I don't so much mind going to other peoples' ordinations or installations, but I really wish I could skip the whole thing where I'm the birthday girl, so to speak. I've got a great friend lined up to come preach--I've owed him a phone call for a couple of weeks to talk details. I keep putting it off. Our newsletter person keeps bugging me for a blurb on the upcoming event for the newsletter. I keep putting her off. I need to talk to the choir director, the youth bell choir leader, our Executive Presbyter, our Presbytery Moderator about their "part". I keep figuring out reasons why today is not a good day to work on that stuff.
At small church, no one was really expecting a big do. We got away with doing something really low key and everyone was happy. But the pressure is on to make this more of an EVENT. My parents are flying out.
Can someone explain to me what is the point of an installation??? I mean, ordination yes. I can see making a big deal out of that. But after nearly 17 years in the biz, I feel like one of those awful brides who keeps demanding that everyone make the same fuss for her fifth wedding as they did for her first. Yesterday someone asked what kind of invitations I was sending out. Invi-friging-tations??? Do I have to get love stamps?
Can't we just skip the whole thing??
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Multiple Choice
Another question related to the previous post: What is the proper response to the comment, "Pastor, that was a great sermon."?
a. Thank you (Simple and clear, but seems to accept the false proposition that the goodness of the sermon was the result of the pastor's talent rather than a work of the Holy Spirit.
b. Actually I thought ending with the dwarf joke was a bit lame, but what with old lady Simpson kicking the bucket unexpectedly on Friday afternoon, I didn't have time to come up with a better conclusion. (Probably a bit too honest)
c. I'm glad it helped you hear a word from God. (Theologically correct, but also insufferably pious sounding--especially if said several times in the same morning.)
d. Other???? What do YOU say??
a. Thank you (Simple and clear, but seems to accept the false proposition that the goodness of the sermon was the result of the pastor's talent rather than a work of the Holy Spirit.
b. Actually I thought ending with the dwarf joke was a bit lame, but what with old lady Simpson kicking the bucket unexpectedly on Friday afternoon, I didn't have time to come up with a better conclusion. (Probably a bit too honest)
c. I'm glad it helped you hear a word from God. (Theologically correct, but also insufferably pious sounding--especially if said several times in the same morning.)
d. Other???? What do YOU say??
Friday, March 24, 2006
Pulpit Quote Suggestions?
I'm not preaching this Sunday, so I'm working ahead on next week's text with its pithy central "sound bite" of the greeks asking Andrew, "Sir, we would see Jesus."
I've stepped into several pulpits over the years that had this quote strategically placed where the preacher could see it when standing to preach. (Apparently the model for this is the pulpit of some church in Scotland.) The idea, as understand it, is to remind the preacher that his, (Sir? Yeah, they're thinking male preacher--even if it is a scripture quote), sermon is supposed to help folks see Jesus: the congregation are the greeks come seeking, the preacher is the disciple that will show them the way. There seems a subtle danger, though, that the preacher could, over time, come to think that when he is in the pulpit, he is standing in for Jesus. That usually leads to bad things.
At the first church I served after seminary, there was a different quote in the pulpit--from John 1: "He was not himself the light, but he came to bear witness to the light." That's better, I think. Pretty clear that the one in the pulpit is NOT the light, even on his best days. Still, there's the little language problem. A female preacher stepping into that pulpit has to do some mental transposing. I know, if that's your biggest preaching challenge, you should consider yourself really lucky. Still--I'm wondering if we can come up with a good pulpit quote for us RevGals. Something scriptural that doesn't require the mental rewrite. I was thinking from Luke 1, "Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord." However I wonder if that has the same subtle ego inflation potential as "Sir we would see Jesus."
Do you have any great ideas???
I've stepped into several pulpits over the years that had this quote strategically placed where the preacher could see it when standing to preach. (Apparently the model for this is the pulpit of some church in Scotland.) The idea, as understand it, is to remind the preacher that his, (Sir? Yeah, they're thinking male preacher--even if it is a scripture quote), sermon is supposed to help folks see Jesus: the congregation are the greeks come seeking, the preacher is the disciple that will show them the way. There seems a subtle danger, though, that the preacher could, over time, come to think that when he is in the pulpit, he is standing in for Jesus. That usually leads to bad things.
At the first church I served after seminary, there was a different quote in the pulpit--from John 1: "He was not himself the light, but he came to bear witness to the light." That's better, I think. Pretty clear that the one in the pulpit is NOT the light, even on his best days. Still, there's the little language problem. A female preacher stepping into that pulpit has to do some mental transposing. I know, if that's your biggest preaching challenge, you should consider yourself really lucky. Still--I'm wondering if we can come up with a good pulpit quote for us RevGals. Something scriptural that doesn't require the mental rewrite. I was thinking from Luke 1, "Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord." However I wonder if that has the same subtle ego inflation potential as "Sir we would see Jesus."
