Twist 'n Shout

Bless Our Hearts

2008-11-04T06:28:00.000-08:00

6 month old Mark and I needed to run to the store to pick up a few baby items. His parents were out of the country on a mission trip. He and I were on our own mission trip.

Destination Target!

On our way to check out, I cruised by the stationery department. (Next to office supplies, these are some of my favorite aisles.) I was looking for the perfect card when a young woman interrupted me, "Excuse me. May I ask your opinion about something?"

I was expecting her question to be, "Do you think my grandmother could read print this small?"

Instead, she caught me off guard with this: "I see you have your baby with you, and I was just wondering, what kind of world do you want for him, and what should be done about it?"

I quickly scanned her basket to see if she was handing out pamphlets. She obviously had to be asking on behalf of a political candidate, a religious cult, or Amway.

Empty basket. No clues.

I wanted to give her a dollar for thinking I was Mark's mother rather than his Grammy from Miami. But in case hidden cameras were rolling somewhere I decided to take her question at face value and gave this response:

"I don't think I'm as concerned about the condition of the world as I am the condition of his heart. I am praying for him what I prayed for my boys; that whatever happens in his life would draw him closer to the heart of God. That means regardless of his health or the economy or any political situation, his hope would be found in the Lord."

She seemed a little stunned and asked, "Then what should we do about it?"

"We pray." I answered. "I want them to be blessed in every way. But I have seen people with very little by the world's standards be people of great faith. And many of the world's most miserable are those who seem to have it all. What do you think?"

"Uh, same thing." and off she went.

Mark looked at me like, "What was that all about?!"

That was four months ago, and I'm still wondering what that was about.

On this election day I am declaring again, my hope is not in our government. I am not afraid of the outcome. If God chooses to humble our nation as a way to get our attention, then bring it on. The Lord Jesus Christ never said it was all about the economy.

I am so done with one party thinking we are God's gift to our country while spewing hateful e-mails about the other one. One candidate is no more the antichrist than the other one is the savior. I would come up with a new political party if I could think of a catchy name and mascot!

I do want God to bless America. But most of all, I want Him to bless our hearts.

If You Give a Lizard a Magazine...

2008-09-15T06:19:00.001-07:00

1. Pray
2. Coffee
3. Make the bed
4. Oatmeal & juice
5. Get dressed
6. Start laundry
7. BSF Moses lesson
8. Gut the pantry and start over
9. Put every single photo in an album or frame
10. Organize absolutely all of the clutter in my life

It has already been a good day and it is only 9 a.m.

This morning I woke up with a mental list of things to do. The longer the list grew, the more convinced I was that I needed to pray out loud before I did anything else. I think Beth Moore wants to shout, "Glory!" (LOVE her.)

The heat and humidity are decreasing to a level that makes it comfortable to have coffee outside. On the way to the kitchen to grab a cup, I noticed a lizard under Drew's ottoman. This time last year I climbed up on the counter until Drew could come home to catch it. Six months ago, I tried to catch one by stepping on it, only to watch it wiggle away while its tail wiggled under my big toe. Today I calmly turned around to the stack of magazines by the love seat and tore off the back cover. I gently moved the ottoman, scooped up the lizard and carried it out the back door, through the lanai and tossed it in the bushes, while praying out loud, "please don't jump on me, please don't jump on me..." (#1, check!)

Hearing the back door open brought Pavlov's ducks in from the pond. In May we had a sweet little mallard family of six that we fed for fun. They invited the neighbors and the number doubled. A few weeks later it doubled again. This morning I stopped counting at 60, and that didn't include the black ducks with red heads or the little white birds with long peckers.

As I walked back inside for bread, I realized how large the magazine stack had grown. After I chucked magazines and catalogs and lizards (#10, check!) I saw a Women of Faith devotional book that Joan had given me last year for my birthday. I carried my coffee, (#2, check!) book and yesterday's cinnamon roll (sorta #4, check!) out to my chair. The ducks wanted seconds. My conscience was clear.

I sat. I prayed. (#1, check!) I read. I counted squirrels and other critters in my view. I decided to come upstairs and blog it all down so I would remember this sweet morning.

Something happened to the SAVE NOW button and the draft was NOT auto saved. I spent the next hour trying to recover it. (#1, check!)

nada

So, I got dressed, (#5, check!) took Drew to the airport, came home and finished my lesson for Wednesday. (#7, check!)

Now I am trying to recreate what I wrote this morning. I keep thinking it was more profound than this.

I hear Monday Night Football starting downstairs and the Cowboys are playing... (#1, check!)

Color Committment

2008-08-27T06:53:00.000-07:00

I think my life would be simpler if I had a signature color.

If you ask me what my favorite color is, I'd probably say...it depends. Am I wearing it or decorating with it? Is it a purse or a Sharpie? These things matter to me.

I still go back to my childhood of shopping for school clothes and supplies. None of this 'if the shoes fits, buy it in every color' business. We got one pair, and it had to go with everything.

My friend Debbie has a signature color. Pink. She goes for it every time. Looks darling wearing pink. Tastefully splashes pink around her Florida home. Her business/website is www.pinkfloridathreads.com. Think Debbie...Think pink.

We had a surprise party for Karen when she turned 30. The theme was, "The Lady in Red". We all wore red boas and toasted her with red champagne. Her master bedroom is elegant and bold and red. Come to think of it, Karen is elegant and bold, too! Love that lady in red.

And then there's everyone's favorite man in black, Randy. Simplified his life and laundry by going with black. Black socks, black pants, black shirts, black shoes. You get the idea. I doubt if he held color swatches up to his complexion to see if he was a winter or summer, but he chose to go with black and I celebrate his monochromatic theme.

I have the Brian Regan dilemma of having too many favorites. Grape or cherry? They're both favorites. That's not all bad, but it's frustrating when I get down to having to make a choice. Maybe I just don't want to hurt the other colors' feelings.

Orange is not my favorite color. Neither is purple. Or yellow. Don't hate 'em, just wouldn't choose something that color if I had the choice of red or pink or blue. I would have said 'not green' until they brightened it up and paired it with black and I love that green.

Last week I sent stickers to some of my little friends back in Texas. Emery (3) asked her mother what my favorite color was. Karen wasn't sure, so Emery chose the red one to wear in my honor.

Just like that, she picked red. I would still be there trying to decide between red, or pink or blue. Then you've got your gold and silver...

I can't handle the pressure!

Sunday's Other Big Show!

2008-08-26T19:50:00.000-07:00

This is cute. Enjoy!

I can't get it to copy. Go to

http://www.bluefishtv.com/Store/Downloadable_Video_Illustrations/1571/Sports_Sunday_The_Big_Show/xcid=1005&t=popular

Stop the Paparazzi

2008-07-02T13:47:00.000-07:00

Somebody stop the madness.

I love a good photo-op as much as the next photographer. I have some candid shots of Matt & Scott that I treasure and plan to use as entertainment for the grandchildren someday.

But a few weeks ago, I saw something that was totally over the line. It was the cover of a tabloid with the caption "Celebrity Cellulite". There were photos of celebs from the neck down and they were not pretty. I guess they identified them in the article, but it just made me mad. And it wasn't even my cellulite.

So, I have a solution. I may need to have lunch with George Clooney to hammer out all the details, but basically it goes like this; Get the well paid high profile celebs to generously fund a group of photographers (me and some of my camera happy friends) and pay us to photograph the paparazzi's mothers in unflattering situations.

I've seen the celebrities take a camera and take photos of the paparazzi. Doesn't phase them. But let me get a photo of their mamas in bikinis on the beach, and I'm telling you this outrageous behavior will come to a complete halt. Just call us ...The Stop-a-razzi! (we'll have t-shirts!)

I'm free for lunch next Friday, George. Have your people call my people.

Signage

2008-06-03T09:18:00.000-07:00

Dear airport sign makers,

ARRIVALS and DEPARTURES ... is that your best stuff?

So far, every time I drive to the airport, I am arriving.
I may be arriving to pick up someone or arriving to drop off someone but, hello...
I'm always arriving.

Maybe they should require experience in elementary carpool signage before one gets promoted to airports.

Try DROP OFF and PICK UP, and then maybe I wouldn't have to go around and around so many times before I get it right.

On behalf of the millions of us who could avoid a panic attack if we didn't have to make that last minute decision, I thank you.

Many Not So Happy Returns

2008-05-25T20:39:00.000-07:00

I have a love/hate relationship with Target.

Love to shop there. Hate to return anything there.

On September 1st, 2005 we spent Labor Day cleaning out our garage.I know that because it was the day I walked out of the Allen store vowing never to shop at Target again.

I had tried to return an unopened, $100 Target brand, shelf unit without the receipt. I had bought it on sale, and it was still in stock and on sale. I wasn't expecting to get cash back. I knew the merchandise credit would be spent within the week so I didn't mind lugging the thing back to the store in the 100 degree heat.

Turns out, they had a new return policy and I could only return it for something in the same department. I knew it wasn't the employee's fault so I asked to speak to a manager. Then I asked to speak to her manager. I wanted someone to explain to me why they would not issue a store credit. I had them walk me around and show me the boundaries of the shelf department. There was nothing I needed on those 2 aisles and the whole thing made me mad, so I showed them and lugged my big heavy shelf home. In the 105 degree heat.

A month later I found the receipt and took it back; still heavy and in stock and on sale only to be told that my receipt had expired.

While I was waiting for the manager (!) I called my sister so I could complain out loud to someone and still be in earshot of Target Customer Service employees and guests. It would have been more effective if she had actually answered her phone, but fortunately my improv skills kicked in and I faked a very dramatic conversation with her.

"I'm at Target and I am so upset."

"Because I need to return a box of Target brand shelves and my receipt expired about 2 weeks ago."

"I've never heard of that either. No, they weren't used. I never even opened them."

"I asked them for that and they said I could only exchange it for something in the shelf department."

"I know! It is ridiculous."

"No, I paid cash."

"That's a good idea. There should be one of those forms around here somewhere. If not, I'll just write a letter to headquarters and copy it to my e-mail address list. Maybe if enough of us boycott Target, they will get realistic about their return policy."

"The Allen paper? I guess I could write them, too."

You get the idea.

Between the letter, the fake phone call and hormone replacement therapy I began to walk in forgiveness toward Target. It also helped for Joan to bring me back to my senses by reminding me that we did most of our 12 Days of Christmas shopping there every January when they marked things down 75-90% off.

So my boycott only applies to the Allen Target. I'm sure I was the topic of conversation at their shareholders meeting the following quarter. They miss me. I know they do.

Both of our kids registered for some of their wedding (and now baby) gifts at Target. They are stuck with many duplicate or wrong size items because the gift receipt was not enclosed.

Really, Target? That's how you treat your valued customers? Engaged couples and expectant parents who bring customers into your stores through your gift registry are then assumed to be shoplifters? Don't you have every bit of personal information on them in case you need to track them down? They get one return a year without a receipt and that sounds reasonable to you?

As frustrated as I am with Target, I want to give a shout out to Michael's and Bed, Bath & Beyond for issuing store credit without a retina scan and for taking competitor's coupons, expired or not. They know the majority of their coupon customers need readers to see the fine print, and welcome our business anyway.

I'm generating a list of the best and worse places to shop, return, exchange and use coupons. Make a note next time you have a good experience. But call me if you get messed around.

I'll give you my sister's fake phone number.

ESPN (not another peein' story!)

2008-04-29T05:01:00.000-07:00

This is Drew getting an autograph from a very famous person.

Apparently.

Drew had a bout with the flu which came with fever which turned into cabin fever, so we went out for breakfast yesterday. Matt told us that he had heard about a place on ESPN called The Broken Egg, and it sounded like it wasn't too far from our house.

The waitress asked us how we found them, and Drew said we heard about it on ESPN. Which is true, in a roundabout way. She said, "Oh yes, Mr. Vitale! He's right over there having breakfast and he would be happy to sign autographs and have his picture made with you!"

Which was great except that, well, we had no idea who Mr. Vitale was or what he looked like. She could see our blank stares and then she said, "He's the older gentleman over there...gray hair on the sides/bald on the top."

We leaned across the table to get a look. Here's the problem with that description. Every other man in Florida is an older gentleman with gray hair on the sides/bald on top. The other ones have bad toupees.

I know this because my sister detests toupees. She can spot 'em a mile away. In fact, she began to make a little "I Spy" game out of it with the boys from a very early age. "Rug alert 2:00!"

It was whispered with as little pointing and snickering as possible.

I chalked it up to aunt/nephew bonding time, and became impressed with the boys' ability to comment on hairy situations accurately. And in an age of digital clocks, I thought it helped them learn to tell time as well.

Matt didn't seem to get into it as much as Scott did. Scott had the gift. I'm not saying I'm proud of that...I'm just sayin'. He never got the whispering part down very well, so we learned new games to play in public.

Anyway, after making phone calls to the boys and being reassured that they would indeed like an autograph from Mr. Basketball, we bought a couple of his books and he signed mini basketballs for them.

He also threw in a couple of posters of himself with girls from Hooters and asked who I wanted him to personalize them for. When I said I couldn't think of anyone right off hand, he said, "Well take them and you can give them to whoever you want!"

So! John S.(preacher) and David B.(ACU Bible major), I have a couple of posters for you. Not to worry, I drew turtle neck sweaters on the girls so you can hang it in your church office or dorm room.

I heard the man is being inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame. Who new?

Awesome, Baby!

European or You're a Peein'?

2008-04-22T17:58:00.000-07:00

Baby Mark and I were at Sam's last week.

He needed to be changed so I rolled the basket toward the restroom area. I saw the changing table right away, but didn't want to haul the infant seat, diaper bag, and my purse all the way in there, so I just grabbed the baby, diaper, wipes and changing pad, and covered the rest with my denim jacket. I could see the shopping basket over my shoulder.

We were halfway through the change when I heard a deep voice say, "Well, a woman's in there now...!" I turned and looked at the row of urinals behind me and then looked at the older gentleman standing by my basket.

"Am I in the Men's room?! I am so sorry... I'm a new grandmother and ..."

"I don't mind if you don't!" he declared, and in he walked.

"I, uh, technically we qualify to be in here since he's a boy..."

He walked to the back of the restroom and began to take care of business.

...tinkle, tinkle, tinkle...tinkle tinkle "How old is the little fella?" tinkle...

"Four months," I said. tinkle, tinkle, tinkle...tinkle, tinkle, tinkle

"Got some of those myself," tinkle, tinkle "They sure get sweet about six (tinkle, *big sigh* tinkle) months." tinkle, tinkle

Drip, drip,

Drip.

Meanwhile I've gone into warp speed wiping Mark's little bottom and trying to get out of there before I make eye contact with the man.

In his defense, I have to say, that at this point in my life, if I have to go and there is a bathroom in sight...I'm standing right there beside Mr. Tinkles, so to speak.

Sometimes it isn't easy to tell which door is which. Or they are trying to be clever with the names, so before you know it, you've confused senor with senora, and there you go.

I think there must be hidden cameras by those doors, just to catch our reactions and expressions as we realize we've made a mistake.

This time, I just wasn't paying attention.

Has this ever happened to you?

"I hav ur keys..."

2008-04-08T21:16:00.000-07:00

I just arrived in home from a trip to Texas. Spent 10 days loving on little Mark and his parents, then flew to Lubbock to be at a luncheon honoring my mother. In the meantime, Drew flew to D.C. and Mexico City.

This time, Drew left my car at the Tampa airport with specific instructions telling me where it was parked. I was getting back Friday afternoon, and he was coming in late Saturday night. I would have the car to go home and could go back to pick him up. We had done this before and it worked out well.

My SWA flight from Lubbock stopped in Dallas and Houston. I decided to check my messages, and there in the texting spot was a message from my sister in Lubbock.

"I hav ur keys..."

I replied, "r u kiding me?"

She found them in the back of her car. Neither of us could figure out how they got back there...although it really didn't matter at that point. She immediately sent them priority mail, but that meant they would arrive in Florida Monday at the earliest. My flight was due to arrive Friday at 3:00.

A couple of my friends from church work in Tampa and live in St. Petersburg, so I tried calling them before they left for the day, but missed them. Asking anyone to come across Tampa Bay and back on a Friday afternoon was crazy, so I just took a cab home.

We had hidden a house key just in case, and I was able to get in. Since Drew's car was here, I found his extra key (in his dresser, just in case) and had transportation. He just drove himself home from the airport in my car.

There's nothing funny or creative about this story. (Well, except it reminds me that I had friends from college who thought they were having a girl, but decided they needed a boy's name, just in case. The more they thought about it, the more they liked the name Justin Case. They named him Justin, but I'm pretty sure they chose a different middle name.)

Anyway, I always had a key hidden under the bumper of the Suburban, just in case, but my new car has funky bumpers, and I never got around to hiding one. You might want to put that on your list of things to do today.

