who live in their RVs. Full time.
No house.
My sweetheart decided that would be very cool. So we gave our most treasured heirlooms (the stuff I couldn't bear to actually give to Goodwill, and probably no one else would want it except our kids, who grew up with these things, and so have a sentimental attachment) to our children, kept the things we thought we might need again someday if we ever decided to have a house again, and bought a fifth-wheel.
The first one was an Alfa Gold, which had been top of the line some twenty years before we acquired it. We loved it. It had lots of storage space, we could manage to make beds for the kids and grandbabies, and we could go anywhere we wanted to during our holidays and summers.
Then one weekend we were staying at a KOA which just happened to be right next to an RV dealer. We had nothing better to do one afternoon, so we walked over and looked at some of the new trailers.
Wow.
I mean.
Oh. My. Word.
Very posh.
Then we talked to a salesman, just to be polite, and went back to our (now) shabby Alfa (by comparison to the new ones). Later that day, the salesman came to tell us that he had a great deal, an unbelieveable deal, a deal we just couldn't turn down, on a brand-new Big Sky Montana. One something like this.
It was a great deal.
We didn't turn it down.
We lived in the Montana for about a year and a half, and it was great.
Then we started talking to people with motor homes. Those are the great huge bus-like vehicles you see going down the highway pulling a little car behind.
They have automatic steps that go out when you open the door, and retract when you close the door.
They have a sensor that knows when you have too many appliances plugged in and going at once, and it takes things off-line until the load is reduced, instead of blowing fuses.
They have humongous, ginormous (relatively speaking) refrigerators.
They have leather covered couches that electronically make into beds.
They have convection ovens.
Real showers, that my beloved can stand up straight in (saying that I can stand up straight in one is a given, since I am 5'2 1/2 " tall). (If I stand up really straight).
Leather recliners.
Leather seats that recline, swivel, and tilt.
Black-out shades in the bedroom.
A washer and dryer, all in one, about the size of a dishwasher.
So we went to an RV show.
We shopped.
We compared.
We talked.
We talked some more.
We decided that we wanted a motor home. And since we were planning to retire in a few years, let's go on and get it, and pay it off before we retire. After all, this is our home. We will be able to live in it, travel in it, take it when we go to see the kids, and still sleep in our own bed.
Since this was going to be our home, we wanted good quality.
Dependability.
Reliability.
The best service record.
The industry standard. One like this.
So we bought it. Brand new. Straight from the factory, to our specifications.
In 17 months, and less than 14,000 miles, our dream machine was in the shop 38 days. What kinds of problems, you ask?
Well.
The air conditioner. More than once.
The water heater. More than once.
The engine. More than once.
The dash lights--you know, the little gadgets that tell you how fast you are going, downhill, on a mountain road in Yellowstone.
Those black-out shades I mentioned? It turns out that they had something like cotton thread holding them together, and it frays. Quickly. On every shade that you actually put up and down more than a couple of times.
Last summer, we were on our way to Oklahoma City. We almost made it to Ardmore. The engine overheated, and a number of other things that I didn't understand at the time, and can't explain to you now. This jewel is so enormous that it takes a special kind of tow truck to haul it, and they had to bring one from Ok. City to rescue us.
Oh and the "toad"--the jeep we were pulling--earped its guts about half an hour later, as we were following the tow truck to OK. City.
Instead of a fun camping trip with my dearest's brother and family, we spent 13 days hanging out at their house, and they were gracious enough to invite us back again this year. Now that is family.
Then when Freightliner finally told us it was ready, and we picked it up, we discovered that the refrigerator was out, so we went from that service center to one in Tyler, just a few miles from our lake lot where we live. There went another three days.
This year, we decided to take a shorter trip, just to Lake Texoma, only about 100 miles away. Yep, you guessed it. Three trips to the RV service center, about 20 miles from where we were camped, to try to get the refrigerator fixed. Again.
Then another three days this week. To get the refrigerator fixed. Again.
At the moment, it is working, knock on wood. But when it went bonkers, somehow the electrical system, or the inverter, or some kind of doodad, also went nuts, and smoked the brand new Dish tv box, and the Sony tv.
Yes, smoked.
As in where there is smoke, there is fire.
So now we have another appointment with the Tyler RV service people for the week after July 4th.
