LEANING TOWERS OF CHRISTMAS
We got one of those 10-foot Christmas trees that leans a little north and then a little south and then a little north again, or maybe it’s a tad west. It’s a balsam, my beloved’s favorite, and so fragrant I even enjoyed vacuuming around it last night. Yes, it leans, but that’s the bad news. The good news is, it leans in so many directions that it looks like it’s perfectly straight.
Our other big project this weekend was putting up the enormous light-up, blow-up snowman in the front yard. It’s not so big that it would hurt anybody if it got away, a la the Macy’s parade, but it’s sizeable. It leans, too. It looks like it has had a few too many spiked eggnogs, or is trying to pick up an extra handful of snow to enlarge his pecs or something.
As if that isn’t embarrassing enough, our blonde dog Sunny Bone-O was napping inside while my beloved put up the Leaning Snowman, and didn’t see it for a couple of hours.
Then she came around to the front, saw the Leaning Snowman, went on the alert, crouched down into her Snarling Nazi Guard Dog stance, which isn’t real believable in a yellow Lab but oh, well, and commenced barking at the poor guy. She had him cornered, but good.
I went out there and praised her and told her she was so intimidating, he was frozen with fear. Literally stiff! Look at him leaning – he was just about to attack us when you courageously jumped in there to protect us. Good blonde dog. Let’s have a cookie: one for you and one for me.
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CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: You can be a stand-in for Santa for the children of someone in prison with a contribution to the Angel Tree project of Prison Fellowship Ministries. For $11.20, you can provide presents for two children, and the number multiplies the more you give. See www.pfm.org for more information. The mailing address is Angel Tree, PFM, P.O. Box 1550, Merrifield, VA 22116-1550.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Sunday, December 04, 2005
A WHOLE NEW LIGHT
(I)nasmuch as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren,
ye have done it unto me.
-- Matthew 25:40
My husband’s company just had their office Christmas party. It’s so much fun to put names with faces, share office lore with unsuspecting newcomers, and watch the two oldest employees unexpectedly leaving the whippersnappers in their partying dust, impersonating Elvis on karaoke and Patrick Swayze on the dance floor while everybody roared their approval and raised their lighted cellphones on high.
You see people in a whole new light at office parties like that. And that’s a good thing.
When I was fresh out of college, I attended my first office party in the summertime, around an Olympic-size swimming pool. I had done some competitive swimming and was in pretty good shape. A co-worker at least 40 years my senior – the Pillsbury Dough Boy’s grandpa in swim trunks -- challenged me to a race. I didn’t think he could make one length without having a heart attack. If I held ‘way back, I could at least grant him a gentleman’s tie.
As if. He shocked me with an incredibly strong racing dive and was two body lengths ahead of me within the first few strokes. I ‘bout bust a gut and he still beat me by a lot. Everybody laughed and clapped, including me. Who knew? As I watched him high-five the other office fogies over beating the flat-bellied young cub reporter, I realized I had a lot to learn about the adult world.
I saw him in a whole new light. It was nice.
A few years later, at another job, I worked with an older woman whose personal life was somewhat of a mystery. She was short and lean, with big, expressive eyes and a beautiful, deep voice. She had a lot of wrinkles on her face. I wondered if she used to be a drinker, or if she had had a lot of problems that showed up, not in her conversation, but on her face.
Her only indulgence seemed to be the nuclear-strength coffee at the downtown cafeteria where we had lunch. We had a nice friendship, even though she wouldn’t let me in very far to know the real her.
Years later, I learned she had a habit of picking up bums off the street downtown, one at a time. She would take them to a fleabag hotel, pay for a few months’ rent, set them up with sacks of groceries, and arrange for cab fare to and from the employment office.
Then she would check on them every so often. No lectures, no sermons: just friendly visits that proved she believed in their worth. When the time was up, she would find another poor soul, and do it again. She must have helped dozens of people in this personal, compassionate and private way.
She never went to church and didn’t talk about religious matters. She wasn’t high and mighty. She never said a word about this quiet charity, in all the years I worked with her. She never got her picture in the paper or a plaque, nor did she want that kind of attention.
I sensed it was a “there but for the grace of God go I” type of deal. Truly beautiful.
You know, our society casts the spotlight on celebrities, millionaires and big-shot philanthropists, but never on everyday people who quietly, steadfastly do things like that, just because it’s the right thing to do. Lots of times, they’re the people at the next desk or in the next car . . . everyday heroes . . . low-key saints.
We all need to see each other in a whole new light, the way she did, and treat each other accordingly, as if there are special things about each person that we don’t know yet.
Because there are.
This Christmas season, let’s all do it: walk around in a whole new light, and share that light with others.
You won’t get applause and accolades here on Earth – but they’ll be singing your praises up at the heavenly karaoke bar, and that’s the one that counts.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: DailySusan.com has been suggesting ways to help others each day during Advent. Today’s suggestion is to bless a young single mother named Michaela, who very nearly aborted her son Dylan but was guided away from that by a wiser, older woman in her church. What a beautiful testament to life, and the courage it sometimes takes to sustain it. She now is struggling to make ends meet on her small salary, but is doing a beautiful job with her adorable baby son. DailySusan.com readers gave them a baby shower earlier this year. Let’s do it again! Contact Susan at swilliams1@cox.net if you would like to send Michaela some Christmas cheer and will join the prayer chain for her and Dylan to live happily ever after.
-------------------
PRAYER REQUESTS LINK: It’s finally fixed on www.DailySusan.com Click on the rainbow over at the right. Be sure to send your prayer requests and praise reports to me at swilliams1@cox.net, and check in regularly to pray for others.
(I)nasmuch as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren,
ye have done it unto me.
-- Matthew 25:40
My husband’s company just had their office Christmas party. It’s so much fun to put names with faces, share office lore with unsuspecting newcomers, and watch the two oldest employees unexpectedly leaving the whippersnappers in their partying dust, impersonating Elvis on karaoke and Patrick Swayze on the dance floor while everybody roared their approval and raised their lighted cellphones on high.
You see people in a whole new light at office parties like that. And that’s a good thing.
When I was fresh out of college, I attended my first office party in the summertime, around an Olympic-size swimming pool. I had done some competitive swimming and was in pretty good shape. A co-worker at least 40 years my senior – the Pillsbury Dough Boy’s grandpa in swim trunks -- challenged me to a race. I didn’t think he could make one length without having a heart attack. If I held ‘way back, I could at least grant him a gentleman’s tie.
As if. He shocked me with an incredibly strong racing dive and was two body lengths ahead of me within the first few strokes. I ‘bout bust a gut and he still beat me by a lot. Everybody laughed and clapped, including me. Who knew? As I watched him high-five the other office fogies over beating the flat-bellied young cub reporter, I realized I had a lot to learn about the adult world.
I saw him in a whole new light. It was nice.
A few years later, at another job, I worked with an older woman whose personal life was somewhat of a mystery. She was short and lean, with big, expressive eyes and a beautiful, deep voice. She had a lot of wrinkles on her face. I wondered if she used to be a drinker, or if she had had a lot of problems that showed up, not in her conversation, but on her face.
Her only indulgence seemed to be the nuclear-strength coffee at the downtown cafeteria where we had lunch. We had a nice friendship, even though she wouldn’t let me in very far to know the real her.
Years later, I learned she had a habit of picking up bums off the street downtown, one at a time. She would take them to a fleabag hotel, pay for a few months’ rent, set them up with sacks of groceries, and arrange for cab fare to and from the employment office.
Then she would check on them every so often. No lectures, no sermons: just friendly visits that proved she believed in their worth. When the time was up, she would find another poor soul, and do it again. She must have helped dozens of people in this personal, compassionate and private way.
She never went to church and didn’t talk about religious matters. She wasn’t high and mighty. She never said a word about this quiet charity, in all the years I worked with her. She never got her picture in the paper or a plaque, nor did she want that kind of attention.
I sensed it was a “there but for the grace of God go I” type of deal. Truly beautiful.