I have this vision of God holding the keys to the Kingdom, and being a bit reluctant to trust me with them. Drew was sweet about it, but I am still so frustrated with myself.

So, Lord, if you don't mind, would you make me copies and hide a set for me just outside the gate?

Just in case.

A Visitor's Guide to Acapella Music in the churches of Christ

2008-03-13T09:15:00.000-07:00

or,

It's a church of Christ Thing...You Wouldn't Understand

We had rushed out the door five minutes later than the dad at out house thought we should have. I was putting the finishing touches on my mascara as we listened to Neil Sperry's Garden Show on KRLD, while hauling it down Central Expressway. Your basic Sunday morning routine.

I had agreed to put up a bulletin board at our church, and realized that the pictures I needed were in my picture file across the street from our church building. Since we were five minutes early (!) I had plenty of time to run across the street to the Christian church where I taught preschool and get what I needed. My 14 year old son Matt offered to go with me.

I rushed through their foyer to my classroom, got my stuff and came back to find Matt drifting into the sanctuary. The music minister was playing a song on his guitar for their communion meditation. I tapped Matt on the shoulder and signaled for him to come with me.

"Oh, Mom, did you hear that song Bruce was playing? That was so awesome! Our music is really boring sometimes." I agreed that the music was beautiful. Then he hit me with THE question. "Now, how come we don't have guitars and stuff at our church?" All of the sudden I was back in the 8th grade at a little church of Christ in Texas, asking the very same question.

Before I could respond, he added, "Why don't we just go to that church? There's nothing wrong with it, is there?" Oh, great. The OTHER question.

"No, there's nothing wrong with that church. They believe that Jesus is the son of God and worship Him as their savior just as we do. And we absolutely could walk across the street and join in their worship celebration if we wanted to. But we would be leaving the Easons, the Brumleys, the Herrings, the Englishes...people that we love like family. The people at Central Christian church would be the first ones to tell you that their congregation isn't perfect." Suddenly, I became profoundly profound. "Besides, every church has something weird about it. At least I know what the church of Christ weird stuff is. If we went to a different kind of church, I'd have to learn all new weird stuff, and I'm nearly forty, you know."

He rolled his eyes and managed to smile as I said, "I can tell you what I was told when I asked the very same questions. And you'll probably have the same reactions that I did. But, please, don't ever stop asking why we do or don't do something. I hope someday when you and Scott are elders that Christians will have a better understanding of the difference between traditions and matters of salvation."

If you're timing this conversation, then you realize that we're both late for Bible class. "We'll talk later," I said as I hurried him through the door.

Before you read any farther, I want you to know that I love our tradition of acapella music. I have been singing in Christian choruses for more than 20 years. Ken Young and Keith Lancaster are two of my heroes. What I DON'T love is our tradition of making people feel guilty about praising the Lord any other way. I wrote this in 1994 for my sons, and I suppose for myself, to put into words the feelings I had been having for years. I hope it makes you laugh, but most of all I hope it makes you think.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It has come to my attention that there may be some confusion among visitors (and some members) of the churches of Christ, regarding our official policy of acapella music. Perhaps this interview will enlighten you.

Seeker: "Is it true that you don't believe in instrumental music?"

Saint: "We believe that instrumental exists, but that it does not belong in the worship assembly."

Seeker: "But isn't your voice an instrument?"

Saint: "Yes, but it isn't a man-made instrument."

Seeker: "Didn't David the psalmist praise God with his harp?"

Saint: "That is correct. However, as far as we know only angels praised God with instruments in the New Testament. And I think it's pretty obvious where playing a harp led to with that David & Bathsheba incident."

Seeker: "Aren't pitch pipes and microphones considered instruments?"

Saint: "Don't get cute."

Seeker: "What about instrumental music at weddings and funerals?"

Saint: "If God is not being worshipped at those occasions, then it is acceptable to have accompaniment as long as the event is not being held in a building that says 'church of Christ' on the sign."

Seeker: "Huh?"

Saint: "It's really very simple. Absolutely no pianos, keyboards, guitars, drums, or trumpets are allowed in the auditorium. However, you are allowed to make your voice sound like any of these instruments with an approved sound system. In some congregations, it is permissible to tape the music on someone else's property, and then bring it into our building, as long as it is not..."

Seeker: "...in the auditorium."

Saint: "Before you start to think that we are a little hung on this issue, you will be relieved to know that in some of our more progressive fellowships, it is legal to play taped instrumental music as background noise for a slide show IN THE AUDITORIUM, as long as it occurs before the opening prayer or after the closing prayer."

Seeker: "Exactly where do you get your biblical authority for this tradition?"

Saint: "If Noah had used Ponderosa pine instead of gopher wood to build the ark, do you think God would have been pleased?"

Seeker: "I, uh, guess not."

Saint: "Well, that settles it."

Seeker: "Do you have a piano at home?"

Saint: "I took lessons for 10 years."

Seeker: "And have you ever played church hymns on the piano?"

Saint: "I know every Stamps Baxter song by heart."

Seeker: "Aren't you worshipping God in your living room?"

Saint: "Oh, on the contrary. I have trained myself very carefully to perform those songs without thinking about the words."

Seeker: "So does your church have a choir?"

Saint: "Well, we don't exactly use the 'c' word. Makes people think of robes and performances. Church is certainly no place to be entertained. 'Praise Team' is a less threatening term."

Seeker: "What about Christian radio stations?"

Saint: "Those are the only stations my kids are allowed to listen to."

Seeker: "Let me get this straight. You listed to contemporary Christian music on the radio and you sing hymns with instruments in your home."

Saint: "Right."

Seeker: "And you can sometimes use taped music of instrumental music for weddings and funerals, as long as you're not worshipping and not in a church of Christ building."

Saint: "That's right."

Seeker: And you think people who do use instruments are..."

Saint: "A preacher once told me, 'If part of the snake is bad, then all of the snake is bad'."

Seeker: "So, people who are feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, ministering to broken families all in the name of Jesus..."

Saint: "I know, it's a shame, isn't it. All that effort here on earth and it isn't going to count because they just didn't get it right."

Seeker: "But don't you think God is more concerned about out hearts than He is with our methods? Didn't He accept the Passover celebration of King Josiah even though it wasn't followed to the letter, because their desire was to honor Him?"

Saint: "Well now, if you're going to reach back into the Old Testament and pull verses out of context, then I think you're missing the point."

author's note: Does anybody else think we're missing the point?

Take THIS!

2008-02-28T20:06:00.000-08:00

I love a good road trip. Don’t even mind driving by myself every now and then. I take that opportunity to sing to my heart’s content. I sound just like the artist of the CD I’m playing!

In January, I was driving the road between Lubbock and Dallas. There were no CD’s in the car and radio reception was poor. I did happen to catch part of a Carrie Underwood song as I left Abilene, but it quickly faded.

Not to worry. I knew a couple of her songs. I decided to sing the one about her with the little baby in the car seat. She’s driving. I’m driving. Perfect choice. I couldn’t remember exactly how it started so I jumped to the chorus, “Jesus, take the wheee-eeeel. Take it from my hand. ‘Cause I can’t do this on my own. Nah nah nah nahnah....”...okay, so maybe I don’t know that one.

But! She does the one about messing up that guy’s car. Still with the auto theme. Another perfect choice. “Right now, he’s probably doing something...something something something and Shania karaoke. Right now...(ugh!) So I dug my keys into his car. (not car), I dug my keys into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive...” (drive and side don’t rhyme, maybe it was four wheel ride) “Carved my name into his leather seeeeeats. I took a baseball bat and beat the lights...” (that can't be right) “Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats.”

That concert went nowhere fast.

Eastland was a few miles ahead, with a new WalMart, which meant clean restrooms and CD’s. So I stopped for a potty break and found the electronics department. There on the end cap was a display of new releases, and wouldn’t you know it, they had two Carrie Underwood CD’s. One was “Carrie Underwood Salutes the Grammys”. I looked on the back and “Jesus Take the Wheel” and “Right Now” were not listed. I picked up the other one. It said “A Carrie Underwood Tribute”. I checked the back and both of our greatest hits were listed, so I bought it and hit the road.

While I was at the Starbuck’s drive thru, I opened the package (grrrrrr) and popped it in. The music was a little slower than I remembered, and the intro was much longer...in fact, the entire song was instrumental. Had I bought a karaoke CD? Even better! Maybe the next trac would be of her singing the words, and then I could have my turn without her messing me up. I punched through all 18 songs...NOT ONE WORD. I pulled over and turned on the light to find the title, “A Carrie Underwood Tribute...by the Banjo Brothers. Or something like that. I bought a stinkin’ banjo CD!

I don’t hate banjos especially, but the point was to learn the words, not have “Deliverance” flashbacks. Now instead of singing “Jesus, Take the Wheel” and “Right Now!”, I’m singing, “...Take This Back to WalMart”.

RIGHT NOW!

Ode to My Neti Pot

2008-02-20T20:10:00.000-08:00

Dinner time was all for naught.
I couldn't taste the food I bought.

My throat was sore, my head was hot,
It must have been the flu I caught.

"It's only getting worse," I thought.
So Dr. Oz's help I sought.

On Oprah's show there was a spot,
With some girl rinsing out her snot.

At closer glance, I looked at what
Was in her hand...a neti pot?!

And at the store that's what I got.
Not a penicillin shot.

Now I can breathe, since I have taught
Myself to use a neti pot.

Thank you, Neti! Thanks a lot!

Miss You, Miss the Baby, Miss Texas!

2008-02-14T16:27:00.000-08:00

Miss You, Miss the Baby, Miss Texas!

A year ago Karla Hale asked me to speak at the RE Women’s retreat about broken dreams. She had no way of knowing that the broken dream closest to my heart at the time was that we were leaving our friends and family in Texas and moving to Florida.

That seems a little petty now, as many of you are dealing with real life and death issues. But I couldn’t imagine that not being near our kids and future grandkids was anything in God’s plan for us. I had been at the hospital when all three of the Stevens’ babies were born. What would happen if I missed being there when Matt and Scott became dads?

Matt & Kyla were expecting their first baby January 2nd. We made airline reservations for Christmas afternoon, and planned to stay with one of you(!)until baby Mark was born. When Matt called to say the doctor wanted to induce on the 31st, we were relieved that we wouldn’t have to worry about missing the birth.
On Saturday morning, December 22nd around 5:00 Texas time, Matt called to say that they had been at the hospital since 4:00 and the doctor said they were staying. In my bravest voice, I said, “Matt, that’s great!”

“It’s okay, Mom. We’ll be okay.”

Knowing our flight was still 3 days away and the drive was 24 hours at best, we sent our love and told them we’d see them Christmas afternoon. There were surely no flights available the Saturday before Christmas. I knew it was tearing Drew up, too, so I wasn’t about to ask him to try to get another flight. However, the story of the crazy astronaut diaper lady flashed across my mind, and I had no problem running to the store for a box of Depends on our way out of town.

Drew sat on the edge of the bed and said, “Let’s pray.” We prayed for them and gave Him our travel plans. Then Drew said, “I’m calling American Airlines.” Within a few minutes I heard him say, “1:00 today?!” He had told the AA rep that our daughter-in-law had gone into labor early, and she informed him that he had said the magic words which qualified us for medical emergency tickets.

Excitement mixed with panic ensued as we began to throw things into suitcases. As far as I was concerned, all I needed was my camera and a photo ID. I was calculating centimeters and averages of first baby labor hours as I was shoving my third suitcase in the trunk, when Drew ran out to the driveway with his cell phone and said, “6 lbs, 2 oz? Congratulations, son! Here’s Mom!”

It happened. The moment I thought I wouldn’t survive was playing out before me and all I could think of was, “Is he okay?”

“He’s more than okay, Mom...he’s perfect! And he can’t wait to meet his Grams and Papa this afternoon.”

I paused to see if the world was still turning, and it was. In a way, it was a little easier getting on the plane and not worrying if we would make it to the hospital in time. The baby was here. They were okay. We had tickets. We were okay.

The 2 ½ hour flight also gave me time to get a grip and realize that this was not all about me. When I start to whine about having to be a long distance grandmother, Carla Holland comes to mind. She wins. Every time. She’s my hero.

God has been so sweet to give me friends at this church who ask to see baby pictures. Again. Little friends at church who call me Miss. Texas. (Long story...Pageant officials across the state are horrified!) Girlfriends who pray with me and encourage me to take care of myself spiritually and physically. And He’s given me one especially special friend who sits on the 2nd row at church with a camera in her purse and loves on someone else’s kids. I celebrate that!

I am so thankful. Right now that’s about all my heart can feel. I know the days will come when it will feel like that baby is as far away as Africa, but for now, it’s all good. I think he’ll call me Grams.

Or, Miss Texas!

To Tattoo or Not To

2008-02-11T17:35:00.000-08:00

I cannot believe the tattoos around here. Males and females of every age and stage of life sport some kind of permanent ink on their skin.

THESE ARE MY PEOPLE!

We credit our friends who blazed the parenting trails years ahead of us for helping us navigate the teenage waters. The mistakes we didn't make were due in part to their words of wisdom as they honestly shared their mistakes and victories in raising good kids.

One family was blindsided when their son came home from a rock concert with his ear pierced and a tattoo. They had warned him not to take candy/drugs/rides from strangers. But when they asked him why he got his ear pierced from some guy on a Harley, the reply was, "You didn't tell me not to."

So at every parting, we lovingly told our two sons to be safe, have fun and be in by curfew. AND DON'T GET ANYTHING PIERCED OR TATTOO'D.

A few years ago, my cousin Janet began to confess that she was 'having a little work done'. I had heard of permanent eyeliner, but didn't like the idea of having my eyelids stuck with needles. I'm funny that way. Not only had she done her eyeliner, she had permanent lipstick, cheek color and eyebrows. Eyebrows! That got my attention.

I began tweezing in the 70's and stopped when I saw a close-up of Brooke Shields. By then, it was too late. I had overdone it, and there was no going back. And none growing back. There were barely enough hairs there to trace with an eyebrow pencil, and if I happened to rub the wrong spot, I frightened small children with my one brow.

"If you ever have a coupon for 'buy one brow, get the other one free', call me." I half joked. The next time we were together, she surprised me with a gift certificate and an appointment for later that day. She assured me the procedure was professional and painless.

It was a comfort to see the technicians in white lab coats. And the fact that they did not also sell bail bonds was a plus. I was a little confused as to why they said I had to alert the blood bank before donating in the future, and I might not want to have an MRI anytime soon. I looked back and forth between the waiver and Janet's eyebrows. Those two, beautiful permanent eyebrows. I was in!

After the before photo, I was assisted in selecting a shape and color that complimented my face. The lines were drawn. Literally. As I reclined in the chair with a warm blanket, the humming of the tattoo tool was about to put me to sleep when suddenly I yelled for her to stop.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes. But this is too funny. I have to call my boys!"
Matt and Scott were both untattoo'd students at Abilene Christian University. They were not going to believe what I was about to do. I left messages on both of their cell phones. "Hi, this is Mom. I just wanted you to know that I am in San Antonio for the weekend getting a tattoo. Love you!"

"Okay. You may continue." Minutes later one of the boys called back. His voice was tentative as he said, "Mom?"

"Hi, sweetheart. I can't talk right now. I'm getting a tattoo."

"I'm not kidding, Mom. What are you doing?"

"I'm not kidding either. Well, actually I am getting two tattoos. But she's not finished yet, so I need to go."

"Mom. Seriously. Are you getting a tattoo?"

"Yes, I am. Seriously."

Then he turned to the crowd and yelled, "My mom is totally getting tattoo'd!" Cheers rang out from the dorm as their friends yelled, "Way to go, Mrs. McBryde! You rock!"

Finally. I rocked.

Those two weeks of itchy, vaselined eyebrows were a little uncomfortable. And I don't even use my eyebrows that often. But lips? Eyelids? OUCH! I cannot imagine how painful and expensive it must be to have an entire arm or leg done. Not to mention the places I'm not going to mention.

I'm still glad I did it. The results were worth it. And except for that unfortunate experience of having to get out of line at the church blood drive, it was all positive. I probably didn't have to yell to the crowd on the way out, "It's not because I had sex with a strangers in Africa!" But they were my friends and I thought I owed them an explanation.

Those are my people, too.

Man (not so far) From Atlantis

2008-02-07T16:50:00.000-08:00

(This blog entry is dedicated to Karen H, whose apartment was destroyed by flaming pieces of the shuttle that dropped down her chimney. No one will actually admit it. I think it was covered up by the FBI.)

Today was a good day in Florida.

I got to watch Drew watch the space shuttle Atlantis take off! This has been a dream of his since the program began. And if he had his way, he would be on it. Or in it.

Probably the most devastating day of his childhood was when he found out he had to have glasses and his hopes of becoming an astronaut were dashed.

The only time I've seen him tear up in a movie, was the lift-off scene from Apollo 13.

We don't have passes to Disney World, but he has one to the Kennedy Space Center.