Do you have any great ideas???
Monday, March 20, 2006
Cat Travel Diary
If Whistle and Fish can do it, so can I.
Allow me to relate the events of the last month. Everything is mostly okay now, but I have been through a horrible ordeal. One day I went out to patrol and hunt as usual. When I returned, my house was in a disarray. (More than normal, I mean). The rooms were filled with boxes and I couldn't find any of my usual toys. The next day was worse. I was cruelly shut into the bathroom for HOURS. When I was realeased, the house was empty. As I was loudly demanding an explanation, my humans thrust me into my "going to the vet" cage and put me in the car. We drove right past the vets, (thank God), but we kept driving and driving and driving. No one paid the least attention to my vehement protests. (Well, the boy did try to pet me through the holes in the cage).
When it was completely dark out, we stopped. I was released into a strange room. I frantically searched for some means of escape. If I could get outside, I knew I could make it back home, even if it took some days. But my humans were having none of that. When they left the room, I was again shut in the bathroom. (They left food, but I was much too distraught to eat.)
The next day this routine repeated. On the third day, we pulled up to a house. I was released into an empty, echoing place. The humans seemed very happy and excited, but I was terrified and hid in a closet. They set up a food station and a litter box and LEFT ME THERE all by myself. It soon got dark and I was left in that terrifying emptiness all by myself for the whole night. I was still in the closet when they returned the following morning. They tried to pet me and tell me it was going to be okay soon. But I refused to let them touch me.
After another horrible day had passed, I was once again shut into the bathroom. What is up with that??? After several more hours of incarceration, the door opened and I crept out. What to my wondering eyes did appear-----my couch! My rocking chair! The big bed! The futon! I nearly wept with relief. I was so exhausted from all the trauma that I spread out on the big bed and slept for hours and hours.
It's okay now. I miss my old territory. They won't let me go outside at night here. They speak solemnly about coyotes. But this house has lots of good napping spots and a many cabinets to hide in. There are new species of birds to hunt and even lizards. There is a big back yard with a tree with yellow balls hanging on it. The humans are very excited about these yellow balls for some reason. They are always bringing them into the house and making some drinking concoction with them. Mom is gone from the house more, but Dad is here working on his computer on lots of the days, if he isn't travelling. That's good because he is my favorite person.
I'll log off now and go doze in a sunbeam.
Elizabeth, The Cat
Allow me to relate the events of the last month. Everything is mostly okay now, but I have been through a horrible ordeal. One day I went out to patrol and hunt as usual. When I returned, my house was in a disarray. (More than normal, I mean). The rooms were filled with boxes and I couldn't find any of my usual toys. The next day was worse. I was cruelly shut into the bathroom for HOURS. When I was realeased, the house was empty. As I was loudly demanding an explanation, my humans thrust me into my "going to the vet" cage and put me in the car. We drove right past the vets, (thank God), but we kept driving and driving and driving. No one paid the least attention to my vehement protests. (Well, the boy did try to pet me through the holes in the cage).
When it was completely dark out, we stopped. I was released into a strange room. I frantically searched for some means of escape. If I could get outside, I knew I could make it back home, even if it took some days. But my humans were having none of that. When they left the room, I was again shut in the bathroom. (They left food, but I was much too distraught to eat.)
The next day this routine repeated. On the third day, we pulled up to a house. I was released into an empty, echoing place. The humans seemed very happy and excited, but I was terrified and hid in a closet. They set up a food station and a litter box and LEFT ME THERE all by myself. It soon got dark and I was left in that terrifying emptiness all by myself for the whole night. I was still in the closet when they returned the following morning. They tried to pet me and tell me it was going to be okay soon. But I refused to let them touch me.
After another horrible day had passed, I was once again shut into the bathroom. What is up with that??? After several more hours of incarceration, the door opened and I crept out. What to my wondering eyes did appear-----my couch! My rocking chair! The big bed! The futon! I nearly wept with relief. I was so exhausted from all the trauma that I spread out on the big bed and slept for hours and hours.
It's okay now. I miss my old territory. They won't let me go outside at night here. They speak solemnly about coyotes. But this house has lots of good napping spots and a many cabinets to hide in. There are new species of birds to hunt and even lizards. There is a big back yard with a tree with yellow balls hanging on it. The humans are very excited about these yellow balls for some reason. They are always bringing them into the house and making some drinking concoction with them. Mom is gone from the house more, but Dad is here working on his computer on lots of the days, if he isn't travelling. That's good because he is my favorite person.
I'll log off now and go doze in a sunbeam.
Elizabeth, The Cat
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Spring Break Meme
Freshman year I spent my spring break with my grandmother since my family was still living overseas. We both came down with a horrible stomach virus and spent the week barfing and keeping track of how much time was left until we use another of the anti-barfing suppositories her doctor had prescribed for us. FUN!