You know, our society casts the spotlight on celebrities, millionaires and big-shot philanthropists, but never on everyday people who quietly, steadfastly do things like that, just because it’s the right thing to do. Lots of times, they’re the people at the next desk or in the next car . . . everyday heroes . . . low-key saints.
We all need to see each other in a whole new light, the way she did, and treat each other accordingly, as if there are special things about each person that we don’t know yet.
Because there are.
This Christmas season, let’s all do it: walk around in a whole new light, and share that light with others.
You won’t get applause and accolades here on Earth – but they’ll be singing your praises up at the heavenly karaoke bar, and that’s the one that counts.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: DailySusan.com has been suggesting ways to help others each day during Advent. Today’s suggestion is to bless a young single mother named Michaela, who very nearly aborted her son Dylan but was guided away from that by a wiser, older woman in her church. What a beautiful testament to life, and the courage it sometimes takes to sustain it. She now is struggling to make ends meet on her small salary, but is doing a beautiful job with her adorable baby son. DailySusan.com readers gave them a baby shower earlier this year. Let’s do it again! Contact Susan at swilliams1@cox.net if you would like to send Michaela some Christmas cheer and will join the prayer chain for her and Dylan to live happily ever after.
-------------------
PRAYER REQUESTS LINK: It’s finally fixed on www.DailySusan.com Click on the rainbow over at the right. Be sure to send your prayer requests and praise reports to me at swilliams1@cox.net, and check in regularly to pray for others.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
GOOD LOOKER
My dad had his own language, which we struggled to translate. He had three compliments for people: they could be a “good looker” if handsome or beautiful; “good feeler” if they were fun to be with, or, the ultimate praise, a “keeper.” That last was from his many decades of fishing in the waters of northern Minnesota, where they throw back fish as too small that would be lauded as monster-size in lesser fishing holes.
Well, I’m glad to report that his youngest grandchild, Maddy, is carrying on his ways. We just had the seats on our six heavy iron kitchen barstools recovered. They had been redecorated by Kool-Aid spills, cat scratches and various other assaults over the years, so it was time.
As I was hosting a Black and White formal dinner for Eden’s friends last night, I made my beloved leave work early to pick up the new seats and rush home to screw them back in place by the 6 p.m. arrival time of the teenage guests.
In his haste, he must have installed one of them backwards. The only way you can tell is that there’s a crossbar about eight inches from the floor that’s a footrest, and on one of the six chairs, it was on the back.
Maddy spotted it right away.
I complimented her. “My goodness, but you’re observant.”
She beamed. “Yeah. I’m a GOOD LOOKER.”
She’s a keeper, too.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: We got our first dog Budge from the Humane Society. She was a German shepherd / collie mix. Since she was more or less free, we called her “Budget Dog.” We loved her a lot, and what made it more special was that she had been a homeless puppy with discolored teeth, a sign of poor nutrition for her mother while she was pregnant. We were happy to give her the very best of doggie health care throughout her life. Budge needed us! And many, many animals are needy this Christmas season. Today’s charity suggestion is to help the Nebraska Humane Society, a 130-year-old organization that saves thousands of pets every year. Average new contribution: $21. Learn more on www.nehumanesociety.org Address is 8929 Fort St., Omaha, NE 68134-2842
My dad had his own language, which we struggled to translate. He had three compliments for people: they could be a “good looker” if handsome or beautiful; “good feeler” if they were fun to be with, or, the ultimate praise, a “keeper.” That last was from his many decades of fishing in the waters of northern Minnesota, where they throw back fish as too small that would be lauded as monster-size in lesser fishing holes.
Well, I’m glad to report that his youngest grandchild, Maddy, is carrying on his ways. We just had the seats on our six heavy iron kitchen barstools recovered. They had been redecorated by Kool-Aid spills, cat scratches and various other assaults over the years, so it was time.
As I was hosting a Black and White formal dinner for Eden’s friends last night, I made my beloved leave work early to pick up the new seats and rush home to screw them back in place by the 6 p.m. arrival time of the teenage guests.
In his haste, he must have installed one of them backwards. The only way you can tell is that there’s a crossbar about eight inches from the floor that’s a footrest, and on one of the six chairs, it was on the back.
Maddy spotted it right away.
I complimented her. “My goodness, but you’re observant.”
She beamed. “Yeah. I’m a GOOD LOOKER.”
She’s a keeper, too.
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: We got our first dog Budge from the Humane Society. She was a German shepherd / collie mix. Since she was more or less free, we called her “Budget Dog.” We loved her a lot, and what made it more special was that she had been a homeless puppy with discolored teeth, a sign of poor nutrition for her mother while she was pregnant. We were happy to give her the very best of doggie health care throughout her life. Budge needed us! And many, many animals are needy this Christmas season. Today’s charity suggestion is to help the Nebraska Humane Society, a 130-year-old organization that saves thousands of pets every year. Average new contribution: $21. Learn more on www.nehumanesociety.org Address is 8929 Fort St., Omaha, NE 68134-2842
Friday, December 02, 2005
PROOF OF GLOBAL WARMING
Here’s a funny cartoon: (it showed four pairs of underwear up on a clothesline, from a 1920's BVDs to a 1950's boxer shorts, a 1980's pair of briefs, and a 2005 thong)
TODAY’S CHRISTMAS KINDNESS SUGGESTION: Sacred Heart School is doing a tremendous job in inner-city Omaha with strong academics, a sensible life skills program, and an emphasis on Christian values and discipline. Its fund-raising unit, CUES (the Christian Urban Education Service) is seeking donations that could make a real difference in children’s lives. According to a CUES Christmas appeal, two sisters who are students at Sacred Heart had been late to school a few times, and the principal asked why. It turns out the girls’ mother had had to move three times since the beginning of the semester , which has been very unsettling, and now is working three jobs to make ends meet. Between her exhaustion and a car that keeps breaking down, she is having trouble getting them to school. But she told the principal that having her daughters at Sacred Heart was a top priority for her because she knows that going to college, as many Sacred Heart graduates do, is the way out of poverty. Find out more on www.sacredheart-cues.org
Here’s a funny cartoon: (it showed four pairs of underwear up on a clothesline, from a 1920's BVDs to a 1950's boxer shorts, a 1980's pair of briefs, and a 2005 thong)
TODAY’S CHRISTMAS KINDNESS SUGGESTION: Sacred Heart School is doing a tremendous job in inner-city Omaha with strong academics, a sensible life skills program, and an emphasis on Christian values and discipline. Its fund-raising unit, CUES (the Christian Urban Education Service) is seeking donations that could make a real difference in children’s lives. According to a CUES Christmas appeal, two sisters who are students at Sacred Heart had been late to school a few times, and the principal asked why. It turns out the girls’ mother had had to move three times since the beginning of the semester , which has been very unsettling, and now is working three jobs to make ends meet. Between her exhaustion and a car that keeps breaking down, she is having trouble getting them to school. But she told the principal that having her daughters at Sacred Heart was a top priority for her because she knows that going to college, as many Sacred Heart graduates do, is the way out of poverty. Find out more on www.sacredheart-cues.org
Thursday, December 01, 2005
TIME STOOD STILL
I have a beautiful Concord watch with a dead battery. Tired of being late and never knowing what time it is, I took it to one of those mall fix-it kiosks. Handing the clerk the watch, I tried out one of my corniest lines:
“Time stood still. Can you help?”
He stared at me, popping his gum.
Finally, he asked in a monotone, “Dead battery?” I nodded.
He said if I would come back in 30 minutes, they would have it cleaned up and a new battery in it for $24.95.
I tried again, even cornier. “But without a watch, how am I to know when 30 minutes is up?”
Again, dead stare and gum-chewing. At least this time he shrugged.
I tried one last time: “So if I count to 60 thirty times, and come back, and you haven’t cleaned my clock yet, does that mean I get to clean YOURS?”
I don’t think he understood me. He looked like he was in pain.
Then his older co-worker helped me out. He was ringing up another customer. She handed him exact change. He exulted, “Good. Now I don’t have to take off my shoes and socks to make change.”
We three old fogies laughed – he meant he didn’t have to count on his fingers and toes.