There was only a 30% chance of take off due to a thunderstorm headed that way. Since he had already cleared his calendar, we decided to go for it, and made the 2 1/2 hour drive. We watched from Titusville on the Atlantic shore. He's in front of the TV now, watching the NASA channel and reruns of the launch that he tivo'd.

Friends who have seen both say the daytime lift off is great, but it's nothing compared to seeing one at night. Tickets go on sale Monday for the Endeavour launch at 2:45 Tuesday morning.

One of the packages offers dinner with a real astronaut! (as opposed to...)

p.s. If Drew does manage to get a ride aboard the shuttle, will he be on it ot in it?

(Does That Make Me Crazy?)

2008-01-29T05:39:00.000-08:00

I like to run over dead squirrells in the road.
There. I've said it.
(Does that make me crazy?)

When I see a dead one in the road (not live ones, mind you) and I don't have to move into oncoming traffic, I just run over it.

I wouldn't run over big animals. Dogs or cats or beavers or skunks. Well, unless Sarah S was in the car with me, and then I would hit a dead skunk because she likes the smell.
(Does that make her crazy?)

And snakes. Oh, I LOVE to run over snakes, dead or alive. I feel like I am doing the world a favor. I live by the motto, "The only good snake, is a dead snake!" (apologies to Ryan N)

When we lived outside the city limits of Austin, I was driving my little VW bug home from work one night and saw a huge rattler stretched out in the road in front of our house. I took dead aim. When I looked in my rear view mirror, it had coiled up. So I backed up and hit it again. He kept moving, so I kept trying to squash it. Then my dog, Gus came running out (pre leash law era) and I was afraid he would get too close, so I pulled in the driveway and took Gus inside.

I called a neighbor to please get his gun and shoot the snake. When he got to the middle of the road, there was a greasy spot but the snake was gone. I just had to assume that I had harmed it enough to not do too much damage.

Maybe in some way, I'm not running over cute little dead squirrells, I'm just still trying to kill that beast of a rattlesnake.

I've been thinking about what I will do when I see an alligator in the road. What if he bites my tires and there I am stuck on top of an alligator with a flat? It's illegal to shoot 'em. I already checked.

No, for now just dead squirrells and snakes, and sticks that look like snakes.

But me?

Drive over an alligator?

Are you crazy?

Baby Mark

2008-01-23T13:47:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to put up a little photo of our grandson, Mark. He's already a month old. Matt & Kyla are so great with him.

Yesterday was Drew's 50th birthday. He is totally silly about this baby! On his 25th birthday, he was holding his 2nd son, Scott. I love that their birthdays are the same day. Yesterday, Scott called me to wish me a "Happy Giving Birth Day!"
Makes me want a piece of cake...

Attendance Folder vs Visitor's Card

2008-01-09T09:52:00.000-08:00

This is a video our son (Matt on the right) and the worship leader (Stephen on the left) produced for their church.

Happy Brrrrrrrrrthday!

2007-12-18T22:00:00.000-08:00

Drew and I went to Epcot today. The weather was absolutely beautiful. There were no lines, because the Christmas crowd won't arrive until the weekend. We got to hear Kirk Cameron narrate The Nativity Story. His testimony was touching.

We had dinner in Italy. A lovely restaurant with delicious food and a nice bottle of wine...the end of a perfect day, when a few tables down from us, the waiters came out to sing 'Happy Birthday' to a customer. "It's Italy!", I thought. "This will be great!" They started out a couple of octaves too high, and it went down hill from there.

Hey, Italy! If you people can't start out on the right note, then don't even bother! I know...it's a universal problem. But, Italy? Opera? Didn't DaVinci invent the pitch pipe or something?

Better yet, let's just change the official birthday song. I already have. I prefer singing it to the tune of "We wish you a Merry Christmas". "We wish you a happy birthday, etc. and a happy new year!" See? It makes sense and it doesn't sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.

While we're at it, let's change the tune of The Star Spangled Banner. I am nervous for every soloist and help us all if it's acapella. Especially if it's started by an Italian.

Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin on the right note for crying out loud!

Lonely Hearts Club

2007-12-04T05:37:00.000-08:00

I'm on an oatmeal kick. A couple of weeks ago, I ran out the door for an appointment only to find that I was 2 hours early. I hadn't had breakfast, and saw an IHOP nearby, so I HOPped on in and ordered a bowl of oatmeal. It was INSTANT. That's false advertising.

While I was pouting, I saw a tall, handsome, elderly gentleman come in with his adult granddaughter on his arm. You could tell he was so proud of her and she was especially tender with him. It's not uncommon to see older people here, but it made me think of what my dad would be like if here were still alive, so I was pleased when the waitress sat them at the booth across from me.

I don't mind eating in restaurants by myself, because if I don't have anyone to talk to, I just listen to the nearest conversation. Well, I do! Anyway, the fact that he was hard of hearing gave their exchange extra volume. Both ways.

"I'm 96 years old, and not bad looking!" he boasted.

How cute of him, I thought.

"Did you have trouble finding my place?" he yelled.

She looked around to see if he was as loud as it seemed.
He was.
"No, I got directions off of the internet."

It must be her first time here. No wonder he is so excited to see her.

"I miss having someone to talk to...just like we are doing now. This is nice. I like to travel, but since I had my pacemaker put in, I don't go by myself."

Oh,...he's lonely. Why haven't you been to see him?

"This menu looks great", she says. "I'm hungry."

"Got any kids?" he asks.

"Two girls. Eight and Ten. They live with their dad, but I get to see them once a month."

hmmmmm...this is awkward...

"I have two daughters. They only call me when they need money. Last time one called and started making small talk. I said, 'how much do you need?', and she said, "$10,000". I sent her $13,000. I've made arrangements in my will to take care of them after I'm gone. But that could change if things go well... Are you married?"

What?

"No. I wanted to, but it just didn't work out."

"It's not about the sex for me. I just want a companion. Someone to watch TV with, and go to dinner. Do you like steak? We have a pool. I don't swim much, but you could lay out in the sun if you want to..."

OH
MY
GOSH!

This isn't his granddaughter...she's...he's...ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

I asked for a refill and got out a pen & notepad. I took eavesdropping to a new level.

"I'll pay your bills and all your expenses, but I won't give you a salary. If you're looking to make $200 a week, I'm not your guy. But you'll always have a hundred dollars in your pocketbook."

"I don't have any bills," she says.

"I'm not your average Joe," he continues. "I went to college and was going to make a doctor when I joined the Navy. I was an officer for eighteen years, so I have a good military retirement. And made some good investments, so you'll have the best of everything. Do you like filet mignon?"

Talk about a paradigm shift.

"And I'm easy to get along with. The wife and I were married 65 years..."

The waitress comes by..."Honey, the toast is cold. My butter won't even melt. Take it back to the kitchen. Didn't I order grits with this? It's too late now."

I hope she takes note of Mr. Easy-going.

"...then she died and I ran into an old girlfriend who was a widow, and we decided to move in together. But she fell and broke her hip and she's laid up in rehab, so I'm alone again. Do you like Canada?"

"I know a nice place there. Do you like to dance? I'll get you some nice clothes. Where did you see my ad?"

UNbelievable.

"I have a physical therapist and a home health care nurse. I'm not looking for someone to take care of my health, I'm just lonesome."

Six cups of coffee later, the three of us get up to leave.

I always thought of Anna Nicole as a gold digger. And maybe she was. But I looked at this young woman...with no income, no education, she's been in some kind of trouble if she doesn't have custody of her own kids...and here's this man offering to take care of her...

I thought Anna's old geezer was an old...geezer. As pathetic as it sounds, this man is really just lonesome.

But the person I want to help most, is the old girlfriend who got dumped when she broke her hip. She probably fell while they were dancing in Canada. Bless her heart.

Bless all their lonely hearts.

I Wish Me A Merry Christmas

2007-11-17T05:40:00.000-08:00

It was about this time of the year in the mid 80's. I was at the Abilene WalMart while the boys were at preschool. I found myself beside a stack of cute country blue kitchen rugs. Ten bucks each.

I looked up and saw my friend Sandra Jane admiring the same thing. We chatted for a while as each of us had our hand on the rug. I don't know who started it, but the conversation progressed something like this.

"Aren't these cute?"

"Adorable!"

"It would match my kitchen colors perfectly."

"Mine, too."

(It would match every kitchen in Texas perfectly in 1980. Who didn't have a country blue theme?)

"I shouldn't be spending money on myself at Christmas."

"Me either...but I'd spend ten dollars to buy one for you."

"And I'd buy one for you!"

And so began the tradition of getting ourselves something for Christmas.

After we moved to the Dallas area in 1990, we weren't able to select our gifts together, so we just chose something and told the other one about it. No price limit, so the gifts have ranged from books to warm up suits. We don't plan for it, but every year we'd find ourselves out shopping and run across something we really would like to have, and think, "I shouldn't get this for myself" and then that little Christmas angel whispers...

"but Sandra Jane/Carolyn would love to get it for you!"

A few days ago, I received this thank you note. The thank you notes are almost as fun as the gifts.

Carolyn,

Please don't. You really shouldn't. I'm weary of pleading with you not to, but if you insist, I'll absolutely love to accept the darling black t-shirt with rhinestones so tastefully outlining a coffee cup and saucer and the words "Wake Up And Smell The Coffee" that's screaming my name at Cracker Barrel. It's a perfect Christmas gift from you and I will love wearing it! Have you received my Christmas gift to you yet?????

(I love you so much).

Happy Holidays, Sandra Jane

I replied,

I knew it was so you when you saw it! The mail is slow in Florida. I'm sure it will be here soon. love you!

Well, the package arrived last night at the Don CeSar resort gift shop. Our kids are here (wooooooooo-whoooooooooo!), so the girls and I were browsing while we were waiting for our table. My eyes went straight to a beautiful Brighton silver pen with a well.

Kyla and Terran ooooooed and ahhhhhhhhed appropriately. "That would be perfect for our guest book on the entry table."

They agreed.

"Forty dollars is a lot to spend on a pen..."

I put it back on the shelf and said, "I shouldn't spend that much on myself so close to Christmas..."

And then it hit me. Sandra Jane would love for me to have it!

I made a u-turn and headed to the register.

"Is this for you or is it a gift?" the clerk asked.

"Yes it is." I replied. She loved hearing the story. I made the guilt free purchase and went on my way rejoicing!

Dearest Sandra Jane, I am speechless! The fact that you took the time to select such a thoughtful gift means more to me than you'll ever know. The silver Brighton pen and well will be a beautiful reminder of our friendship. Through the years you have been my role model as a hostess and a writer, so it has an even sweeter meaning. I love you dearly! carolyn

HO! HO! HO!

Just a Note...

2007-11-11T16:04:00.000-08:00

How many times have you written or received a card with that little phrase at the beginning?

I am (still) going through boxes. Random receipts, photos, and a gallon freezer zip lock bag of cards were in the most recent box. This particular group of notes shared our prayer that we would use our new house on Denali as a way to bless others. Some were birthday cards for Drew and me that coincided with our move. Some were Swankie Blankie thank you notes.

Maybe it's the southern etiquette upbringing, but Mother instilled in Linda and me from the beginning that thank you notes were not optional. I witnessed the frowns and scowls from older women at baby showers who murmured, "I still haven't received a thank you note for her wedding gift...". Writing came naturally and was actually fun for me and I prided myself on getting my notes written in a timely manner.

Somehow, I forgot to pass that joy on to Drew and the boys. It was usually a chore. At the risk of totally throwing the boys under the article-bus, I'll let you guess which one I'm writing about. Frankly, both of them claimed handwriting disabilities and tried to get out of it.

Ask McSon about the night before he left for ACU. I had let some birthday thank yous slide. I usually included all three guys' family Christmas thank yous in with mine. When I suggested to Drew that he might want to write a personal note, he gave me the 'that's why I married you' look and I counted myself lucky to add his signature.

But I drew the line at high school graduation gifts. "You will not be allowed to leave for college until you get those notes written!", I promised. I reminded him on the way home from Sr. Sunday. He was too busy adding up his gift cards. I mentioned it throughout the summer and it was met with the best intentions to get them done as soon as he got back from camp, Trek, Kadesh, and the bathroom.

Sure enough, the night before the big day arrived. "I'll do them tonight, I promise." Then somebody called for one last goodbye, and he was out the door. Fast fwd to 2am. I'm sitting on the couch with his laundry that has yet to be packed. He walks in the door, wired and exhausted. I'm waving a stack on envelopes and a roll of stamps.

"Mom, I am SO TIRED!"

"I know you are. You're probably really sorry you put these notes off until the last minute."

"I'll do them in the mor..."

I jumped up on the couch and screamed, "NOW! YOU'LL DO THEM NOW! These sweet people went to the trouble of picking out a gift and getting it to you and as my last act of having you under our roof, I am sitting here with you until every last one is written!" It was like a bad Hallmark commercial.

And there we sat, while I read from the gift list and addressed the envelopes, until all 75 notes were written. By him. To this day, some of my favorite thank you notes come from high school senior boys with scratchy handwriting who obviously wrote them under durress.

I get it.

This wasn't the blog I intended to write. I was just going to reiterate the importance of written notes. Not just thank you notes, but 'how are you' notes and 'wasn't that fun' notes and 'your friendship is precious' notes.

It's the gift that keeps on giving when you are like me and Mildred James who've saved every single one we've ever received! We read them again and again, and then put some of them in a box with random receipts and photos until years later when we're cleaning out a closet only to find the box, sit for an hour and read them all over...again.

Fortunately, the boys married wonderful girls who write the most precious notes, and somehow got the boys to not only sign, but write their own precious notes on birthday, Father's Day, Mother's Day and 'just because' cards. I've saved every single one. I have a feeling there was no screaming or couch jumping involved.

Just a note? There's no such thing.

Notifying Next of Kin

2007-10-28T13:50:00.001-07:00

There are several reasons why we didn't bring Sophie with us to Florida. At 14, she didn't need the stress and confusion of living in an empty house for an indefinite period of time. She loved packing up and going to stay with MeeMaw and PapPaw English, but we didn't have childcare arrangements here. The lovely pond behind our new house held the potential for alligators, and...I don't even want to go there. Drew said we didn't have a closet big enough for her wardrobe. The girl loved to dress up, what can I say?

My mother recently lost her dog to cancer, and my sister's 16 year old Lhaso wasn't doing so well, so they offered to keep her in Lubbock at one house or the other. She often made the trip to west Texas and was lovingly known as The Uppity Cousin from Dallas. We knew she would be loved and dressed appropriately.

Linda called last Monday in tears. Sophie had been up all night sick to her stomach. When Linda went home to check on her at noon, she knew something was horribly wrong. She took her to the vet who diagnosed kidney failure. There were a couple of options of keeping her alive on an IV for a few weeks, but Linda made the right and difficult decision not to prolong her pain.

I felt so bad for Linda. Her dog, Sadie Mae had to be put to sleep just 6 weeks earlier. Sophie had only been sick a couple of days in her little Shih Tzu life, and one of those was because she OD'd on a leftover piece of pound cake. I called Drew and the boys and they were surprised and sad as I was. But, also grateful.

She was the family pet you hope for. Low maintenance, didn't shed, and had a great sense of fashion. Whenever we took her with us in the car, she hopped on her satin pillowcase and slept the whole way.

Sophie had her own Swankie Blankie with her name embroidered on it, an assortment of hair bows and sweaters, an Old Navy T-shirt, an Easter dress, a Sunday dress, a cheer leading outfit, an angel costume, a witch's hat and even a red boa that she wore to Karen H.'s 30th birthday party. Her recent additions included a little black taffeta number with spaghetti straps that she only pulled out for special occasions, (black was her signature color)and a cheetah print dress with hot pink trim.

She was patient with the little friends that came to our house. She taught us to be gentle and responsible. We surprised the boys with her Easter weekend 1993. They lifted the basket lid and out she hopped. (She looked more like a guinea pig than a puppy!) I kept her hair long until I was paying more to have hers done than mine.

Anyway, if you were in our home, you probably had Sophie in your lap, and we just wanted you to know. Linda said she held her while they administered the drugs, until she died.

"What was she wearing?" I asked.

"Her pink sweater."

"Oh, good. That was her favorite."

Sophie went out in style!

Have You Seen My Keys?

2007-10-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

That's one of those questions I ask on a regular basis. I'm sure if I had a designated spot in the house for them, I would never be late again. And if I could find the perfect purse, it would also have a convenient key spot, which would eliminate the rest of the problems of my life.

After church Wednesday night, a lady misplaced her keys. She finally had to call a relative to come, and they found the keys in the trunk of her car.

Been there.
Done that.

And done that.

While we were waiting, the stories of lost keys were shared. My tale has become legendary in our family.

Lubbock, TX 1983 B.C. (Before Cellphones)

I'm not sure why I had to drive downtown to the courthouse, but I remember it involved standing in a long line with two year old Matt and two month old baby Scott. It wasn't until I was trying to put the stroller back in the trunk that I realized I couldn't find my keys.

