Clearing the Courts
I know it's not like me to use obscenities in my blog, so even the word - obscenity - seems kind of out of place. And that's the whole point. Out of place.
Today, October 24, I was in Penneys looking for the escalator when I encountered tables upon tables and racks upon racks of Nutcrackers, Christmas ornaments, snow globes, reindeer, and other similar trappings just across the aisle from Halloween costumes. I stopped short, balled my hands into fists, counted to 10 and moved on. On the inside, however, I was envisioning myself swiping my arms across whole display tables and sending the offending items flying with a throaty growl, upending racks of ornaments and watching them shatter into tiny red, green and gold shards with a self-righteous roar. "Just like Jesus turning over the money changers' tables in the temple courts," I thought. Hm, let's compare stories.
When it was almost time for the Jewish Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple courts he found men selling cattle, sheep and doves, and others sitting at tables exchanging money. So he made a whip out of cords, and drove all from the temple area, both sheep and cattle; he scattered the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. To those who sold doves he said, "Get these out of here! How dare you turn my Father's house into a market!" John 2:13-16.
Okay, so other than the fact that they both had to do with holy days (holidays) and overturning tables, not really a good comparison. But the daydream was satisfying nevertheless. Not as much as actually carrying it out, of course, but then I would have been tased and arrested by Mall Cop, shoppers would be filming me and posting on social media, it would go viral, and my children's lives would be ruined. Still...what fun it would be.
Really, even more ridiculous than this was seeing fully lit up, 8' Christmas trees in Costco in August. I actually filled out complaint forms. Twice. But only because the checkers told me to.
I've had a rule in my house since the kids were old enough to ask that Christmas music or movies may NOT be played until after Thanksgiving dinner is done and dishes are washed. Violators will be subject to a time out room with Jingle Bells sung by Elmo playing on a loop. Of course no one dared violate it.
So even though I see red (no pun intended) when commercial Christmas is prematurely sprung in the stores, I will admit that I purchase gifts all year. I do have two absolutely solid excuses that save me from hypocrite-dom.
1. From November 24 to January 14 there are also 6 birthdays between our kids and spouse. If I didn't pace myself we would go broke.
2. When I see a bargain I have to buy it then and there. It's culturally required. Alright, now we're getting into tricky territory here, explaining why the Jewish girl is finding bargains on Christmas gifts. That's a story for another day. Maybe when I start seeing dreidels in the stores.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
Saturday, June 24, 2017
Closure
Memory Lane is Full of Potholes and Roses
I'm one of those people who, if I had a slide projector, would bore you to pieces with slides of my child's T-ball game, trip to Disneyland or latest surgically removed dermatologic flaw found upon my body. I LOVE looking at how things were, what we looked like, and what talented/fun/warty people we are.
I recall with embarrassment how I subjected my dad to videos of my infant child waving her limbs and cooing under her Sesame Street activity gym. Surely no other child had ever been so clever, limber and adorable. He had come all the way from California to visit us in person, for goodness sake, and I sat him down in front of the TV to watch the baby's fascinating conversation with plastic Big Bird, Bert and Ernie as a 3-month-old. Thankfully he quickly started nodding off and I got the hint.
I'm extremely sentimental. Unfortunately my sentimentality includes baggage: the inclination to tear up at Lassie shows, collecting, and the complete inability to throw anything away that dear [fill in the blank] gave me for my birthday, something that was passed down or something that "I might need someday." Let me reassure you that if you gave me something for my birthday or Christmas, I still have it. Well most likely. I've had to shed a few things or I would soon be featured on that hoarders show. But really, I truly cherish whatever you gave me. I did swear off garage sales when we moved the last time. I was so disgusted with the sheer volume of crap I had accumulated.
Now, however, we have just cleaned out my mother's and stepfather's house up in the Sierras. It was a simple but beautiful place, uniquely suited to their personalities and relationship. They were...eccentric, to put it nicely. Artists. I never knew growing up that most people did not have kitchen cupboards in 4 colors - turquoise, hot pink, orange and green. Or that other mothers didn't wear only 3 colors for decades at a time (black, red and white, then later green, blue and purple).
