Concrete Evidence

...that no one will ever marry me. It finally happened. And it was one of those moments I have fretted about and dreaded for years. It came true tonight.

It's almost too horrible to share. But it's potentially the perfect blog ingredient mix of laughter for my friends and horror for my mother.

I can't pass it up.

I agreed today to drive two coworkers (a married couple) to the mechanic after work to pick up their car. At end of day, the husband drops by my cubical to say, "Five minutes?" I say, "Sure. Oh...let's make it six. Then I can use the little girls' room."

I shut down the computer and walk to the ladies' room. For lack of a more graceful description, I'll just say that while in the stall, I am pondering things like when I will deliver Christmas cookies to my neighbors and when I will iron a shirt I want to wear on Friday. Suddenly, a new thought strikes like lightning.

Um...you know how some girls' blouses have sashes that tie in a cute little bow in the back? Um...you know how sometimes the "ties" that hang down from the cute little bow can be kinda long? Like really long shoelaces? Hiding innocently behind you?

Um...yeah. My mind immediately fills with the thought, "Oh, dear Lord, please, no..." as I reach for the bow on the back of my blouse.

"Oh...my...UGH!" No, indeedy. The long laces were not dry. And, yes, kids, we were post bodily expulsions at this point. I am horrified. I am a grown woman with soggy laces.

As I start working the blouse off over my head, carefully encasing the laces as I go, grateful that it is the end of the day and that I was wearing this as an unbuttoned over-shirt layer on top of another shirt, I glance down at the white shirt underneath. Where it was exposed earlier today during lunch, I catch a glimpse of the little chocolate spot created by a wayward chip from a cookie I was eating. I remember that I was glad I was wearing this frilly, red, stripey blouse over the white shirt so I could pull the blouse a little more closed and hide the chocolate spot.

Geez. I killed two shirts in one day. What able-bodied, developed-world, silverware-competent, degree-holding, multi-syllable-speaking grown-up does that? When will I GROW UP?

My predicament, of course, induces a chuckle out of me. Chuckle becomes giggle. Giggle starts to repeat and increase in volume as I sit there with my wad of blouse in hand, shaking my head. I am now in full-fledged gales of laughter, echoing off the walls in a four-stall, four-sink, highly-tiled bathroom. Not quiet. And I can't stop.

I hurry to make my way out of the bathroom. I have tears streaming down my face, gasping for air, blasts of laughter squeaking out of me. I pass the desk of our travel coordinator, a dear friend with very similar humor. She looks at me and says, "Are you laughing or crying? I could hear you out here, but I didn't know if I should come in..."

I tell her why I now know no one will ever marry me. I show her the wad of evidence in my hand, laces carefully wrapped as far to the middle as I could manage while simultaneously yanking the entire garment over my head. I point to the chocolate chip drip on my shirt.

She doubles over in laughter. The wife of the couple I am driving has come running down the hall by now, also wondering if I am laughing or being murdered, I am making so much noise. She loses it in laughter as well.

As I head back to my cube, the last two guys in my department are now hearing three women laughing, and see me coming. They just stand and wait for an explanation. The moment I say the words, "Um...you know how some shirts have laces that make a bow in the back?" both of them slam their shaking heads down into their hands. At least they agree that it's never dull with me in the department.

Glad I had a load of darks waiting to be washed when I got home. For cryin' out loud.

Here's to single life and spilling all my idiocy on the internet!

Elf Party of Six

So, the plan was first we'd make snow angels for two hours, then we'd go ice skating, then we'd eat a whole roll of Tollhouse Cookiedough as fast as we could, and then we'd snuggle.

Karin took issue with cookie dough and snuggling, but insisted she's not an angry elf. Bonni was afraid someone would smell like beef and cheese, not like Santa. Arnila wanted to make sure some fake Santa would not be sitting on a throne of lies. Kathie wanted to prove that the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear. Becky just likes to smile; smiling is her favorite.

And Danielle had never even seen the movie, so she was waiting for all the quotes and references and laughter to make sense.


We decided to settle for watching Elf together, eating good food, and pretending that we were trying to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup. Sugar, spaghetti, cookie dough, syrup, the flick, and candy sufficed just fine!