The kid, on the other hand, just kept chewing his gum and went to work on a watch. I guess life must be boring when you watch the clock all day. . . .
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Today’s suggestion for a good cause to support this Christmas is the Nebraska Special Olympics. This year it served close to 1,500 people with intellectual disabilities, mostly children, in a series of fun sporting events. Tax-deductible donations go for year-round training, uniforms, food and communications costs. Learn more on www.sone.org
I have a beautiful Concord watch with a dead battery. Tired of being late and never knowing what time it is, I took it to one of those mall fix-it kiosks. Handing the clerk the watch, I tried out one of my corniest lines:
“Time stood still. Can you help?”
He stared at me, popping his gum.
Finally, he asked in a monotone, “Dead battery?” I nodded.
He said if I would come back in 30 minutes, they would have it cleaned up and a new battery in it for $24.95.
I tried again, even cornier. “But without a watch, how am I to know when 30 minutes is up?”
Again, dead stare and gum-chewing. At least this time he shrugged.
I tried one last time: “So if I count to 60 thirty times, and come back, and you haven’t cleaned my clock yet, does that mean I get to clean YOURS?”
I don’t think he understood me. He looked like he was in pain.
Then his older co-worker helped me out. He was ringing up another customer. She handed him exact change. He exulted, “Good. Now I don’t have to take off my shoes and socks to make change.”
We three old fogies laughed – he meant he didn’t have to count on his fingers and toes.
The kid, on the other hand, just kept chewing his gum and went to work on a watch. I guess life must be boring when you watch the clock all day. . . .
--------------------
CHRISTMAS KINDNESS: Today’s suggestion for a good cause to support this Christmas is the Nebraska Special Olympics. This year it served close to 1,500 people with intellectual disabilities, mostly children, in a series of fun sporting events. Tax-deductible donations go for year-round training, uniforms, food and communications costs. Learn more on www.sone.org
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
GO, GRANNY, GO, GRANNY, GO!
Little old ladies are often depicted as feeble invalids with barely enough energy to knit booties in their rocking chairs. So it is fun and refreshing to ponder what 76-year-old Pearl Fritts of Lincoln did after a would-be car thief bashed her head against a dumpster:
She whirled around, put up her dukes and stood her ground.
According to www.journalstar.com, she was behind a nursing home on the way to visit her 95-year-old mother when a teenage girl assaulted her, leaving a gash of several inches in her forehead. When the teenager realized the little old lady in glasses would put up a fistfight rather than surrender her car, the girl fled.
A suspect matching that description who was a runaway from Omaha was picked up an hour later at a nearby restaurant.
So what I want to know is:
Why doesn’t Pearl start a self-defense course for grannies and grampies who want to be elder-buffs like her? She could be a personal trainer for the denture set! She could dispatch legions of elderly vigilantes out there crime-fighting away their golden years!
Whipping up on these whippersnappers would go a long way toward restoring law and order in our mean streets. And it’s GOT to be more fun than endless hours of bingo.
Little old ladies are often depicted as feeble invalids with barely enough energy to knit booties in their rocking chairs. So it is fun and refreshing to ponder what 76-year-old Pearl Fritts of Lincoln did after a would-be car thief bashed her head against a dumpster:
She whirled around, put up her dukes and stood her ground.
According to www.journalstar.com, she was behind a nursing home on the way to visit her 95-year-old mother when a teenage girl assaulted her, leaving a gash of several inches in her forehead. When the teenager realized the little old lady in glasses would put up a fistfight rather than surrender her car, the girl fled.
A suspect matching that description who was a runaway from Omaha was picked up an hour later at a nearby restaurant.
So what I want to know is:
Why doesn’t Pearl start a self-defense course for grannies and grampies who want to be elder-buffs like her? She could be a personal trainer for the denture set! She could dispatch legions of elderly vigilantes out there crime-fighting away their golden years!
Whipping up on these whippersnappers would go a long way toward restoring law and order in our mean streets. And it’s GOT to be more fun than endless hours of bingo.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
DAILYSUSAN RESUMES AFTER YOUR HOST HAS RETURNED, BARELY, FROM TAKING A DAUGHTER ON A COLLEGE VISIT TO THE TWIN CITIES, SURVIVING A WHITE-KNUCKLE DRIVE HOME TO NEBRASKA AS THE TEMPERATURE DROPPED FROM 55 TO 22 IN TWO HOURS AND THE FLURRIES AND BLACK PAVEMENT MADE FOR AN EXCITING TRIP!
TOOLS OF THE T(I)RADE
DRILL PRESS: A tall, upright machine useful for suddenly snatching flat metal bar stock out of your hands so that it smacks you in the chest and flings your beer across the room, splattering it against that freshly painted airplane part you were drying.
WIRE WHEEL: Cleans paint off bolts and then throws them somewhere under the workbench with the speed of light. Also removes fingerprint whorls and hard-earned guitar calluses in about the time it takes you to say, "Ouch!"
ELECTRIC HAND DRILL: Normally used for spinning pop rivets in their holes until you die of old age.
PLIERS: Used to round off bolt heads.
HACKSAW: One of a family of cutting tools built on the Ouija board principle. It transforms human energy into a crooked, unpredictable motion. The more you attempt to influence its course, the more dismal your future becomes.
VISE-GRIPS: Used to round off bolt heads. If nothing else is available, they can also be used to transfer intense welding heat to the palm of your hand.
OXYACETYLENE TORCH: Used almost entirely for lighting various flammable objects in your shop on fire. Also handy for igniting the grease inside the wheel hub you want the bearing race out of.
WHITWORTH SOCKETS: Once used for working on older British cars and motorcycles, they are now used mainly for impersonating that 9/16 or 1/2 socket for which you've been searching for the last 15 minutes.
HYDRAULIC FLOOR JACK: Used for lowering an automobile to the ground after you have installed your new disk brake pads, trapping the jack handle firmly under the bumper.
EIGHT-FOOT LONG DOUGLAS FIR 2X4: Used for levering an automobile upward off a hydraulic jack handle.
TWEEZERS: A tool for removing wood splinters.
PHONE: Tool for calling your neighbors to see if he has another hydraulic floor jack.
SNAP-ON GASKET SCRAPER: Theoretically useful as a sandwich tool for spreading mayonnaise; used mainly for getting dog **** off your boot.
E-Z OUT BOLT AND STUD EXTRACTOR: A tool 10 times harder than any known drill bit that snaps off in bolt holes you couldn't use anyway.
TWO-TON ENGINE HOIST: A tool for testing the tensile strength on everything you forgot to disconnect.
CRAFTSMAN 1/2 x 16 INCH SCREWDRIVER: A large prybar that inexplicably has an accurately machined screwdriver tip on the end opposite the handle.
AVIATION METAL SNIPS: See hacksaw.
TROUBLE LIGHT: The home mechanic's own tanning booth. Sometimes called a drop light, it is a good source of vitamin D, "the sunshine vitamin," which is not otherwise found under cars at night. Health benefits aside, its main purpose is to consume 40-watt light bulbs at about the same rate that 105-mm howitzer shells might be used during, say, the first few hours of the Battle of the Bulge. More often dark than light, its name is somewhat misleading.
PHILLIPS SCREWDRIVER: Normally used to stab the lids of old-style paper-and-tin oil cans and splash oil on your shirt, but can also be used, as the name implies, to strip out Phillips screw heads.
AIR COMPRESSOR: A machine that takes energy produced in a coal-burning power plant 200 miles away and transforms it into compressed air that travels by hose to a Chicago Pneumatic impact wrench that grips rusty bolts last over-tightened 58 years ago by someone at ERCO, and neatly rounds off their heads.
PRY BAR: A tool used to crumple the metal surrounding that clip or bracket you needed to remove in order to replace a 50¢ part.
HOSE CUTTER: A tool used to cut hoses too short.
HAMMER: Originally employed as a weapon of war, the hammer nowadays is used as a kind of divining rod to locate the most expensive parts not far from the object we are trying to hit.
MECHANIC'S KNIFE: Used to open and slice through the contents of cardboard cartons delivered to your front door; works particularly well on contents such as seats, vinyl records, liquids in plastic bottles, collector magazines, refund checks, and rubber or plastic parts.