One room of the house was their art studio, and one was their dance studio. They loved to dance. This room had a lovely wood dance floor, mirrored doors, a disco ball and colored lights. I kid you not. They tried many different kinds of dance and I imagine danced the night away with great joy and abandon. Dang it! I'm tearing up again.
Moving on, it was in a gated community just outside of Yosemite on a lake. I have very sweet memories of spending time up there. Therefore, being there without my mom and her laughter just felt like eating the ice cream cone after the whole scoop fell on the ground. Have you ever seen a child burst into tears when that happens? That's me.
I wanted to cling to any scrap of memorabilia to bring home to pass down to my children, whether they wanted it or not.
*Here I will admit something extremely embarrassing from my junior high years so get ready. There was a hunky guy who lived near my best friends who was 3 years older than us. When they told me where he lived I made them walk by his house so I could stalk him. One time I grabbed leaves from his bushes in front of his house and actually kept them in my keepsake box. For years. I can even picture exactly what this "special hedge" looked like. Pitiful and...so strange. It's not like he touched those bushes or they were scented with his cologne. The young teen mind is a hormonally deranged thing.*
Okay, back to present day where I'm still clingy but not desperately creepy. It's a good thing that we had only a pickup truck and utility trailer to bring these items home. If I had brought everything I wanted home we would have needed the 40' U-haul. My stepsister had tried to arrange for someone to come in and do an estate sale. The seller declared the booty insufficient to be worth her while. I started calling local charities to see if one of them might come pick everything up. And when I say local, I mean within 50 miles. This is remote mining country. Remember the phrase, "There's gold in them thar hills!" Well them thar hills are hard to get to and not well-populated. I hit the jackpot on the third call with Mother Lode Christian School Thrift Store about 35 miles away. For you city folks, "Lode" is not a Catholic nun.
They quickly agreed to come the next morning and haul everything away, including what was nailed down! They were thrilled to get needed items for fundraising, and we were thrilled to have someone take it so we could go home. In any case, I'm glad that I don't have to visit the house again without my mom's presence. That was a huge blessing.
And then there was one more. The rock there is made up of colorful strata of reds, browns and grays and is shale-like in consistency. When we were leaving Bill took a few for our garden. I was also looking to see if I could see a nice one. Right by the bottom step to the front door I saw this rock that I had never noticed before and was very unlike the others.
The fish is not drawn on. It's a white vein through the rock. As I placed the rock in the car and climbed in the front seat I was reminded of Hebrews 13:5, "Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you." And this time they were tears of joy.
P.S. I took that disco ball and colored lights and you can bet I'm going to shake my groove thang under them.
I'm one of those people who, if I had a slide projector, would bore you to pieces with slides of my child's T-ball game, trip to Disneyland or latest surgically removed dermatologic flaw found upon my body. I LOVE looking at how things were, what we looked like, and what talented/fun/warty people we are.
I recall with embarrassment how I subjected my dad to videos of my infant child waving her limbs and cooing under her Sesame Street activity gym. Surely no other child had ever been so clever, limber and adorable. He had come all the way from California to visit us in person, for goodness sake, and I sat him down in front of the TV to watch the baby's fascinating conversation with plastic Big Bird, Bert and Ernie as a 3-month-old. Thankfully he quickly started nodding off and I got the hint.
I'm extremely sentimental. Unfortunately my sentimentality includes baggage: the inclination to tear up at Lassie shows, collecting, and the complete inability to throw anything away that dear [fill in the blank] gave me for my birthday, something that was passed down or something that "I might need someday." Let me reassure you that if you gave me something for my birthday or Christmas, I still have it. Well most likely. I've had to shed a few things or I would soon be featured on that hoarders show. But really, I truly cherish whatever you gave me. I did swear off garage sales when we moved the last time. I was so disgusted with the sheer volume of crap I had accumulated.
