Stay Out of the Laundry Room
Rudy is our family dog. He is a mutt, or a "$75 dog," as my husband says. Basically he is a hound, which means his nose runs his life. Every once in awhile, he'll be sound asleep in the sunspot in the family room and bolt upright, barking like there's no tomorrow. We all know what's outside - a squirrel! Squirrels to Rudy are like Cinnabons when you're on a diet. He's defenseless against their scent. Even when he knows that to go after them will bring him pain. Because in winter, outside the laundry room door, which is his route to the yard, there is a slippery slope on the stoop from the icicles above. A few times wiping out on that slippery slope and Rudy wouldn't even go in the laundry room anymore. He sits on the threshold looking toward the door instead. He knows if he steps in the laundry room, he's out the door and down the slippery slope. Hmm...
Dirty Laundry
We are trying to sell our house. So when we have the showings, I have to make sure the house looks like nobody lives there. Which seems odd but OK, I'll do it. Everything in its place. But there is always that one problem. Where do you stash the dirty laundry at a moments notice? A friend told me to just put it in a laundry basket and throw it in your car. So I tried it yesterday. I drove around all day doing errands with two baskets of dirty laundry in my car. I stopped home once, forgot it was in there, and headed off again with the dirty laundry. Every time I came out of a store and walked up to the car I saw it. I couldn't escape it. I was embarrassed and felt a little ashamed. Hmm...
Mission Impossible
Ah yes, the old Mission Impossible theme song. Remember when actor Peter Graves would get the instructions for his next mission from a tape recorder and off he went with his team and all their gadgets conquering evil? The voice on the recorder always told him, "Here is your mission, should you decide to accept it." He always had the option, no one forced him. But think of all we would have missed if every week he opted to ignore his mission. Hmm...
Grapefruit Sorbet
I was minding my own business waiting at the deli counter for my lunch meat. A mom next to me had two small children with her. They were getting a little antsy waiting so the mom said to her daughter, "Honey, go over to the refrigerated section and get me some grapefruit juice and we'll make grapefruit sorbet when we get home." Grapefruit sorbet? On a good day, I might have let my kids put some Kool-Aid in ice cube trays but never something so healthy and glamorous sounding. For a brief second the thought went through my mind, that maybe I had short changed my kids. Maybe I didn't do all I could have done. Now mind you, my children are twenty-six, twenty-three, and eighteen, living productive lives in spite of the fact that they never made grapefruit sorbet with me. Then I actually was feeling angry at this mom. What's the point of grapefruit sorbet anyway? Isn't a Popsicle good enough? Hmm...
Tootsie Pop Theology
Having athletes in the family, I've spent many hours in the gym. And many dollars at the concession stands. My treat of choice? The Tootsie Pop. It lasts through at least a quarter of a basketball game if you lick and don't bite. Red is my favorite. Why do they even make the brown ones? Anyway, regardless of the color, it's really the soft, chocolaty middle that is the best. You have to work through the hard shell to get to the real goodness: the essence of the Tootsie Pop. Hmm...
The Diet Starts Monday
My friend Patty has fond memories of her visits to Grandma Elinor's. Each visit included boat rides, yard games, new coloring books, and of course, food! Lots and lots of food! Plates of cruellers for breakfast, homemade soups and bread for lunch, and a feast for dinner. And always pie, pie, pie with every meal. Not just one slice, often two. Grandma Elinor's mantra was always, "The Diet Starts Monday." Putting off for later what is truly beneficial, for fleeting pleasures now. Hmm...
Growing Pains
Isn't it funny how smells can trigger memories? Like when I smell incense in church, I'm immediately back in grade school. Or when I smell leaves burning I'm back in my old Chicago neighborhood trick-or-treating. The other day I had a really strange triggered memory. I was at a restaurant and I got a whiff of root beer, and before you knew it I was 7 years old laying in my bed calling to my mom. "Mom, I have growing pains." (It was really a charley horse in my calf but we called them growing pains.) She would come in my room with this brown bottle she bought from the Watkins man and it smelled like root beer. She would massage my calves with the root-beer-smelling potion and the growing pains would disappear. I felt so loved after my mom left the room. Hmm...
Mr. Rogers
I have to admit, even after my kids were in school full days, I would still sit down with a sandwich and turn on Mr. Rogers at 12:30. If everyone were like Fred Rogers, what a wonderful world this would be. OK, I know some of you weren't as enamored with him. He was one of those - either you loved him or couldn't stand him. I personally wanted to live in his neighborhood. It was so radically different than the world we live in. Think about it, he only owned six sweaters and a pair of tennies. Modest furnishings, basic craft supplies, none of those sparkly markers and glow-in-the-dark paints. His friends were just simple, down-to-earth people. Yet, he lived such a content and peaceful life there in the neighborhood. Hmm...
Why Squirrels Can’t Do Math
I'm not a big fan of magic shows. No, it's not that the magicians are usually kind of creepy looking or that their assistants don't wear enough clothes. It's that I can't stand not knowing how they do that stuff. I get frustrated because I can't make sense of what they do, or how they do it. I have so many questions that can't be answered. It's all a mystery and I don't like mystery. I like to be able to understand. Hmm...
Pizza on China
For years now, I have been getting together monthly with four dear old friends for what we call Fun Club. It’s just so darn fun. We meet on a Friday night, taking turns at each other’s houses. The best part of Fun Club is that you don’t have to dress up or fuss with even trying to look presentable. Most of the time we just come in whatever we have been wearing all day. The only fussing I do is to throw some slippers in a bag to change into. We keep the menu very simple. Most of the time it’s pizza on paper plates, double chocolate malted milk balls, and lots of wine. I told you it was fun! But last Friday’s Fun Club was different. When I got to Deb’s house, the dining room table was set with heirloom china, crystal, and silverware along with linen napkins. I could still smell pizza so I knew I was in the right place but was thrown off by the ambiance. When we sat down to eat, Deb told us an amazing story. During her prayer time that morning, she heard the following and wrote it down. They are my daughters who deserve the finest china and linens in the house. Praise be to God for the love union of these women whom I call daughters. I love you. Later that day she had a strong sense of her deceased grandma’s presence as she was driving in her car. She was reminded of the china, crystal, and silverware that was gifted to her by her grandma, and collecting dust in her china cabinet. Then, randomly her mom phoned from Arizona and when Deb mentioned she was having Fun Club that night, her mom said,”You should use your nice china, crystal, and silverware.” It became clear to Deb that this Fun Club was destined to be a memorable one. If you have been following my blogs the last few weeks, you know that at Well Time on Wednesday mornings at Firstfruits we have been talking about our identity as the Beloved of God. We have been inspired by Henri Nouwen’s book Life of the Beloved to learn all we can about how to become the Beloved. The first couple chapters remind us that to really become the Beloved, to feel that truth to the core and reflect it in our words, attitudes, and actions we have to become more aware of how...