What actually got ingested was artichoke dip, veggies, crackers we are still trying to unload from my pantry, Christmas salad, homemade mac 'n' cheese, Amish friendship bread, some Thai curry, hot chai tea, and Starbucks Holiday Blend coffee laced with peppermint mocha creamer. Yum!

We looked silly and had little jingle bells ringing in our ears from our hats (yes, we wore them for the whole movie!), but not one of us is a cotton-headed ninny-muggins!

Thanks for a super night, gals!

Liverwurst & Mumsey Update

How many people do you know who have used two blog titles with liverwurst in them? Not many, I betcha.

I am happy to report that my stomach was fine all night. My brain, however, did take an odd turn in its nocturnal wanderings. Here's the kind of dream that consuming sausage containing ground liver and pork trimmings will bring you:

Though we seem to be our current ages, for some reason, Michael and Devin and I are all staying at my folk's house and have to get to school. I wake up late and see Michael and Devin heading out the door like good, obedient boys. I realize I am late, jump up, grab a towel and robe, and run to take a shower. Mom sees me on the way to shower and chides me for being late. I hurry into the shower, where I shampoo my hair and promptly squeeze the filling out of a Hostess Twinkie to massage into my hair for conditioner. While I let the filling seep into my hair, I frantically shovel into my face the rest of the Twinkie, which tastes disappointingly dry and sad sans its middle. Mom sees me eating the Twinkie, tells me to hurry up and stop messing around. I then try to rinse Twinkie filling from my hair, which is as pointless as it sounds--big, greasy mess.

Dream over.

Huh? Interpretations, anyone?

On a more explicable note, I had a nice talk with Mom this morning, who sweetly said, "Your dad made me read your blog last night. You have to stop making me cry!"

"Oh, Mom, I didn't make you cry! I just told the truth. You're great."

"No...I think you are seeing things through rose-colored glasses. Not even rose-colored; some crazy, multi-colored glasses that make you see things better than they are!"

"Mom, did you see how I put on the blog that you argue when people compliment you? Hmmm?"

"Oh! Ha ha...oh, um, hee hee! Okay! Love you!"

Tee hee. My Mommy rocks :)

I also told her that after hearing an old Casey Kasem American Top 40 countdown from the 70s yesterday, and singing along with Shaun Cassidy on "Hey Deanie", I owed her thanks for taking me to see him in concert when I was nine, letting me buy Tiger Beat magazines filled with Shaun, Leif Garret, and Andy Gibb, watching The Hardy Boys Mysteries with me every week, and buying me a Parker Stevenson t-shirt and a Shaun Cassidy lunchbox. She said it was a mommy's duty :)

Liverwurst and Buttermilk

Ever try to watch The Godfather without having lasagna or cannoli in the house? Oh, the miserable moment when you realize you have to stop the film and run out and at least find spaghetti sauce to make the experience complete.

The same thing happens when I watch White Christmas. When the scene with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney rolls around and they are discussing a late night sandwich snack, I have to be prepared. So, tonight, in much joy, I watched the film and munched away on a liverwurst sandwich and a glass of buttermilk.

The only risk is, Bing says if you eat liverwurst, you dream about liverwurst.

The other potential risk tonight could be that I partook in this lovely, yummy holiday ritual o' mine at 10:00 PM. A little late for any food, nonetheless liverwurst (with some Jarlsberg cheese on the sandwich, too) and buttermilk. Hmmm.

Feel free to check in with me tomorrow on the state of my stomach's health :) My mind and heart are tickled as can be!

Musings on the Mumsey

Musings in a moment. First...

I killed the garage door opener. In my efforts to follow the troubleshooting guide and instruction manual I found online to get the door to close all the way and stop hopping back up and staying open, the thing ended up not even moving the chain anymore.

For as awful as I feel, at least I can now thoroughly justify the $65 service call fee the company that installed the door charges to just come out and peek at the unit. I learned about that on Friday. I was really hoping to avoid it in this season of much-more-fun-to-spend-money-on-others-than-on-your-house. Oh, well. On to happier thoughts...