Now, however, we have just cleaned out my mother's and stepfather's house up in the Sierras. It was a simple but beautiful place, uniquely suited to their personalities and relationship. They were...eccentric, to put it nicely. Artists. I never knew growing up that most people did not have kitchen cupboards in 4 colors - turquoise, hot pink, orange and green. Or that other mothers didn't wear only 3 colors for decades at a time (black, red and white, then later green, blue and purple).
One room of the house was their art studio, and one was their dance studio. They loved to dance. This room had a lovely wood dance floor, mirrored doors, a disco ball and colored lights. I kid you not. They tried many different kinds of dance and I imagine danced the night away with great joy and abandon. Dang it! I'm tearing up again.
Moving on, it was in a gated community just outside of Yosemite on a lake. I have very sweet memories of spending time up there. Therefore, being there without my mom and her laughter just felt like eating the ice cream cone after the whole scoop fell on the ground. Have you ever seen a child burst into tears when that happens? That's me.
I wanted to cling to any scrap of memorabilia to bring home to pass down to my children, whether they wanted it or not.
*Here I will admit something extremely embarrassing from my junior high years so get ready. There was a hunky guy who lived near my best friends who was 3 years older than us. When they told me where he lived I made them walk by his house so I could stalk him. One time I grabbed leaves from his bushes in front of his house and actually kept them in my keepsake box. For years. I can even picture exactly what this "special hedge" looked like. Pitiful and...so strange. It's not like he touched those bushes or they were scented with his cologne. The young teen mind is a hormonally deranged thing.*
Okay, back to present day where I'm still clingy but not desperately creepy. It's a good thing that we had only a pickup truck and utility trailer to bring these items home. If I had brought everything I wanted home we would have needed the 40' U-haul. My stepsister had tried to arrange for someone to come in and do an estate sale. The seller declared the booty insufficient to be worth her while. I started calling local charities to see if one of them might come pick everything up. And when I say local, I mean within 50 miles. This is remote mining country. Remember the phrase, "There's gold in them thar hills!" Well them thar hills are hard to get to and not well-populated. I hit the jackpot on the third call with Mother Lode Christian School Thrift Store about 35 miles away. For you city folks, "Lode" is not a Catholic nun.
They quickly agreed to come the next morning and haul everything away, including what was nailed down! They were thrilled to get needed items for fundraising, and we were thrilled to have someone take it so we could go home. In any case, I'm glad that I don't have to visit the house again without my mom's presence. That was a huge blessing.
And then there was one more. The rock there is made up of colorful strata of reds, browns and grays and is shale-like in consistency. When we were leaving Bill took a few for our garden. I was also looking to see if I could see a nice one. Right by the bottom step to the front door I saw this rock that I had never noticed before and was very unlike the others.
The fish is not drawn on. It's a white vein through the rock. As I placed the rock in the car and climbed in the front seat I was reminded of Hebrews 13:5, "Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you." And this time they were tears of joy.
P.S. I took that disco ball and colored lights and you can bet I'm going to shake my groove thang under them.
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
Wherefore art thou, Sunnyo?
Is there a Spring in your step?
So far there is mostly a gush as I stomp through another puddle of mud to complete my farm chores. There's no springing back from that. One time I stepped one foot into the neighbor's field to retrieve a golf ball and almost didn't get my foot back. My boot was immediately sucked into the quagmire.
There have been little whispers of spring. A 65 degree day here, a 72 degree there in between days of drizzle and leaden skies and outright gales with sideways slashing rain. We even had thunderstorm warnings last week. They actually interrupted our regularly scheduled program (Jeopardy, no less, of all the nerve!) to give us a warning of thunderstorms in the area, complete with that annoying warning buzz. What was the warning supposed to do for us? Stop watching TV outside 'cause you might get struck by lightning? Clearly the weather warning dude has never been to Florida. Personally, I love a good thunderstorm, but Florida storms can make even the bravest person whimper.
Oregonians clearly can't handle anything other than warm and sunny or rainy. When it snows just the littlest of dusting all schools close down. And apparently when it thunders we are to batten down the hatches or periscope down or something that requires protecting ourselves from lightning.
What comes after two days of rain in Oregon? Monday.