They were not in the diaper bag, my purse, or the ignition. They were not on the pavement, in the grass or under the car. They were not at the counter or on the floor or...anywhere, as far as I could see. I decided I had laid them in the trunk when I got the stroller out and slammed it shut.

Both boys were hungry and fussy, and all 3 of us were ready for a nap. I hated to admit defeat, but I had to call Drew at work. He was in the middle of a very important meeting and it was obvious that he was frustrated. In his defense, it was not the first time he had to come and get me. I'm not sure why there was not a key in the magnetic holder under the bumper. I probably used it and forgot to put it back, but for my sake I'll say it was his fault.

"Can you bring me your key?" I asked politely.

"Not right now. I'm in the middle of a meeting." he said not very politely.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" I asked sweetly.

"Where's the key I put under the bumper?" he asked not so sweetly.

Suffice it to say this went on for way too long until finally, I played the 'mother of your starving children' card and he said, "I'm on my way."

On our adventure Matt had spotted a blind gentleman at a candy counter just inside the door. I decided to get us a snack while we waited.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'll take some M&M's, please. By chance, have you seen a set of keys," I asked the blind man. I was just about to apologize for asking him if he had seen my keys, when he held them up and said, "You mean these? Someone found them in the grass."

I was simultaneously filled with delight and horror. Yea for the keys, but oh no, Drew's about to waste a trip. I ran to the pay phone to call off the rescue, but the secretary said Drew had left.

He was already mad. I didn't think it would exactly thrill him to have left his meeting and driven across town only to find that the trip had been inconvenient and unnecessary. So, I made an executive decision...

After going through the different scenarios and possible outcomes, I determined that it was in the best interest of our marriage for him to be celebrated as the hero he was. I went to the car, opened the trunk, threw the keys in and slammed it shut.

Oh, yes I did!

Then I prayed.

When Drew arrived, I lavished praise and thanksgiving upon him.
"You are my hero! Give dad a big hug, Matt! Thank you for coming to the rescue!"

I apologized profusely.
"I am so, so very sorry for messing up your presentation."
"I just said it was a family emergency." His tone was softening as he opened the trunk and handed me keys. "You have got to be more careful..."
"Truer words were never spoken!" I exclaimed.

As we drove away, I turned to his offspring in the back seat, "You must never speak of this to anyone...EVER."

And I didn't, until the summer all four of us were on our way to Austin and stopped at a Dairy Queen in...

Brownwood, TX StarDate 1987

We went in for a break, and came out to find that Drew...DREW... had left the keys in the ignition for the first time in his existence. We happened to be parked next to a DPS officer who popped the lock within seconds, at no charge and we were on our way.

You would think we would be on our way rejoicing, but Drew couldn't forgive himself. "I can't believe I did that!" "What if that officer hadn't been right there?" That was totally irresponsible of me!" "Where is the key that is supposed to be in the magnetic holder?"

Since I could tell this was about to take a nasty turn in my direction, I decided it was time to lighten things up a bit. "I have the funniest thing to tell you, and ha...I mean, you are just going to laugh out loud when I tell you this very funny story. Remember the time I locked my keys in the trunk of my car?"

"In Sherman?"

"No, not that time."

"At the retreat?"

"No. not...okay, do you remember bringing keys to the courthouse when the boys were babies?..." and I began to retell the story. It was all coming back to him until I got to the part where I found the keys at the candy counter. His puzzled expression changed to horror as I said, "and so I, ha...here's the funny part...put the keys in the trunk and slammed it shut! Can you believe how funny that is? Now? Several years later?"

I turned to the back seat for support and saw both boys with their little jaws dropped and their eyes bugged out. Drew looked at me like I was some crazy woman and said, "You did what?!"

As I told this story to the group in the church parking lot, I noticed something interesting. The women figured out what I was going to do and high-fived me when I got to the part where I slammed the trunk shut. The men had that oh-so familiar look that I saw on Drew's face.

Like I'm some kind of crazy woman! ha! Can you believe that?

Mike Cope Sings the Classics

2007-10-04T14:49:00.001-07:00

I still love this! Hopefully they'll do "Once There Were Three Wandering Jews" in the sequel...

GG

2007-10-04T12:05:00.002-07:00

My mother came to visit last week. She flew by her 82 year old self from Lubbock, Texas at 10:00 a.m., stopped in Dallas, changed planes in Houston, and arrived in Tampa at 8:30 p.m. I am so proud of her for being brave!

As I drove away from the airport yesterday, I called my sister Linda to tell her GG was on her way home. We were talking about how blessed we were to have her as our mother and role model. Positive. Gracious. Remarkable. And as my new friend Melissa said after meeting her Sunday, "Your mother is just so darn cute!"

That, too.

She was the perfect guest. The closest she came to a negative comment was when we took her to the beautiful Don Cesar resort for dinner. It is a favorite place to take guests for a light meal on the beach. There is usually a wedding or two while we are enjoying our dinner and watching the sunset. I was reading her some menu choices when she saw the prices.

"Does that say $10.95 for a turkey sandwich?!"

"It's okay, GG. This is our treat." (What I didn't tell her was that she was looking at the wrong line item, and the sandwich was actually $12.95.)

She bragged on every little thing in and around our house.

She struck up meaningful conversations with strangers everywhere we went. This photo was taken at Vinoy Park by the bay. Within minutes, she was counseling this lady in pink who was unhappy in her nursing home, and had asked a man walking his dog is she could hold it!

She insisted that I not change one thing in my schedule just because she was here. (what schedule?)

I found her outside by the pool. "GG, do you want to go for a swim?"
"Sure! I brought my Speedo!"

We ventured to the Beall's outlet. "Don't even show me where the shoes are. I don't need any more!" She bought 2 pairs.

She encouraged me to buy a new purse at Dillard's...I celebrate that!

Her sandals came flying off the minute her feet hit the beach.

After church Sunday morning she said, "Well, on a scale of 1-10, I give your preacher a 10! Or 12!"

She just called while I was writing this to thank me for the perfect visit, and tell me about the people she met on the plane. It gave me a chance to tell her about one of the sweetest compliments. Last night at Ladies bible class, someone said the older they got, the less they thought they knew about God. The teacher, Sandy said, "Sometimes we can't see it in ourselves, but as we mature in Christ, we become more like Him. Like GG! How many of you met Carolyn's mother Sunday morning?" (Hands went up all around the room. She must have been working the crowd while I wasn't watching...) "When I met her mother, I said, 'I feel like I know you from somewhere'. Later I realized that it wasn't that we had actually met, but she just had that sweet, beautiful expression that comes from someone who has walked with the Lord her whole life."

My dad was the outgoing, social one. She willingly let him have the spotlight for over 50 years of marriage. We weren't sure what to expect after he died in 1999. It shouldn't have surprised us to see her find her own place, her own voice in the world. She did it with grace and dignity and a positive outlook on life that amazes those of us who love her.

That's our GG! You Go, Girl!

I'm That Grandmother!

2007-09-25T14:54:00.000-07:00

I would like for it to go on record that I have shown tremendous restraint since I found out that Matt & Kyla were having a baby. I didn't buy anything until I found out if we were having a boy or a girl. Well, except for the Willow Tree figurine for Kyla. You know, the one where she is pregnant, but that was also to add to her collection. And that was all.

oh, and a clock for the nursery. And we gave Matt a Jeep brand baby pouch/carrier for Father's Day...okay, so I bought a few things, but just trust me when I say, I didn't get everything I thought about getting.

But I especially held off buying any generic clothes. I did find a cute little white onesie at Target that said something fun on the front in black print, but that was to frame, not to wear, so that didn't count.

Fast fwd to the day Matt called and asked what I was doing, and in fact I was at Sport's Authority getting Drew a no-sweat golf shirt. He said, "Well, while you're there, you might pick up a baseball mitt for your grandson!" A boy! Mark! Perfect! Some of my favorite people started out as baby boys!

Matt's birthday was in September, so we gave him Father/Son Tampa Bay Rays baseball t-shirts. Mark's was on sale for $3 at Marshall's. I don't think that qualifies as buying baby clothes, do you?

Last week, I was in Macy's to return some dishes. On the way to the down escalator, I walked by the baby department. They were having a sale, so I browsed the racks. "Cute, cute, cute, too girly, cute, white?!, oh! how cute, probably will get a lot of those at the shower, cute, cute."

I started to leave with my great restraint when a little old(er) grandmother tapped me on the arm and said, "Which one of these should I buy?" And there she was, holding cute, cute, and the perfect outfit for Mark! I hadn't seen that one. I quickly scanned the rack again to see if I had missed it, and it was obvious that she had the only one left.

You can imagine my moral dilemma.

"Well," I began nervously, "they're all cute. When is the baby due?"

"October." she said.

"These two would probably be more practical for winter weather," I said as I steered her away from Mark's perfect outfit.

"We don't get much winter here," she said. "This one's cute, too," she had the nerve to say while she was holding Mark's perfect outfit.

"Yes," I said as indifferently as possible. "But you know young parents these days. Go, go go! They'll probably be going north for the winter and won't you be the hero for giving them one of these other two adorable rompers!"

"Put it back! OH, PULEEZE PUT MARK'S PERFECT OUTFIT BACK ON THE THE RACK!", I screamed silently. I found myself reaching to take it out of her little old wrinkled hand.

"I guess I'll get this one," she said, referring to one of the other cute ones.

"Good choice!" I said. She turned and walked over to get her daughter's approval. When she did, I snatched Mark's perfect outfit off of the rack and ran as fast as I could to the nearest checkout, only to encounter the slowest checkout girl on the planet. Yeah, yeah, brand new terminals, whatever, just hurry up! NO! I don't want to donate any money to any diseases! I must have said that last part out loud, because she looked at me like I was evil, so I said okay.

I felt just a little bit guilty about the whole incident, so I called Matt to confess. "Am I going to be that grandmother?" I asked?

Matt was still laughing, "Man, I sure hope so!"

p.s. Since I bought Mark's perfect outfit using part of the credit I had from returning the dishes, it's not really even like I used money to buy it. So technically, I still haven't bought him any clothes. Pretty good restraint, don't you think?!

TARGETed

2007-09-14T07:20:00.000-07:00

We had only been here a week when I found a better Target. The one near us was under renovation and it messed up my shopping aura. I had ordered some dark brown leather furniture, and wanted to look for some pillows to brighten it up. (as if I needed an excuse to go to Target)

With my one little pillow in the basket, I browsed the rest of the store. Somewhere between the toy and electronics departments, I was accosted by two boys asking for money.

"Can I have a dollar?"

"Excuse me?" There went my shopping aura.

The Accomplice explained, "He needs a dollar."

As a matter of fact, I had just returned something and had a wad of dollars, but I was longing for conversation, so I asked, "Why do you need a dollar?"

"Because I wanna buy this toy and I need another dollar."

"Where's your mother?"

"She dropped us off. But my uncle gave me $20 for my birthday..."

The Accomplice, "Show her the money! He's got a 20 dollar bill!"

"...and I found this cool car for $19.99..."

The Accomplice, "I'll go get the car!"

"...except when I went to pay for it the total was $21.34 with tax. The guy in electronics said he would forget about the 34 cents if I could find another dollar."

I looked at those 2 faces. I looked at the guy in electronics. I looked at the cool lime green remote control car. I looked into my soul and thought, 'What would Jesus do'? That didn't work so well, since Jesus wouldn't be in Target buying decorative pillows.

I wanted to help the boys. They could do worse things with $20 than to buy something that would keep them busy for a few hot summer days, but I also didn't want to encourage them to hit up old ladies for money so I thought, 'What would Larry James do'?

Larry would let them earn the money.

I said, "I won't give you a dollar, but I'll give you an opportunity to earn a dollar if you're willing to work for it." They jumped and smiled and vowed they would do whatever I asked.

"Well...(I looked in my basket),I'm about to buy something really heavy, and I'll probably need 2 strong boys to help me get it in my shopping cart."

They high-fived each other and flexed their muscles. Now if I could just think of something really heavy to buy. I turned to go to the garden department. The item we found was on the top shelf. The Accomplice offered to get Mr. Electronics to get it down for us. Birthday Boy waited with me.

I checked out the TOM-TOM GPS on the end cap. "I need one of these for my car."

Birthday Boy chimed in, "Yeah, so does my uncle. He dudn't know how to get anywhere in Florida. He's from TEXAS!" I let it slide.

Soon The Accomplice returned with his report. "The guy in electronics said, 'Tell your mom I'll be right there.' He thinks you're our MOM!"

"Oh, my. I'm much older than your mom."

"Nuh-UH!" said The Accomplice. "My mom's 27!"

And suddenly it occurred to me. It really wouldn't be fair to just give the birthday boy a dollar when that sweet young friend of his was being so helpful..."How old are you?" I asked.

"I'm 10." (do the math; he's a child of a child)

Birthday Boy, "My mom's WAY older than his mom and you. She's 52!"

"I'm 52." I said.

"NO WAY!" they shouted. And I for one believe they were sincerely shocked, and were not just trying to get an extra dollar out of me. "You look more like HIS mom than MY mom!"

"Well, I have used Mary Kay products since my twen..." oops, wrong story.

I asked Birthday Boy, "How old are you?"

"I'm 12." The Accomplice confirmed that it was indeed the truth. I did that math, too, and figured if I had given birth to that kid when I was 40, I would look years beyond my years, as well.

I looked at my watch and realized that I needed to leave and pick up Drew, so I said, "Okay, look. You have proven to me that if I did have something heavy, you would have helped me get it to the cart, but I've gotta go. So, here's a dollar for each of you. Happy Birthday!"

Could life get any better? They ran to the electronics department and I went to the express lane. As the clerk was ringing up my pillow, I saw The Accomplice run for the gourmet cookie counter.

"Ma'am?"

"I'm sorry. How much do I owe you?"

"The pillow was $19.99 and with tax it will be..."

"I know," I nodded as my aura returned. "$21.34".

Why Men Should Not Be Allowed to Write Advice Columns:

2007-09-11T06:27:00.000-07:00

Thanks for sharing this, Angie. And that reminds me...I need to do laundry.

Happy birthday, Matt!

Dear Walter:

I hope you can help me here. The other day I set off for work
leaving my husband in the house watching the TV as usual. I hadn't gone more
than a few hundred yards down the road when my engine conked out and
the car shuddered to a halt. I walked back home to get my husband's help.

When I got home I couldn't believe my eyes. He was parading in front
of the wardrobe mirror dressed in my underwear and high-heel shoes, and
he was wearing my make up.

I am 32, my husband is 34 and we have been married for twelve
years. When I confronted him, he tried to make out that he had dressed in my
lingerie because he couldn't find his own underwear. But when I
asked him about the make-up, he broke down and admitted that he'd been
wearing my clothes for six months.

I told him to stop or I would leave him.

He was let go from his job six months ago and he says he has been
feeling depressed and worthless. I love him very much,
but ever since I gave him the ultimatum he has become increasingly
distant. I don't feel I can get through to him anymore.

Can you please help?

Sheila

Dear Sheila:

A car stalling after being driven a short distance can be caused by a
variety of faults with the engine. Start by checking that there is
no debris in the fuel line. If it is clear, check the jubilee clips
holding the vacuum pipes onto the inlet manifold. If none of these
approaches solves the problem, it could be that the fuel pump itself
is faulty, causing low delivery pressure to the carburetor float
chamber.

I hope this helps.

Walter

Say what?

2007-09-08T05:16:00.000-07:00

The Tower of Babel was the perfect Bible lesson for the day. I was subbing for the 3rd grade class at GCChristian Schools, which is associated with the church we're attending. We began the day with the pledge, a prayer and turning to Genesis 11:1-9. "Now the whole world had one language and a common dialect..."

"What's a dialect?" I asked. No response. "People from England speak English, but they sound like a Mary Poppins movie. They have a different dialect." I thought that was a brilliant comparison. The children politely nodded and we finished the story.

The next assignment was Language Arts. There was a list of words that they were to rhyme. The first one was 'crown'. So I asked, "Who can think of a word that rhymes with crown?" I could tell they were thinking, but decided they were just shy, so I asked Pamela.

She shook her head. "I can't think of a word that rhymes with 'crayon'.

"Oh, honey, not 'crayon',the word is 'crou-un', like a king wears on his
hey-yud."

"You mean, 'crown'!"
(aren't we saying the same thing here?)

Heads and hands popped up. "Oh! 'crown'!"
"I know!" "frown!" "town!" "down!"

It was a great object lesson for the Tower of Babel. I explained that I was from Texas and that people in Florida talked wrong.

"You're from Texas?!" Nicholas was impressed. "Have you ever been in a big tornado?"

"Yes, I have."

"Cool! What was it's name?"

(these poor hurricane babies)

"Well, I guess we have so many that there isn't time to name them all."