DAMMIT TOOL: Any handy tool that you grab and throw across the garage while yelling "DAMMIT" at the top of your lungs. It is also the next tool that you will need.
EXPLETIVE: A balm, usually applied verbally in hindsight, which somehow eases those pains and indignities following our every deficiency in foresight.
TOOLS OF THE T(I)RADE
DRILL PRESS: A tall, upright machine useful for suddenly snatching flat metal bar stock out of your hands so that it smacks you in the chest and flings your beer across the room, splattering it against that freshly painted airplane part you were drying.
WIRE WHEEL: Cleans paint off bolts and then throws them somewhere under the workbench with the speed of light. Also removes fingerprint whorls and hard-earned guitar calluses in about the time it takes you to say, "Ouch!"
ELECTRIC HAND DRILL: Normally used for spinning pop rivets in their holes until you die of old age.
PLIERS: Used to round off bolt heads.
HACKSAW: One of a family of cutting tools built on the Ouija board principle. It transforms human energy into a crooked, unpredictable motion. The more you attempt to influence its course, the more dismal your future becomes.
VISE-GRIPS: Used to round off bolt heads. If nothing else is available, they can also be used to transfer intense welding heat to the palm of your hand.
OXYACETYLENE TORCH: Used almost entirely for lighting various flammable objects in your shop on fire. Also handy for igniting the grease inside the wheel hub you want the bearing race out of.
WHITWORTH SOCKETS: Once used for working on older British cars and motorcycles, they are now used mainly for impersonating that 9/16 or 1/2 socket for which you've been searching for the last 15 minutes.
HYDRAULIC FLOOR JACK: Used for lowering an automobile to the ground after you have installed your new disk brake pads, trapping the jack handle firmly under the bumper.
EIGHT-FOOT LONG DOUGLAS FIR 2X4: Used for levering an automobile upward off a hydraulic jack handle.
TWEEZERS: A tool for removing wood splinters.
PHONE: Tool for calling your neighbors to see if he has another hydraulic floor jack.
SNAP-ON GASKET SCRAPER: Theoretically useful as a sandwich tool for spreading mayonnaise; used mainly for getting dog **** off your boot.
E-Z OUT BOLT AND STUD EXTRACTOR: A tool 10 times harder than any known drill bit that snaps off in bolt holes you couldn't use anyway.
TWO-TON ENGINE HOIST: A tool for testing the tensile strength on everything you forgot to disconnect.
CRAFTSMAN 1/2 x 16 INCH SCREWDRIVER: A large prybar that inexplicably has an accurately machined screwdriver tip on the end opposite the handle.
AVIATION METAL SNIPS: See hacksaw.
TROUBLE LIGHT: The home mechanic's own tanning booth. Sometimes called a drop light, it is a good source of vitamin D, "the sunshine vitamin," which is not otherwise found under cars at night. Health benefits aside, its main purpose is to consume 40-watt light bulbs at about the same rate that 105-mm howitzer shells might be used during, say, the first few hours of the Battle of the Bulge. More often dark than light, its name is somewhat misleading.
PHILLIPS SCREWDRIVER: Normally used to stab the lids of old-style paper-and-tin oil cans and splash oil on your shirt, but can also be used, as the name implies, to strip out Phillips screw heads.
AIR COMPRESSOR: A machine that takes energy produced in a coal-burning power plant 200 miles away and transforms it into compressed air that travels by hose to a Chicago Pneumatic impact wrench that grips rusty bolts last over-tightened 58 years ago by someone at ERCO, and neatly rounds off their heads.
PRY BAR: A tool used to crumple the metal surrounding that clip or bracket you needed to remove in order to replace a 50¢ part.
HOSE CUTTER: A tool used to cut hoses too short.
HAMMER: Originally employed as a weapon of war, the hammer nowadays is used as a kind of divining rod to locate the most expensive parts not far from the object we are trying to hit.
MECHANIC'S KNIFE: Used to open and slice through the contents of cardboard cartons delivered to your front door; works particularly well on contents such as seats, vinyl records, liquids in plastic bottles, collector magazines, refund checks, and rubber or plastic parts.
DAMMIT TOOL: Any handy tool that you grab and throw across the garage while yelling "DAMMIT" at the top of your lungs. It is also the next tool that you will need.
EXPLETIVE: A balm, usually applied verbally in hindsight, which somehow eases those pains and indignities following our every deficiency in foresight.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
WIFE BEATER!
(We) have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty,
not walking in craftiness,
nor handling the word of God deceitfully;
but by manifestation of the truth
commending ourselves to every man’s conscience
in the sight of God.
-- 2 Corinthians 4:2
I have this adorable red-headed friend with an unusual Christmas story. Let’s call her “Abby.”
Abby found herself with a baby daughter and an unhappy marriage. She got a divorce.
Maybe it was immaturity, or maybe the sudden freedom. But boom! She married again, quickly.
Like her first husband, this one was handsome and well off. They lived in a gorgeous home. He bought her a lot of bling. Things looked great.
But soon after the ink dried on the marriage certificate, what she thought was his sophisticated, discerning attitude about life was revealed as . . . well, what’s the male version of rhymes-with-witchiness?
He criticized her spending. He criticized her taste in furnishings. He criticized her clothes: “Oh! You’re NOT wearing THAT!?!” He criticized the way she disciplined her daughter, and how loud she laughed, and how one of her nostrils flared out a little wider when she breathed. . . .
OK, I made that last one up. But you get the drift. She was in a trap.
She found herself the victim of verbal abuse and emotional torment. But she didn’t think she could afford to leave him. It was bad, but not enough to have him prosecuted. Worst of all, she knew she was setting a terrible example for her daughter.
On a cold Christmas Eve some years ago, things culminated in a very ugly argument. She says he threw her violently over a couch. There were other ugly things that happened that she won’t even tell. Bottom line: she had had enough.
She moved herself and her daughter out that same night. Yes, it was Christmas Eve, so she could relate to the plight of Mary and Joseph.
On shaky ground, she cried a lot, hugged her child a lot, and told her she was sorry. She found a place to stay, got a job and started the long process of putting her life back together.
Naturally, she had signed a prenuptial agreement. She got next to nothing in the divorce. Men like that always work it that way.
But she coped. Almost a year passed. She hadn’t seen him. She avoided the places he liked. It was better that way.
Then one busy Saturday at a sandwich shop in mid-town, she was with her daughter on a Christmas shopping excursion. They had just paid for their order at the counter when her ex came in and saw her.
Frowning, he focused his laser-beam eyes on her, and started walking toward her, a little menacingly.
Her heart was pounding. Her mind shifted through half-forgotten scenes of abuse, treachery, pain and confusion. She told the clerk, “Would you make that to go? I don’t feel like eating here any more.”
Her ex stood there, furious, as she and her daughter grabbed their sacks and rushed for the door.
Over the din of the lunch-time crowd, he yelled sarcastically at her retreating back:
“I BET YOU WON’T BE GETTING ANY BOXES FROM BORSHEIM’S THIS CHRISTMAS!”
The crowd hushed. Borsheim’s is Omaha’s world-famous jewelry store. Ooh! A scene! Why WOULDN’T she? People stared.
She stopped cold . . .
. . . and turned dramatically, pulled herself to her full height under that magnificent crown of red hair, pointed her beautifully-manicured forefinger at him, and yelled back:
“WIFE BEATER!!!”
The room went dead quiet, in the solemn way it does when everybody knows they’re just heard the truth.
Yeah, it was gutsy and over the top. Give her a break: she’s a redhead.
He stood there, slack-jawed.
Her daughter beamed up at her. They linked arms and left.
As the door closed behind them, you’d swear you could hear merry jingle bells.
Merry? Sure! Because that’s the Christmas message. You don’t have to live with evil and abuse. You don’t have to keep it a secret. That’s why we had Bethlehem.
Go tell it on the mountain: we’re free. And you know what? You can’t beat it.
