My Sarcastic Dad
My dad was a great man, a great husband, father, and provider. He had a great sense of humor, if you like the dry, sarcastic kind. He wasn't that great at compliments though. So as children, my siblings and I quickly learned to read between the lines to find my dad's true feelings. Hidden in his sarcasm was the love and pride he had for the four of us. Like the time I got all dressed up for a high school dance and as I was coming down the stairs all decked out, he smiled at me and said, "Oh, is the circus in town?" Which I knew really meant, "You look beautiful, sweetheart!" Or when he used to call me Deuteronomy every time he saw me after I started a bible study at church, which really meant, "I'm proud of you that your faith is important in your life." I always knew my dad thought "I hung the moon," as the saying goes, even though at times the situation may not have looked like it. Hmm...
Whatever Team Gets Off the Bus
There once was a wise football coach, a woman coach, who prided herself on the fact that she prepared her team for anything. She wasn't big on scouting other teams and strategizing till dawn. Her philosophy was simple, yet profound. She told her boys, "We practice every day, we eat well, and we get plenty of rest, so we are ready and prepared to play whatever team gets off that bus." Hmm...
Chiropractors and Confession
How do you feel about chiropractors? I know, mixed reactions. My chiropractor is a college friend, Russ, and he's promised me he won't snap my head off. So, I have become a faithful partaker in this unusual practice. I try to ignore my pain when things are out of whack. I say to myself, it will get better. Then morning after morning I wake up feeling like my neck is made of concrete, and limp to the bathroom because one leg is longer than the other. (Sounds like a horror movie!) So I reluctantly go see Russ and let him realign me, get me back on track and I feel so much better. I don't have the pains and hindrances to living my life as it is intended. It took me a while to get over my fears and to really see how beneficial it is to get myself realigned. Hmm...
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...