When we first moved here, I was curious to listen for the Florida accent. Instead, I heard people from Boston, New York, and England. Yesterday, a deliveryman noticed my Texas license plate. (still haven't changed it) "You heah from Texas? I'm from New Yoak. Been heah three yeahs. My brothah moved to Texas. He didden like it. Took a beatin on his house and moved back heah to Flahradah. Took him twenty-foah houahs in his cah."

I gave him a tip and a bottle of water.

"Good luck in your new house. Hey, thanks for the watah."

"You're welcome." I smiled and waved and shut the door.

"And good luck finding your R's!"

Spoiler Alert! Colonoscopy Results:

2007-08-31T07:05:00.000-07:00

How sweet of you to care.

A new friend from church had a colonoscopy Friday, so I shared this story with her.

Our daughter-in-law, Kyla is a marketing specialist for Caris Diagnostics. They specialize in testing pathology results for colonoscopies. She sent out an e-mail to her parents, Drew and me who were all arriving at the big 5-0 mark. She had seen the benefits of early detection and the devastation of getting bad results too late, and for the sake of our kids and future grand kids, we needed to get screened.

About that time, my friend Cindy from our neighborhood bible study asked us to pray for her husband because a mass was found on his colon. This man was our age and the picture of health. Drew and I knew he was in good shape because we waved to both of them every morning as they did their power walk, while we were sitting on our porch having coffee and sweet rolls. That got my attention. Cindy and I made appointments back to back (so to speak) a few weeks after his surgery.

When I told Kyla, she asked if she could go with me. "I've been to several procedures, but I'd like to see how the patient is treated from the time they make the first appointment...what kind of paperwork you have to fill out, how thoroughly they answer questions, what information you are given, things like that." She reassured me that I would not be aware of anything that was going on during the scope. "The doctor never really looks at the patient, he's watching the video monitor and the clock." I asked her if she wanted to come in with me, and we decided to see what this doctor had to say about it.

At the initial consultation she looked over the paperwork and made notes of what all I had to fill out. When we went in to meet the doctor, she introduced herself and explained why she was with me. He was an A&M graduate, and as it so happened, Kyla spoke fluent Aggie, so he gave the okay for her to be present. Too bad I didn't get him to give her a copy of the RX he gave me, because to really get the full benefit of the experience, she needed to drink the gallon of yuk like I did.

In the meantime, my sister sent me a temporary rhinestone tattoo to wear...you know where! Only, I wasn't sure which side I would be on, so I put it in my purse and decided to ask the nurse when I got there. My name was called and Kyla and I went back. I introduced her to Kyla and explained that she would be accompanying me. The nurse looked at me with the same expression that you probably had when you first realized what we were doing...together! "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we do not allow family members to go back." Not wanting to make a scene, Kyla said, "That's okay," and went back to the waiting area.

Not minding the making of a scene, I said, "But we okay'd it with the doctor."

"It's just not a good idea to have family members present (you crazy woman!)."

"Is it 'just not a good idea', or is it illegal? (the drugs are starting to kick in) Because it's not that I'm a pathetic wimp, I just thought it would be a bonding experience for us, and pretty much, I'm not going back there without her." They are about to wheel me down the hall.

"You'll have to sign a form."

"I'll sign it when she's here." So they call Kyla and she came running down the hall. I was flat on the gurney with a clipboard in the air, and Kyla said, "What are you signing?"

"It says you can go in with me if I can go into the delivery room with you."

Just before I went under, the anesthesiologist asked me if I had any questions.

"Where's my tattoo?"

"Excuse me?"

"My sister sent me a rhinestone tattoo to wear for you and I left it in my purse."

He looked at Kyla and looked back at me, while taking his index finger and making a circular motion next to his ear. "Would you like for me to go get your "tattoo"?

That's the last thing I remember.

I awoke with Kyla sitting next to the bed in the recovery ward. "If it makes you feel any better, you didn't have any gas."

"Thanks for saying that, even if it isn't true."

"No, seriously, it was really quiet out here. Most recovery rooms are a little..."

Just then a fun little nurse came in, "Did you really bring a tattoo?! That is so cute! We should give those out!"

I liked her spirit. "Here, take it. Surprise the next patient."

Our other daughter-in-law, Terran is a radiographer. Bless her heart, so far the only fun bonding activity we've been able to do together is shop. She'll have to wait five whole years for my next colonoscopy.

I hope.

p.s.Things were fine, by the way. I had my procedure last December. I've just always wanted to have a reason to say, 'Spoiler Alert'.

Same Song...

2007-08-28T20:14:00.001-07:00

I wish I could remember the name of the song we sang that first Sunday here. Maybe it's just as well that I don't, because it represents all of them in a way.

Drew had visited the NW church in St. Petersburg a few times before I arrived. This was the first time we had attended together. The songs were all familiar CofC, but during one song, I remember thinking, ..."they're not doing it right". And I didn't quite care for the difference. Then we got to the chorus and they "didn't do it right" again...only this time, I liked it better than the way I had learned it.

It occurred to me that this was a metaphor for the church. We're singing the same song, with the same message, same purpose. One has a different arrangement, but it doesn't make it right or wrong...just different.

We have considered trying other Christian fellowships. Not because we don't like the NW church, but because we feel like it would be a unique time to experience something different. We don't know how long we'll be here...5 years, maybe. What could we learn and how could we grow by being open to new things? What would it be like to join a church where women can lead prayers or communion thoughts during an instrumental worship service without all the tension? How would it feel to serve with a group of Christians where so many traditions are unfamiliar? What if the preacher didn't go to ACU or Harding and we weren't able to put him in the right box? Amberly (in the Philippines) is probably reading this and saying, "I'll tell you what it's like!"

It's not like we're in another country, having to learn another language and culture. Deep in my heart I know that the church is so much bigger than anything I can imagine. But when it comes right down to stepping away from my church background, I'm not as bold as I thought I would be. There is something comfortable and familiar even about some things that I don't especially care for. Is that healthy?

Our neighbors across the street invited us to go to church with them. At one time, in another state they had 3 teenagers living at home. There was not a program for the young people at their Methodist church, but there was a great one at the local church of Christ. For about 5 or 6 years, they attended that church with their kids. When the last one graduated, they went back to the Methodist church. I love that about their story. Drew and I accepted their invitation.

The handout was packed with opportunities to serve and be served. It was such a sweet service. The acoustical guitar was unobtrusive, the drama was very well done, and the sermon (the minister took off his robe for our contemporary service)was like a massage for my soul.

Drew and I had time to debrief at lunch. I was ready to sign up until he reminded me that they baptized infants, we didn't have communion...oh yeah, that. Not that those were total deal breakers. We could have communion every day if we wanted to. Do you have to sign something saying you'll be very, very Methodist? I don't think I like being called a Methodist anyway. Can we just get a social membership?

The people at NW have gone out of their way to invite us to lunch, their bible classes, their LIFE groups. Sweet, sweet people. And very ethnically and economically diverse. We love that. And we'll probably place our membership there. Still a part of me wonders if we're missing out on an opportunity to see another side of grace and fellowship that would change us forever.

Same song...different arrangement.

A Few of My Not So Favorite Things

2007-08-27T16:44:00.000-07:00

I am keeping a written list of things I like about Florida. I started it in the car as we were leaving Texas. It's in the back of the most helpful book I have read in a long time, After the Boxes Are Unpacked...Moving in and Moving On by Susan Miller. It's from Focus on the Family. A friend from my neighborhood Bible study gave it to me the day the movers came.

And, as much as I try not to, I keep a mental list of things I don't care for. I won't bore you with the negatives, except for this one and it has been driving me nuts since I first saw the sign back in April:

The Fifth/Third Bank

Can you believe it? What kind of name is that? (besides not a very good one) It became one of the talking points on my visitors tour. "To your right is the Home Shopping Network Outlet. On Tuesdays I get an extra 10% off because I'm over 50. I am so! Oh, go on! Well, I have been using Mary Kay products since my twenties and I think the extra fat in my face takes care of all those nasty wrinkles, but thank you for the compliment. On your left is my new favorite store, Home Goods. It is conveniently located on my Evacuation route. In case of a hurricane, I move from the china department to the linens. And straight ahead is the dumbest name for a bank EVER!" Then I wait for the shock and awe to descend upon the other passengers. It always does.

I have wanted to call. I have wanted to write. I have wanted to pull in and ask them what they were thinking when they chose that name for a bank? So, today I did. Call, that is. I got out the phone book and tried the first two listings. Disconnected. Probably going under because they have a stupid name...So, I looked for the one nearest us and said, "I'd like to speak to someone about opening an account." The following is a true story.

"Yes, ma'am. I can help you with that. What kind of account would you like to open?"

"Actually, I'm checking on the name of your bank."

"Did you say checking? What would be the starting balance?"

"$1,000. But first, would you please explain the name of your bank?"

"Certainly. We are originally out of Cincinnati, and now we are all over the Florida area. Did you also want a savings account?"

"Sure, whatever. I just recently moved to Florida, and when I saw your sign I was confused about the name. What does it mean?"

She turned to the teller next to her and said, "She wants me to explain the name of the bank. ahem, Well, there was a merger of 2 banks, and now we are the Fifth Third Bank."

"Which two banks?" (I have way too much time on my hands)

"She wants to know which 2 banks...The Third National, and what was the other one? The Fifth National Bank. We also have great rates for our money market accounts."

"So you are a regular bank?"

"Yes, we are."

By now she was afraid I was going to ask if she had Prince Albert in a can, so I politely ended with, "Do you think I would trust our hard earned money with a bank that has goobers running their marketing department?!" Well, that's what I was thinking, but what actually came out of my mouth was, "I'll check with my husband. Thank you."

I bet she went straight to the suggestion box and wrote down my comments! And I bet at the next board meeting, they'll say, "You know, that lady is right. It is a dumb name and we should change it right now." Then I bet they'll trace my name and send me a bonus!

I can't wait to see the new name up in lights:

"The Third/Fifth Bank"

Now, who should I call about redesigning the Florida state flag?

me & snooty

2007-08-25T11:58:00.000-07:00

In July, our older son Matt came to spend a few days with us while his wife Kyla went on a girls trip with her mom and sister. We missed having Kyla, but had fun trying some new things in the area.

On the evening of the 4th, we picked Matt up from the airport and ate dinner at the Vinoy Resort. We timed it so we were able to go out and watch the fireworks display shot from the St. Petersburg pier in Tampa Bay. One day he and Drew went to Nasa. The missile launch they went to watch was postponed, but they rode in a simulator and saw an alligator on the tarmac, so the day was not a total loss.

We also found time to do sunset on the beach, Ft. DeSoto Park, and the highlight for both boys, Drew's office. (not because it is so well decorated, but because they have to have a pass to get in and he can't tell us what he does.) Drew is about to relocate to less than a mile from our house, so he hasn't put up anything on the walls. At that time, we will fly in our personal decorator Joan Swim to add a few berry garlands and bows to liven up the place.

Back to me & Snooty. Snooty is the poster child around here for manatees. He's the oldest living sea cow on record. And he's about the size of a Volkswagon. At 6:30 one morning, we got up and drove an hour and a half to Crystal River and had Captain John take us out in his pontoon boat to swim with the Snooty and his pals. It was the bravest thing I have ever done. Actually, putting on a wetsuit was the bravest thing, but getting in the river was pretty wild, too. (me & Snooty look about the same in our wetsuits.)

We had to watch a ten minute video on how to behave around them, where we could touch them and where we could not (don't tickle them under their arms, that's where they nurse their babies, don't splash and scream). We bought an underwater camera and headed out. Captain John motored over to an area and saw a mother and her baby, floating along the bottom, eating water grass. He turned off the engine and a creepy silence came over us as we leaned over the edge of the boat and I pretended to see what he was talking about.

Drew and Matt went in first, without making a sound or a splash. Then I carefully descended the ladder. I was very still and quiet until my feet actually touched the freezing water and there's not one of you girls who could have remained calm and quiet while ice water ran up your wetsuit and got in all your business! Matt thought it was hilarious. Captain John was not amused.

For the record, let me just say that 'Crystal' River implies clarity. The Emerald River would have been more descriptive. I put on my mask and all I could see was green and murky water. Matt pointed to my snorkle tube thing. That's the video I should have watched. I never really got the hang of it. Captain John suggested that we swim under this roped area to see a spring. What he didn't tell me until I was already there, was that at the bottom of it were several big mouth catfish. I have seen that episode on the fishing channel (I'm too lazy to fish!) and they are ugly and scarey, so when I turned to hurry back under the rope, I lost my snorkle. Captain John was not amused.

There was an extra snorkle on the boat that he let me borrow. But here's the deal. The river was just about 4-5 feet deep. I realized that when I put my head under water to float, my bottom popped up out of the water, and people had cameras! So, I chose to be a lady and tip-toe around the river looking for Snooty. That's when Matt tried to get my attention. "MOM!" he screamed/whispered, as he pointed to his snorkle. I waved and smiled. "No, thank you. This works better for me." "MOM!" again with the pointing. Again, I shook my head 'no'. "MOM! YOU'RE STEPPING ON THE MANATEES!" I screamed. I flailed. I splashed. But I swear I did not touch her armpits! Captain John was not amused.

All in all, we saw about 5 of them. It was a slow day, apparently. But if we come back in November the river will have about 400-500 of them. I said, "Wow! Then I could just tip-toe from one to the other without touching the bottom of the river!"

Captain John was not amused.

TIA

2007-08-20T11:19:00.000-07:00

tia - Spanish for 'aunt'
TIA's - Tex-Mex restaurant that is out of business in Richardson, Plano and Tampa.
TIA - Tampa International Airport

I celebrate the Tampa airport!

From our house, it's just a 20-30 minute drive over the bay. There are 2 lanes in; red for Southwest and blue for American. There is a cell phone waiting lot that looks like a drive-in movie. You can pull into a space and watch the big 'score board' that tells the status of all incoming flights, and it has free WIFI. There I go again, talking all technical. You can also go to the covered short term parking area (first hour free, thank you very much) where the elevator will take you to the terminal. The top floor of the parking garage is an observation deck with a lovely view of Tampa Bay.

Once inside the terminal, there is a mini-mall, complete with several bistro tables, a food court and a nice lounge area so you can comfortably wait for your guests to arrive. You have to show your boarding pass to the security guard to get on the tram that transports you to your gate, but even over there you can chill at Chili's or grab a cup of Starbucks while you wait to board your plane.

Not only is it user friendly, but this weekend it brought Scott & Terran to us for a long (but not long enough) weekend. Friday, we went to the sponge docks in Tarpon Springs and ate at a Greek restaurant on the water. We ended the evening with sunset pics on the beach and a light meal at the Don Caesar. There are at least 2-3 weddings there on the weekends. The groomsmen are always grateful to be wearing white shirts and khaki pants instead of tuxedos.

Saturday we went to downtown St.Pete and Terran and I got to shop at White/Black. She looked adorable in everything she tried on, so I just made a photo op out of each outfit. We went to Sarasota and toured the John Ringling estate, St. Armand's Circle and sunset on Anna Maria island. I love that people get so excited about sunsets on the beach. You can see them getting out of their cars with cameras (or not), and sitting in silent reverence as God shows off a little.

We are still giddy over the news that Matt & Kyla are expecting a boy. Scott & Terran have 2 nieces from her sister that they adore. Scott lowered his voice and said, "I'm going to be a male uncle!" And since some of our favorite people started out as baby boys (!) we are thrilled!

This also gives me a chance to tell Terran "Happy Birthday!" Today she is 24. When we prayed for God to bring a Christian mate to each of our sons, we had no idea that He would do far more than we could ask or imagine. Terran is the perfect audience for Scott. She laughs, she listens, she supports him and loves him in countless ways. She is gracious and giving and we love her for being who she is, not just for what she brings to Scott's world. We are better people because we know her and we are honored to have her in our family. In about 4 months, she'll add to her McBryde titles 'aunt Terran'.

She's going to be a tia!

"They Took My Texas Driver's License Away!"

2007-08-14T14:02:00.000-07:00

Poor Drew. Those were his first words after receiving his Florida license. "I feel like I've had my passport revoked and I can't go back to Texas." He still chokes up when he talks about it. I should have prepared him better.

It wasn't all bad. Because I called ahead and made an appointment, we walked right up to the window for service. It's a lovely facility, and except for the sign in between the front of my car and the pond beyond the parking lot that said, "Please Do Not Feed or Molest the Alligators", it was a positive experience.

Seriously. Who is going to molest an alligator? Maybe that explains why everyone was so calm in the DMV office. You give Imogene any lip, and she has the guards toss you into the pond. Just don't molest the gators while you're screaming to get out.