I managed to hide behind a friend today at a wedding when the bouquet toss was announced, despite at least two people hollering my name to "get up here". I have no particular aversion to marriage, but I am too old to be in a mosh pit with dozens of early 20-somethings who will body-check one another to snatch the bouquet. Ow. No bruising for flowers that promise nothing, thank you. I'll rely on the enthusiastic folks scattered around the globe (Lebanon, Jordan, Romania, Kenya, Germany, etc.), including a recently added batch from Arkansas, who are praying for me to marry someone wonderful :)

My favorite happy thoughts from today...

Ten days! Ten days and I disembark the plane to see my mumsey's smiling face! I'll be reveling in the whole family over the week, of course, but I get some time with Mommy first.

Mom gets teased a lot in my blog (in fact, there are some pretty hilarious Thanksgiving pictures to come), but I truly, truly adore her. Which means the teasing makes perfect sense; in my family, mocking you is a sign of love. If we don't tease you and embarrass you a little (or a lot), and we are really sweet to you, we probably don't love ya all that much :)

I thank God for the way he has used Mom in people's lives. It dawned on me one day after Holly had been student teaching in Mom's classroom, and after Mom and I visited a friend in whose class Mom had been an aide years ago, how God has worked through her to touch more than the lives of the children in her classes. She is complimented often by grateful parents and appreciated by former students for the role she played in their young lives, but she has been so much more, too.

When Mom was an instructional aide, she worked for several teachers over the years. Two of those were young, single women who had recently moved to the mountain. Not only was Mom a help to them as they established their classroom management and teaching styles, she was a mom and friend to them. They became like big sisters to me, like daughters to her and my dad, and they leaned on my mom for emotional support, wisdom and encouragement in some wonderful moments of their lives and in some of the darkest, toughest moments. My mom's courage, patience, and wisdom was a haven for them. I know these women to this day, so I can repeat with confidence what they say: they would not be who they are today if it weren't for my mom. They are successful, loving women who navigated difficult relationships and disappointments to marry good men and have darling families. They became outstanding teachers in their fields and cherished friends to us.

And years later, Holly was in Mom's classroom. Holly would have been a super teacher no matter what, but I know she is so grateful for Mom's experience and influence as she did her student teaching. Holly will tell you that her classroom has tons of elements of Nancy's teaching world. Except for maybe the exact positions of where the stapler and tape dispenser go ;)

When my heart is most broken and confused, Mom is where I run. When I need to celebrate, Mom is where I want to pour out the giddiness that spills out of me. When a decision is hard, I want her insights; Mom tells it like it is, the good and the bad and the tough and the truth. I don't have to do what she says, and I don't have to agree with her. It's part of why I seek her; she lets me be me, covered in unconditional love, no matter what. It's not always easy, but it's always good.

She knows about good chocolate, loves watching it snow, laughs until tears run down her face, argues when you try to compliment her, is perpetually tidy, lets her grandchildren eat humongous doughnuts, has a terrible poker face, gives incredibly generous gifts, panics a little when my dad or I get up to speak in a crowd, and I think truly doubts the value she brings to the world and the people who love her.

Anyone worried that my dad is feeling left out here? Never fear; one of his deep joys is to have Mom be gushed over with goodness and praise and love. He's happy :)

It seems trite to say, "Thanks, Mom." But, thank you, Mom. Love you, Mom. Christmas lights in my cozy house make me think of you. Thank you for leaving memories all over my house and all over my life.

Allow Yourself to Be Cherished

It pays to know people who know people. My most excellent colleague Nicholas is good friends with David H. Roper. David's list of accomplishments is long and his reputation excellent. He is also a very generous man, and has given LT permission to use his materials in our courses, and, Nicholas assured me, would be most pleased about my request to copy one of his recent blog entries here. Nicholas emailed it to me last week for my encouragement, and I just can't help but think there are others who drop by here who would be encouraged and warmed as well. So, thank you, Mr. Roper, for your wonderful writing and generosity. I am blessed because you want to sound smart and that you honestly admit why you write. Myself and my brother, Mr. Slusser, can be empathetic with and encouraged by your plight :)

So, from David Roper, something wonderful to ponder.

Lovesick and Dumbfounded

Carolyn and I often spend our quiet times reading from A Guide to Prayer for Ministers and Other Servants, an Upper Room publication (If you've visited Shepherd's Rest you've seen the copies in each bedroom.) The Old Testament passage for this morning was Zephaniah 3:17.