-------------------
PRAYER REQUESTS: Please check in regularly to my new prayer blog, www.LookingUpPrayerLine.blogspot.com Please send any prayer needs that you have, and updates and praise reports, too!
(We) have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty,
not walking in craftiness,
nor handling the word of God deceitfully;
but by manifestation of the truth
commending ourselves to every man’s conscience
in the sight of God.
-- 2 Corinthians 4:2
I have this adorable red-headed friend with an unusual Christmas story. Let’s call her “Abby.”
Abby found herself with a baby daughter and an unhappy marriage. She got a divorce.
Maybe it was immaturity, or maybe the sudden freedom. But boom! She married again, quickly.
Like her first husband, this one was handsome and well off. They lived in a gorgeous home. He bought her a lot of bling. Things looked great.
But soon after the ink dried on the marriage certificate, what she thought was his sophisticated, discerning attitude about life was revealed as . . . well, what’s the male version of rhymes-with-witchiness?
He criticized her spending. He criticized her taste in furnishings. He criticized her clothes: “Oh! You’re NOT wearing THAT!?!” He criticized the way she disciplined her daughter, and how loud she laughed, and how one of her nostrils flared out a little wider when she breathed. . . .
OK, I made that last one up. But you get the drift. She was in a trap.
She found herself the victim of verbal abuse and emotional torment. But she didn’t think she could afford to leave him. It was bad, but not enough to have him prosecuted. Worst of all, she knew she was setting a terrible example for her daughter.
On a cold Christmas Eve some years ago, things culminated in a very ugly argument. She says he threw her violently over a couch. There were other ugly things that happened that she won’t even tell. Bottom line: she had had enough.
She moved herself and her daughter out that same night. Yes, it was Christmas Eve, so she could relate to the plight of Mary and Joseph.
On shaky ground, she cried a lot, hugged her child a lot, and told her she was sorry. She found a place to stay, got a job and started the long process of putting her life back together.
Naturally, she had signed a prenuptial agreement. She got next to nothing in the divorce. Men like that always work it that way.
But she coped. Almost a year passed. She hadn’t seen him. She avoided the places he liked. It was better that way.
Then one busy Saturday at a sandwich shop in mid-town, she was with her daughter on a Christmas shopping excursion. They had just paid for their order at the counter when her ex came in and saw her.
Frowning, he focused his laser-beam eyes on her, and started walking toward her, a little menacingly.
Her heart was pounding. Her mind shifted through half-forgotten scenes of abuse, treachery, pain and confusion. She told the clerk, “Would you make that to go? I don’t feel like eating here any more.”
Her ex stood there, furious, as she and her daughter grabbed their sacks and rushed for the door.
Over the din of the lunch-time crowd, he yelled sarcastically at her retreating back:
“I BET YOU WON’T BE GETTING ANY BOXES FROM BORSHEIM’S THIS CHRISTMAS!”
The crowd hushed. Borsheim’s is Omaha’s world-famous jewelry store. Ooh! A scene! Why WOULDN’T she? People stared.
She stopped cold . . .
. . . and turned dramatically, pulled herself to her full height under that magnificent crown of red hair, pointed her beautifully-manicured forefinger at him, and yelled back:
“WIFE BEATER!!!”
The room went dead quiet, in the solemn way it does when everybody knows they’re just heard the truth.
Yeah, it was gutsy and over the top. Give her a break: she’s a redhead.
He stood there, slack-jawed.
Her daughter beamed up at her. They linked arms and left.
As the door closed behind them, you’d swear you could hear merry jingle bells.
Merry? Sure! Because that’s the Christmas message. You don’t have to live with evil and abuse. You don’t have to keep it a secret. That’s why we had Bethlehem.
Go tell it on the mountain: we’re free. And you know what? You can’t beat it.
-------------------
PRAYER REQUESTS: Please check in regularly to my new prayer blog, www.LookingUpPrayerLine.blogspot.com Please send any prayer needs that you have, and updates and praise reports, too!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
THOMASINA TURKEY DOESN'T JUST 'FAKE-BAKE'
Happy Thanksgiving! We have sooooo much to be thankful for, including our friends – and things that make us laugh. Enjoy your day and rock Heaven with the sound of your praise and thanks.
DailySusan will resume on Sunday, Nov. 27.
Happy Thanksgiving! We have sooooo much to be thankful for, including our friends – and things that make us laugh. Enjoy your day and rock Heaven with the sound of your praise and thanks.
DailySusan will resume on Sunday, Nov. 27.
(A graphic came with today's email that showed a baked turkey with bikini lines)
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
FRENCHISMS
"France has neither winter nor summer nor morals. Apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country. France has usually been governed by prostitutes."
-- Mark Twain
“I would rather have a German division in front of me than a French one behind me.
– Gen. George S. Patton
“Going to war without France is like going deer hunting without your accordion."
-- Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld
"As far as I'm concerned, war always means failure."
-- Jacques Chirac, President of France
"As far as France is concerned, you're right."
-- Rush Limbaugh
“The only time France wants us to go to war is when the German Army is sitting in Paris sipping coffee."
-- Regis Philbin
"The French are a smallish, monkey-looking bunch and not dressed any better, on average, than the citizens of Baltimore. True, you can sit outside in Paris and drink little cups of coffee, but why this is more stylish than sitting inside and drinking large glasses of whisky I don't know."
-- P.J O'Rourke (1989)
"You know, the French remind me a little bit of an aging actress of the 1940s who was still trying to dine out on her looks but doesn't have the face for it."
-- Sen. John McCain
"You know why the French don't want to bomb Saddam Hussein? Because he hates America, he loves mistresses and wears a beret. He is French, people."
-- Conan O'Brien
"I don't know why people are surprised that France won't help us get Saddam out of Iraq. After all, France wouldn't help us get Hitler out of France either."
-- Jay Leno
"The last time the French asked for 'more proof' it came marching into Paris under a German flag."
-- David Letterman
"It is important to remember that the French have always been there when they needed us."
-- Alan Kent
French Ban Fireworks at Euro Disney
(AP) Paris, March 5, 2003
The French Government announced today that it is imposing a ban on the use of fireworks at Euro Disney. The decision comes the day after a nightly fireworks display at the park, located just 30 miles outside of Paris, caused the soldiers at a nearby French Army garrison to surrender to a group of Czech tourists.
"France has neither winter nor summer nor morals. Apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country. France has usually been governed by prostitutes."
-- Mark Twain
“I would rather have a German division in front of me than a French one behind me.
– Gen. George S. Patton
“Going to war without France is like going deer hunting without your accordion."
-- Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld
"As far as I'm concerned, war always means failure."
-- Jacques Chirac, President of France
"As far as France is concerned, you're right."
-- Rush Limbaugh
“The only time France wants us to go to war is when the German Army is sitting in Paris sipping coffee."
-- Regis Philbin
"The French are a smallish, monkey-looking bunch and not dressed any better, on average, than the citizens of Baltimore. True, you can sit outside in Paris and drink little cups of coffee, but why this is more stylish than sitting inside and drinking large glasses of whisky I don't know."
-- P.J O'Rourke (1989)
"You know, the French remind me a little bit of an aging actress of the 1940s who was still trying to dine out on her looks but doesn't have the face for it."
-- Sen. John McCain
"You know why the French don't want to bomb Saddam Hussein? Because he hates America, he loves mistresses and wears a beret. He is French, people."
-- Conan O'Brien
"I don't know why people are surprised that France won't help us get Saddam out of Iraq. After all, France wouldn't help us get Hitler out of France either."
-- Jay Leno
"The last time the French asked for 'more proof' it came marching into Paris under a German flag."
-- David Letterman
"It is important to remember that the French have always been there when they needed us."
-- Alan Kent
French Ban Fireworks at Euro Disney
(AP) Paris, March 5, 2003
The French Government announced today that it is imposing a ban on the use of fireworks at Euro Disney. The decision comes the day after a nightly fireworks display at the park, located just 30 miles outside of Paris, caused the soldiers at a nearby French Army garrison to surrender to a group of Czech tourists.