Jr. year I spent with grandma again--but this time so I could spend the week interviewing some of the nuns that lived at the retirement community for nuns in her town for my jr. independent study thesis. That actually was fun.
Both my college and my seminary required major Senior Theses that were due right after spring break, so I spent two different spring breaks chained to my typewriter, (this was a while back), sharing the misery with various roomates.
Nowdays spring break means wondering what expensive childcare/daycamp option to choose for my kids. Spring break has an annoying tendancy to collide with Holy Week, so taking the week off myself is usually not an option.
Jr. year I spent with grandma again--but this time so I could spend the week interviewing some of the nuns that lived at the retirement community for nuns in her town for my jr. independent study thesis. That actually was fun.
Both my college and my seminary required major Senior Theses that were due right after spring break, so I spent two different spring breaks chained to my typewriter, (this was a while back), sharing the misery with various roomates.
Nowdays spring break means wondering what expensive childcare/daycamp option to choose for my kids. Spring break has an annoying tendancy to collide with Holy Week, so taking the week off myself is usually not an option.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Those sizzlin' seniors
Today a member of my new church invited me to have lunch with her at the retirement community where she and many other members of the congregation live. It's quite a nice place, known locally for its fantastic craft bazarre during the holidays and for how active its residents are in the wider community.
The dining room was buzzing with activity. Good friends enjoying a meal together. Certain tables devoted to particular interest groups. The bulletin board covered with announcements of lectures, activities, needs for rides, etc. I said to the folks at my table, "This reminds me of college--only I guess without all the romantic intrigue."
"Oh, we have PLENTY of romantic intrigue!" they assured me, and began gossiping about a couple who are to be married next month.
Well. I'm glad to have something to look forward too.
The dining room was buzzing with activity. Good friends enjoying a meal together. Certain tables devoted to particular interest groups. The bulletin board covered with announcements of lectures, activities, needs for rides, etc. I said to the folks at my table, "This reminds me of college--only I guess without all the romantic intrigue."
"Oh, we have PLENTY of romantic intrigue!" they assured me, and began gossiping about a couple who are to be married next month.
Well. I'm glad to have something to look forward too.
Monday, March 13, 2006
That was fast
My Oregon-born son has become a Californian. Tonight I announced that dinner would be left-over lasagne from last night. He shook his head and sighed. "Mom--I did like that lasagne you made, but I just don't feel comfortable having it two nights in a row."
What do they put in the kool-aide around here, anyway????
What do they put in the kool-aide around here, anyway????
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Lent Hymns
Thanks for everyone who posted an un-favorite Lent/Easter hymn. I couldn't help but notice that many folks mentioned, Were You There--some as least favorite, some as a favorite.
My relationship with this hymn has a history.
It was the spring of 1984. I was living on my college campus in an old Victorian house called "The Bread and Justice House". 5 bedrooms, 15 students (women upstairs, men downstairs), doing the usual college things plus running several projects on campus related to world hunger. In the room across the hall from me lived my friends--let's call them Lydia and Dorcas. Dorcas was dating one of the guys from downstairs--let's call him Felix. It was a new romance and it was MAJOR. (They got engaged that summer and were married the next spring.) They were both earnest Midwestern Presbyterians which at that time meant you did your very best to wait for The One, but not necessarily until the wedding night.
Lydia was a good friend and a good sport, but she was growing tired of Dorcas's increasingly frequent requests for time alone in their room with Felix. One night, late in Lent, Lydia came storming into the room I shared with two other women. She'd been booted out again. (Very politely, of course.) She ranted and grumped for several minutes, then fell silent. We went back to our studies. Suddenly, Lydia began to giggle.
"What?" we asked. And she began to sing:
Were you there when he laid her in my room?
Were you there when he laid her in my room?
OOOOOOhhhhhh. Sometimes it makes me want to strangle, strangle, strangle
Were you there when he laid her in my room?
Well, then we all began giggling hysterically and we basically had to give up on studying for that night and break out the ice cream.
So, you can see that it is pretty much impossible for me to have spiritually appropriate thoughts when that hymn is played.
Note: Felix was ordained the same year I was and he and Dorcas now live in a lovey suburban community in Texas where he serves as Pastor of the Presbyterian church. They paid me $500 not to use their real names in this blog. (Kidding, kidding . . . .well at least about the bribery.)
My relationship with this hymn has a history.
It was the spring of 1984. I was living on my college campus in an old Victorian house called "The Bread and Justice House". 5 bedrooms, 15 students (women upstairs, men downstairs), doing the usual college things plus running several projects on campus related to world hunger. In the room across the hall from me lived my friends--let's call them Lydia and Dorcas. Dorcas was dating one of the guys from downstairs--let's call him Felix. It was a new romance and it was MAJOR. (They got engaged that summer and were married the next spring.) They were both earnest Midwestern Presbyterians which at that time meant you did your very best to wait for The One, but not necessarily until the wedding night.