With apologies to Zephaniah and Bruce Waltke, my old Hebrew professor, here is my translation...

The LORD, your God is with you--
your hero, mighty to save!

He takes great delight in you.
He is speechless with love for you.
Every time he thinks of you he breaks into joyful song!

-Zephaniah 3:17

I'm awed by the notion that God takes great delight in me and breaks into song each time he thinks of my name. But it's the phrase I render, "He is speechless with love for you" that captivated me.

The verse is usually translated, "He will be quiet in his love," or in some translations, "He will quiet you." But the verb doesn't suggest tranquility or rest. It actually means, "to strike dumb."[1] And since the verb is in parallel with other verbs that suggest God's strong emotions ("takes great delight," and "breaks into joyful song") it must point to what He himself feels.

I wonder then: Could the analogy be that of a lovesick swain who is bowled-over, flabbergasted and dumb-founded by his love for the beloved-so overcome with fondness that he is tongue-tied? Is God, in some inexplicable, anthropomorphic way, "struck dumb" with love each time he thinks of us? If so, to be loved like this is, in turn, to be rendered speechless. As Isaiah would say, "I am undone."

And who is it that God so loves? One who is strong and able, brilliant, and breathtakingly beautiful? No, it is one who is "weak and the weary... who takes refuge in the name of the LORD" (Zephaniah 3:12).

DHR

[1] Jenni-Westerman, Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament.

Brain Cleft Evening

Good: Coming home and plugging in the outside Christmas lights.

Infuriating: Discovering the peppery stay-off-my-lawn-and-out-of-my-dirt-sprinkle-for-animals did not work, and something had left a gift and kicked dirt all over my walkway.

Happy: Pulling in to Zamzow's and smelling the Christmas trees on the way into the store.

Very Irksome: Spending what is now a total of $35 and three trips to purchase remedies to keep dog/cat/thing out of my yard.

Probably Inappropriate: My answer when the nice man at Zamzow's (catering to attentive gardeners and pet lovers in Southwestern Idaho) asked me on my way to the register if he could help me with anything this evening. "Not unless you can teach me how to use a BB gun and take out the dog hanging around my yard." Nice, smiling man suddenly looks as though he does not know quite what to do with me. Call ASPCA? I continue, "Or anger management classes. Whatever you think might work." Nice man: "Ha...ha...um, yeah. Huh." I think I saw him dig out the number for the Humane Society.

Surprising: The humungous light display on the house hidden from the street behind Zamzow's, which I never would have seen if I had not driven here in a fury tonight after leaping immediately back into my car after plugging in the Christmas lights. Cool.

So Very Kathie: The man and his teenage son who, as they exit their car, catch me with my nose neslted in one of the Christmas trees for sale outside the store, deeply breathing in one last wonderful dose of pine. They smile politely and start to walk a bit faster toward the store entrance, and the teenage boy carrying his new puppy puts a protective hand over the little furball and shifts him to the other side of his body. It almost escapes my lips to ask if I can pet the puppy, but I remember the man inside the store dialing 411 for the American Humane Association, and I think better of it.

Other-worldly: The brain cleft created in my cranium on the three-mile drive home by simultaneously being all goofy-giddy about the loads of pretty Christmas lights on houses and thinking about how to best make sure that whatever animal loves my yard for its toilet experiences some very memorable pain upon its next visit: Should I mix my own cayenne pepper concoction and give that a sprinkle in the yard? Oh, pretty lights! Maybe that thing needs a poke in the butt--I'll make a rampart of my little bamboo skewers out there--no squatting here, by golly! Oh, what cute swirls those people made in the trees with their lights--I should try that! Oh, a rock garden, that's it--little paws can't move boulders to dig up dirt to poo--where can I get some boulders? Oh, look icicle lights--I love those things. You horrible little animal--I tried to be nice and use "natural" pepper deterrent--now I am pulling out the chemical crap and I don't care--I hope you get Agent Orange on your butt. Oh, that person put light-up reindeer on their roof--how cute!

And so on.

The war is on, people. Me vs. my brain, and me vs. the critter. Place your bets now.