One of the unique things about Florida license plates is that there are so many choices. I have been studying them ahead of time so I won't be rushed into a decision under pressure. Drew is going to get the standard orange blossoms. (BORING!) I am torn between "Save the Sea Turtles" and "Hospice Care". The Hospice plate has a monarch butterfly, which I love of course, and the cause is close to my heart. But I have to say, the sea turtle would look great against my black car. I'm not sure how long I have to decide. Right now, I'm just not ready to make a committment.

What cause would you have on your license plate?

Florida Specialty License Plates Index
ENVIRONMENTAL
Animal Friend
Aquaculture
Conserve Wildlife
Discover Florida's Oceans
Everglades River of Grass
Fish Florida
Indian River Lagoon
Large Mouth Bass
Panther
Protect Florida Whales
Protect Our Reefs
Protect Wild Dolphins
Save Our Seas
Save the Manatee
Sea Turtle
Sportsmen's National Land Trust
State Wildflower
Tampa Bay Estuary

MISCELLANEOUS
A State of Vision
Agricultural Education
Agriculture
American Red Cross
Boy Scouts of America
Challenger
Choose Life
Donate Organs
End Breast Cancer
Family First
Family Values
Florida Arts
Florida Educational
Florida Golf Capital of the World
Florida Salutes Veterans
Florida Sheriff's Youth Ranch
Florida Special Olympic
Hospice: Everyday is a Gift
Imagine
Invest in Children
Keep Kids Drug Free
Kids Deserve Justice
Live the Dream
Motocycle Specialty
Parents Make A Difference
Police Athletic League
Police Benevolent Association
Salutes Firefighters
Share the Road
Stop Child Abuse
Stop Heart Disease
Support Homeownership For All
Support Soccer
U.S. Air Force
U.S. Army
U.S. Coast Guard
U.S. Marine Corps
U.S. Navy
U.S. Olympic
U.S. Paratroopers
United We Stand

PROFESSIONAL SPORTS
Florida Marlins (Baseball)
Florida Panthers (Hockey)
Jacksonville Jaguars (Football)
Miami Dolphins (Football)
Miami Heat (Basketball)
Orlando Magic (Basketball)
Tampa Bay Buccaneers (Football)
Tampa Bay Devil Rays (Baseball)
Tampa Bay Lightning (Hockey)

UNIVERSITIES
Barry University
Bethune-Cookman College
Clearwater Christian College
Eckerd College
Edward Waters College
Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University
Flagler College
Florida A & M University
Florida Atlantic University
Florida College
Florida Gulf Coast University
Florida Hospital College of Health Sciences
Florida Institute of Technology
Florida International University
Florida Memorial University
Florida Southern College
Florida State University
Jacksonville University
Lynn University
New College of Florida
Nova Southeastern University
Palm Beach Atlantic University
Ringling School of Art and Design
Rollins College
Saint Leo University
Saint Thomas University
Southeastern University
Stetson University
University of Central Florida
University of Florida
University of Miami
University of North Florida
University of South Florida
University of Tampa
University of West Florida
Warner Southern College

Another good thing about the Florida DMV experience...they process and hand your new license back to you in a matter of minutes. Just like Sam's! And I checked. It does allow you to get back into Texas.

Did You Hear That?

2007-08-12T12:38:00.000-07:00

I thought someone had broken into the house.

Joan and I had been out shopping and got in around 9 p.m. Drew was flying in from D.C. later that night, so we were expecting to come in to a quiet empty house. As we were standing in the entry with our arms full of bags, we heard a door slam in the back of the house. Joan turned around and looked at me with wide eyes and I said, "Did you hear that?" She nodded her head. "Do you want to leave?" This time she answered from the front seat of the car with her purse clutched tightly in her hands. I was right behind her.

We drove to the security hut and told our story. "Wow." said the guard, without enough passion. "You must be really scared."
So I asked in my best damsel in distress accent, "Could you go in the house with me and be sure no one is in there?"
"No. But I'll send someone to drive around a few times."

Long story short, I called 911. And as calmly as I could, I explained that it was probably the wind, but we heard a noise that sounded like a door slamming in the back of the house. Because we are in an unincorporated part of Largo, they transferred me to the county sheriff's office. "We'll send someone right over."

We parked in the driveway across the street and waited, hoping the officer wouldn't turn on his lights or siren. Within minutes not one, but two cars pulled up. Seemed like it was overkill, but it beat the response of the security guard, so I got out and greeted them. They were extremely polite and reassured me that they would search the house inside and out. Joan and I giggled nervously as I got back in the car. "I can't believe they sent two cars!"
"Me either!"

Two minutes later...two more cars.

Two minutes later...another car with "Canine Unit" written on the side.

Neighbors trying to get home were making U-turns to avoid getting caught in the gunfire at the Texas Crack House.

Ten minutes later, the security guard tootled up in his golf cart. I lowered my window to assure him we were okay. "Hello! We're okay!" He didn't see us. I opened the car door so the light would come on. "Yoo-hooo! Over here! Don't worry! We're fine!" Again, no indication that he knew we were 30 feet away. Maybe he couldn't hear me over the Police Dog barking so loudly...or Joan laughing hysterically in the floorboard.

At this time I would like to express my deep gratitude to the entire Pinellas County Sheriff's Department for their quick response and their thorough investigation of our house and surrounding property. Their conclusion was that our back bedroom door was not completely shut when we left (it opens to the screened lanai, which was locked)and when we opened the front door, the wind caught and slammed it shut.

The "Going Beyond The Call of Duty Award" goes to the two officers who stayed in the driveway without us asking or knowing, until Drew got home. I think it was their way of saying, "Wow. You must be really scared."

Duck, Duck, Goose! Lizard! Alligator!

2007-08-09T12:48:00.001-07:00

In, on and around our pond we have ducks, seagulls, turtles, a pink bird that is not a flamingo (or else he had a bad beak job), squirrels and several white birds that we have yet to identify. I have found great comfort in their presence because it reassured me that no responsible mother duck would lay her eggs in a pond that had alligators. (Survival tip: A young man on a plane told me that if I ever saw an alligator, I should run away in a zig zag pattern to confuse him and slow him down. I told him that was perfect, because I already run in a zig zag pattern.)

I'm almost used to all the little geckos that greet me every time I step outside...and sometimes inside. I've learned that if I stomp my feet before I open the door, they usually head for the bushes. Joan became an excellent stomper while she was here. One night I found a frog in the kitchen. I invited Drew to come get it, and when he reached down to pick it up, it hopped behind some boxes. "Rats," he said. I gave him the look and pointed in Joan's direction. She yelled from the other room, "What? Did you get it?" "Got it!" Drew lied. I smiled approvingly. "Good answer."

The ones that make us laugh are the Canadian geese. According to a neighbor, they migrated south for the winter about 7 or 8 years ago and never went back. (I hear that happens to a lot of Canadian people, too.) When we first saw them in our back yard, I yelled for Drew to grab some bread out of the pantry while I got the camera. He quietly held out a piece to see if he could get them to take it from his hand. Within a few minutes, not only were they eating out of his hand, they were nipping at his ankles to speed up the service and we were running for our lives!

Another neighbor came by one morning while Joan was upstairs putting on her make-up and said, "You do know that we have alligators in our ponds. Not to make you nervous (too late) but if there's not one there today, there was one yesterday or there will be one tomorrow because they move from pond to pond. The snake you don't have to worry about is the black racer. He's about 3 feet long and the good news is that he doesn't want anything to do with you, he's just looking for rats. (rats? I have rats?!) If you shuffle your feet when you walk in the grass, he'll go the other way." So, I zig zag for gators, stomp for lizards and shuffle for snakes and run from the geese ? What if I do the wrong thing? I still don't know all the steps to the Electric Slide.

Anyway, she just sat on my sofa and smiled the whole time she was telling me this and finally I screamed, "JOAN! I HAVE RATS AND BLACK SNAKES AND ALLIGATORS!" I guess she didn't know Joan was upstairs, because she backed out of the house and never came back. I was sort of hoping we could have lunch some day so she could teach me some more survival moves, but she left so quickly she forgot to leave her address or phone number.

rats.

The Florida Files

2007-08-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

I'm home!

I have to practice saying that when I walk in the front door. Texas has been home my entire life. I'm not just in my Florida house...I'm home.

We have had the longest goodbye on record. On September 7th, 2006, Drew called to tell me that Raytheon needed him to relocate immediately. To California. We heard that 4 years ago. So this time we told only the kids. The timing and destination changed, but not the reality. We closed on our new home the end of May, sold our Texas house the end of July, and our furniture and other items arrived last week. If you are looking at a calendar, that means we have been in an empty house since June 4th. No internet and no TV. Edd Eason, it was the hardest Wilderness Trek EVER! Enough of that. We really managed amazingly well. God was sweet to give us time together without media distractions.

I have kept a written mini-journal of the adventure that I hope to post in bits and pieces. But for now, here are some pics of our new location.

We're home!

okay, wait...can somebody tell me how to post photos?!

Shower to Shower

2007-01-08T22:49:00.000-08:00

Can we talk?

About showers.

Baby showers, 2nd baby showers, 3rd baby showers, baby showers before the wedding showers, wedding showers, 2nd wedding showers, baby showers for members’ children who do not attend RE, showers for members’ grandchildren who do not attend RE, showers (aka: ‘Senior Teas’) for girls who graduate high school...what am I leaving out?

I love a party. If you can think of a reason to honor someone you can borrow my forks or have it at my house. I’m not suggesting that we have shower police, but there are some inconsistencies and I just need to think out loud for a minute.

The Young Families class has a pretty good system. They have brunches during class for 2nd, 3rd, etc. babies. Even if you are having your 4th baby boy, diapers and hugs are always appreciated. Can I have an AMEN, Susan Thomas?

Maybe I’m still longing for the good ol’ days of the Lubbock Broadway church of Christ wedding showers. I don’t know who wrote the rules, but here’s how it went down. You registered at Dillard’s and Hemphill-Well’s. Target hadn’t hit town yet. There were no pricing guns, although Drew would have loved that. Just a fussy west Texas gal who had been in that department for 30 years and frowned if you even thought about registering for anything besides dishes, glassware, silver, linens and small kitchen appliances.

But here’s my favorite part. You had them look up the name of the bride, bought the gift, and they took care of delivering it to the hostess’ house, unwrapped! So on SATURDAY, when all showers should be held, all you had to do was get to Gladys Ellis’ house. She would be standing at the door with the bride and the mothers of the couple, while her friends took their assigned places at the food table, kitchen sink, and gift room.

The gifts were all on display, so you greeted the honoree, grabbed a plate and cup of something, and went to the gift room to oooh and ahhh over all the treasures. You could come and go anytime between 2:00 and 4:00, and get on with the rest of your day. The advantages are 1) you actually got to say hello to the bride 2) there was a better chance of getting a parking place in front of and inside the house, because we weren’t all there at once 3) you didn’t have to pay for gift wrap.

I know that isn’t practical in the metroplex. We live all over the place and delivery isn’t complimentary anymore. But my friends were sweet to let me break tradition when our boys got married. I just didn’t want Kyla and Terran sitting and opening packages for two hours and not getting to meet any of you. A few people were suspicious about why I wanted gifts to be brought unwrapped, until I explained. We loved it. Okay...enough about that.

Here’s my other concern. The hostess thing. I have had several young women/new members ask me how to get on a hostess list. So here’s how I explain it. We have unofficial shower teams. Each team wants to have a lovely party for the honoree. Each team wants to go in on a nice hostess gift. Some teams prefer to have several hostesses so the expenses can be shared. Some prefer to have several hostesses so more can be spent on the hostess gift. The problem for the rookie is knowing ahead of time which team she has joined. For some budgets, it can come as quite a shock to receive a sticky note at the end of the party saying she owes $50 or more. For others, it is just as painful to find out that their cost is much less than they would have normally contributed for a gift to their friend.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this; if you want to help with a shower and have a limit, let the house hostess know, and it will be worked out. Sometimes we have each brought food and a gift, and shared the lesser expenses. If the cost needs to be reduced, then those who feel a need to spend more can give an additional gift to the honoree. It’s pretty much determined by the hostess who is cleaning her potties for the party. And if you want to be a hostess and can't be there for the event, you can pay your part and be a ghostess! 

That’s just my opinion. What do you think?

I Think I am an Angry Black Woman

2006-06-15T11:10:00.000-07:00

Karen, you wanted to know why I was crying during church yesterday. John did a great job with his sermon, "God is for Girls".

I had a very unexpected reaction. I can't blame it all on hormones. I know the message wasn't about women's role in the church. But with every scripture that affirmed equality in God's eyes, my heart ached for the fact that we still don't get it. (me included) I was so thankful that you were on the praise team and got to read a scripture without singing it..., only after one man started it and another man ended it, and almost simultaneously wondered how long we would have to wait before Katie and Matalee would be able to be the ones to tell the congregation about freedom and equality in Christ. Then I felt like an angry black woman on Martin Luther King Day! (you asked...)

I know RE is more open minded than most churches of Christ. Every January I hear the interview on TV...usually a white person asking a black person if they feel like there has been progress made in the racial movement. Often the answer is, 'we haven't come far enough'...and as the reporter points out the fact that there is a black governor somewhere and Oprah's doing well...I sit there thinking to my white self, "Quit whining about how far you have to go and be thankful for how far you've come." But even as I tried to tell myself that yesterday, I thought, if someone said that to me right now I would slap 'em!

While I am mentally slapping people (!), I am thinking "Gee, maybe next week the sermon can be, "God is for Black People." And maybe we can find a couple of black people to be on the praise team and read scriptures (after a white man has started it and another white man has ended it) and we'll read that same scripture about neither Jew nor Greek, male or female, slaves or...

Then I think, "I can't believe I am so upset. I love this church. I don't walk around feeling repressed. John gets it. Houston gets it. Drew has a huge responsibility to lead this church with people on both ends and every place in between. Actually just one end. The people who feel very strongly that women don't have an opportunity to express their gifts here have gone somewhere else. The ones who are here are the ones who think women are supposed to 'stay in their place' or at best be patient for another 10 or 50 years. or more.

I thought of the women who are gone that we'll never be able to hear from...and then I had a holocaust flashback...then I wondered if Katie would notice if I used her night-night to wipe my nose...then I wished that I could say this without men immediately thinking that I wanted to preach or serve communion standing up...and then I just wanted to leave.

Last night at LIFE group we watched the Lee Stroebel DVD series about the same topic, and during our discussion, Drew asked what we thought about the service I said I thought there was something precious and pathetic about it at the same time. After the guys dropped their jaws on my new rug, I tried to explain how I felt. By the time it was over, the guys all looked like deer caught in the headlights, but the girls were smiling, so I don't think I scared them off forever.

The most touching part of the service for me was the song, "Lifter of My Head". As I was feeling so awful for feeling so awful, I had this image of Jesus, not standing way above me, but sitting next to me, leaning over and trying to look me in the eyes...putting his finger under my chin, lifting it up and smiling...almost grinning at me. As if he was saying, "It's okay to tell me how you really feel. I get it."
Thanks for asking and loving me anyway. I have an appointment with the hormone replacement therapist at 1:30 Tuesday. I love you, aunt carolyn

The NOCANTELOS

2006-05-24T12:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon I ran some errands over by Collin Creek Mall. The Learning Patch, Michael’s, Family Christian Bookstore, Hobby Lobby…Before I went back up to my classroom I wanted to check in with Drew. I reached in my purse to get my cell phone and it wasn’t in its little holder. I checked the floorboard of the Suburban, between the seats, my teacher tote bag, dumped my purse, dumped my tote bag, and then decided I had left it in one of the stores. So, I rushed back to my first stop which was closing in five minutes.

I grabbed my keys and ran in and asked the clerk if a phone had been turned in and she said no. So I asked her if I could call my number to see if I had put it down while I was shopping. Sure enough, I heard it ring. Right by the counter! I must have set it there while I was writing my check. I started moving her display around to find it. Maybe it fell on the floor. I can hear it, I just can’t find it. So I put my keys in my pocket to search with both hands and…the phone was in my pocket. For a second I thought about throwing it on the floor and exclaiming, “Here it is!” Then I figured if she was working in a teacher store the last week of school, she had seen worse.

This confirmed a medical disorder that I am certain I must have. Noise Orientation Confusion And Not Telling Exact Location Of Source. Or, in medical terms… I’ve got the NOCANTELOS. There are buttons to push on our remote phone at home. But it only beeps for about two seconds and that’s not enough time for me to get in the starting position, push the button and then run all over the house trying to find the thing before it stops beeping. I hear it. I just can’t find it. I NOCANTELO. I cringe when I hear an emergency siren in traffic. Is it behind me? Coming towards me? I don’t know whether I should pull over because I NOCANTELO!

You know that small still voice from within? I’ve heard things like, “Speak up.”, “Keep your mouth shut.”, “You should call her.” “Pray for them.” But for years, I also heard things like, “There’s no way you will be able to do that.” “You don’t deserve this. You’re not worth it.” “God is tired of hearing that request.” “He won’t forgive you for that…again.” It wasn’t a hearing problem. I was having trouble discerning the source.