We also have a lawsuit pending against the dealer who sold us the RV, the manufacturer of the RV, and the company who built the chassis.
The moral of my story?
Camping is fun.
Having a nice camper/trailer/fifth wheel is great.
Just don't let your reach exeed your grasp.
We plan to go back to a fifth wheel as soon as possible.
And I promise not to look at any more RVs.
Promise.
Cross my heart.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Father's Day Thoughts
I've been thinking today about fathers in my life. My own father has gone on to his reward, and I have shared memories about him here before. When he passed away, my father-in-law (Papaw) hugged me close, and said, "You're not fatherless. As long as I'm alive, you still have a daddy." But these two men, precious and dear as they are to me, are not the only fathers I have known.
Uncle Jim taught me a little bit about earning an honest dollar, hauling hay.
Uncle Hardy taught me the consequences of throwing pear cores at his old sow who had a litter of piglets and a terrible temper.
Uncle Grady taught us that jumping off the dock into a floating inner tube was not likely to be successful, but he let us try it any way.
Uncle J.P. played Grandpa's fiddle for us.
My daddy told me about his daddy, the farmer/preacher, and his twelve kids.
My grandmother told me about my granddaddy, who tied a rope to the churn handle and the other end to the porch swing so he could rock the twins to sleep while he churned.
Our sons, at play with our grandchildren, let us relive our own babies' little growin'.
My husband and our son prayed at the altar this morning during church.
I held hands with my husband, the father of our children, as we watched our grandson's baptism this morning.
Being a daddy is hard sometimes, especially when a child seems determined to take a wrong turning, and daddy has to watch his child stray.
Being a daddy is wonderful, especially when grown up children call home just to say Happy Father's Day.
So many men. So many different ways of fathering. Each an echo, a reflection, of our heavenly Father's love.
Papaw was right. I will never be fatherless, because the dear God and Father of us all is my father too.
Uncle Jim taught me a little bit about earning an honest dollar, hauling hay.
Uncle Hardy taught me the consequences of throwing pear cores at his old sow who had a litter of piglets and a terrible temper.
Uncle Grady taught us that jumping off the dock into a floating inner tube was not likely to be successful, but he let us try it any way.
Uncle J.P. played Grandpa's fiddle for us.
My daddy told me about his daddy, the farmer/preacher, and his twelve kids.
My grandmother told me about my granddaddy, who tied a rope to the churn handle and the other end to the porch swing so he could rock the twins to sleep while he churned.
Our sons, at play with our grandchildren, let us relive our own babies' little growin'.
My husband and our son prayed at the altar this morning during church.
I held hands with my husband, the father of our children, as we watched our grandson's baptism this morning.
Being a daddy is hard sometimes, especially when a child seems determined to take a wrong turning, and daddy has to watch his child stray.
Being a daddy is wonderful, especially when grown up children call home just to say Happy Father's Day.
So many men. So many different ways of fathering. Each an echo, a reflection, of our heavenly Father's love.
Papaw was right. I will never be fatherless, because the dear God and Father of us all is my father too.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Family Weekend
Last weekend we, our kids, and their kids, plus a few extras, and a few cousins, rented a place for a couple of days. It is next to a small lake, with a dock, a good place for the kids to swim, a covered picnic area, and plenty of air conditioned space for the heat of the day.
Imagine about 20 people spending a long weekend together, with no squabbling, no accidents, and no problems--no, no, that's not us--well, the squabbles were minor, the accidents involved skinned knees and splinters in toes, and one of the worst problems was that we were responsible for the biscuits for Sunday breakfast, and we forgot.
Other than that, what a fun time. Great food, time to rock and visit at leisure, board games, water guns, a huge round tube which did duty as a sunning spot for Mimi and the mommys, a diving platform for the little'ns, and a whirlpool/hurricane/vortex/ship rocking in a big storm.
Emma the golden retriever swam until she was puffing like a steam engine and had to be taken to the steps so she could catch her breath. Frankie the pom and Gizmo the cat had words at length. Several times. Poor Twitter cat hid in the corner of the couch, and tried to pretend he was invisible.
We ate Daddy Jack's watermelon right out of the rind, with no utensils, and washed the dripping juice off in the lake. He also brought us fresh tomatoes right off the vine. We ate barbecue, ham, turkey, sandwiches, bacon and eggs and gravy. We also consumed a chocolate cake, about 6 batches of cookies (snickerdoodles, oatmeal chocolate chip, peanut butter with kisses in the center), chips, cokes, sandwiches, and gallons of water.