Lydia was a good friend and a good sport, but she was growing tired of Dorcas's increasingly frequent requests for time alone in their room with Felix. One night, late in Lent, Lydia came storming into the room I shared with two other women. She'd been booted out again. (Very politely, of course.) She ranted and grumped for several minutes, then fell silent. We went back to our studies. Suddenly, Lydia began to giggle.
"What?" we asked. And she began to sing:
Were you there when he laid her in my room?
Were you there when he laid her in my room?
OOOOOOhhhhhh. Sometimes it makes me want to strangle, strangle, strangle
Were you there when he laid her in my room?
Well, then we all began giggling hysterically and we basically had to give up on studying for that night and break out the ice cream.
So, you can see that it is pretty much impossible for me to have spiritually appropriate thoughts when that hymn is played.
Note: Felix was ordained the same year I was and he and Dorcas now live in a lovey suburban community in Texas where he serves as Pastor of the Presbyterian church. They paid me $500 not to use their real names in this blog. (Kidding, kidding . . . .well at least about the bribery.)
Back in the Ring
Did you think I'd fallen off then end of the earth? That can happen in California, apparently. But we are okay. It just took Verizon quite a while to decide that my family and I were worthy of a DSL connnection here at our new place. I have internet at work too, but I didn't want to start down the slippery slope of blogging at work, so I waited.
We're doing fine. The kids are adjusting to their new schools. Work is kind of overwhelming at this point, but I think it will get better once I get into a rhythm. Right now I'm just kind of running around like a chicken with my head cut off: showing up everywhere and smiling and listening and nodding a lot. I read a book on getting started with a new parish which said not to worry about unpacking your books right away--it's more important to connect with people. That's what I've done, but I must say I'm getting tired of not being able to find my books.
That's all for now. It's good to be back.
We're doing fine. The kids are adjusting to their new schools. Work is kind of overwhelming at this point, but I think it will get better once I get into a rhythm. Right now I'm just kind of running around like a chicken with my head cut off: showing up everywhere and smiling and listening and nodding a lot. I read a book on getting started with a new parish which said not to worry about unpacking your books right away--it's more important to connect with people. That's what I've done, but I must say I'm getting tired of not being able to find my books.
That's all for now. It's good to be back.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Temporary Disconnect
The movers arrive TODAY, so I'll be losing internet connectivity for a few days at least. We won't meet up with our stuff again until late next week and I don't know where I might encounter a wi-fi hot spot en route.
In the meantime: Since we're coming on fast to Lent/Easter, let's reprise the Despised Music Meme. What is your least favorite Lent/Easter hymn of all time?? During Advent I encouraged everyone to name one sacred and one secular candidate--but that doesn't really work at this time of year. There are very few secular Easter songs and no secular Lent songs that I know of. So for the secular category here is the challenge: What secular song do you think would work as a Lent or Easter hymn--providing you could get your music director to go along with the idea, of course.
I'll share my choices later so as not to influence the process. Chat among yourselves while I drive. See you next week.
In the meantime: Since we're coming on fast to Lent/Easter, let's reprise the Despised Music Meme. What is your least favorite Lent/Easter hymn of all time?? During Advent I encouraged everyone to name one sacred and one secular candidate--but that doesn't really work at this time of year. There are very few secular Easter songs and no secular Lent songs that I know of. So for the secular category here is the challenge: What secular song do you think would work as a Lent or Easter hymn--providing you could get your music director to go along with the idea, of course.
I'll share my choices later so as not to influence the process. Chat among yourselves while I drive. See you next week.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Sunrise, Sunset
Another thing about moving is that it forces upon you the reality that time is moving right along.
For example, while clearing out the attic my husband holds up a worn piece of soft-side luggage. "What do you think, toss?" he says. My immediate, gut level reaction is, "What? Why would I toss an almost brand new suitcase my grandma gave me as a college graduation present??" Then, of course, rational brain kicks in. "Um, college graduation was twenty years ago and your grandma died in 1995. That is some OLD baggage you're holding onto there."
Or, in the back of a kitchen drawer I find a plastic baggie full of plug guards. When we first moved into this house, my toddler son needed to be guarded from such dangers as electrical sockets. I hold the bag in my hand and wonder, "Where did my babies go?"
And some of our wedding gifts are beginning to show their wear: cookie pans, pot holders, towels, small appliances. And I think, "But these are nearly new. They're wedding presents!" Um, those would be twelve year old pans, cloths, and salad shooters, right?
Oh right.