Monday, November 21, 2005
HELPFUL LITTLE WEIGHT WATCHER
OK, it’s true, I fell off my diet some decades ago. But I don’t need any reminders besides my mirror and my bathroom scale.
Meanwhile, Maddy has been enjoying demonstrating a kid-control technique she picked up in her carpool to kindergarten:
“This is what you’re doing” (fingers of right hand mimic a talking puppet)
“This is what you NEED to be doing” (five fingers touch as if the puppet has shut up)
We kind of like it. We use it on each other.
Well, yesterday, I was having lunch with Maddy and Eden. I guess at some point I must have complained about being fat for the upcoming holidays, when Maddy looked at me impishly and burst out with:
“This is what you’re doing” (two hands alternate rapid stuffing of imaginary food in her mouth)
“This is what you NEED to be doing” (arms cross)
Think of the millions that could be saved in Weight Watchers, Atkins, hypnosis, stomach-stapling and all the rest, if people would just heed that simple advice.
The little stinker.
OK, it’s true, I fell off my diet some decades ago. But I don’t need any reminders besides my mirror and my bathroom scale.
Meanwhile, Maddy has been enjoying demonstrating a kid-control technique she picked up in her carpool to kindergarten:
“This is what you’re doing” (fingers of right hand mimic a talking puppet)
“This is what you NEED to be doing” (five fingers touch as if the puppet has shut up)
We kind of like it. We use it on each other.
Well, yesterday, I was having lunch with Maddy and Eden. I guess at some point I must have complained about being fat for the upcoming holidays, when Maddy looked at me impishly and burst out with:
“This is what you’re doing” (two hands alternate rapid stuffing of imaginary food in her mouth)
“This is what you NEED to be doing” (arms cross)
Think of the millions that could be saved in Weight Watchers, Atkins, hypnosis, stomach-stapling and all the rest, if people would just heed that simple advice.
The little stinker.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
BRINGING BACK THEIR SMILES
For I was hungry,
and ye gave me meat:
I was thirsty,
and ye gave me drink:
I was a stranger,
and ye took me in;
Naked, and ye clothed me:
I was sick, and ye visited me:
I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
-- Matthew 25:35,36
Even though it has been a crummy year – the hurricanes, the earthquakes, the Huskers’ disastrous lack of blocking – I’ve loved seeing the wonderful variety of ways that people are reaching out to those in need.
How many pancake feeds and golf tournaments? How many hours of volunteer service, and millions in freebies for those with no way to pay?
The neighbor kids collecting spare change in Hello Kitty purses for hurricane relief . . . the coloring books for children in shelters . . . the beautiful soup bowls raising $10 each by pottery students at my alma mater, Mizzou.
A friend’s church, Omaha’s Dundee Presbyterian, adopted some evacuees from New Orleans. There was a reception for them in between services. About 50 people came.
It was uncanny: each Omahan found a unique way to help. An attorney who could go pro bono . . . a title company employee who could resolve issues with the title to what had been their home . . . an educator who could track down academic records and arrange for the transfer of credits to a university here . . . someone with an extra car to lend so that the newcomers could apply for jobs. . . .
So it went, like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle of love. It all fell into place. And all were blessed.
Forgive me for being irreverent, but I can’t help imagining our Savior seeing this and pumping His arms, jive-dancing, and thundering joyously, “Woo Hoo!”
Nothing blesses Him as much as our active responses when His Spirit moves us, literally. You find yourself answering prayers you’ll never hear and blessing people you may never meet.
Take my friend Lin in Montana. She used to have 1,000 toothbrushes in her basement. Yes, she’s finicky about dental hygiene . . . but not THAT finicky.
See, she’s a good Christian, and had begged, badgered and groveled for medical supplies for a mission in Belize some years ago. A children’s dentist donated countless colorful kiddie toothbrushes. She passed out lots down there.
The rest sat in boxes in her basement for years. Her husband grumbled, as husbands do. Every once in a while, she wondered if she should just drop them off at the local women’s shelter, or some other worthy cause. But she would always get the feeling that no, that’s not the need right now. Not yet.
Then boom! She was watching a news report about Hurricane Katrina, and they were talking about people who fled their homes without so much as a toothbrush. . . .
Bingo!
She joyfully handed off those boxes into a semi in Billings, joining all kinds of people bringing things . . . kind of like the first feast of Thanksgiving, and every one since.
I think of those toothbrushes as bringing back smiles to people who really needed to smile. Even when you’re a kid, you can only go so long brushing your teeth with your finger.
It’s just such a privilege to meet a need like that. Lin says, “It’s a connecting. I think we feel it in our spirit. We feel the need, but we don’t know how to go about it. We need to pay attention to what’s pulling at our spirit.”
So I’m smiling, too. Why? Because I’ll never feel bad again about all the junk down in my basement.
It’s not junk!
It’s inventory for future spiritual blessings!
Stuff someone can use!
And when the Lord Jesus signals me that it’s time to. . . .
What’s that, Lord?
Oh!
OK!
I’ve just been reminded that it’s more blessed to give . . . and when I’m through, our basement won’t look so much like it’s been in a hurricane any more.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
------------------------
PRAYER REQUESTS: Please check in regularly to my new prayer blog, www.LookingUpPrayerLine.blogspot.com Please send any prayer needs that you have, and updates and praise reports, too!
For I was hungry,
and ye gave me meat:
I was thirsty,
and ye gave me drink:
I was a stranger,
and ye took me in;
Naked, and ye clothed me:
I was sick, and ye visited me:
I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
-- Matthew 25:35,36
Even though it has been a crummy year – the hurricanes, the earthquakes, the Huskers’ disastrous lack of blocking – I’ve loved seeing the wonderful variety of ways that people are reaching out to those in need.
How many pancake feeds and golf tournaments? How many hours of volunteer service, and millions in freebies for those with no way to pay?
The neighbor kids collecting spare change in Hello Kitty purses for hurricane relief . . . the coloring books for children in shelters . . . the beautiful soup bowls raising $10 each by pottery students at my alma mater, Mizzou.
A friend’s church, Omaha’s Dundee Presbyterian, adopted some evacuees from New Orleans. There was a reception for them in between services. About 50 people came.
It was uncanny: each Omahan found a unique way to help. An attorney who could go pro bono . . . a title company employee who could resolve issues with the title to what had been their home . . . an educator who could track down academic records and arrange for the transfer of credits to a university here . . . someone with an extra car to lend so that the newcomers could apply for jobs. . . .
So it went, like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle of love. It all fell into place. And all were blessed.
Forgive me for being irreverent, but I can’t help imagining our Savior seeing this and pumping His arms, jive-dancing, and thundering joyously, “Woo Hoo!”
Nothing blesses Him as much as our active responses when His Spirit moves us, literally. You find yourself answering prayers you’ll never hear and blessing people you may never meet.
Take my friend Lin in Montana. She used to have 1,000 toothbrushes in her basement. Yes, she’s finicky about dental hygiene . . . but not THAT finicky.
See, she’s a good Christian, and had begged, badgered and groveled for medical supplies for a mission in Belize some years ago. A children’s dentist donated countless colorful kiddie toothbrushes. She passed out lots down there.
The rest sat in boxes in her basement for years. Her husband grumbled, as husbands do. Every once in a while, she wondered if she should just drop them off at the local women’s shelter, or some other worthy cause. But she would always get the feeling that no, that’s not the need right now. Not yet.
Then boom! She was watching a news report about Hurricane Katrina, and they were talking about people who fled their homes without so much as a toothbrush. . . .
Bingo!
She joyfully handed off those boxes into a semi in Billings, joining all kinds of people bringing things . . . kind of like the first feast of Thanksgiving, and every one since.
I think of those toothbrushes as bringing back smiles to people who really needed to smile. Even when you’re a kid, you can only go so long brushing your teeth with your finger.
It’s just such a privilege to meet a need like that. Lin says, “It’s a connecting. I think we feel it in our spirit. We feel the need, but we don’t know how to go about it. We need to pay attention to what’s pulling at our spirit.”
So I’m smiling, too. Why? Because I’ll never feel bad again about all the junk down in my basement.
It’s not junk!