We got a little sunburned, stayed up too late, took naps, and kissed and hugged the grandbabies. And each other.
We talked. We laughed. We prayed.
None of us wanted to leave.
And we can't wait to do it again.
Imagine about 20 people spending a long weekend together, with no squabbling, no accidents, and no problems--no, no, that's not us--well, the squabbles were minor, the accidents involved skinned knees and splinters in toes, and one of the worst problems was that we were responsible for the biscuits for Sunday breakfast, and we forgot.
Other than that, what a fun time. Great food, time to rock and visit at leisure, board games, water guns, a huge round tube which did duty as a sunning spot for Mimi and the mommys, a diving platform for the little'ns, and a whirlpool/hurricane/vortex/ship rocking in a big storm.
Emma the golden retriever swam until she was puffing like a steam engine and had to be taken to the steps so she could catch her breath. Frankie the pom and Gizmo the cat had words at length. Several times. Poor Twitter cat hid in the corner of the couch, and tried to pretend he was invisible.
We ate Daddy Jack's watermelon right out of the rind, with no utensils, and washed the dripping juice off in the lake. He also brought us fresh tomatoes right off the vine. We ate barbecue, ham, turkey, sandwiches, bacon and eggs and gravy. We also consumed a chocolate cake, about 6 batches of cookies (snickerdoodles, oatmeal chocolate chip, peanut butter with kisses in the center), chips, cokes, sandwiches, and gallons of water.
We got a little sunburned, stayed up too late, took naps, and kissed and hugged the grandbabies. And each other.
We talked. We laughed. We prayed.
None of us wanted to leave.
And we can't wait to do it again.
Friday, June 16, 2006
A Cul-de-Sac No More!
Thanks to daughter Jeana at Days to Come, I now have sidebar links! When Carol at She Lives said that a blog with no links is like a cul-de-sac, or a dead end, I knew she was talking about me. So Jeana very generously volunteered to spend a couple of hours walking me through the process of putting links into my posts, and creating a list of favorite blogs in my sidebar. Now my blog is a dead end no longer!
Once you get here, if you don't like it, or just want to go elsewhere, and see who I read regularly, you can just click on the list in the sidebar, and take off somewhere else.
Yeah, I know, to those of you who have long ago mastered these skills and many others I have yet to attempt, this is old news. But for me it is a very exciting step!
And since Ron and Nikky got me my very own copy of Blogging for Dummies, there is no telling what I might learn to do--maybe even learn to insert a picture, like this one of Jeana's daddy.
If you read me regularly, and I don't have you in my list yet, let me know if you want to be added. I can do it!
Funy thing, though, the thought that keeps running through my head is, "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing."
Once you get here, if you don't like it, or just want to go elsewhere, and see who I read regularly, you can just click on the list in the sidebar, and take off somewhere else.
Yeah, I know, to those of you who have long ago mastered these skills and many others I have yet to attempt, this is old news. But for me it is a very exciting step!
And since Ron and Nikky got me my very own copy of Blogging for Dummies, there is no telling what I might learn to do--maybe even learn to insert a picture, like this one of Jeana's daddy.
If you read me regularly, and I don't have you in my list yet, let me know if you want to be added. I can do it!
Funy thing, though, the thought that keeps running through my head is, "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing."
Friday, June 09, 2006
Blogging Q & A
Carol at She Lives has some questions about blogging habits.
-- How do find the blogs you read regularly? Through other bloggers' recommendations? Their sidebar links? Search engines? Through comments left on your blog? Something else?
Most of the blogs I read regularly are either blogs daughter Jeana tells me about, or comments left on my blog. I sometimes explore sidebar links, but I never do search engines because too much undesirable stuff turns up that way.
-- When you leave a comment, do you frequently return to that post to check for the author's response?
Not always, but frequently.
-- What types of situations might cause you to stop reading a blog that you once enjoyed?
-- How do find the blogs you read regularly? Through other bloggers' recommendations? Their sidebar links? Search engines? Through comments left on your blog? Something else?
Most of the blogs I read regularly are either blogs daughter Jeana tells me about, or comments left on my blog. I sometimes explore sidebar links, but I never do search engines because too much undesirable stuff turns up that way.