For example, while clearing out the attic my husband holds up a worn piece of soft-side luggage. "What do you think, toss?" he says. My immediate, gut level reaction is, "What? Why would I toss an almost brand new suitcase my grandma gave me as a college graduation present??" Then, of course, rational brain kicks in. "Um, college graduation was twenty years ago and your grandma died in 1995. That is some OLD baggage you're holding onto there."
Or, in the back of a kitchen drawer I find a plastic baggie full of plug guards. When we first moved into this house, my toddler son needed to be guarded from such dangers as electrical sockets. I hold the bag in my hand and wonder, "Where did my babies go?"
And some of our wedding gifts are beginning to show their wear: cookie pans, pot holders, towels, small appliances. And I think, "But these are nearly new. They're wedding presents!" Um, those would be twelve year old pans, cloths, and salad shooters, right?
Oh right.
Monday, February 13, 2006
More Amazing Discoveries
This past weekend we made a major trip to the dump--known more technically hereabouts as the "waste transfer center". We had some furniture that needed to go there. Much of our furniture was starter furniture one of us had when we got married twelve years ago, (nearly). At first we were waiting to buy new stuff until we moved into a bigger place than our first apartment. Then when we did move, we decided it was dumb to buy new furniture with a toddler in the house and a baby on the way. So until Saturday we had a bunch of 15-20 year old furniture that had been spilled on, jumped on, cat scratched, playdough encrusted, etc. It was so bad even the Goodwill did not want it. Off it went.
Underneath the furniture we found amazing things. The school library book we paid for months ago because it seemed lost forever. A mini Snickers bar with its wrapper intact. My daughter reported it tasted just fine. $1.78 in various coins. A very small but crucial piece of a Star Wars Toy that my son's best friend had lost at our place during a play date a while back. One of my earrings. Several small cat toys. Many legos. A Christian Century from October 2003. And lots of stale pretzel pieces--okay we assume they are stale. We did not taste to see.
I feel a parable coming on. The kingdom of God is like a family who looked under their furniture for the first time in six years . . . .
Underneath the furniture we found amazing things. The school library book we paid for months ago because it seemed lost forever. A mini Snickers bar with its wrapper intact. My daughter reported it tasted just fine. $1.78 in various coins. A very small but crucial piece of a Star Wars Toy that my son's best friend had lost at our place during a play date a while back. One of my earrings. Several small cat toys. Many legos. A Christian Century from October 2003. And lots of stale pretzel pieces--okay we assume they are stale. We did not taste to see.
I feel a parable coming on. The kingdom of God is like a family who looked under their furniture for the first time in six years . . . .
Thursday, February 09, 2006
That meme I don't have time to do
Hi friends. Several of you have tagged me for this meme. I just haven't gotten around to doing it. I had to pick one list to work from, but that doesn't mean I'm dissing anyone else.
The way it works. Knock the top name off the list below. Add yours to the bottom.
Anastasia
Haligweorc
Topmost Apple
Lutheranchik
Rebel Without a Pew
Tag five people for this meme
My Farcical Existence
Gannet Girl
Apostle John
A Church for Starving ARtists
Clever Title Here
And anyone else who hasn't been tagged, but wants to play.
What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was majorly burned out after 6 years as an Associate Pastor for Youth Ministry and trying to find a new call. My husband's job was not mobile at that point, so I was looking locally. I was in the middle of being rejected by twelve churches in a row in my Presbytery-- and about six months away from finally being offered an interim position at a great church.
What were you doing a year ago?
Helping my little church consider their options in the face of not enough money, falling apart building, radically changed neighborhood, and high anxiety about the future.
5 snacks you enjoy
home made cookies
Cheetos
pita with huumus
guacamole with tortilla chips
popcorn shirmp
5 Songs to which you know all the word
About 3/4 of the Presbyterian Hymnal. And zillions of others. If there is an auditory version of photgraphic memory, I have it. Or at least I did. This power seems to be waning with age.
5 things I'd do if I were a millionare
Pay off debts
Buy a house
Set up college fund for kids
Get retirement savings restarted
Give the rest away.
5 bad habits
Hair Twirling
Leaving Cabinets Opened
Leaving wet towels on the bed
Losing my keys
Creating "stacks" of stuff
UPDATE: My husband would like me to add: Leaving my watch in my jeans' pocket so that it accidently goes through the laundry and gets ruined. He just rescued my current watch at the last moment before it followed several previous watches to a watery grave.
5 things you enjoy doing
Reading
Blogging
Being with my kids
Cooking
Crocheting
5 things you would not wear again
platform shoes
micro-minis
skin tight jeans
mascara
a bikini
5 favorite toys
My laptop
My husbands picture taking cell phone
The dishwasher that the house I'm moving into has (YEAH!)
not sure what else to say. I'd like an MP3player and a new coffee maker
The way it works. Knock the top name off the list below. Add yours to the bottom.