Have you heard of the four seasons in Oregon? They are Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter and Construction.
A tiny, lone yellow rose has blossomed on our miniature roses, but in a week we will have hundreds of blossoms in coral, red, pink and white. The strawberry plants are covered in white blossoms and little green cherries are filling out the cherry branches. As the mud starts to dry out and the grass fills in, I will stroll barefoot through our little piece of land going from plant to plant to admire its progress with a spring in my step.
So far there is mostly a gush as I stomp through another puddle of mud to complete my farm chores. There's no springing back from that. One time I stepped one foot into the neighbor's field to retrieve a golf ball and almost didn't get my foot back. My boot was immediately sucked into the quagmire.
There have been little whispers of spring. A 65 degree day here, a 72 degree there in between days of drizzle and leaden skies and outright gales with sideways slashing rain. We even had thunderstorm warnings last week. They actually interrupted our regularly scheduled program (Jeopardy, no less, of all the nerve!) to give us a warning of thunderstorms in the area, complete with that annoying warning buzz. What was the warning supposed to do for us? Stop watching TV outside 'cause you might get struck by lightning? Clearly the weather warning dude has never been to Florida. Personally, I love a good thunderstorm, but Florida storms can make even the bravest person whimper.
Oregonians clearly can't handle anything other than warm and sunny or rainy. When it snows just the littlest of dusting all schools close down. And apparently when it thunders we are to batten down the hatches or periscope down or something that requires protecting ourselves from lightning.
What comes after two days of rain in Oregon? Monday.
Have you heard of the four seasons in Oregon? They are Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter and Construction.
Still...I love Oregon. I will take the green over brown any day, even though that includes green moss, green mold and green mildew. My sweet hubby could see I was growing moss in between my toes and whisked me off to Las Vegas for my very first time to find some sunshine. Find it we did and I was happy to absorb the rays by the pool, but what I found interesting were all the facades that the casinos created to try to look like real waterfalls and plants and animals. I thought, all I have to do is walk out my door or drive to the river or ocean or woods and I can see these things the way God created them, not the way Metro, Goldwyn or Mayer did.
 |
| An Oregon lake |
 |
| A Las Vegas "waterfall" |
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
The Flash Ain't No Superhero
Emergency Exit
I recently flew on an airplane in the emergency exit row and thought to myself, this is a dangerous place for a menopausal woman to be. Why, do you ask? Well gather round, children, while I tell you the story of the hormonally deranged mind that has developed in my Clairol honey-brown colored head.Now I don't claim to speak for all 50-something women, but let me describe to you the progression of my particular brand of hot flash. First I just notice I feel uncomfortable. So my first thought is, "I must be hungry!" A few seconds later heat starts to work its way to my face, neck, and feet. I then realize it's a hot flash. I determine how many items of clothing I can decently strip off knowing that the heat will work it's way to the rest of my body. This is, of course, determined by my surroundings. Church, grocery store or other public area: Coat and sweater. Friend's home with mixed company: Sweater and shoes. Good friend's home with all girls: Sweater, shoes, socks and outer shirt if I'm wearing a tank top. Home: Whatever is necessary. UPS man and door-to-door evangelists beware. Side note: I've taken to wearing zip-up sweatshirts almost exclusively to avoid the overhead disrobing muffin top reveal and hair mussing.
Moving on, the next necessary action after stripping off the most possible clothing is finding a fan to fan my neck area where I am sure I have spontaneously combusted. I keep an actual hand fan on my desk given to me by my thoughtful brother and sister-in-law, but any piece of paper will do. My church bulletin works nicely as do checkbooks, newspapers or as a last resort, fast food napkins. If at home I usually have a slow dance with the fridge door with my face pressed lovingly against the butter compartment door. Heavenly. Once while checking out at the grocery store I started flashing (heat, not trench coat creepiness) and held each cold item up to my cheek before placing it on the belt. After nuzzling each and every item I turned to see a young man behind me in line looking frightened at the kook in front of him. I lamely said, "I'm really hot."
