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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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?

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 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.

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.

Week of Blogging 3--Blog Problems

Okay here are two problems I have with blogging, and any suggestions or help will be appreciated.

First, what is up with blogspot lately? I try to create a post, and sit here for 30 minutes waiting to get to the dashboard. Then I get to the dashboard, and click on the little plus sign thingy, and nothing happens. Nothing. My little flag doesn't wave, the little green squares don't appear, nothing. Oh, wait, there, my cursor has turned into an hour glass. And for the next hour, I sit staring at the hour glass, waiting. Finally, I press control/alt/delete, and still nothing happens. Gahhhh. I can't even close it down!

Finally I manage to close everything down, restart the computer, reconnect to the web, get back to blogspot, find dashboard, start typing, and nothing appears in the box. I'm typing like crazy, but nothing is appearing.

So I highlight, start to hit delete, and suddenly, one letter at a time, the words start to appear. It's kind of like watching a Polaroid picture develop. Okay, so that little blip seems to have resolved itself. For the moment, at least.

The other problem is my darling husband. He has discovered Freerepublic, a group of like-minded political junkies, rock-ribbed conservatives who love to argue, and the occasional bleeding-heart liberal who really raised their hackles and gets the party started. The discussions are interminable. Endless. Perpetual. Constant. Ongoing. Forever. And all of this discussion is seriously cutting into my computer time. How can I check my e-mail, read my favorite blogs, and post to my own blog, if HE is using the computer all the time?

My goodness, Lauren and Jeana posted about a blogger gathering in DFW this fall, and I didn't even know about it until she called me on the phone. She had to call me on the telephone, because my beloved has been sitting in front of the laptop like a broody hen all day long.

Well, except for when we went to town so he could get his driver's license renewed, and he also took me to the movies, to see X-Men III.

But other than that, he was using the computer. Jeana suggested I ask for a laptop for my birthday, but the one we have takes up more than half our kitchen table already, so even if I got one, where would I put it?

Laptop is such a misnomer. It gets too bloomin' hot to hold in your lap. And too heavy to hold in my arms.

So if, by chance, a couple of days go by, and I don't blog, you know why. Dear husband is solving the problems of the world on Freerepublic.

So go by there and tell him to get off the computer, so I can get on it. Just don't tell him I sent you.

A Week of Blogging 2

One of the things I love about blogging is how what I read on other blogs starts a train of thought that I can then expand on here.

For example, Lauren at Created for His Glory mentioned a new word she learned (which I promptly forgot), which means slick and hairless. That got me to thinking about hair.

Have you ever noticed that hair distribution changes as we age? For example, look at old men with those hedgerow eyebrows, nose whiskers, and a thicket growing out of each ear, but bald as an egg on top of their heads.

As for myself, I notice that I have much less hair on my legs to shave these days, and what little is still there is the soft blonde fuzz I used to have as a child. The hair on my arms, which was always blonde, is gradually disappearing too.

And my eyebrows. I used to have eyebrows like Alli McGraw. Now they are thin, turning sort of greyish blonde, and I actually have a sort of missing spot in the left one, where some three or four hairs have taken a permanent leave of absence, while about 3 hairs in the arch of the right brow have decided to stand straight up like Alfalfa's "personality".

The worst development is the hairs that now sprout from my chin. Long hairs. Some of them are black. So my hair is turning grey, my eyebrows are disappearing, and I am growing a beard.

So I don't have to shave my legs much, or pluck my eyebrows, which gives me more time to pluck my chin hairs.

By the time I am sixty, I am going to be a thing of beauty. Or at least an object of curiosity.

Wonder if I could get the hairs from my chin transplanted to my eyebrows?

A Week of Blogging

Carol at She Lives suggested blogging for a week about blogging. We aren't supposed to start until tomorrow, but I thought I would get started today, since it is on my mind.

I love reading other people's blogs. So many different subjects, personalities, ideaas, to say nothing of the designs of their sites. Wow! So many colors, designs, pictures, graphics--it's enough to make me really depressed about my obvious lack of ideas and abilities.

Daughter Jeana at Days to Come helps me when she has time, and she is very gracious about it. But it would be such a pleasure to be able to insert links without wiping out my whole entry, or put a picture in my sidebar. Not to even mention adding a family picture to my header.

Graphics. Oh my. I love graphics. Where do people find all these cool, appropriate, funny, or symbolic graphics?

Bloglines. I have tried about 16 times to do this, and just can not seem to get it right. I really am not a dummy--I have a college degree. I'm a teacher, even. But somehow, most of the fun stuff associated with blogging, other than just writing, is beyond my capabilities.

Sigh.

Where do I go to find the book Blogging for Dummies?