Anastasia
Haligweorc
Topmost Apple
Lutheranchik
Rebel Without a Pew
Tag five people for this meme
My Farcical Existence
Gannet Girl
Apostle John
A Church for Starving ARtists
Clever Title Here
And anyone else who hasn't been tagged, but wants to play.
What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was majorly burned out after 6 years as an Associate Pastor for Youth Ministry and trying to find a new call. My husband's job was not mobile at that point, so I was looking locally. I was in the middle of being rejected by twelve churches in a row in my Presbytery-- and about six months away from finally being offered an interim position at a great church.
What were you doing a year ago?
Helping my little church consider their options in the face of not enough money, falling apart building, radically changed neighborhood, and high anxiety about the future.
5 snacks you enjoy
home made cookies
Cheetos
pita with huumus
guacamole with tortilla chips
popcorn shirmp
5 Songs to which you know all the word
About 3/4 of the Presbyterian Hymnal. And zillions of others. If there is an auditory version of photgraphic memory, I have it. Or at least I did. This power seems to be waning with age.
5 things I'd do if I were a millionare
Pay off debts
Buy a house
Set up college fund for kids
Get retirement savings restarted
Give the rest away.
5 bad habits
Hair Twirling
Leaving Cabinets Opened
Leaving wet towels on the bed
Losing my keys
Creating "stacks" of stuff
UPDATE: My husband would like me to add: Leaving my watch in my jeans' pocket so that it accidently goes through the laundry and gets ruined. He just rescued my current watch at the last moment before it followed several previous watches to a watery grave.
5 things you enjoy doing
Reading
Blogging
Being with my kids
Cooking
Crocheting
5 things you would not wear again
platform shoes
micro-minis
skin tight jeans
mascara
a bikini
5 favorite toys
My laptop
My husbands picture taking cell phone
The dishwasher that the house I'm moving into has (YEAH!)
not sure what else to say. I'd like an MP3player and a new coffee maker
Monday, February 06, 2006
Amazing discoveries
Today while the kids were at school, I attacked. Their bedroom. My kindergartener was home most of last week with a virus, so I hadn't had my chance to nefariously cut through their insane collection of toys and books and winnow it down to stuff they really play with in anticipation of this move. (Doing this while they are present is not possible--see blog entry below).
I had noticed recently that there was an oddish smell coming from their room--not bad really. Not an I-peed- in -my -clothes- and -have -hidden- them -in- shame kind of smell. Not an I-left-an-open-container-of yogurt- under- my- bed-two-weeks-ago smell. Those smells I would have been able to readily identify. This was sort of a sweet, nutty kind of smell. As if a house gnome were drinking Frangelica in the walls somewhere.
I was halfway to the bottom of the dress-up box when I came across a white plastic garbage bag. It was full of something heavy and the smell had grown especially strong. Dreading what I might find, I pulled the bag open. . . . . and discovered at least two hundred moldering buckeyes. The kids had collected these last fall when the buckeye trees in the park up the street were dropping their autumn load. I had allowed them to play with them for a week or so and then told them it was time to throw them away. They protested. I insisted. They agreed to pick them all up and put them in the trash. I saw them pick them up, but I did not actually watch them put the bag in the trash. My mistake.
Can you make liqueure out of fermented buckeyes??
I had noticed recently that there was an oddish smell coming from their room--not bad really. Not an I-peed- in -my -clothes- and -have -hidden- them -in- shame kind of smell. Not an I-left-an-open-container-of yogurt- under- my- bed-two-weeks-ago smell. Those smells I would have been able to readily identify. This was sort of a sweet, nutty kind of smell. As if a house gnome were drinking Frangelica in the walls somewhere.
I was halfway to the bottom of the dress-up box when I came across a white plastic garbage bag. It was full of something heavy and the smell had grown especially strong. Dreading what I might find, I pulled the bag open. . . . . and discovered at least two hundred moldering buckeyes. The kids had collected these last fall when the buckeye trees in the park up the street were dropping their autumn load. I had allowed them to play with them for a week or so and then told them it was time to throw them away. They protested. I insisted. They agreed to pick them all up and put them in the trash. I saw them pick them up, but I did not actually watch them put the bag in the trash. My mistake.
Can you make liqueure out of fermented buckeyes??
Friday, February 03, 2006
Moving Experiences
Preparing our household for our upcoming (two weeks from today) move has brought up tons of memories of moves from my own childhood. We moved when I was 1, 2, 5, 9, 12 and 16. Each move had its own set of circumstances, practically its own personality. However, there were some things each had in common.