-- When you leave a comment, do you frequently return to that post to check for the author's response?
Not always, but frequently.
-- What types of situations might cause you to stop reading a blog that you once enjoyed?
Too much controversy, bitterness, personal attacks, or "adult" language or topics.
-- How much personal privacy do you try to maintain when posting on your own blog? Everything that might identify you to a friend or neighbor? Only demographic data? Only children's information? Something else?
I try to avoid giving too much personal information about my family or friends, or saying anything that would be too embarrassing--at least I ask first.
-- What are your thoughts about encouraging offline friends to read your blog?
I encourage family members to read my blog, even if they are not bloggers. Most of my friends are family. (We are a laaaarge family)
-- What criteria do you look for in the blogs you enjoy reading? Or perhaps I should ask, what factors do your favorite blogs all have in common?
Hmmm. Most are Christians. Most are mommies. Most are funny, at least most of the time, even though I do enjoy the serious posts too.
-- Are there any blogs you read on a regular basis in which the author frequently expresses beliefs or opinions that completely contradict your own?
No.
-- If you disagree with a blogger do you usually voice your perspective so they can see things from a different angle, or just ignore theirs and click away? Does the size of the person's readership influence this for you?
If I think the person is open to hearing another perspective, yes, I will either leave a comment or send an e-mail. No, I don't think about who else reads the blog.
-- Do you read and/or post on Saturdays and Sundays? Or are you predominantly at M-F blogger?
Yes. Well. Actually, I blog whenever I get the chance, which is whenever my loved one is not on line. I have broached the idea of getting another lap top, but that suggestion was met with less than enthusiastic reception.
During the school year, I probably spend more time blogging on Saturdays and Sundays than weekdays, but read more blogs during the week than on weekends.
I thought I had run out of stuff to say about blogging, but Carol's questions got me going again. Thanks, Carol, for suggesting a week of blogging about blogging.
So......what are we writing about next week?
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Thursday Thirteen--Blogging: Love/Hate
I'm just about at the end of my week of blogging about blogging. I've written more than 50 posts now, and visited quite a few other blogs. I've come to the conclusion that it is a love/hate relationship.
1. I love to write, and blogging sort of nudges me into writing more regularly.
2. I hate it when blogspot is contrary, and I can't even get to the posting page.
3. I love reading what other people have written.
4. I hate it when I enjoy someone's post, but can't think of anything to leave in comments.
5. I love the discussions that get started.
6. I hate the anger and bitterness that is sometimes revealed.
7. I love hearing people's stories.
8. I hate sad endings.
9. I love it that so few of the blog stories end unhappily--despite great challenges and difficulties, most end with an expression of faith in God.
10. I hate it when I know what I want to say, but feel that what I said is not what I meant.
11. I love looking at the pictures, graphics, and beautiful designs on other blogs.
12. I hate it that I am having such a difficult time learning to do the things I want to do.
13. I love the people who blog; I love the ones I visit, frequently or infrequently; I love the ones who visit my blog, and especially the ones who leave comments and links to their sites; I love the sense of community I see among bloggers who take the time to get to know each other, and support each other in hard times, and share the joy.
I hope this is the end of the week of blogging, since I have pretty much said all I have to say about blogging, at least for this week.
1. I love to write, and blogging sort of nudges me into writing more regularly.
2. I hate it when blogspot is contrary, and I can't even get to the posting page.
3. I love reading what other people have written.
4. I hate it when I enjoy someone's post, but can't think of anything to leave in comments.
5. I love the discussions that get started.
6. I hate the anger and bitterness that is sometimes revealed.
7. I love hearing people's stories.
8. I hate sad endings.
9. I love it that so few of the blog stories end unhappily--despite great challenges and difficulties, most end with an expression of faith in God.
10. I hate it when I know what I want to say, but feel that what I said is not what I meant.
11. I love looking at the pictures, graphics, and beautiful designs on other blogs.
12. I hate it that I am having such a difficult time learning to do the things I want to do.
13. I love the people who blog; I love the ones I visit, frequently or infrequently; I love the ones who visit my blog, and especially the ones who leave comments and links to their sites; I love the sense of community I see among bloggers who take the time to get to know each other, and support each other in hard times, and share the joy.