If anyone touches me during this firestorm, woe to him for I become a fire-breathing dragon. The thought of someone else adding even a nanometric degree of heat just about sends me over the volcanic edge. My poor hubby has born the brunt of too many, "Don't touch me!" barks.
After 2 to 3 minutes the heat starts subsiding and my sanity slowly seeps back in. Even though I now know that I wasn't uncomfortable because of hunger, I've already sent the cows out to graze and there's no getting them back until the fat lady sings, uh, I mean until they come home.
There you have it. I experience those 4 to 12 times per day, 2 to 4 times per night, every day and every night for the last 2 3/4 years.*
Back to the emergency exit row. As I was sitting there and had one of my hot flashes, I looked longingly at the "Pull" lever and thought of the lovely cool air that would wash over my face when I pulled it. It was tempting, oh so tempting. Thankfully I still retain a little bit of sanity and besides, I didn't want to mess up my hair.
While I was writing this I had 2 hot flashes and ate chicken 'n' dumplings and Christmas cookies.
*When I injured my back I got a 3-week hiatus from hot flashes. They slowly returned until they were up to full speed ahead again.
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Interlude
The Sound of Silence
I've been silent for 3 months because of the tragic death of a stellar young man and friend in our community. I couldn't bring myself to prattle superficially when words of profound comfort were needed. I also couldn't bring myself to write about the loss because it's not my pain to own. Mine is a stubbed toe compared to the avalanche of pain that has buried his family. I pray for them to reach a little closer to the surface every day.I'm Back
If you read my previous blog you may be wondering if my back is better. Healed? No. Functioning at a reduced capacity? Yes. I've returned to teaching 2 dance cardio classes a week and lifting 50 lb feed bags (though verrrry cautiously). I don't have constant pain, but I'm reminded of my injury every day with twinges and tightness.I'm reminded daily to find my satisfaction in God because I can't just do what I want when I want.
Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
for as many years as we have seen trouble. Psalm 90:14-15
Monday, August 8, 2016
Desperado
Ouch
I blame my pastor. Is that the opposite of saying, "The devil made me do it?" Okay, let me back up.
I woke up Sunday morning with a bit of a sore back, but nothing out of the ordinary for this quickly deteriorating body. However, after church I made a poor decision to dig out compost from the great pile 'o' poop in the goat pen Sunday afternoon. I came in very sore and suddenly unable to put my pants on. It was exacerbated throughout the day until I was a complete invalid, shrieking in pain at any movement that involved my spine. I have never experienced pain like this. Even the most basic of human needs, using the bathroom, became a journey of exquisite torture.
After 48 hours on my back in bed I was incrementally better - well enough to sit up on the couch. However, the littlest of movements still caused sharp pain, so not only did Bill have to help me with my activities of daily living (medical jargon for feeding, clothing and bathing oneself), but he also had to pick up all my chores. These included caring for goats, chickens and cat and all the tender plants we had just planted, plus picking ripening fruit. And don't forget my daily chore of nagging the son. I would've needed a megaphone to do that from my bed.
Since I have been unable to bend down for anything, I actually have gotten quite dexterous at using my toes. These are my newly acquired pedally-motored skills: sorting laundry, picking up clothes off the floor, petting the cat, pulling out the dishwasher rack, pulling weeds, and even texting!
So, back to my initial statement. I blame my pastor because of the sermon he gave that morning. It was innocently enough titled, "The Filling of the Holy Spirit 2." (I missed Holy Spirit 1 so I couldn't tell you what it was about, but if it was directed by J.J. Abrams I'm sure it was a blockbuster.) The premise was that receiving the Holy Spirit at the point of salvation was not the same as being filled with the Spirit. Then he gave the steps to being filled:
1. Repent in regard to Jesus (if you haven't already).
2. Repent in regard to sin: renounce your sin and indulgences. Turn away from them.
3. Be obedient - marked by surrender.
4. Desire more. We must be unsatisfied before God will satisfy us, and here's the kicker - we must be desperate before God can fill us.