It wasn’t until I started spending more time praying than I did ‘just thinking about things’ that I became able to hear His voice over Satan’s. When I actually began reading and meditating on His words instead of replaying negative mental tapes of old hell, fire and brimstone sermons, then He began to give me some perspective on what was Truth in my life. Even when He says something that I don’t especially want to hear, I know my Shepherd’s sweet voice, and I want to be near it. The Spirit is closer than a cell phone in my pocket. The closer I am to Him, the better chance I have of locating His voice.

Drew and I stayed on the Riverwalk in San Antonio for a few days. I was telling him about this article and my unfortunate medical condition. Just then we heard sirens on the street above us. “Can you tell which way they’re heading?” I asked. He immediately pointed east and the trucks soon headed that direction. I asked him how he knew that. He asked me how I didn’t.

“Alamocantelo.”

church-harmony.com

2006-03-23T21:49:00.000-08:00

‘Thought you were joining a good ol’ traditional church of Christ only to find out they clapped after a baptism? Maybe you came in unexpectedly on Easter Sunday and found a cross covered with lilies? Do you find yourself frustrated when your repeated suggestions for Country-Western dance classes are not taken seriously by the outreach committee? Have I got some good news for you!

Founded by Relationship expert Carolyn McBryde and Church Conflict Management guru Dr. John Siburt, church-harmony.com allows you to find the church love of your life. Whether you are a person seeking a church with no surprises or a church looking for low maintenance members, we can hook you up, for a small fee. While other methods rely on websites or word of mouth, we have the foundation of compatibility for a lifetime of uniformity.

Exhaustive research with thousands of members found that there are several dimensions of compatibility with the Lord’s Supper alone. Isn’t it time you stopped church hopping and experienced the joy that comes with falling in love with a congregation for a lifetime? Let church-harmony.com help you begin your journey to finding your soul mates today!’

As tempting as that sounds, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. Not because the idea wouldn’t work; I’m afraid it would.

After moving from Abilene in March of 1990, we were thrilled to find a church home in the Dallas area that so reminded us of the sweet fellowship of the Highland church. The C.A.R.E. sign (Christians at Richardson East) told us that this was not your typical church of Christ. Banners on the wall of the auditorium…? We liked those, too. And the preacher! What’s not to love about Larry James?

We quickly immersed ourselves in the body life of Richardson East. We helped with Bible Times Marketplace in June. In August we went on a family mission trip to Albuquerque. It wasn’t until sometime that fall that we heard the first grumblings about ‘things at church’. Call me naïve, but I was shocked. I don’t exactly remember what was said, other than thinking, “I can’t believe you said that!” Not so much, “I can’t believe you said that”, but more like, “I can’t believe you said that!”

A few of our friends were complaining about something that we thought was right on target. And it wasn’t something that just came up; it was pretty obvious they had been upset for quite a while. If we had known they felt a certain way about things, I’m not so sure we would have been drawn to them. But it was too late. We were already in love with these people. You can see the problem.

I’m so thankful we had a relationship with each other before we knew where they stood on every little thing. We would have missed out on so much by avoiding them. I don’t even remember what the conflict was. Wait. Okay, now I remember, but it’s not that big of a deal anymore.

I had another great idea. I have some favorite young parents at my preschool that I just know would become best friends with some of my favorite young parents at church, if I could just get them together. I asked Drew what he thought about starting couples-match.com.

He said it sounded kinky.

I'll never be a dotcom millionaire at this rate.

And Then I Clicked SEND

2006-02-15T19:31:00.000-08:00

Our homeowner’s association has a neighborhood internet café. Since the subdivision is only about 3 ½ years old, most of the messages have been asking for names of sitters, reporting lost dogs, or complaining about the poor reception with Sprint phone service. Early in January, some guy wanted to know if anyone was interested in a poker night. That made me wonder…would anyone be interested in a women’s Bible study…and could I use the café to find out? PokerMan inspired me to try!
There are about 180 homes in our development. So if even 2 or 3 other women wanted to join me, I thought that would be a pretty good response. I had already asked Sara Snyder about the possibility of sharing the Beth Moore DVD series she was using in Ladies Bible class, and she was all over that idea. After much prayer about what to say, and what not to say, I sent out this message:
SUBJECT: Women’s Bible Study
“Would any of you be interested in a Women’s Bible study? I teach preschool in the mornings, but I could host something on a weekday afternoon or evening. I have access to Beth Moore’s “Believing God” and “Breaking Free” video series. You will need to make your own childcare arrangements for about an hour and a half. Let me know what day/time is best for you. Friends are welcome!”
And then I clicked SEND.
As I stared at the screen it occurred to me that I needed other people to be praying with me, so I sent out a quick message to some friends who I knew would honor that request.
And then I clicked SEND.
This time there was something in my INBOX. It was from Karen who said, “I would be interested in something on the weekday evenings, as long as it was after 7 or 7:30. The best days for me are Tuesday or Wednesday evenings, with Wednesdays being the better of the two. I have a friend in Florida who is reading Beth Moore’s books and she loves them, so I am intrigued.”
By Sunday evening 12 women had responded. I was shocked.
One of them traveled during the week, but she just wanted to cheer us on. Nearly all of them requested Wednesday nights. That surprised me, because in my mind if anyone wanted to find a Wednesday night Bible study, all they had to do was drive to a church with cars in the parking lot. It also caught me off guard, because I was helping in the two year old class on Wednesday nights, and hadn’t planned on leaving in the middle of the year. I was reassured by the John and Houston that if God was bringing these women to my house for this purpose, then He would provide my replacement at RE.
Uh huh.
(And exactly where is that long list of people who have volunteered to teach the two year old class on Wednesday nights? What will they ever do without me? What will their parents think?) I’m not proud of those reactions. Shocked at the 12 responses. Doubtful that they could find more teachers for the two year old class. Embarrassed that I was leaving in the middle of the year. “Hello! I’m a faithless quitter and I will be leading your Bible study for the next 11 weeks.” What was God thinking?
Maybe He was thinking that there were women new to the area without a church home who longed to find a group of believers. Maybe He thought there were neighbors desperate to form meaningful friendships. He might have been thinking I needed to be reminded that it’s not about me, because Lynn had 4 women lined up to cover the children’s class transition before I could write her an apology.
Oh.
I later discovered that only about one fourth of the homes in our subdivision subscribe to the internet café. Instead of 12 responses out of 180 homes, it’s more like 12 out of 45. I sent out one message, one time. No fliers on the doors or signs in the yard. And on January 25, it was like “Guess Who’s Coming to Bible Study?” Each time I opened the door there was a new face with a big smile. I only knew one of the women before that night. It has been one of the sweetest blessings of my life.
In a way, I feel like God moved his cosmic mouse over my heart, checked to see if I was willing, rolled His eyes when He thought about my pitiful reaction and smiled anyway.
And then He clicked SEND.

Get a Grip!

2005-11-09T20:47:00.000-08:00

Emotional Checklist for Mothers of College Freshmen

By Carolyn (4) McBryde

Please read the following statements to determine your base score:

1 point Your child attends college in your hometown.
2 points Your child is close enough to come home weekends.
3 points Your child only comes home for major holidays.
4 points Your child spends Christmas with another family.
5 points Your child has to have a passport to come home.

_____ (Base Score)

You get (1 point) extra credit if you answer yes to any of the following statements:

_____ There has been a recent death in the family.
_____ There is a serious illness in the family.
_____ You have lost your job or pet.
_____ There is a family wedding in the next 6 months.
_____ You are still paying on the last wedding.
_____ This is your first child.
_____ This is your last child.
_____ This is your favorite child.

You also have a child entering:
_____ Preschool
_____ Kindergarten
_____ Middle School
_____ High School
_____ Military
_____ A different university
_____ Other (Feel free to explain in great detail)

_____ (Extra Credit Total)

Base Score _____
Extra Credit _____
Total _____

Get a Grip!

1999 was a very emotional summer for our family. In July, my dad died unexpectedly. We were sending our first child away to Abilene Christian University a few weeks later. Granted it was back to a town we had lived in and loved for several years, but the emotional impact was still great.
Traditionally, the first Sunday of Welcome Week is a time of blessing the ACU freshmen and their families at the Highland church. My mind was flooded with memories as I thought of the years we had worshipped in this very auditorium with our little boys. I fought back tears during the Sunday morning assembly. Matt had been looking forward to this moment for months, and I didn’t want to spoil his joy by falling apart.
After we were dismissed, I was making my way over to greet some friends, when I ran into a couple that I had known as a teenager. The reunion was sweet. After getting over the shock that I was now old enough to have a child going to college, they began asking about my family. “And how are your parents?”
Obviously, they had not been told. “Thank you for asking. I’m sorry no one called you. Daddy had surgery last month and wasn’t able to make it off of the respirator. He died a few weeks ago. Mother is doing amazingly well.” Their eyes filled with tears as they embraced me and offered their sympathy. All of the emotion I had been holding back during worship came pouring out.
My mascara was smeared, my nose was red, and I was out of tissues. I could imagine what the other parents of college students were thinking. (“That woman needs to get a grip!”)
I wanted to explain to them that these were tears for my dad, not my son. Or were they? My friend, Maria came to the rescue. We hugged and she began to wail. “I know just how you feel! I can’t stand the thought of Emily being gone! I’m going to miss her so much! This is sooooo hard!”
I immediately dried up and said, “Isn’t Emily staying here and going to ACU?”
“Yes.” she sobbed.
“Maria,” I said. ”She’ll be down the street.”
“I know, but it just won’t be the same!”
How dare she think that her grief compared to mine! Matt would be 3 ½ hours away. That was a totally different situation. After all, he was our first. And my dad had just died. I had a lot more to cry about than she did.
I turned and saw Marilyn. Her twins were the same age as Matt. One was staying at ACU and the other was headed for A&M. (about a 4-hour drive). She was recovering from breast cancer and losing her only two kids at the same time! It was okay for her to cry. A lot more okay than it was for Maria.
Next, Dion put his arm around me, “It’s okay. My mom cried all the way home when she left me at college.”
“Where did you go to school?” I asked.
“Harding, in Arkansas.” He said.
I needed to calculate the mileage. “Where were you living at the time?”
“Germany.”
Well, that settled it. His mom won the prize for the most legitimate reason to cry. Then I began to listen (a novel idea) as other parents began to share their stories. One husband had recently lost his job and they had two kids at ACU at the same time. Another was grieving over sending her baby boy to college. At least I still had Scott at home for another couple of years. (Oh, and my husband.)
I found myself evaluating everyone’s situation and rating them accordingly. Then it occurred to me. There should be a system. Our score would be based off of the number of traumatic things that were going on in our lives as we were sending our kids away. We could wear the numbers, say, on our visitor’s tag, and immediately be aware of the moms who were having an especially difficult time.
I would be wearing a 4, (first child, close enough to come home on weekends) but I would be careful not to whine in front of a 7 (one child in town, one close enough to come home on weekends, first child AND last child, recent illness…that equals 6, but I give Marilyn extra credit for having twins). On the other hand, if I walked by a 2, (your first kid is down the street) well, that lady just needs to get a grip, Maria!
At the school where I teach, 3 of us were sending our boys to college. I was a 4, Naomi was a first child close enough to come home 3, and Phyllis was a wimpy 1. Her second one was just going 30 minutes away. I thought I was the winner, until I began to notice a few things. Her son came home a lot. I mean a LOT. And brought friends. That were hungry. And had dirty laundry. Did I mention that they came home a lot?
She knew when he was supposed to be where, and worried when he wasn’t. It was only natural to ask if he had any homework and she felt obligated to check on his projects. They were paying for a dorm room, but he never quite moved out, to give her the guest room she had always dreamed of. I showed her my checklist in November. She rolled her eyes as she handed it back. “It would be much easier if he was out of town. Moms of kids who stay in town should have a base score of 6!”
What a whiner.
She needs to get a grip.

What's Love Got to do With It?

2005-11-09T20:45:00.000-08:00

People are constantly stopping us at church and asking us the secret to our happy marriage. And I’d like to think it’s because I have always been…okay, okay. So nobody has ever asked us that. But with our boys getting married last summer followed by our 25th anniversary, I have had several occasions to stop and ask myself, “How in the world did we make it this far?”

Last week I received a letter from a college friend. She was creative and loved to laugh, so you might know we’d hit it off from the start. The guys she dated were outgoing as well, and I remember being surprised when she married, of all things, a Math major. (There’s nothing fun about that!) But she had graduated with honors and was working in the field she loved, so I chalked it up to ‘opposites attract’ and continued to admire her life.

I’m not sure who left Lubbock first, but for a few years we exchanged Christmas letters and photos, and eventually lost touch. I ran into a relative of hers not long ago and asked for her new address. Here is part of her letter:

“…I’m jealous. I had dreamed of the All-American family and a family photo like yours with children who had married happily. Who didn’t have children until after marriage. Who married good strong Christians and who were themselves good strong Christians…”

It went downhill from there. Aside from being very sad for the things that she shared so honestly, I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I thought, “That could have been me.” Me and my left-brained, linear thinking, not a creative bone in his body, engineer, sweetheart of a husband.

While unpacking boxes of books recently, I ran across our copy of Harley’s book, His Needs, Her Needs (or as I like to refer to it, His Needs His Needs! Basically, men have just one need and guess what it is?) Well, the author suggests that the couple should read the same copy and highlight things she thinks are important in pink, and he should do the same with a blue one. Then you get together and discuss the common topics that are in purple.

I remember being in trouble from the Table of Contents, because Drew didn’t see the genius in my buying a package of highlighters from Sam’s, since surely we already had those around the house. Never mind that he was right. I just couldn’t find them. I don’t remember the exact conversation, but I imagine it went into a critique of my organizational skills and then I probably pouted. I’m positively sure I pouted.

Drew and I are very thankful and humbled to be together after 25 years. To be honest, it’s not because we have prayed and read the Bible together every day, because we haven’t. It’s not because we had a date night every week and celebrated our anniversaries away from the children every year, because we didn’t. And without judging our friends who have gone through the pain and agony of a divorce, it’s not because we always gave it our very best effort because often, we just wouldn’t.

This may sound lame, but it’s true. We kept showing up. For each other, for our kids and for church. I know, we’re the church, but you know what I mean. We taught in our kids classes and found other ways to serve together. We were constantly connected to a small group and shared our hearts with peers and with those who were further down the road than we were.

Maybe my friend did, too and it just didn’t work out. But in our case, it’s amazing to realize how faithful God has been to us with the little we have given Him to work with. Sometimes love was just a decision on our part. And God’s unfailing love has had everything in the world to do with it.

Confessions of a Room Mother

2005-11-09T20:43:00.000-08:00

It started innocently enough. I was a stay at home mom. I had the time. I had the desire. I had the hand painted t-shirt dress with matching hair bow and coordinating tennis shoes. I couldn’t sign my name to the classroom volunteer list fast enough. Soon I was helping with Matt’s kindergarten parties, and going on field trips. Three-year-old Scott was the perfect tag-along.

Someone in PTA noticed, and before I knew what had happened, I was taking yearbook orders and spraying disinfectant in old roller skates on fund raiser night at the rink. By the time the boys were in first and third grades, Drew and I were PTA presidents. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, unless you did it for the reasons I did.

I had considered doing the PTA officer thing later on, say when the boys were in 3rd and 5th grades. But someone from the nominating committee pulled me aside and said, “If you do it now, the principal will see that your kids get the best teachers all the way through sixth grade.” That got my attention. What mother didn’t want her kids to have the best teachers? Written requests for specific teachers were frowned upon. It was the only way.

Have you ever signed up to be in charge of something ‘for your children’, only to look up and realize that your own kids are miserable, your house is a wreck, and your husband doesn’t seem to enjoy doing the laundry as much as he used to? That pretty much sums up August ‘89 through February 1990. In March, we were transferred to Dallas. So much for my plan to have the best teachers lined up for the next 5 years.

God taught me several things through that experience. I learned that it’s the moms, not the kids who care if the napkins match the cups that match the plates that match the snack. (Can I have an AMEN, sister Shipley?) And even though Matt got the most requested teacher that year, it wasn’t the best situation for him. I learned to ask God to place the boys where He wanted them to be. Imagine that!

I don’t want to discourage you from volunteering at school. We had several opportunities to be a part of the activities our kids have enjoyed. It was a great way to meet their friends’ parents. It helped us appreciate the time and effort teachers, coaches and band directors put into our kids. A lot of money was raised for some very good causes.

But it wasn’t until the boys were in middle school and high school that I learned the most effective way for me to volunteer. Sara Snyder introduced me to Moms in Touch prayer ministry. I can’t begin to tell you the peace that brought to me as they began to choose their own class schedules, school activities, friends and dates. There were tryouts and projects and big tests and broken hearts, and even a few bomb threats, as I remember. We know the positive results. But who knows how many evils avoided our kids because we were praying?