It’s inventory for future spiritual blessings!
Stuff someone can use!
And when the Lord Jesus signals me that it’s time to. . . .
What’s that, Lord?
Oh!
OK!
I’ve just been reminded that it’s more blessed to give . . . and when I’m through, our basement won’t look so much like it’s been in a hurricane any more.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
------------------------
PRAYER REQUESTS: Please check in regularly to my new prayer blog, www.LookingUpPrayerLine.blogspot.com Please send any prayer needs that you have, and updates and praise reports, too!
Saturday, November 19, 2005
THANX, BUT GNO THANX
Our little town has a very good library, and our library director was just named the state’s outstanding librarian for this year.
Naturally, our city’s quarterly newsletter trumpeted that honor.
But then they “rooned” it. The headline on a story about the library spearheading efforts to send holiday care packages to local military service members in Iraq proclaimed:
LIBRARY ORGANIZES OPERATION GRADITUDE!
Our little town has a very good library, and our library director was just named the state’s outstanding librarian for this year.
Naturally, our city’s quarterly newsletter trumpeted that honor.
But then they “rooned” it. The headline on a story about the library spearheading efforts to send holiday care packages to local military service members in Iraq proclaimed:
LIBRARY ORGANIZES OPERATION GRADITUDE!
Friday, November 18, 2005
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
TRICK OR TREAT OR CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES
We were finally getting around to cleaning Maddy’s room. She was distracted by the pile of Halloween costume rejects that she had tried on and dumped in a corner weeks ago when she decided to be a cowgirl.
But oh, the contenders. She sorted through them wistfully. There was the cheery red felt ladybug costume. There was the mousie with the long tail and gray mittens. There were the clown shoes and the Viking hat.
Maddy, clad only in her Care Bear undies, picked up a feathery pair of white angel wings and slipped them on. She picked up the little zither that was to be her “harp.”
“Heyyyyy!” she exclaimed. “Next year I could go as a NUDIST ANGEL!!!”
I can just IMAGINE what they’ll put in her trick-or-treat bag . . . as they’re calling 911.
We were finally getting around to cleaning Maddy’s room. She was distracted by the pile of Halloween costume rejects that she had tried on and dumped in a corner weeks ago when she decided to be a cowgirl.
But oh, the contenders. She sorted through them wistfully. There was the cheery red felt ladybug costume. There was the mousie with the long tail and gray mittens. There were the clown shoes and the Viking hat.
Maddy, clad only in her Care Bear undies, picked up a feathery pair of white angel wings and slipped them on. She picked up the little zither that was to be her “harp.”
“Heyyyyy!” she exclaimed. “Next year I could go as a NUDIST ANGEL!!!”
I can just IMAGINE what they’ll put in her trick-or-treat bag . . . as they’re calling 911.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
MOM GETS BUSTED
There I was, at Parents’ Weekend at our daughter’s sorority house, trying to be on my best behavior. All the OTHER parents were charming, intelligent, sophisticated and gracious, and I was doing my best to try to fit in and make a good impression.
But I forgot about Maddy the Social Atom Bomb. Immediately, she was surrounded by a dozen laughing co-eds as she pulled her shirt sleeve up, applied her soft little 5-year-old lips to her forearm, and started making very rude, very loud noises, to gales of laughter from her appreciative fans.
The room went quiet and all eyes were on this coarse bathroom humor and the shocked but entertained laughter of the college girls.
I was doing my best to frown and sigh and throw up my hands in despair, scandalized over this unruly daughter’s uncivilized, immature behavior.
We had to leave. We called for Maddy to hurry up. All eyes were on us now. And then Maddy, bursting with pride over her hilarity and fame, said:
“MOM! YOU CAN DO TOOT NOISES, TOO! DO YOURS!!!”
There I was, at Parents’ Weekend at our daughter’s sorority house, trying to be on my best behavior. All the OTHER parents were charming, intelligent, sophisticated and gracious, and I was doing my best to try to fit in and make a good impression.
But I forgot about Maddy the Social Atom Bomb. Immediately, she was surrounded by a dozen laughing co-eds as she pulled her shirt sleeve up, applied her soft little 5-year-old lips to her forearm, and started making very rude, very loud noises, to gales of laughter from her appreciative fans.
The room went quiet and all eyes were on this coarse bathroom humor and the shocked but entertained laughter of the college girls.
I was doing my best to frown and sigh and throw up my hands in despair, scandalized over this unruly daughter’s uncivilized, immature behavior.
We had to leave. We called for Maddy to hurry up. All eyes were on us now. And then Maddy, bursting with pride over her hilarity and fame, said:
“MOM! YOU CAN DO TOOT NOISES, TOO! DO YOURS!!!”
Monday, November 14, 2005
PUBLIC ENEMY #2
Ninth Street in downtown Lincoln is the feeder street for University of Nebraska stadium traffic on a football Saturday. There must be five lanes full of rushing, eager, red-clad fans straining to get to their parking places to make it to their seats by kickoff.
This past Saturday, a jaywalking man with a lady in tow popped out right in front of us, zigzagging across the street in and around the rushing cars. My mouth dropped as we swerved by: it was Johnny Rodgers, the N.U. running back sensation and Heisman Trophy winner of a few decades ago. He’s a real-life hero around these parts.
“We nearly hit him!” my husband exclaimed. “We would have been Public Enemy #1!”
Now, we were really only going about 10 mph. In his prime, Johnny could have dodged through traffic going 65 mph with no problem, thanks to his darts and spins. Now that he’s 50-something, at least he has an excuse for being a little slower, unlike the Huskers, who are really going through some tough times.
Actually, we re-thought it. The relatively new athletic director, Steve Pederson, is the hands-down Public Enemy #1 around here for making a lot of sudden changes that a lot of people feel have led to the Huskers’ current woes. So even if we had taken out Johnny Rodgers, our ranking could never have been worse than #2. Some consolation, huh? But we still have hope for you, Stevie P: there’s always next year.
Ninth Street in downtown Lincoln is the feeder street for University of Nebraska stadium traffic on a football Saturday. There must be five lanes full of rushing, eager, red-clad fans straining to get to their parking places to make it to their seats by kickoff.
This past Saturday, a jaywalking man with a lady in tow popped out right in front of us, zigzagging across the street in and around the rushing cars. My mouth dropped as we swerved by: it was Johnny Rodgers, the N.U. running back sensation and Heisman Trophy winner of a few decades ago. He’s a real-life hero around these parts.
“We nearly hit him!” my husband exclaimed. “We would have been Public Enemy #1!”
Now, we were really only going about 10 mph. In his prime, Johnny could have dodged through traffic going 65 mph with no problem, thanks to his darts and spins. Now that he’s 50-something, at least he has an excuse for being a little slower, unlike the Huskers, who are really going through some tough times.
Actually, we re-thought it. The relatively new athletic director, Steve Pederson, is the hands-down Public Enemy #1 around here for making a lot of sudden changes that a lot of people feel have led to the Huskers’ current woes. So even if we had taken out Johnny Rodgers, our ranking could never have been worse than #2. Some consolation, huh? But we still have hope for you, Stevie P: there’s always next year.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
GETTING UNSTUCK
Blessed is the man whose strength is in You;
In whose heart are the highways to Zion!
Passing through the valley of Baca
They make it a spring. . . .
-- Psalm 84:5-6
Our daughter Neely turned 21 yesterday. We gave her a pristine string of pearls. They suit her. She was one of those wonderfully clean children: she never got dirt on anything.
But one time, she got stuck. She was about 3, and had on brand new saddle shoes. She was soooooo proud of them.
Her dad was building a deck off our kitchen. At the moment, it was edgeless. All around it, three feet down, was a quagmire of deep, stiff mud. The unfinished deck made a great raceway for Neely’s Big Wheel, though.
Except that Neely plunged off and her front wheel plonked vertically into the mud, leaving her upside-down and hopping mad. All that was visible were those brand new saddle shoes waving to and fro.
To free herself, she had to step in that mud. She sank into it, shin-deep. By the time I lifted her to the deck, the saddle shoes were concealed in huge blocks of mud, like the Mafia’s concrete boots.