It's that word, "desperate," I blame him for. I've never felt more desperate than I have lying on my back, totally helpless to even roll over without excruciating pain. Desperate to make the pain go away. Desperate to get up and take a hot shower. Desperate to take care of myself. Desperate to walk outside. Desperate to have my body functioning at the normal frantic pace I keep. Desperate to do what I want to do. That's the point, isn't it? Sometimes God needs to yank the rug out from under us to drag our attention away from ourselves. And I landed flat on my back.
One of my biggest frustrations with injuries is having to stop my usual exercise. Not only do I hate to have my muscles atrophy, but I was also teaching two dance cardio classes a week and about to start a third. I have to admit that I obsess about my body in an unhealthy way. I read these verses this morning:
"Have nothing to do with godless myths and old wives' tales; rather, train yourself to be godly. For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." 1 Timothy 4:7-8
What? You mean focus on eternal things rather than superficial? But it's so much easier to focus on what is in front of me. Something we always say at our house is, "Better a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy." And going back to #4, there's that part about being unsatisfied so God can fill us. Remember that refrain that moms everywhere tell their kids? "Don't fill up on junk before dinner!" Why? Because we want them to be filled with the good stuff that will give them energy, help them grow and be healthy. We want them to come to the table unsatisfied so we can satisfy their hunger in a way that is best for them and their future.
Bear with me while I take this analogy a little further. Imagine mom (June) does not warn child (Dick) to wait for dinner. Dick eats two Ding Dongs and a bowl of Captain Crunch one hour before dinner. June sets a lovely dinner before Dick containing the 4 Food Groups (I was raised in the 70s, y'all), and he just picks at it and eats a little. Is Dick satisfied? Sure. But the sugary food will leave him short of what he needs to grow and be healthy, and increase their dental bill to boot. If he had waited until dinner time, he would have been desperate for food and eaten all he needed.
Eight Weeks Later...
It has been 8 weeks since the injury and I thought by now I would have some pat, clever and sagely witty ending to this story. Alas, I don't. I still sit here with mostly bearable twinges of pain, unsure how to progress physically, and awaiting a spiritual lightning bolt that would rouse choruses of Praise the Lord! Until then, my prayer will be this from Psalm 90:14-15:
Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
for as many years as we have seen trouble.
I blame my pastor. Is that the opposite of saying, "The devil made me do it?" Okay, let me back up.
I woke up Sunday morning with a bit of a sore back, but nothing out of the ordinary for this quickly deteriorating body. However, after church I made a poor decision to dig out compost from the great pile 'o' poop in the goat pen Sunday afternoon. I came in very sore and suddenly unable to put my pants on. It was exacerbated throughout the day until I was a complete invalid, shrieking in pain at any movement that involved my spine. I have never experienced pain like this. Even the most basic of human needs, using the bathroom, became a journey of exquisite torture.
After 48 hours on my back in bed I was incrementally better - well enough to sit up on the couch. However, the littlest of movements still caused sharp pain, so not only did Bill have to help me with my activities of daily living (medical jargon for feeding, clothing and bathing oneself), but he also had to pick up all my chores. These included caring for goats, chickens and cat and all the tender plants we had just planted, plus picking ripening fruit. And don't forget my daily chore of nagging the son. I would've needed a megaphone to do that from my bed.
Since I have been unable to bend down for anything, I actually have gotten quite dexterous at using my toes. These are my newly acquired pedally-motored skills: sorting laundry, picking up clothes off the floor, petting the cat, pulling out the dishwasher rack, pulling weeds, and even texting!
So, back to my initial statement. I blame my pastor because of the sermon he gave that morning. It was innocently enough titled, "The Filling of the Holy Spirit 2." (I missed Holy Spirit 1 so I couldn't tell you what it was about, but if it was directed by J.J. Abrams I'm sure it was a blockbuster.) The premise was that receiving the Holy Spirit at the point of salvation was not the same as being filled with the Spirit. Then he gave the steps to being filled:
1. Repent in regard to Jesus (if you haven't already).
2. Repent in regard to sin: renounce your sin and indulgences. Turn away from them.
3. Be obedient - marked by surrender.
4. Desire more. We must be unsatisfied before God will satisfy us, and here's the kicker - we must be desperate before God can fill us.