Culture Shock: The biggest culture shock move was our move overseas when I was 16. But each relocation comes with its own culture shock. When I was five we moved from Balitimore to the Western Carolina mountains. We arrived in town a few days before our stuff, so we stayed in a motel. At the motel pool I met a girl, a bit older than I was, who warned me solmenly not to go into the deep end of the pool "cause it'd be over yer hay-id." I had no notion what part of my body my hay-id was, but I stayed away from the deep end all the same. In the morning, we went to breakfast at the local diner. My scrambled eggs came with a side dish of cream of wheat that I did not remember asking for. I put a spoonful into my mouth and discovered that this cream of wheat had a horrible, salty, soapy taste. I spit it into my napkin and tried to drown the awful taste with gulps of orange juice.
When we moved over the mountains to Tennessee four years later, it was fashion that was the problem. The girls in NC wore regular socks. Normal socks. White, cotton, cuffed above your ankle socks. In Tennessee, all the girls wore knee socks. The power girls on the playground pointed at my socks and giggled. I went home and told my mom I needed new socks. She did not see the urgency that I did. Unless your old socks were falling apart, you did not need to rush out and buy new ones. So I suffered the giggles and raised eyebrows until I got a respectible collection of knee socks and the weather got cold enough that we all wore long pants mostly anyway.
Tipping Point: The other thing I remember about moving was that there came a tipping point. A moment in time when you realized that you were living more in the new place than in the old. That your new friends became your real friends and your old friends became your old friends. When your new school became your real school and your old school became a memory, a place in your head instead of the place you wished you were. The older I was, the longer it took to get to the tipping point.
How long does it take when you are 41??
Culture Shock: The biggest culture shock move was our move overseas when I was 16. But each relocation comes with its own culture shock. When I was five we moved from Balitimore to the Western Carolina mountains. We arrived in town a few days before our stuff, so we stayed in a motel. At the motel pool I met a girl, a bit older than I was, who warned me solmenly not to go into the deep end of the pool "cause it'd be over yer hay-id." I had no notion what part of my body my hay-id was, but I stayed away from the deep end all the same. In the morning, we went to breakfast at the local diner. My scrambled eggs came with a side dish of cream of wheat that I did not remember asking for. I put a spoonful into my mouth and discovered that this cream of wheat had a horrible, salty, soapy taste. I spit it into my napkin and tried to drown the awful taste with gulps of orange juice.
When we moved over the mountains to Tennessee four years later, it was fashion that was the problem. The girls in NC wore regular socks. Normal socks. White, cotton, cuffed above your ankle socks. In Tennessee, all the girls wore knee socks. The power girls on the playground pointed at my socks and giggled. I went home and told my mom I needed new socks. She did not see the urgency that I did. Unless your old socks were falling apart, you did not need to rush out and buy new ones. So I suffered the giggles and raised eyebrows until I got a respectible collection of knee socks and the weather got cold enough that we all wore long pants mostly anyway.
Tipping Point: The other thing I remember about moving was that there came a tipping point. A moment in time when you realized that you were living more in the new place than in the old. That your new friends became your real friends and your old friends became your old friends. When your new school became your real school and your old school became a memory, a place in your head instead of the place you wished you were. The older I was, the longer it took to get to the tipping point.
How long does it take when you are 41??
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Meaningful Connection??
Okay, maybe I'm slow and everyone else has noticed this already: I'm reading the Chronicles of Narnia to my kids. We started The Magician's Nephew last night, (reading it in its original place in the series, not in the starting position where the present small minded, linear thinkers at Scholastic have placed it.) Anyway, we read the first place where main character Digory is introduced and my son exclaims, "Oh! Digory! Just like Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter!"
Duh! I'd completely missed that. Is it just coincidence, do you think? Or is JK Rowling hinting at some deeper meaning?
Duh! I'd completely missed that. Is it just coincidence, do you think? Or is JK Rowling hinting at some deeper meaning?
Monday, January 30, 2006
Adventures in packing
Crunchy granola moving-with-kids advice:
Involve the children fully in the process of sorting through their belongings, deciding what to move and what to donate to an appropriate charity such as Goodwill. The children will be amazed to discover exactly how much they own and how few of their many toys they actually play with on a regular basis. This can be the beginning of an ongoing conversation about your family's attitude toward possessions . . . .
Reality:
"How about this stuffed dog for the give-away box?" (holding up fuzzy dog that has been squashed in the bottom of the stuffed animal bin for a year at least)
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Not Fluffy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"What about Clue, Jr.? You never play Clue Jr"
" We do SO play it! We played it with Alexis last time she babysat us!" (Alexis left for college in the fall of 2004)
. . . As unidentified, moldy, greyish blobs are lobbed toward the trashcan---
"But those are my Playdough creations!!!!!!!"
Reality Based Moving-with-kids advice:
Always sort through the childrens' belongings while they are away at school. Be ruthless. Throw away any toy that has not been played with in recent memory. Toss all art projects that have hung around longer than three months. Chances are the children will not notice, but if they do you can always blame the moving company.