I hope this is the end of the week of blogging, since I have pretty much said all I have to say about blogging, at least for this week.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Works for Me Wednesday--Newspaper and Tupperware
Well, not just Tupperware. Rubbermaid, or any of those plastic, tightly sealing containers that sometimes hold smells. Stinky smells like tuna. Or onion.
That stuff is too expensive to throw it away, just because it retains an odor. But who wants to put strawberries in a bowl that still smells like cocktail shrimp?
The answer is newspaper. Yeah, that pile of paper you usually use for the bottom of the bird cage, or shred for the ferrets, or start campfires with. It also absorbs odors.
Just wad up a piece, put it in the bowl, and seal the lid. Let it set over night. Next morning, the smell will be gone.
You can also use it for damp, stinky sneakers. Stuff newspaper down into the shoes and leave overnight.
Newspapers will absorb most any kind of odor.
Hmmmm......do you reckon that is why guys read in the bathroom?
Works for me.
A Week of Blogging 4
Once again, my idea for today comes from another blogger, Gibbe at Kisses of Sunshine. She posted a link to an article, A Model of Faith. (Once more, I bemoan my inability to make links work properly--sorry).
The article poses some interesting questions about what being a Christian means in our modern world, and how we represent our faith to others.
One of the things I have noticed since I started blogging is that very few people comment when I post about a serious subject and treat it seriously.
Most of the comments are in response to lighter, more humourous posts.
So where does my faith enter into my blogging life? I comment on other blogs. I notice when someone expresses a concern, and either leave a comment or send an e-mail. People seem to be more comfortable (in general) talking about very personal concerns in private, not on the public blog page. I offer to pray, express my sympathy or concern, ask what I can do to help.
My own response to the "in your face" style of faith presentation is usually to back away. I have a strong sense of my own "personal space" and I don't like being backed into a corner and preached at or yelled at.
So I try not to do it to others. (My own kids will tell you different--they think I am prone to preach to them at the drop of a hat. I maintain that it is a mama's right/responsibility to preach to her kids at any time, on any subject, once they get too big/too old to spank).
Yesterday I read about the Roe v. Wade lady, Miss McCorvey, and her eventual transformation and acceptance of Christ. I noticed that it did not come from her interactions with the "in your face" protesters, but in quiet, personal interactions through which she saw Christ and His love reflected in the day-to-day lives of ordinary Christians.
The opinions I have expressed here are my own, and not meant to be critical of anyone who believes or behaves differently. Each person has to find her/his own way of living personal faith, and those expressions are, I think, usually a reflection of who the believer is, and how that person came to accept Christ.
I don't consider myself the model. I am just a dim reflection of the Christ I worship, the God who created me, the Holy Spirit who seeks to inform and infuse me.
Some days, dimmer than others.
The article poses some interesting questions about what being a Christian means in our modern world, and how we represent our faith to others.
One of the things I have noticed since I started blogging is that very few people comment when I post about a serious subject and treat it seriously.
Most of the comments are in response to lighter, more humourous posts.
So where does my faith enter into my blogging life? I comment on other blogs. I notice when someone expresses a concern, and either leave a comment or send an e-mail. People seem to be more comfortable (in general) talking about very personal concerns in private, not on the public blog page. I offer to pray, express my sympathy or concern, ask what I can do to help.
My own response to the "in your face" style of faith presentation is usually to back away. I have a strong sense of my own "personal space" and I don't like being backed into a corner and preached at or yelled at.
So I try not to do it to others. (My own kids will tell you different--they think I am prone to preach to them at the drop of a hat. I maintain that it is a mama's right/responsibility to preach to her kids at any time, on any subject, once they get too big/too old to spank).
Yesterday I read about the Roe v. Wade lady, Miss McCorvey, and her eventual transformation and acceptance of Christ. I noticed that it did not come from her interactions with the "in your face" protesters, but in quiet, personal interactions through which she saw Christ and His love reflected in the day-to-day lives of ordinary Christians.
The opinions I have expressed here are my own, and not meant to be critical of anyone who believes or behaves differently. Each person has to find her/his own way of living personal faith, and those expressions are, I think, usually a reflection of who the believer is, and how that person came to accept Christ.
I don't consider myself the model. I am just a dim reflection of the Christ I worship, the God who created me, the Holy Spirit who seeks to inform and infuse me.
Some days, dimmer than others.
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