It's that word, "desperate," I blame him for. I've never felt more desperate than I have lying on my back, totally helpless to even roll over without excruciating pain. Desperate to make the pain go away. Desperate to get up and take a hot shower. Desperate to take care of myself. Desperate to walk outside. Desperate to have my body functioning at the normal frantic pace I keep. Desperate to do what I want to do. That's the point, isn't it? Sometimes God needs to yank the rug out from under us to drag our attention away from ourselves. And I landed flat on my back.
One of my biggest frustrations with injuries is having to stop my usual exercise. Not only do I hate to have my muscles atrophy, but I was also teaching two dance cardio classes a week and about to start a third. I have to admit that I obsess about my body in an unhealthy way. I read these verses this morning:
"Have nothing to do with godless myths and old wives' tales; rather, train yourself to be godly. For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." 1 Timothy 4:7-8
What? You mean focus on eternal things rather than superficial? But it's so much easier to focus on what is in front of me. Something we always say at our house is, "Better a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy." And going back to #4, there's that part about being unsatisfied so God can fill us. Remember that refrain that moms everywhere tell their kids? "Don't fill up on junk before dinner!" Why? Because we want them to be filled with the good stuff that will give them energy, help them grow and be healthy. We want them to come to the table unsatisfied so we can satisfy their hunger in a way that is best for them and their future.
Bear with me while I take this analogy a little further. Imagine mom (June) does not warn child (Dick) to wait for dinner. Dick eats two Ding Dongs and a bowl of Captain Crunch one hour before dinner. June sets a lovely dinner before Dick containing the 4 Food Groups (I was raised in the 70s, y'all), and he just picks at it and eats a little. Is Dick satisfied? Sure. But the sugary food will leave him short of what he needs to grow and be healthy, and increase their dental bill to boot. If he had waited until dinner time, he would have been desperate for food and eaten all he needed.
Eight Weeks Later...
It has been 8 weeks since the injury and I thought by now I would have some pat, clever and sagely witty ending to this story. Alas, I don't. I still sit here with mostly bearable twinges of pain, unsure how to progress physically, and awaiting a spiritual lightning bolt that would rouse choruses of Praise the Lord! Until then, my prayer will be this from Psalm 90:14-15:
Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
for as many years as we have seen trouble.
Monday, June 13, 2016
Call Me Old Fashioned
Ma Bell
Remember the good ol' days when there were operators sitting at a large console counting, "One ringy dingy, two ringy dingy?" Okay, I don't either, but I do remember dialing 7 numbers to call my friends, and it stunk if they had a lot of 9s and 0s in their numbers because if your finger slipped you had to start all over again. And in every teenage-infested American household could be heard some form of this plea: "Get off the phone!" (Many with an added expletive to emphasize their exasperation.) You see, young ones, only one person in each household could be on the phone at one time. I know, an impossible scenario to imagine but it's true. So if there were 3 or more girls per house, there would be some serious cat fighting for phone time. Nowadays you can insult your sister by text in the next room while sending cute pics of yourself to your boyfriend and scan your Likes on Facebook all at the same time. What progress!
These telephonic ponderings were brought on by a call to our phone/internet/cable carrier to try to lower our bill. Everything is "bundled" these days for a "lower price," so I was wondering what our cost would be if we eliminated our land line. I admit that I'm attached to it like an umbilical lifeline. I can't imagine my house without the phone hooked up to actual cables that attach to our house. I have many good reasons why we should keep it.
1. In case of emergency, we know it doesn't have to be charged so it will always be there.
2. We've had this number for 14 years so if someone we haven't seen in a long time decides to try to get ahold of us they have the same number.
3. If everyone got rid of their land lines then there could be no more thrillers in which the bad guy cuts the phone lines so the poor helpless inhabitant can freak out. And remember When A Stranger Calls? Only the best thriller ever. At least for those of us who ever babysat.