Involve the children fully in the process of sorting through their belongings, deciding what to move and what to donate to an appropriate charity such as Goodwill. The children will be amazed to discover exactly how much they own and how few of their many toys they actually play with on a regular basis. This can be the beginning of an ongoing conversation about your family's attitude toward possessions . . . .
Reality:
"How about this stuffed dog for the give-away box?" (holding up fuzzy dog that has been squashed in the bottom of the stuffed animal bin for a year at least)
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Not Fluffy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"What about Clue, Jr.? You never play Clue Jr"
" We do SO play it! We played it with Alexis last time she babysat us!" (Alexis left for college in the fall of 2004)
. . . As unidentified, moldy, greyish blobs are lobbed toward the trashcan---
"But those are my Playdough creations!!!!!!!"
Reality Based Moving-with-kids advice:
Always sort through the childrens' belongings while they are away at school. Be ruthless. Throw away any toy that has not been played with in recent memory. Toss all art projects that have hung around longer than three months. Chances are the children will not notice, but if they do you can always blame the moving company.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Misheard Lyrics
Once or twice a year one of the columnists in The Oregonian does a column on misheard lyrics: you know, when you misunderstand the lyrics to a popluar song but don't realize it until much later when you see the words in print, hear the song again through a better sound system or--most embarrasing of all--when someone points out to you that the words you are belting out are not the real words to that song at all.
For instance. My brother, as a young boy, believed that the Rupert Holmes song Escape contained the following lyrics:
If you like Pink Enchiladas
And gettin' caught in the rain . . .
He also heard Foreigner's Hot Blooded as
I'm hot blooded! Chicken of the Sea!
I've got a fever of a hundred and three!
Perhaps it was the factory issued stereo system in our parents' car because, until I was in college, I believed that Cat Stevens had a song that went
Be strange! Sound it louder: I wanna be strange!
Be strange! Take this Country! I wanna be strange!
When I confessed this comical misunderstanding of Peace Train to a seminary friend he nodded sagely and explained that this indicated what would be for me a life-long tension: my eccentric, bohemian urges striving against my love for tradition and the comforts of convention. He may have pegged it just right, or it could have been that not quite seminary supported substance we were enjoying at the time. . .
My favorite mishead lyric, though, is from Joy to the World. As a child I believed the chorus went:
and Kevin and nature sing, and Kevin and nature sing, and Kevin, and Kevin and nature sing.
Kevin was the teenaged son of my mother's good friend. To this day when I sing that carol the image that flashes on my inner eye is of Kevin standing in a green field singing his heart out. God bless you Kevin, wherever you are.
For instance. My brother, as a young boy, believed that the Rupert Holmes song Escape contained the following lyrics:
If you like Pink Enchiladas
And gettin' caught in the rain . . .
He also heard Foreigner's Hot Blooded as
I'm hot blooded! Chicken of the Sea!
I've got a fever of a hundred and three!
Perhaps it was the factory issued stereo system in our parents' car because, until I was in college, I believed that Cat Stevens had a song that went
Be strange! Sound it louder: I wanna be strange!
Be strange! Take this Country! I wanna be strange!
When I confessed this comical misunderstanding of Peace Train to a seminary friend he nodded sagely and explained that this indicated what would be for me a life-long tension: my eccentric, bohemian urges striving against my love for tradition and the comforts of convention. He may have pegged it just right, or it could have been that not quite seminary supported substance we were enjoying at the time. . .
My favorite mishead lyric, though, is from Joy to the World. As a child I believed the chorus went:
and Kevin and nature sing, and Kevin and nature sing, and Kevin, and Kevin and nature sing.
Kevin was the teenaged son of my mother's good friend. To this day when I sing that carol the image that flashes on my inner eye is of Kevin standing in a green field singing his heart out. God bless you Kevin, wherever you are.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
The world is not a safe place
We've been advised not to allow our kitty outside in our new town in CA. Apparently housecat is on the local coyotes' list of favorite delicacies. We were discussing this last night at supper--trying to figure out if coyotes are really any more of danger to Kitty than the busy street on which we now live which she has surrvivied for the past six years. This led to a discussion of other possible dangers we might encounter in our new home: scorpions and earthquakes for instance.
At one point my eight year old son threw up his hands and yelled, "I'm just SICK of all these dangers in the world!!!"
I'd have to second that.
At one point my eight year old son threw up his hands and yelled, "I'm just SICK of all these dangers in the world!!!"
I'd have to second that.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Cross Post from PCUSA Bloggers
The Presby blog ring poses the question: How long have you been Presbyterian and if you weren't Presbyterian, what would you be instead??
Fill in with your own affiliation and answer the question either in the comments here or at your own place.
Fill in with your own affiliation and answer the question either in the comments here or at your own place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