And she was mad. Boy, did she cry!
But she doesn’t even remember it now. So we can laugh about it.
Getting stuck is no fun. But getting unstuck can be. Eventually.
A friend’s son Rodney was riding his tricycle around in the house during a major remodeling. He was one of those go-getter kids, always into things. Well, his foot slipped off the pedal, and he got his chubby little leg stuck, bigtime.
He tried to wriggle free, but his leg puffed up like a toad. It’s lucky carpenters were on site, for they dismantled the tricycle with him on it while the plumber held him up, and he and his mother both bawled.
Again: horrible then, funny now.
And you know, it’s not only kids getting stuck. Last week, I got myself into a pity party over something that hurt me. I cried for hours. I thought I was hopelessly stuck in a tough situation with no way out. I was soooooo mad, I could only cry.
Then I worried over what people would think when they saw me the next day with my puffy red eyes. I got madder still, and cried myself to sleep.
Well, in the middle of the night, our juvenile delinquent dog Sunny was throwing herself against the laundry room door. I stumbled downstairs to let her out . . . unable to unstick my eyes.
I had cried them shut! Well, almost.
I stepped outside in my ancient flannel nightgown as she ran around the corner. Blinking stupidly, I looked up at the night sky.
It was the most beautiful and brilliant thing I had ever seen.
I rubbed my cried-out eyes with both fists, and gawked upward.
I didn’t hear a Voice, but thought this Thought:
“Don’t stay stuck in your grief. Trust Me. I made these stars. Can’t you trust Me?”
Dang it! That just caused MORE tears.
I slept like a log, and the next day, I turned to a comforting book, “The Stronghold of God” by Francis Frangipane.
What do you suppose it flipped open to?
Psalm 84:6, about the Valley of Baca – “weeping” – that each of us passes through, when we feel hurt and hopelessly stuck. If you trust God, then you have the “highway to heaven” already in your heart – the way out – which is to trust Him.
Your tears can become a spring of refreshment: the lubrication for a new attitude, a new start.
I’m still stuck in the same situation, but now I know it’s not going to last forever. There’s Someone ready to wash the mud off my saddle shoes and dismantle my trike to set me free . . . when it’s time.
Someday, I’ll look back on this, and realize that I looked ridiculous crying about it. ‘Til that day comes, I’ll just have to dry my tears, and enjoy the scenery while I’m waiting to get unstuck, and back in the saddle, riding my trike off into the sunset.
--------------------------------------------
PRAYER REQUESTS: Please check in regularly to my new prayer blog, www.LookingUpPrayerLine.blogspot.com Please send any prayer needs that you have, and updates and praise reports, too!
Blessed is the man whose strength is in You;
In whose heart are the highways to Zion!
Passing through the valley of Baca
They make it a spring. . . .
-- Psalm 84:5-6
Our daughter Neely turned 21 yesterday. We gave her a pristine string of pearls. They suit her. She was one of those wonderfully clean children: she never got dirt on anything.
But one time, she got stuck. She was about 3, and had on brand new saddle shoes. She was soooooo proud of them.
Her dad was building a deck off our kitchen. At the moment, it was edgeless. All around it, three feet down, was a quagmire of deep, stiff mud. The unfinished deck made a great raceway for Neely’s Big Wheel, though.
Except that Neely plunged off and her front wheel plonked vertically into the mud, leaving her upside-down and hopping mad. All that was visible were those brand new saddle shoes waving to and fro.
To free herself, she had to step in that mud. She sank into it, shin-deep. By the time I lifted her to the deck, the saddle shoes were concealed in huge blocks of mud, like the Mafia’s concrete boots.
And she was mad. Boy, did she cry!
But she doesn’t even remember it now. So we can laugh about it.
Getting stuck is no fun. But getting unstuck can be. Eventually.
A friend’s son Rodney was riding his tricycle around in the house during a major remodeling. He was one of those go-getter kids, always into things. Well, his foot slipped off the pedal, and he got his chubby little leg stuck, bigtime.
He tried to wriggle free, but his leg puffed up like a toad. It’s lucky carpenters were on site, for they dismantled the tricycle with him on it while the plumber held him up, and he and his mother both bawled.
Again: horrible then, funny now.
And you know, it’s not only kids getting stuck. Last week, I got myself into a pity party over something that hurt me. I cried for hours. I thought I was hopelessly stuck in a tough situation with no way out. I was soooooo mad, I could only cry.
Then I worried over what people would think when they saw me the next day with my puffy red eyes. I got madder still, and cried myself to sleep.
Well, in the middle of the night, our juvenile delinquent dog Sunny was throwing herself against the laundry room door. I stumbled downstairs to let her out . . . unable to unstick my eyes.
I had cried them shut! Well, almost.
I stepped outside in my ancient flannel nightgown as she ran around the corner. Blinking stupidly, I looked up at the night sky.
It was the most beautiful and brilliant thing I had ever seen.
I rubbed my cried-out eyes with both fists, and gawked upward.
I didn’t hear a Voice, but thought this Thought:
“Don’t stay stuck in your grief. Trust Me. I made these stars. Can’t you trust Me?”
Dang it! That just caused MORE tears.
I slept like a log, and the next day, I turned to a comforting book, “The Stronghold of God” by Francis Frangipane.
What do you suppose it flipped open to?
Psalm 84:6, about the Valley of Baca – “weeping” – that each of us passes through, when we feel hurt and hopelessly stuck. If you trust God, then you have the “highway to heaven” already in your heart – the way out – which is to trust Him.
Your tears can become a spring of refreshment: the lubrication for a new attitude, a new start.
I’m still stuck in the same situation, but now I know it’s not going to last forever. There’s Someone ready to wash the mud off my saddle shoes and dismantle my trike to set me free . . . when it’s time.
Someday, I’ll look back on this, and realize that I looked ridiculous crying about it. ‘Til that day comes, I’ll just have to dry my tears, and enjoy the scenery while I’m waiting to get unstuck, and back in the saddle, riding my trike off into the sunset.
--------------------------------------------
PRAYER REQUESTS: Please check in regularly to my new prayer blog, www.LookingUpPrayerLine.blogspot.com Please send any prayer needs that you have, and updates and praise reports, too!
Saturday, November 12, 2005
GOT HIM IN THE END
There was a man who lost one of his arms in an accident. He became very depressed because he had loved to play guitar and do a lot of things that took two arms.
One day he had had it. He decided to commit suicide.
He got on an elevator and went to the top of a building to jump off.
He was standing on the ledge looking down when he saw this man skipping along, whistling and kicking up his heels. He looked closer and saw this man didn't have any arms at all.
It was a revelation. “What am I doing up here feeling sorry for myself? I still have one good arm to do things with. There goes a man with no arms, skipping down the sidewalk, happy and going on with his life.”
He hurried down and caught up with the man with no arms. He told him how he had saved his life, because he had lost one of his arms and felt ugly and useless and was going to kill himself, but he knew he could make it with one arm, if that guy could, with none.
The man with no arms began dancing and whistling and kicking up his heels again.
He asked, "Why are you so happy, anyway?"
The man replied, "I'm NOT happy! My BEHIND itches!”
There was a man who lost one of his arms in an accident. He became very depressed because he had loved to play guitar and do a lot of things that took two arms.
One day he had had it. He decided to commit suicide.
He got on an elevator and went to the top of a building to jump off.
He was standing on the ledge looking down when he saw this man skipping along, whistling and kicking up his heels. He looked closer and saw this man didn't have any arms at all.
It was a revelation. “What am I doing up here feeling sorry for myself? I still have one good arm to do things with. There goes a man with no arms, skipping down the sidewalk, happy and going on with his life.”
He hurried down and caught up with the man with no arms. He told him how he had saved his life, because he had lost one of his arms and felt ugly and useless and was going to kill himself, but he knew he could make it with one arm, if that guy could, with none.
The man with no arms began dancing and whistling and kicking up his heels again.
He asked, "Why are you so happy, anyway?"
The man replied, "I'm NOT happy! My BEHIND itches!”
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