Note to young moms: Before you sign up for anything, please prayerfully consider giving one hour a week to pray with another mom for your child. I could have saved myself so much anxiety and burnout if I had known about MITI sooner. Ask me about it. Ask Sara. Better yet, ask Matt, Scott, Evan, Erin or Ian. The fact that they knew every week, other moms were coming together to pray for them was powerful.

Once you have made that a priority, I promise, the Spirit will give you direction as you choose more visible ways to connect with your child and their school. You will be blessed, not burdened by the time you give. If you’re not able to volunteer for the carnival, someone else will do it. But if you’re not praying for your child, who is?

Why Did I Bother to Come?

2005-11-09T20:28:00.000-08:00

On any given Sunday at RE, there are 4 prayer ministers in the library, 12 tappers in Bible Hour, and *4,738 parents roaming the foyer with crying infants and restless toddlers, wondering, “Why did I bother coming to church today?” (*These are actual figures based on Sheridan Umphress’ weekly observations.)
Having survived that time in my life, I am here to offer hope and encouragement by listing the 8 stages of sitting in the auditorium with children.
Stage 1 - The baby’s clothes match the blanket which coordinates with the monogrammed burp cloth. The parents gaze lovingly at their sleeping angel for the duration of the assembly hour. This stage lasts approximately 20 minutes.
Stage 2 - Baby throws up on mom’s shoulder as she is walking to the car. Determined parents return to the house, change giggling baby, and decide to try again. No aisle seats to be found in auditorium. Mom feels a warm oozing from baby’s diaper and plans classic action law suit against Pampers Corporation as they give up and go home.
Stage 3 - The bag is loaded with books, toys, crackers, Cheerios, juice, wipes, a pacifier, a blankie and pull-ups. Bible Hour is cancelled, and the only snack they want is in the communion trays. Each toy offered is rejected with a resounding “NO!” except for your car keys which are flung over the balcony.
Stage 4 - A friend is invited to sit with your child on the row next to and eventually
Stage 5 - in front of parents.
Stage 6 - Your child is invited to sit with a trusted family. (Gypsies will do.)
Stage 7 - Our boys knew when they sat with the youth group this
meant that they had to sit where they could see our faces. If they were caught laughing or passing notes, they would receive, “THE LOOK.” Heaven knows, church is no place to have fun.
Stage 8 - At some point, your teen may refuse to come. Parents sit heartbroken, wishing they were back in stage 3. This stage is strictly optional.
Why bother to come?
You are establishing a pattern that will bless your family for generations to come. It’s worth it. You are setting an example for other young couples who are watching and learning from you. It’s worth it. You are encouraging the rest of us by letting us have a glimpse of the future of the church. It’s worth it.
We might need to reframe our thinking a bit. Maybe you see a runaway toddler in the foyer. I prefer to see a missionary in training! Are those crying babies in the observation nursery or praise team tryouts? You tell me. That rowdy bunch of 5th grade boys will probably be elders when they grow up. (Everyone stop for just a minute and get a mental picture of Charlie Broom as a 5th grader in church!)
Some day your shoulders will not smell like spit up. You will be able to sit through an entire service, uninterrupted. Next thing you know, you’ll be looking around for a baby to borrow. Until then, don’t be afraid to borrow an ‘aunt’ or an ‘uncle’ to sit with you and give you a break.
Hang in there. It’s worth it!

A Miserable Merry Christmas

2005-11-09T20:23:00.000-08:00

If Santa had wrapped his own gifts, I wouldn’t be telling this. But, as we all know, he places his gifts under the tree and in your stockings with nothing but a smile. That’s how you know it’s from Santa. Am I right, or am I right?

Go back to Abilene with me. The year is 1985 and our boys are 4 and 2. We’re broke. (Okay, so that’s true of every year that decade, but stay that’s another article.) Matt is totally in to Santa Clause and he wants walkie talkies. Scott couldn’t care less, but he likes to hear himself say, “wawkie wawkie”. Fortunately, I have a rebate coupon from Toys R Us. Got’em early and got ‘em hidden in a paper sack in the top of the closet. No long lines. No rain checks. No problem! I smile and nod approvingly as people ask Matt what he wants Santa to bring him. Same answer. It’s all about the walkie talkies.

Years earlier, my parents, sister and I established a tradition of stuffing stockings/grocery sacks. Throughout the year, we look for interesting inexpensive little things to amaze and delight each other on Christmas morning. Even my dad had fun with it. I smile even now as I think of the cases of duct tape, electrical tape and masking tape I’ve collected from him over the years.

To this day, it’s a touchy subject, so suffice it to say that we disagreed on where to spend the holidays that year. My parents lived in Austin, 4 hours south. Drew’s dad lived in Sherman, 4 hours east. I had the only grandkids on my side of the family. We hadn’t been with Drew’s dad for Christmas morning in a while, so we decided to take Santa on the road. If you have ever done that, then you know the challenges of explaining how Santa will find your family, and then hiding the unwrapped presents in the car. I loaded up the boys while Drew packed the minivan.

Now that I have time to reflect on the experience, I have to admit that I was a bit smug about my shopping victory. Mothers would ring their hands over the Cabbage Patch scramble. It’s the only thing their little girl had asked for. Hmmm, too bad. I already have the boys’ gift from Santa. Did that back in October. Coupon. Maybe that’s why that trip from Abilene to Sherman to Austin and back is now what we refer to as The Bermuda Triangle.

We arrived in Sherman Christmas Eve. As Drew was bringing in our luggage, I saw him unload the sack of stocking stuffers for my family, but I didn’t see…
”Drew! Where are the presents from S-A-N-T-A?” Confusion mixed with exhaustion produced the irritation in his voice as he replied,
“I don’t know. Where did you put them?”
“They’re in the paper sack that was sitting by the front door.”
I’ll save you the details, but we threw the kids at Papa Mac and ran out the door. This was Sherman twenty years ago. They had Piggly Wiggly and Gibson’s and neither one had any walkie talkies. McKinney’s shopping options were even fewer and Allen wasn’t even on the map. We drove to the Toys R Us at Central and Parker in Plano. Toys R Us on Christmas Eve. Let that image sink in for a second while Drew and I run around the store and find the last set of walkie talkies. Expensive, grown-up walkie talkies. No coupon. Thank goodness for Bubba’s Beer and Bait shop, because we realized around midnight that we didn’t have batteries, either.

The day after Christmas, we drove to Austin. As we unloaded the van, I had a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Drew! Where is the sack of stocking stuffers?!” My dad walked out to the garage just in time to see me burst into tears and tell him we’d be back in an hour or so.

At least this time we were shopping the After Christmas sales. Drew didn’t seem to think that was such a bonus. He gets a little testy when he doesn’t find a parking place within the first hour or so. What happened next was right out of Gone with the Wind. Drew stepped out of the van, raised his fist to the air and vowed, “As God as my witness…I will never spend Christmas on the road again!” (Good news. I found these little nifty rubber traps to fit over the drain in the sink to catch hair and forks and stuff.)

Over the years, he’s modified that comment a bit. Grandparents were invited to join us, but before we went anywhere, we did our own thing at home.

Cost of food for additional family members - $57.00
Increase in water and utility bills - $42.00
Celebrating Christmas under your very own tree – Priceless!

p.s. Need any tape?

My New Best Friend, Ruby

2005-10-17T20:57:00.000-07:00

I was in Dillard's today and got attacked by the bra natzis. Something about if I got a professional fitting, Dillard's would make a donation to the Komen foundation, and did I realize that 8 out of 10 women are wearing the wrong size bra. I said, yes I did know that, and as a matter of fact 8 of the last 10 bras I have purchased don't fit. ( I realize that for you men, this is already TMI, but it is crucial to the story, and the women are already feeling my pain.)

So, I said okay and she called for Ruby. Ruby took one look at me and said, "Girl! You're the same size as me! You wear a XX-X! I was thinking to myself ,"Unless you used to work at the Guess Your Weight booth at the carnival...I doubt it". She whipped out the tape measure, and she was exactly right. Then she loaded me up and sent me to the dressing room, and I came out with 3, count 'em THREE different bras that fit.

Now that she had my undying admiration and eternal gratitude, I told her how impressed I was with her spiritual gift. She said that after 25 years of doing this for Dillard's in New Orleans, she was usually right. I asked her how long ago she had lived in New Orleans. She said, "Up until the hurricane took everything I had. I stayed at the Superdome from Sunday to Friday. And it was everything you heard it was. People were animals. Then they bussed us to here and then to the First Baptist church, and everyone has been so nice and kind. I'm living with a lady in Dillard's accounting office. It's just me."

I asked her if she had found a church home. "Well, I have been visiting a few places, but...what church do you go to?" I told her, RECofC, and that I would love to come and get her for worship Sunday. As we were exchanging phone numbers, she said, "Church of Christ...hmmmm....I bet ya'll really praise the Lord!" "Yes, ma'am, we lov..."That's what I'm talking 'bout! None of this Baptist church sittin' on your hands...afraid everyone's all lookin' at ya kind of singin', I wanna clap and sing with all my heart and soul and body!" I said, "Or, we could go to Central Dallas Ministries... Ruby, I'm afraid we are a sittin' on your hands kind of church, but we need someone to help us loosen up! Will you still come with me?" She said she would, but, Dan, she may join the praise team whether you ask her to or not.

As I was putting her number in my purse, she stuck my card in her bra. So, I pulled her paper out of my purse and tucked it in my bra and said, "Ruby, you will always be my bosom buddy." She said, "You know that's right!"

Scissors of Mass Destruction

2005-09-15T20:10:00.000-07:00

Don’t you love AAdvantage miles? They have been such a blessing to our family. Drew endures the nightmare of business travel and I get to fly for fun! In June Raytheon sent Drew to Chicago for a week, and I was invited to tag along. I totally know how to tag. I’ve traveled with this engineer on business before and I understand the drill. But regardless of where we fly, this is how the trip begins.
We leave the house the day before the plane departs. That gives us time to anticipate highway construction, traffic delays, and changes in the seasons. On the way, we listen to KRLD on the 8’s for the official traffic report, until we’re close enough to DFW to get the gate number from his Blackberry. In between, I get drilled on the contents of my carry on luggage and the exact location of my driver’s license.
“Do you have your valid photo ID?”
“Right here.”
“Tweezers?”
“No.”
“Nail file?”
“No.”
“TWO PAIRS OF SCISSORS?!”
He will never let me live it down. On the way to Lubbock last summer, Terran and I sat in the back of the Suburban and we trimmed wallet photos to be handed out at Matt & Kyla’s wedding reception. I stuck the scissors in the front of my bag when we were through. We came home, turned around the next day and flew to Florida for a job interview. I was a bit stressed. And it wasn’t until I saw the security guard call another security guard over to look at the x-ray of my bag that I remembered the two pairs of scissors. Drew was in the other line.
“Oh, I am so sorry.” I whispered. “It’s about the scissors, isn’t it? Just throw them away!” I could see Drew taking off his shoes and his belt out of the corner of my eye.
“Ma’am, you aren’t allowed to take lethal weapons on the aircraft.”
“I know, I know. I was just trimming photos with my daughter-in-law and…ha, would you believe we had 2 weddings a week apart?” I leaned in close and lowered my voice. “Just throw them away. Really. Hurry.”
“If you want to have them returned, you’ll have to fill out a form…”
Drew had retrieved his laptop and was putting his shoes and belt back on when he heard me scream, “For crying out loud, just throw them in the trash before my husband sees them! You don’t understand! I’ll be banned from all future air travel with him if he finds out I violated the No Fiskars policy!” They let me go on through, but I think DFW Security has me on a special list.
I’ve got the tag-along dress code down, too. No jewelry, no hair accessories, no zippers, no shoes, no bra. I wear a hospital gown and bobby socks to avoid any unnecessary delays in the wand department.
We hurry to the gate and wait for the American Airlines staff to arrive for work. Drew sweetly offers to go and get us coffee. In other words, I have to stay in my seat. I lost my coffee stand privileges several years ago when I wandered over to the Brighton kiosk and bought a purse. And the only reason I walked on down to the Fossil kiosk was to buy a watch with bigger numbers on it so I wouldn’t be late for take off. Since we are there long enough to each consume an entire pot of coffee, you’d think I would also have time to make a mad dash to the potty. Oh, you silly women! Why do you think I asked for a permanent catheter on our first anniversary?
I’m not sure flying anywhere is much of a vacation for Drew. I’ve heard his horror stories of delays on the tarmac, cancelled flights, lost luggage, rent car mix-ups and long lines to everything. I am amazed that in his 27 years of business travel, he has never been late for a flight. So last month when he informed me that he needed to take a week of vacation before the end of August or lose it, we looked at our options. The thought of just the two of us, hanging out here at the house with no schedule to meet sounded pretty enticing. It’s only Wednesday noon and we just returned from Home Depot for the 4th time.
I wonder why Home Depot doesn’t have a kiosk at DFW?

Shall We Dance?

2005-09-14T21:09:00.000-07:00

Oh, let’s!
I’m serious.
And while we’re at it, could we just get over ourselves about this whole topic?
Last week I attended the funeral of an amazing woman. She was just 61 years old, but the stories and photographs of her life let you know three things: She loved the Lord, she loved her family, and she loved to dance. The scripture on the front of the program gave her hope as she faced the last days of her life, Psalm 30:11“You have turned my mourning into dancing…O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!”
I remember when our son Matt came home from a middle school dance. He was puzzled about something. One of his friends couldn’t go to the dance because their church said it was a sin. “How dumb is that?” he declared.
I knew this day was coming.
“Well, as a matter of fact, growing up I was pretty much told that if I danced, I’d get pregnant and go to hell.”
Matt’s mouth fell open. “I’m a goner.”
For me, explaining some of these church issues is kind of like explaining an eccentric old relative. Until they die, they’re going to show up every now and then. So we treat them with respect and try to understand why they are the way they are, without letting them control our lives. I went on to say how we wanted him to have a healthy view of dancing, and that there are appropriate songs, dances, clothes and behaviors that he and Scott would have to learn for themselves. “Just like we’ve tried to teach you about swimming.”
“SWIMMING? YOU MEAN SWIMMING IS A SIN, TOO?”
“I mean swimming isn’t a sin, either. It has to do with your attitude and behavior, and since those are things that usually involve boys and girls together; you just need to be aware.” I felt like saying, ‘Go get my teeth out of the jar and I’ll tell you how things were at church when I was growing up.’ By now Scott was in the room and I entertained them with tales of former forbidden activities. No dancing, no ‘mixed bathing’, no shorts, no card games, no praise teams, no kitchens in the church buildings, no church songs for piano recitals, no garage sales for missionaries, women couldn’t wear long pants to church, men had no business with a ponytail, no polka dots for girls or patent leather shoes for boys…
There was a long pause before Scott asked, “So what could you do with your church friends?”
“Oh, we did lots of things. Bowling, roller skating, miniature golf…did I mention bowling? Um, let’s see. Eating. We did lots and lots of eating. I think that’s pretty much it.”
“Didn’t you go to your prom?”
“My boyfriend and I went to the prom, but since we couldn’t dance, we left early and went parking.”
“What’s parking?”
“Forget I said that. Anyway, the important thing is that your dad and I want you to know that dancing was a big part of the way people in Bible times celebrated God’s goodness. I’m sure there were people who turned it into something ugly. And somewhere along the way, well meaning people decided it was better not do it all than to take a chance on it causing someone to think sinful thoughts…and then the tradition began to die. But that was man’s idea, not God’s. Maybe some day, I’ll dance at your wedding”, I said as I did my best interpretation of the twist. (Never mind that the only thing I can do is the Hokey Pokey.)
A few years ago I tested the RE waters about having dance lessons in the CLC. I discovered a few things:
Most of our kids dance.
Many of you have taken lessons and didn’t call me.
The biggest objection the elders at that time had was that their wives would make them go.
Psalm 149: 1-4 “Praise the Lord. Sing to the Lord a new song, His praise in the assembly of the saints…Let them praise His name with dancing…For the Lord takes delight in His people.”
So, here’s what I’m thinking. If you want to come, let me know by phone or e-mail. Once the date is set, I’ll send an invitation for you and one for your neighbors. Singles, couples, no age limit, just no children. At this point in our learning curve, they would probably get stepped on. We can have line dances for those of you who don’t want to touch anybody. And surely some of our kids can teach us to Two-step. I have one request. If you disapprove, it’s okay to tell me, but please don’t come and spoil the mood. After all, I am in the process of embracing my inner dancing queen and I don’t need the negativity.
The song leader at our church in Austin used to encourage us to sing by saying, “We’ll be singing in heaven for all eternity. We need to practice!” I’ve got news for you. There will be dancing in heaven, too. And we are way behind the Methodists!
Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 4 “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:…a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,…”
Dress is casual. You can even wear polka dots and patent leather shoes.
It’s time to dance. I hope you’ll come.
I’m serious.