4. It gives the telemarketers someone to torture.
So despite my fear of progress, I posed the question. The young man -- I'll call him Melvin -- informed me I could cut $12 off my bill by going to a "basic" phone that allowed for free incoming calls and 5 cents a minute for all outgoing calls in Oregon.
Me: That sounds good. How much for calls outside of Oregon?
Mel: I don't know.
Me: Uh, that's not going to do it for me. I need to know how much I'll be charged to use my phone.
Mel: Uhhh...
Me: Can you perhaps ask someone?
Mel: Okay.
10 minutes later...
Mel: So it looks like all outgoing calls are 5 cents a minute, I think.
Me: You think?
Mel: Yeah.
Me: (Sigh), okay. Let's do it. But before that can you tell me why my bill went up to $121?
Mel: I show that the last bill you paid was $119.
Me: Okay, well I can't find that one. All I know is for February and March I was charged $121.
Mel: So you want to pay $2.00 more?
Me: No, I want to know why I was charged $2.00 more.
Mel: I don't know. I can only see your last bill.
Me: But surely you have the information somewhere. I mean, you are my telephone and internet company and you specialize in communication, right?
Mel: I'm sorry, ma'am but I can only see this one bill. But I don't understand, do you want to pay $2.00 more?
Me: Nevermind. Thanks.
See how far we've come!
Remember the good ol' days when there were operators sitting at a large console counting, "One ringy dingy, two ringy dingy?" Okay, I don't either, but I do remember dialing 7 numbers to call my friends, and it stunk if they had a lot of 9s and 0s in their numbers because if your finger slipped you had to start all over again. And in every teenage-infested American household could be heard some form of this plea: "Get off the phone!" (Many with an added expletive to emphasize their exasperation.) You see, young ones, only one person in each household could be on the phone at one time. I know, an impossible scenario to imagine but it's true. So if there were 3 or more girls per house, there would be some serious cat fighting for phone time. Nowadays you can insult your sister by text in the next room while sending cute pics of yourself to your boyfriend and scan your Likes on Facebook all at the same time. What progress!
These telephonic ponderings were brought on by a call to our phone/internet/cable carrier to try to lower our bill. Everything is "bundled" these days for a "lower price," so I was wondering what our cost would be if we eliminated our land line. I admit that I'm attached to it like an umbilical lifeline. I can't imagine my house without the phone hooked up to actual cables that attach to our house. I have many good reasons why we should keep it.
1. In case of emergency, we know it doesn't have to be charged so it will always be there.
2. We've had this number for 14 years so if someone we haven't seen in a long time decides to try to get ahold of us they have the same number.
3. If everyone got rid of their land lines then there could be no more thrillers in which the bad guy cuts the phone lines so the poor helpless inhabitant can freak out. And remember When A Stranger Calls? Only the best thriller ever. At least for those of us who ever babysat.
4. It gives the telemarketers someone to torture.
So despite my fear of progress, I posed the question. The young man -- I'll call him Melvin -- informed me I could cut $12 off my bill by going to a "basic" phone that allowed for free incoming calls and 5 cents a minute for all outgoing calls in Oregon.
Me: That sounds good. How much for calls outside of Oregon?
Mel: I don't know.
Me: Uh, that's not going to do it for me. I need to know how much I'll be charged to use my phone.
Mel: Uhhh...
Me: Can you perhaps ask someone?
Mel: Okay.
10 minutes later...
Mel: So it looks like all outgoing calls are 5 cents a minute, I think.
Me: You think?
Mel: Yeah.
Me: (Sigh), okay. Let's do it. But before that can you tell me why my bill went up to $121?
Mel: I show that the last bill you paid was $119.
Me: Okay, well I can't find that one. All I know is for February and March I was charged $121.
Mel: So you want to pay $2.00 more?
Me: No, I want to know why I was charged $2.00 more.
Mel: I don't know. I can only see your last bill.
Me: But surely you have the information somewhere. I mean, you are my telephone and internet company and you specialize in communication, right?
Mel: I'm sorry, ma'am but I can only see this one bill. But I don't understand, do you want to pay $2.00 more?
Me: Nevermind. Thanks.
See how far we've come!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)